Love of Curves

Mister K runs his hands over my back, along my hips, up through the valley between my thighs, over my slightly softened stomach. Years of child-rearing and lifestyle choices visible in the slight swell and dip of each body part. His hands spread over my stomach. The stretch marks vibrant against the tan that I’ve worked so hard to achieve. The almost transparent skin that blankets me proof of my Irish ancestry.

He pauses at each hill and valley to stroke, plump and pluck. His skilled fingers bringing a pink glow to each peak. My nipples become alert, aching for another touch. A slight moan escapes me, my body trembles under his titillation. His wandering hands continue in their exploration, brushing up and down, not missing an open space. I watch Mister K’s hands in the mirror and watch as our reflections display his admiration and unmask my arousal.

As he momentarily ensures a light touch to each part, his eyes join in the inspection, roaming over my face, the arch of a shoulder, the swell of a breast. At this moment, in his eyes, I feel the way he sees me. Maybe not perfect in every way, but perfect for him. Here I am whole. Here I am at ease.

My arms are pulled behind me, fastened with a length of rope. My breasts jut out to greet him eagerly, appearing to beg for just another touch. His hands progress farther south, his fingers slipping between my thighs, rubbing gently across my vulva. A shiver escapes me as I bite my lip to stifle another moan. Mister K smiles slightly as he spreads my legs farther apart. “Not yet, greedy girl.”

As Mister K continues in his revelry, I watch as he explores each part of me. I find myself feeling vulnerable in his examination. My imperfections becoming almost too much to bear, but for him, I’d bare myself a million times over.

Lifting my chin, Mister k has me look directly into the mirror. “Do you see this, little girl? Do you see the beauty you possess? Do you know you’re a goddess?” Do you see this curve?”, he asks while running the back of his fingers over my waist, along the line of my hip. His other hand palms my breasts, lifting and feeling the weight of each. “I love your curves. They’re made to fit in my hands. And you are mine.”

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