Tuesday, 12 January 2010

One Wise Woman

I got this story in the mail. It is written by Oxbridgeman, who, as it happens, is not at all from Oxbridge. It is a story of love and devotion, of a very special kind. Read and enjoy.

[6 January is Epiphany Day, the day when the Church commemorates the coming of the Wise Men to the baby Jesus, the One they adore above all, and bring Him the three gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Here is a story of one wise woman who also brings three gifts to the man she most adores in her life.]

He had chosen her. He loved her. He cherished her. He cared for her. He protected her. She loved him. She was pleased that he had pursued her and chosen her. And he was honorable and worthy of her adoration. So she chose to give herself to him. Soul and body. For she was a wise woman and knew that the greatest gift a woman can give to a man is herself. Totally and completely.

Tonight she would again show him that she wanted to be his, to belong to him. And so in her bedroom she had taken off all her clothes and put on a lovely short nightgown, plain with just a touch of lace and thin satin straps over her shoulders. It came down only to the tops of her thighs. She had used just a hint of make-up and had brushed her shoulder-length hair to a beautiful shine. She looked at herself and smiled slightly. She knew he would like this.

She was now ready to present herself to him. She was a little nervous as she picked up a long thin piece of cloth and started toward the sitting room. The tiles were cold on her bare feet and even though the house was warm her body seemed to feel the cold winter air from the outside and she shivered slightly. But that was fine. She would be warm in a moment.

In the sitting room he sat in a chair near the fireplace. The fire roaring in the fireplace warmed the cozy room chasing away the January chill. The cat was curled up on the chair where the woman of his life usually sat. He had the newspaper in his hand but he wasn't really reading it. He knew she was coming.

She walked into the room. They looked at each other but neither said a word. She walked over in front of him and knelt down before him, resting her bottom on her heels. She placed the piece of cloth beside her on the carpet. Her head slightly bowed, knees together, hands to the side, she stayed in the kneeling position while he drank in her beauty. The hem of her nightgown rested on the tops of her thighs. He loved that this intelligent, successful woman should think so much of him that she would voluntarily kneel at his feet. His heart overflowed with love for her. The cat stared at them then went back to her slumber as the man continued to gaze at the kneeling woman.

Finally she said, "I have some gifts for you." The wise woman presented her first gift. She pulled the nightgown over her head and laid it to one side thereby giving him her first gift, her nudity. She resumed her kneeling position only this time with her knees slightly parted so that he could see all. Nothing would be withheld from him. Once again he gazed at her from his chair. His soul was filled with passion and part of him wanted to reach out and pull her into him, but he waited for he knew there was more to come. The only sound that could be heard was the January wind blowing outside and fire crackling in the fireplace inside. The man and the woman were hardly aware of either.

After another few minutes, the wise woman offered her second gift to her man. She handed him the long thin cloth then put out her arms and crossed her wrists one over the other. He paused just briefly then proceeded to bind her hands together. He wrapped the thin piece of cloth around one wrist, then the other, knotted it, then wrapped both wrists together front to back, side to side and then knotted it again above her wrists. The cloth was soft but firm and the knot was away from her fingers. She was now naked and bound. She resumed her kneeling position with her bound hands in her lap. He was on fire with love and passion for her. She was his. And had she stopped here it would have been enough, but he knew there was yet more. He reached out and gently caressed the tips of her breasts. She felt a slight stirring as he did this, but she didn't move.

Finally, after many minutes had passed, she looked up at him for the first time since she had knelt before him. She was nervous and her voice was almost a whisper, but she summoned her courage and said, "Drawer." She then looked back down and he gazed at her for a long time. Finally, he lifted her face to him and smiled at her with love and assurance. He got up and went over to the bureau. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a small whip. The wise woman had now bent her body down, placing her elbows on the floor. She stretched out her arms and placed her head on the floor between her arms. The wise woman then presented her third gift to him. She raised her bottom up ready to receive his passion, his strength and his masculinity through the kiss of his whip.

She trembled slightly and felt in her throat that she was going to cry but she had already resolved in her mind that she would be brave and receive in her body all that he would deliver to her so that they would both know that he was strong and able and that she truly belonged to him.

He stood behind her as she presented her beautiful waiting bottom to him. She was naked, kneeling, bound and ready to be whipped. He hesitated. She did not deserve this. She already was his. She had given him so much. But his passion cried out that he had to make her his own completely. He had to mark her as his own, and the way he had to mark her was with the stripes of a whip. He took the small whip, held it over his head, paused briefly and then struck.

She received the first sting of pain. The second caused her to flinch. As the whip began to strike her over and over, she had to fight herself and make herself keep her bottom raised. Her thighs were giving way but she willed them to stay still and keep her bottom raised to receive each painful sting, each kiss of fire, each expression of his passion -- the intensity of his love. She wanted to cry out to him to stop. She wanted to get up and run away. But she stayed where she was. Her bottom was on fire and she could not protect it. The culmination of the successive stings was overwhelming her. But she stayed where she was. She pressed her head into the carpet and clenched her teeth. Her hands closed into fists and her fingernails dug into her palms. Her toes curled up tightly and occasionally her lower leg would raise slightly as the whip struck her yet again. But she stayed where she was. She would be strong and bear it no matter how long he whipped her.

After two dozen lashes, he stopped. He gazed at her trembling body. He gently put a hand on her hip indicating that she could rest her bottom. He stared at the red stripes which were all over her bottom and even on the tops of her thighs. He had done that to her. He had marked her with those red stripes, markings that declared that she was his. Although she wouldn't see them until later, she knew that her beautiful body was now marked. She was marked with his stripes. And the memory of the pain and creation of those markings made real for her again the knowledge that she was truly his.

He went in front of her, and lovingly raised her up. He took her chin and raised up her face to his. Although she had not cried out, tears trickled down her cheeks and her lip trembled.

"Let it out," he said. As she grabbed him around the neck with her bound hands the sobs burst forth from her. She cried on his shoulder as he held her tightly and comforted her.

As her tears subsided he looked at her and said, "I love you, with all my heart!"

"I love you, too," she replied. He then picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. She rested her head in his chest. She didn't have to be strong now. She could let herself be comforted by him, cared for by him, loved by him.

Later that night the fire in the sitting room died away, and the cat stretched and yawned before resuming his long winter nap. The man and the woman were also curled up together, deep in the sleep of satisfied lovers. The wise woman's gifts had been received with gratitude by her man, and he had in turn offered her the gift of his manhood that assured her she was beautiful and loved.


Paul said...

Janice, a very nice story, well written.
I'm not a big fan of the whip, but that is just me.
Oxbridgeman, a nice story, thank you.
Janice, I hope that you are well after our arctic season.
Love and warm hugs,

Manorlord said...

Janice, thank you for posting this elegant story, which has the feel of myth or fairy tale (in the positive sense of that term). James Merrill referred to this quality as "a tone licked clean by time."

Oxbridgeman, your writing is poetic and insightful. Hope we hear more from you.


Wystan E

Anonymous said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Janice said...

Dear Paul, I am glad you liked this well written story. Quite unlike the rest you find here but still about fantasies. I like that.

Dear Wystan E, I am sure the author will be well pleased with your comment about 'poetic and insightful'. I agree with you.

The third message is left there as a reminder of what happens to those who try to use my blog to promote their commercial interests.