The Visitor

Is she his Mistress or his fantasy?

Copyright: The Author

Be warned, the imagination is a powerful thing.

The flame from the lighter reflected off the display cases as she held it to the cigarette. The end glowed red as she took a long drag.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“I know.” She sat down on a stool and exhaled a plume of smoke into the darkness.

“How did you get in here? She was stunning. Dark blonde hair, piercing eyes and appeared to be wearing nothing but a black leather jacket and a short leather skirt. He could not stop his mind imagining what they concealed.

“You invited me here”. The tone of her voice suggested that it was more than a statement, almost an accusation.

True, he had walked the gloomy corridors of the museum on his patrols, stood in front of the sarcophagi of long-dead Egyptian priestesses, looked at paintings of elegant nudes in the light from his torch, and fantasized about meeting a woman like her.

He could feel her eyes on him. An aurora seemed to snake out from her, mingling with the smoke from the cigarette to coil around him, soothing and frightening in equal amounts as it caressed him. He felt like a comet that had been sucked into the orbit of a giant star. After long days in the cold void, he would circle her until he spiralled down to be engulfed in the inferno.

She took another long, slow drag of the cigarette, her head angled back and breathed out a plume of smoke. He stepped forward, her attraction became stronger, tugging at him as if gravity had suddenly shifted, pulling him down and towards her with equal force. He dropped to his knees.

She shifted on the stool, turning towards him, spreading her legs, her short, tight skirt riding up her thighs to expose thin, black knickers. He gazed on her inner sanctum, imagining the curled, folded lips, like the leaves of a plant, ready to unfurl, hidden only by the wisp of cloth.

“You want me, want to touch me, want to please me?” She brushed her fingertips across the black, silken material.

“Yes, Mistress,” he breathed, his voice an almost silent whisper.

“Come closer,” she said, the cigarette still burning between her long fingers.

He shuffled forward, his senses overwhelmed by the closeness of her. In his mind, he was sure he could smell her scent: not a man-made, manufactured smell, but a primaeval, dark musk that caused his body to stir.

Her fingers moved across the fabric of her knickers again. He longed for them to be pulled aside, stripped from her, exposing the delights hidden by such a thin veil. He thought for a moment he could see the contours of her, detect the subtle indentations in the material that indicated where her body would open.

“You think that you could satisfy me.” Her fingers tantalizingly curled around the edge of the material. “That your mouth, your tongue, could bring me any pleasure.” She spat out the last two words as if they had a bitter taste.

“Yes, Mistress.” The thought of touching her, feeling her, tasting her filled his mind. Images swam before him as if he was looking into the boiling heart of a volcano. The pictures swirled, disappearing into the molten fire only to reform, momentarily, as new ones.

He tipped his head back, looking up at her, his eyes wide, pleading, like a puppy anxious for its reward.

She looked down at his crotch. “And that, as if that insignificant thing would mean anything to a being like me.”

He bowed his head, staring at the floor, ashamed of his manhood.

“Look at me. Open your mouth, let me see your tongue.” Her fingers pulled tantalizingly at the edge of the knickers, moving them almost imperceptibly to one side.

She touched him, her knuckles brushed his nose. He closed his eyes, ecstatic at the contact, relishing that brief brush of her hand. He could smell her. Her, not the odour of smoke and ash that filled his nose as a burning pain and fire ripped through him.

He opened his eyes. The stool was empty. He was alone in the room with nothing but the faint aroma of smoke.

See a few more photos of the girl in the story on Secret Obsessions

I am not sure if this story is supernatural or just a dive in his imagination but these stories definitely are:

Want more femdom action? These ladies are not fantasies, although they bring Alan’s to life