The House of Lesslie

I loved the way it felt in my hands.

"Thank you, darling," I said quietly. And took my first sip of the day. It was pungent, both in taste and odor. James had been right. It was truly a full flavor that was passing my lips and expanded onto my tongue, 22 years old and tasting like it, too.

The second sip was stronger, longer and filled my mouth completely.

Then, licking my lips, I took a drag off my cigar and let the different tastes battle it out inside me, feeling wonderfully at peace, with my fate and myself. I rubbed my gloved hands between her cunt lips and licked some of the filthier droplets from my fingers. She didn't move. She waited. For my approval.

I gave it to her.

"It has one of the best tastes I have ever had the pleasure to sample, my dear," I said. "You should be proud of yourself. As I am proud of you."

"Thank you, Mistress," she whispered, her pride coming through in a slight, shy smile and her blue watery eyes shining a bit more brightly. "I am pleased to have pleased you."

"As you should be."

I took a longer swallow of her delightful piss. The full flavor, already there in my first samplings, now had grown to almost a perfect combination of golden delights, but backed by the unmistakable taste of female lust.

"What is your name?" I asked her.

"Caroline, my Mistress."

"Caroline?" I echoed. "Well, Caroline. I am Tara. You will address me as Mistress Tara. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes, Mistress."

There was no defiance in her eyes. Just pleasure. Acceptance. And lust. I was pleased to see that. And wondered how far she would go to please me. I was home. Finally. I would live up to its legacy.
And I drank to that.