Aveline, there are so many contradictions – an enigma would cry in despair. You are twenty-one, yet carry a sophistication beyond your years. Painted with precision, you found your Parisian Red so early into womanhood, and you dare to wear makeup that evokes the sensuality of your eyes. You know the connotations, you look so fragile, yet this is your courage. Your flowing tresses are pinned up, coloured blacker than a raven’s wing. It has stolen your youth and is the colour of death. Yet, it reveals the swooping lines of your neck, and there is such vivacious poetry in your expression. There are so many admirers for you in this restaurant tonight; you should return their gaze. Acknowledge they exist.. anyone else would.

No, not you, Aveline.

An old soul before your time, yet vibrant in body and spirit. Wearing Chantilly lace fit for a Duchesse, yet it is a collar around your neck. The white gold pendant and its blood-red garnet catches the light when you make the faintest gestures. Tasteful, yet the colour hints at your exotic passions. Nobility, yet ownership, Aveline, and you wear it so well.

You came to our house dressed like Picasso and sit here inspired by Chanel in a little black dress. Your porcelain skin glows as a Normandy flower plucked at the very moment of its bloom. We dine on Provencale when it should be Haute Cuisine. You eat by conquest, carving it into morsels, skewering it in pieces… yet, you crave to be devoured.

That smile, as sweet as a virgin with no cynicism, lingers on my own. Yet, I see the glimmer of demure wickedness; I know you, Aveline. So slender and fragile in every movement, you have the power to illuminate ten men. You may be in your third decade, yet you have the carnal knowledge of two lifetimes. As timid as church dormouse until I dressed you. You stood resolute as ancient rocks, yet made my hands tremble. Now, you turn heads and torture us all. Blasé, with a sensuality that renders the sturdiest hearts of the most romantic.

You crack that Crème Brulee, as you have broken many hearts. They offered you free will when you needed the assertiveness of another. You bat your lashes painted with evocative mascara with the innocence of a nun. When naked, those feline cheeks accentuate your youth. Contoured like this, they evoke your maddening guile. Artists have removed body parts for the madness you inspire.

As words, they are the declared lyrics of my intent. Sample the insanity you invoke; try to remain still as my hand along your inner thigh turns each base syllable into the alchemy of arousal. Mice can roar, and I will make you as hungry as a famished vixen. It flutters in the pit of my stomach, the turgid heat of arousal; it churns and churns. My face is flushed, and it is not the wine.

You will be collared and leashed, Aveline. There are too many contradictions; it is for your safety and ours.

My husband takes my hand and brushes the back of it with his thumb. He knows… he knows how to calm me.

-=-=-=-

Earlier this morning, I was grateful that I slept well. You were in my dreams and haunted me. The writhing of your naked body and the black void of your mouth wailed as you plunged into orgasm.

I told my husband. He tried to sate me and turned my mind inside out as I clung on. Dying and dying, with one tumultuous convulsion after another. I clamoured for so much more, and he had to capitulate. He is only human, and so am I. This is more than I can take.

My bare feet thundered on the oak floor, and the sway of my hair, unkempt, symbolised my wild emotions as I blazed into my husband’s eyes. I wore his periwinkle blue shirt, too big for my slender frame, its tails like a caress of his hand on my flanks.

As an ever-spinning wheel, I tried to concentrate on my work and looked at it, laughing at me. I slapped the table with both hands; it made my placid husband jump. It was something he is wary of, a very Parisian fit of pique. From a distressed tigress, his embrace soothed me back into a kitten.

“Come on, Ines…” I could feel his deep bass through me, calming the turmoil, “Let’s go out tonight.”

“Go out? Are you crazy? You know what I need.”

“We are going out because of what you need.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“Summon Aveline…”

Just your name calmed me in an instant.

-=-=-=-

Now, the evening leads us towards our destiny. I would call it fate, but that implies I have no control. If only you knew how little I had, you would challenge it, which would be my delicious downfall. The obstinate taxi driver mutters about football with my husband while the soft tip of my little finger tantalises your milky thigh.

