I was not someone who normally went home with strange men, not even the tall devastatingly sexy ones who lived in breathtakingly elegant colonial mansions. But there was something about him that made me loose myself in his steel grey eyes. Suddenly I needed him. I needed him like a drowning person needed air, like an addict needed her fix. I needed to feel him, needed him to hold me, devour me, make me a part of him. I needed him desperately because the voice in my head kept telling me that without him I would cease to exist.

So when he led me into his parlour I simply followed.

He sat me down and offered me a drink. Even as he opened the bottle, the most amazing bouquet infused my senses, a sweet fragrance like wildflowers in spring. A special vintage from their family’s personal collection, he explained, pouring it into the most charming chalice. Closing my eyes, I deeply inhaled the aroma of the wine mingled with the metallic scent of his perfume and the woody odour of the house, a sensuous aphrodisiac. I took a sip and felt the bubbly stream gush down my throat.

When I opened my eyes everything was different, surreal. The chalice looked like it had come to life and his eyes had taken on a crimson hue. But I felt no fear, only a quiet peace. And when he ran his tongue down the column of my throat and I felt the gentle bite, I could only exhale “Master”.

 

Written for Sunday Photo Fiction – January 15th 2017

 

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