From the Whiteflower Bathhouse (fiction)

Mr Lewis commands Mademoiselle Qamra to ‘Tongue’

With her eyes downcast but her shoulders square, Mademoiselle Qamra stood to one side, patient while her Master finished his conversation. He laughed jovially on the phone, then concluded his business and hung up. He thought for a moment, before turning his attention to his slave.

“Le Fille,” he said, “I am endeavoring to organize guests for tomorrow night. I am letting you know. Mr Harris. Mr Cousins. I am having them around for dinner.”

“Oui,” said the slave meekly.

Her Master then stood up and walked towards her.

He considered her beauty. Her brown skin. The shapeliness of her hips. The smoothness of her thighs. Her breasts and nipples. He stopped and looked over her body in the dim shadow of the corner where she stood. He looked her up and down.

She could feel his eyes on her nakedness but she didn’t flinch, not a muscle. Her gaze remained downcast, her heart in a helpless submission.

The Slavekeeper stepped to another position where he could admire her form from a different angle. Her deliciousness. ‘O my…,’ he was thinking to himself, feeling himself smitten once more by her beauty.

She was succulent. Gorgeous. For a moment he looked at her entranced.

Then, snapping out of it, he gave her a sudden command in a firm voice.

“Tongue!’ he said.

Immediately, Mademoiselle Qamra lifted her face, dropped her hands by her side, looked directly ahead and extended her tongue between her red, thick lips.

The Slavekeeper paused to look upon her once more. Now she seemed less coy, less timid. Upon his command she was suddenly lewd, blatant. Without a hesitation she reveled her sexual persona.

She extended her tongue out as far as she could, willing and obedient.

He stepped closer. Her face was fixed. She breathed softly through her nose. Her eyes were directed ahead at attention, unmoving. She looked more actively sexual. Now it was her face – and the beautiful wet pinkness of her tongue, her lovely tongue, extended in readiness and submission – that fascinated him.

‘Its true!’ he thought to himself, ‘I love her tongue!’

Suddenly he stepped right up to her, bent his head down to her level and, in a single motion, put his mouth around her tongue – all of her tongue - until their lips were meeting. Quite forcefully, he sucked and slurped.

Still looking ahead, she remained static – like a living statue – as he sucked, her eyes wide open, forward, his eyes closed.

He tasted her. Then he broke the kiss and stepped back.

The slave remained statuesque for another moment but now let her tongue recede into her mouth. Then, shyly, she resumed First Position, eyes down.

Her Keeper went and sat in his chair, directing her to come closer to him.

“I just want you to dance for me, tonight, Le Fille,” he said. “We will save other entertainments for tomorrow night with Mr Harris and Mr Cousins…”

- from The Whiteflower Bathhouse