The Female Dom

”Can love be orchestrated? ”, the young woman mused. She set off one sparkling eye with careful lines of darkest black. The mirror reflected a pale face. The black shining hair was slicked back to reveal a porcelain brow.

She pouted. The mirrors vanity lights gleamed on dark, wet lipstick. A chuckling giggle escaped her throat. ”Oh yes, it can ”, she whispered. ”I proved it. Didn I? ”

She rose from her chair. Her body passed through the mirrors frame. Her white throat followed her face. Then came the pale flesh of her chest. Her breasts lay almost exposed on a balcony of finest black leather. Her tightly laced waist and flaring hips came next. They were followed by a shock of pale skin. Her bare thighs contrasted with the straps of her garters and the sheer black tops of her stockings. A tight silk triangle hugged her crotch at the centre.

Love was an emotion she had often pondered. But she had never really understood. It was an emotion she had read about and had studied around her. She knew there were myriads of people who claimed to love or have loved. Girls had told her how love changed their lives. Men assured her they were head over heels in love with her. Women swooned when she only gazed in their eyes. She watched them mist over.

But she never understood what they meant. And certainly she had never experienced it herself.

She knew why that was. How it had come about. And she knew she should regret it. But how does one regret the lack of a feeling that one never felt? Should the blind regret their lack of vision? Or should they revel in the heightening of their other senses? The intensity of taste and touch, of smell and sound?

So many other feelings had taken its place. So many emotions had substituted this fabled thing called love. They were emotions that made her head spin. They made her heart race and her vagina drip with aroused heat. ”Lust ”, people said, ” it is only lust ”. But how wrong they were with that simple word ”only ”.

Her lust was a many faceted diamond at the centre of her existence. It was a shining jewel, so dark one moment, so brilliant the next. Lust was a deceivingly simple word for a never exhausting well of inspiration. It was an oasis of the lushest green. Lust lured many aching hearts her way. Through dry deserts of bitter loneliness they crawled. They stretched