Always, you are so obedient, and it tempers my lust which swirls like a maelstrom. The merest touch of the crushed velvet that encases your body makes me want to damn this desire to the pits of hell. When I blaze like this, I know why and who to blame. This gnawing, fizzing energy cannot be placated without you, Aveline.

At our apartment, every tooth of that long hidden zipper is a fingernail down a blackboard. The respectable transforms into the decadent as a lengthening v-shape reveals your secret. My desire for you is no longer a nebulous dream. My heart pumps pure lust through my body, and my loins are liquid with desire. I have a purpose; you will tremble and writhe for me.

Your slender basque and its baroque embroidered swirls capture your sublime figure. Its hook and eyes stand between me and how I will make you burn. The sheen of satin silk panties is revealed, flimsy, and easily torn. They hide the treasure of your flawless cunt, and the jewelled chrome nestling in your behind.

The suspender straps and stocking tops adorn your lithe legs. I want that sheer fabric in my grasp as we thrash together. Under my control, your leash held tight to guide your wanton hips. Did you feel my heady sigh as the dress fell to the floor? I pray each finger bewitches you as they worship your flawless curves.

My restraint has departed, and my husband sits to see my touch gain confidence. Those hooks and eyes never stood a chance, and I would destroy a bank vault to hold your perfect breasts. The air is charged with static between us, and your soulful eyes cannot carry the weight of anticipation. Smoulder for me, and burn your inhibitions to the ground. There is joy in the pit of my stomach as the distance between us narrows. You do not need to be told; you are learning so much as the soft peach texture of your lips caress mine.

Just as I have shown you. I know one day, you will leave us and find someone to torture as you do to me. Consider this your education. Consider tonight as the transference of all my lust.

Cradled in my hand, teasing the erect nub of your nipple, it forces your hand. Doe-eyed, vulnerable, you will be safe, little bird. Your graceful hand holds it close as the stormy seas quiet, and there is a serenity of purpose between us. From la bise as a greeting earlier, just a kiss for a friend, it rages as a rising passion. At last, the desire makes you whimper. A smudge to your lipstick, the craven tip of your tongue, and you emerge from that demure innocence as the creature I desire. You are panting, and your top lip might fray if you do that too much.

Your lips still pout, and your eyes are closed as we break. I place you on the steel-framed chaise longue, and I see a hitch in your breathing. Layer upon layer is stripped away; this is who you are. The heave of each breath reveals the excitement in your eyes as a black ribbon crisscrosses your wrist.

The delicate lace and pendant are in my hand, a token of your ownership. Slid under your neck and fastened by confident hands is a soft leather collar with its chromed steel buckle. The clip snaps shut, and the bright steel is cool in my hand.

There is no disinterest or a faraway gaze through those that admire now. Those bright eyes are full of hope as I open your legs wide. I suffered the patience; now you must, too. You understand as my eyes convey unspoken words, and the tilt of my jawline delivers their sentiment. Knowledge is power; my provocative touch, lips, and the rasp of my wet tongue will embody that.

Then, the coup-de-grace arrives. Jet black, I place it over your eyes as curtains for the windows of your soul.

It will sharpen your senses for what is to come.

Though the hills and vales of your curves, from the profile of your hips, through to the arcs of your breasts. They are proud as full mounds of springy flesh, I linger in circles on your crunched nipples. Yes, bite your lower lip, and be silent. You will cry out soon enough and beg us for release.

Aveline, you hear my heels against the floor. A slow pitter-patter like soft raindrops as I appraise you as a living sculpture. You will feel the weight of the leash around your neck in the slack I provide. I cast my eyes on my husband, and when I receive that urbane smile, I swell with love for him. It is written in my heart; you will feel it in your body.

You will ride him at your most abandoned.

As you hunt for breath, you writhe with the undulations of your need. Slow as a countdown to the inevitable, you are a prisoner now. My caress worships every curve, each as smooth as timeworn marble. Hostage to the memories of our past, hungry for the promise of what is to come. You hear every second of all my pent-up emotions. You understand my designs for you in every beat of your rapid heart.

My delicate fingertips are the soft brushes, your body is the canvas, and this will be art.

Those flimsy satin panties will be removed soon enough, and I notice the gusset is darker than the rest.

You cry out and beg; you are betrayed.

And you are mine, Aveline.