He gazed at her for a moment, kneeling there beside the bed, her head bowed, her arm raised with the knife resting there in the palm of her open hand. He noticed the slight trembling in her fingers, but was pleased that she had not questioned his demand. With a flick, he released the sharp little blade.
"Kneel straight in front of me,” he said, his voice low with intensity of feeling.
She arose gracefully and, head still bowed, clasped her hands together over her belly like some demure little nun. “Look at me,” Lawrence said. She looked up into his eyes as he spoke. Something was different about her face. Something had changed. Gone was the impetuous little slut-girl. In her place was a serene woman. She exhibited that particular, calm happiness that comes from having finally submitted—truly submitted—to another. While she was afraid of the knife, she wasn't afraid of Lawrence or what he might do. He could see in her face that she trusted him completely.
"Sarah,” he breathed, his voice almost cracking with emotion. “I am going to mark your breast. I am going to cut you, to prove to us both that you will do anything for me. Do you understand?"
Sarah nodded, gazing directly into his eyes. Without shifting her gaze from his, she held up her own breasts toward him—the offering was clear. He leaned forward and quickly brought the little blade down across her pale, waiting flesh. She gasped and moved back slightly, but remained kneeling in front of him. A little line of red appeared. He stared at it a moment, as the blood began to make little droplets on her milky breast. He leaned down to her and kissed away the blood as she looked at him, still serene.
He pulled her to him then, up into the bed. Burying his face in her neck, he rolled her over and slid on top of her. Taking her wrists in one hand, he stretched her arms high above her head. His hard body pressed on top of her yielding one. She had wanted this forever; she would deny him nothing.
Sarah lay still as Lawrence covered her body with tiny kisses. His fingers opened her pussy and she sighed and smiled as she gave herself completely over to his loving ministrations.
Lawrence touched her mouth with her own wetness. Sarah opened her lips to receive his offering. His fingers made love to her mouth as his own tongue sought the source of that sweet nectar. He kissed and licked and nuzzled her little clit till she was moaning and writhing in his embrace. She let her head fall back and her legs fall open as he claimed her yet again with his kisses.
Gently, but persistently, he suckled her until she was almost fainting with pleasure and need. He pulled away abruptly and Sarah's eyes flew open in dismay. She needed to come so badly that she felt tears spring to her eyes. She started to beg him, but he silenced her with a look.
Standing over her, he pulled off his clothes. His eyes never left Sarah's as he dropped his cashmere sweater to the floor and slipped out of his black jeans. As he pulled down his underwear, her eyes dropped to his already full erection. His penis was straight and rather thick. She could see a drop of moisture lubricating the tip and she longed to taste his sweet saltiness.
All at once, he was on her. Without preamble, he plunged into her sopping opening. She felt his full hardness as he took her with an almost ferocious abandon. It was as if she were a rag doll whose center was her sex. He shut his eyes and moaned softly. Sarah realized finally what a master of his own senses Lawrence had been.
He had denied himself and his feelings, but he was denying them no longer. She saw a desire so intense that it was almost frightening. She could see that it had been held in check for a long time, just as she had been forced to hold her own desire for this perfect man. His stern mask had fallen away at last. He looked vulnerable and lovely as he finally claimed her as the lover she longed to be.
Lawrence fucked her hard and long, using her body for his pleasure and hers. He thrust her onto him as if she were the sheath of a dagger. There was no tenderness; she wanted none. Her body responded with a passion as fierce as his own. Sarah cried and moaned as they clutched one another in their lust. Together they arched and tilted toward their shared little death.
The heat of their need left them bathed in sweat as they collapsed at last. Neither had the strength or desire to move. The morning found them still entangled in their lovers’ embrace.
The two weeks were over. Suddenly the world seemed to be awakening from its winter sleep. Sarah and Lawrence sat together in the kitchen. Sarah was no longer naked. She wore a silk nightgown and robe. Lawrence was in black cotton pajama bottoms; his torso bare. They were sitting together on the same side of the long table, both watching the sun rise over the horizon. As the sky lightened into pink and gold, a twittering symphony of chirping birds greeted them.
Lawrence no longer pretended to either of them that he was considering other Masters for Sarah. At last, he had accepted that there could be another woman after the one he had vowed to love forever. Well, he had kept that promise. He would never stop loving Kimberly, but at last, she could go to sleep in his heart. He was free to love another now. And he did. He loved Sarah with a sweet intensity that left him dizzy.
Lawrence had at last confessed the secrets of his past to his new lover. He had been terrified of her response. Would she understand that he would always love his Kimberly, even though she lived on only in his memories? Could she share his heart, understanding that a part of him would always belong to another?
Relief and joy had flooded him at her response. She listened quietly, with tears slipping occasionally down her cheeks. Then she had whispered, “Lawrence, my love. How could I love a man who stopped loving someone simply because she had died?"
"I love you,” he said aloud. To say it! To be released from the heavy responsibility of being the trainer! The unaccustomed candor of his confession muddled his head like wine, or like the first breath of freedom.
Sarah sighed and whispered back, “I adore you.” As she spoke, she gently touched the little red line on her breast where her Master had marked her. Lawrence saw the gesture and leaned forward to kiss the spot impulsively.
"We are bound now, you and I. There is no going back. Do you still freely give the gift of your body, your will, and your heart to me?"
"This I give to you, my beloved, without reservation. I am yours."
Together the pair turned back toward the rising sun, their arms entwining as their lips met. It was the kiss of a slave and Master; it was the kiss of lovers. If one had observed them at that moment, one could not have known which was enslaved. Indeed, they both were.
THE END
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