This is a work of fiction
It was never about finding just any master.
There were so many - advertising themselves like a perfume - Strong, potent and intoxicating.
And they were, for a time.
But like any good perfume, they wouldn't linger for long and soon she would either tire of them or they just faded and disappeared, leaving her to sit down at a bar with an empty bottle and bittersweet memories to wallow in.
But it was fine, really. She had her porn, she had her vibrators, she managed.
And if every now and then others would ask her the ever annoying 'So, any new boyfriend?'.
She would just shrug, smirk and then explain to them she was bisexual - andrude. What if she had a girlfriend?
'Do you have girlfriend?'
Pause.
'Does dating my own hand count?'
Then would come the eye roll, the unmistakable hand raised ready to smack her silly.
And she would grin - but it never reached her eyes. 'No, no girlfriend.' she would supply.
And later - perhaps even on the same night, in would come a new advertised perfume, and they would dance and play and flirt - until it wore off again.
But it wasn't about finding just any master. Lust could be satisfied, certainly.
She enjoyed losing herself to the sensations each new perfume brought.
And she would always make sure to follow SSC and RACK etc. whatever.
At the end of the day no perfume ever stuck.
Because what she longed for her forever was an everlasting fragrance of sea to cling to her.
The forever fragrance of earth that is dry and tart in summer and musty in winter.
The forever fragrance of books that only gets better over the years.
And that vanilla-patchulli bar of soap they sell at those special soap shops, because that stuff smells AMAZING and omg, it just keeps that fragrance forever.How do they do that?
She longed for her forever something that would be familiar and yet would never cease to suprise.
She longed for her forever a friend to tease the fuck out of - 'Is that a grey hair? I think that's another grey hair'
and then run away from, as he contemplates whether to use a paddle, a cane or just bide his time and come at her when she's least suspecting.
It was never about finding just any master.
It was always about finding her forever master.
And yet, for the meantime, for sure, she'll just find a meantime sir.
For the meantime, a new perfume is offered to her, and a low thrum of excitement pulses at her pelvis.
For the meantime, she sinks to her knees and inhales the mix of musky perfume and leather pants.
Her mouth waters, as a short thick cock is presented to her. And her eyes water slightly as she feels the roots of her hair pulled in a strong grip.
Her lips are dragged over the proffered member, precum whetting her appetite, but she doesn't open.
For the meantime, she looks up through her lashes and awaits the command.
Because, she reasons, ignoring the slight clenching that in her heart goes through -
For the meantime - any sir will do.
also on my fetlife blog:
https://fetlife.com/users/3167556/posts/4078507
