The Bridge

In the last moments of a submissive’s life,
she has only to serve her master.

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The Bridge

Copyright © 2012 Allistar Parker

Cover art by Martine Jardin

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The Bridge

By

Allistar Parker

Chapter One

So many years ago I had a love, a true
passion embodied in the skin of a man, for which I credited God
with the creation of a perfect Adonis. Strong of arms and sculpted
along his flank so that the bronze flesh rippled with each flex of
his arms. His body was my golden idol and I was his perfect slave.
I could no more leave his side than I could leave my own body.

On the evenings, by the fire, we shared
longing looks over a glass of wine, naked and blissfully aware of
each other’s sexual nature. He loved the way I swirled my tongue
across his, leaving only a faint hint of Sauterne trailing across
his taste buds. The feel of his hands lightly caressing my
shoulders drew me closer to him, so close I could feel the rigid
hardness of his dick pressing against my groin. The pile in the
carpet tickled my back as he rolled over, never pulling his
magnificent dick from my pussy.

The subtle way he would kiss my lips and the
forceful way he handled my body was more than any woman on earth
could ask for. He was a master at manipulating me to the point I
could hardly breathe. Fingers rolling across the small of my back
kept the electric tension rippling up and down my spine. His slow,
methodical strokes with his engorged dick drove me wild until there
was nothing left to do but moan in sexual lust.

The house always smelled of him. In the
mornings, he smelled of fresh soap and musky aftershave with the
hint of menthol shaving cream hanging just behind his ear. I could
barely keep my attention on the frying eggs and as I poured coffee
just for him. I loved the ritual of wiping an errant dab of shaving
cream from his face with the dish towel.

He slurped coffee as he read the paper, first
the sports page and then the headlines. There were mornings when a
curse word flowed from his mouth over some poor stock performance
or a football team’s loss. He loved to smile wide at his ability to
choose overnight winners and avoid last minute disasters by selling
just before the stocks dropped or the odds ran long on the
team.

His office coat smelled of menthol cigarettes
and stale mothballs. The mustard yellow coat had served him well
through the years in real estate. Though tattered with worn
sleeves, Corbin wore the jacket with pride. I loved the way he felt
as I hugged him goodbye each morning.

The house was my trusted place, the place my
God left me alone for hours, knowing I would be good. I would
never, for instance, leave without getting permission. I wouldn’t
touch myself. I wouldn’t eat anything. I would be good.

For those hours of obedience, I was rewarded
handsomely; good food for the table, relaxing evening at home, and
being treated as the valued concubine he had created. I don’t know
how he knew what I needed, but the way he shaped me was a stroke of
genius.

We all are weak, though. We succumb to our
own vices from time to time. He often left me with reminders of my
small transgressions; a small hole through the nipple filled with a
gold ring for playing with my tits, or a stray slap upon my ass for
eating without permission. “You’ll get fatter,” he would say with
each stroke of the wooden coat hanger.

The whole of my existence had become useful
in a more satisfying way. I found my life unfolding around me; my
reason for life was clear, my heart was filled with joy, and I had
no needs that were not being met by my love. I was placed on earth
to please him. His needs were mine to fulfill. From the simple
pleasure of sucking his dick until his mouth moaned and his hips
buckled under the strain of an orgasm, to making him breakfast in
the morning, I was completing my tasks with a purpose. In these
pleasures, I find my pleasure waiting behind each task I complete.
He completed me as the one that gave me what I needed and in return
allowed me to find my world in his control.

He loved to have my body just on the brink of
too much exposure. More often than not, he allowed me to fall
asleep before I ever orgasmed, making the morning all the more
special.

He wanted the guys of the world to lust after
me. As my body had never caused any lust in anyone, I reveled in
his ability to make me lust worthy. He got pleasure out of the
hound calls and dirty glances I caused in other guys. The missed
meals and tightened corsets were well worth the benefits I
received. Seeing the pleasure in his eyes as one guy after another
begged to see my tits made living for him that much better.

Stuck at home with our dog, Ralph, he made
cocoa and brightened the night with a hint of peppermint schnapps.
The scent of oak drifted through the den when the fire finally
caught. We hadn’t made popcorn over a fire in years, but the
crackle of the embers and the corn popping brought me back to times
in our youth.

I snuggled into a blanket by the fire when
the current failed. It wasn’t long before I felt him spooning up
next to me. Soft gentle kisses rained down on my neck as he worked
his way to my shirt collar. His hot breath foreshadowed the warmth
his naked body would deliver in only a few seconds.

I reached behind me to grasp his half flaccid
dick and rub it against my ass. The friction from the flannel
quickly brought his rod to full attention. In my mind, I could see
that engorged purple gland stretching and pulling, trying to
penetrate my flannel barrier with each pulse from his veins. The
gentleness of his hand gliding down my pants kept me from
resisting. With the last stroke, I shoved his dick between my
thighs, holding him tight as I could with my muscles.

