Free The Bridge by Allistar Parker

Chapter One
     
     
    So many years ago I had a love, a true
passion embodied in the skin of a man, for which I credited God
with the creation of a perfect Adonis. Strong of arms and sculpted
along his flank so that the bronze flesh rippled with each flex of
his arms. His body was my golden idol and I was his perfect slave.
I could no more leave his side than I could leave my own body.
    On the evenings, by the fire, we shared
longing looks over a glass of wine, naked and blissfully aware of
each other’s sexual nature. He loved the way I swirled my tongue
across his, leaving only a faint hint of Sauterne trailing across
his taste buds. The feel of his hands lightly caressing my
shoulders drew me closer to him, so close I could feel the rigid
hardness of his dick pressing against my groin. The pile in the
carpet tickled my back as he rolled over, never pulling his
magnificent dick from my pussy.
    The subtle way he would kiss my lips and the
forceful way he handled my body was more than any woman on earth
could ask for. He was a master at manipulating me to the point I
could hardly breathe. Fingers rolling across the small of my back
kept the electric tension rippling up and down my spine. His slow,
methodical strokes with his engorged dick drove me wild until there
was nothing left to do but moan in sexual lust.
    The house always smelled of him. In the
mornings, he smelled of fresh soap and musky aftershave with the
hint of menthol shaving cream hanging just behind his ear. I could
barely keep my attention on the frying eggs and as I poured coffee
just for him. I loved the ritual of wiping an errant dab of shaving
cream from his face with the dish towel.
    He slurped coffee as he read the paper, first
the sports page and then the headlines. There were mornings when a
curse word flowed from his mouth over some poor stock performance
or a football team’s loss. He loved to smile wide at his ability to
choose overnight winners and avoid last minute disasters by selling
just before the stocks dropped or the odds ran long on the
team.
    His office coat smelled of menthol cigarettes
and stale mothballs. The mustard yellow coat had served him well
through the years in real estate. Though tattered with worn
sleeves, Corbin wore the jacket with pride. I loved the way he felt
as I hugged him goodbye each morning.
    The house was my trusted place, the place my
God left me alone for hours, knowing I would be good. I would
never, for instance, leave without getting permission. I wouldn’t
touch myself. I wouldn’t eat anything. I would be good.
    For those hours of obedience, I was rewarded
handsomely; good food for the table, relaxing evening at home, and
being treated as the valued concubine he had created. I don’t know
how he knew what I needed, but the way he shaped me was a stroke of
genius.
    We all are weak, though. We succumb to our
own vices from time to time. He often left me with reminders of my
small transgressions; a small hole through the nipple filled with a
gold ring for playing with my tits, or a stray slap upon my ass for
eating without permission. “You’ll get fatter,” he would say with
each stroke of the wooden coat hanger.
    The whole of my existence had become useful
in a more satisfying way. I found my life unfolding around me; my
reason for life was clear, my heart was filled with joy, and I had
no needs that were not being met by my love. I was placed on earth
to please him. His needs were mine to fulfill. From the simple
pleasure of sucking his dick until his mouth moaned and his hips
buckled under the strain of an orgasm, to making him breakfast in
the morning, I was completing my tasks with a purpose. In these
pleasures, I find my pleasure waiting behind each task I complete.
He completed me as the one that gave me what I needed and in return
allowed me to find my world in his control.
    He loved to have my body just on the brink of
too much exposure. More often than not, he allowed me to fall
asleep before I