I felt a small, cold chill develop on my
mons. My red pubic hairs stood straight, all aligned with the goose
bumps developing over my body.
Ice!
That sneaky guy slid an
ice cube between my legs and was using it to draw all kinds of
sensations to bear on my body. The cool feeling spread across my
skin and down into my lower lips. A small river of water dripped
onto the blanket as he trailed the ice to my belly button.
Shivering, I still couldn’t stop him. Even with the discomfort, I
loved the feeling he was building in my body.

I pulled my belly tightly into my body,
hoping this would stem the tide of laughter building inside of me.
Each pass of the cube along my pubs sent another shiver rattling
the goose bumps. I sucked air in to keep my composure.

I didn’t fight him. On the contrary, I
welcomed his invasion between my legs. The feel of the ice was
stimulating me, but I wanted his dick to service. His hands finally
removed the ice from my pussy lips and hair, dropping the ice to
the floor. He never stopped his assault on my lap, though.

I found my way to my back, opening my entire
front erogenous zone to my husband. From the tip of my most
sensitive nipple to the depths of my vagina, I knew he was about to
ravage my body. His finger rolled over my clit gentler than usual.
The warmth from his touch relived the chill I still felt from the
ice. Shivers echoed up my waiting tunnel. His finger slowed from
the tension in my muscles. My fluids flowed freely around my cunt,
wicking up to my clit. Had it not been for his slow, but deliberate
circular strokes on it, I might have lasted long enough for him to
mount me. My moaning started in the back of my throat, pulling a
cool shiver up my spine. Once my hips felt my vibrating muscles,
they joined the fun, spasming with their own reverberations.

His warm lips covered mine, pulling my
attention from the aftermath of my first orgasm. His tongue swirled
around mine, entangling our tongues in a game of lustful
temptation. I felt his hand slowly moving up my back, making a wet
trail along my spine. He found my breast, yes the one breast
craving attention. With each touch of my nipple, he created a new
thrill for me. All this stimulation had me begging for his dick. I
wanted it deep in my pussy, buried deep enough to fill me and drive
me closer to ecstasy.

As he crawled over me, I could feel his
approaching monster dragging across my thigh on its way to my
sexual center. Again, my pubic hairs cringed, not from cold, but
the anticipation of his thick cock sliding into my cunt. Thick,
large and dripping with pre-cum, his dick rubbed my lips with just
enough pressure to part them. I gasped slightly as he pushed his
penis all the way down.

“Give it to me, honey.”

He rolled his hips, continuing his pressure
on my entire body. Stroke after stroke pounded my pussy so that my
juices pumped out of my cunt and drooled down over my ass. The
sound of his balls slapping against my skin darkened echoed through
the house. His grunts became more pronounced and guttural. The
color of his face ripened with each stroke of his cock. I knew he
was coming soon.

A loud moan and several gasping breaths
seeped from his mouth. With orgasm inevitable, my love pulled his
dick from my hole and jabbed it in my face. Through my gritted
teeth, he sent mouthfuls of semen over my lips as I fought to be
released. I hated that. I wanted nothing in my mouth. Spitting and
coughing the fluid from my lips, I struggled to free myself from
his impalement.

“You dirty bitch! You take my seed wherever I
say.”

“Not there. Please not there.” I wiped my
lips with my arm.

“All whores drink my cum. You included. If
you can’t, leave.”

I stared at his face without understanding.
Surely my lover wanted what was good for me. I wanted him, but I
couldn’t, I just couldn’t bring myself to drink his seed. I begged
for mercy as he dragged me to the door. I cried out in pain as he
shoved me off the porch. I wailed as the door slammed behind him. I
was out and he was gone.

Chapter Two

A lifetime past and no one found me their
lover. The droning loss of my well being settled into the blue fog
of lost love and detrimental hope in the return of my passion.

Down by the river, in the brackish waters, a
bridge crossed over to the neighboring town. There, among the salt
marches, I spied a lowly drifter, dank and dirty, sleeping under
the bridge as if he was a troll, ready at any moment to demand a
toll for crossing over.

He agreed to kill me, thank God. The offer to
have sex with me was a bonus, a kindness he needn’t do. I smiled,
knowing that sex would seal the deal and he would not be able to
back out. With our pact, I began to feel, again.

I stopped to kiss him just to make sure I
wasn’t dreaming. After all, a bum for a murderer was so cliché that
I might have concocted the story in my own mind only to awake to
the dreadful pain of life in the morning. The alcohol rich aroma in
his mouth dulled the stench of his breath, yet I delighted in the
knowledge of what the solid kiss and the physical groping meant as
we slumped into the concrete.

Ending my life this way seemed so moral, so
intensely prudent. This bum was the perfect solution. No one was
going to mourn over me at my death, nor would anyone know to look
for him. If I should die alone, he would be safe from society’s
wrath for a poor man destined to help a desolate woman die. If I
should take him with me, who would come looking for him?

The roguish feel of the cold wind upon my
face hastened the walk to the concrete slab beneath the bridge. The
angular slope offered some comfort from the ground, but kept that
damp feeling running through me.