I see her. There beneath the tree. My gift from my best friend. Technically, she belongs to both of us, but her first Master is Joe, her husband. For the next week, though, she is mine. According to her tag, this is Joe's gift to me. One week alone with G. When I came home from work today she was beneath my tree all nicely tied up, nude beneath her silken cords, bells on her nipples, a jewel in her ass, a ribbon tied around her mouth as a gag, a tag on her collar. I smile at her as I read the tag. Then, I laugh a bit. Pleased with my gift. She can't speak, but her eyes follow my every movement and I can easily see the desire in them. The desire to please me, to be pleased herself.
I fix myself a stiff drink. Then, I turn on some music, very much aware that my Gift is watching my every move. For the moment, I just want to look at her, her beauty, and make plans. Her hands are tied in front of her with a simple knot. Her ankles also tied together with a length of about 3 feet between her feet. She can easily move or untie herself if she wants or needs to, but I know she will not move unless I give her permission.
I build up the fire in the fireplace so that it is nice and toasty in my living room. Then, I tell her to come to me. She turns a bit and rises to her knees. She crawls to me and sits back on her ankles, looking up at me.
Undress me.
She completes her task as gracefully as her bonds allow. I remove her ribbon gag and offer her a sip of my cocktail.
Welcome me home.
Sighing and giving me a quick smile, she kisses my cock, licks it, begins her worship. I gently pet her hair, running my fingers through it's red length. Her mouth is a haven of beauty and comfort. Hot. She sucks my rod deeply down her throat, cradles my sac with her bound hands. I tip my head back and just feel. Her warmth, her obedience, her thick hair. I look down and see her eyes looking up at me, lust making them bright as emeralds. My cock grows and my balls tighten. I explode, gifting her with my juice. Sweet as a kitten, she drinks the milk, lapping up each drop. I lower myself to the leather couch and she follows my movement, never letting her mouth leave my cock. She places her cheek on my lap, resting.
Yes. This is going to be a glorious week.
Happy Flag Day! This morning, Mr. Master told me that we would celebrate in an unusual way. My skin, you see, is quite white which makes sense since my hair is a brilliant red. Therefore, He needs to use very little force when spanking, lashing or caning for bright red stripes and welts to show clearly. He told me to bend over the spanking bench. He was going to give me 13 stripes to match our Flag and by the end I would be seeing "stars". He was right. By number 5 I was dancing from foot to foot and beginning to howl. Still, I managed to stay in place for all 13. I was sobbing, but it was worth it to see the look of pleasure on his face and to see my bottom reflecting the original colonies! I thought he was finished, but I was wrong. He handed me a beautifully wrapped box and told me that the red and white needed a blue. Happy Flag Day!
Rose stood before Him, waiting. Not only was today Inspection Day, but it is also St. Patrick's Day - His favorite holiday. He called her his Wild Irish Rose for good reason. She was indeed both Irish and Wild. Only a strong man could tame her, hence the need for a weekly inspection. Her muff must be trimmed neatly, but enough hair must be left to show her true genetics. Her body must be free of bruising unless previously reported - Rose was both clumsy and a bit on the wanton side. She must be wet. Always wet for Him. Her nipples perky and hard. Her anus empty and clean. Inspection day came only once a month and never on the same date. It was always a surprise to her. If she failed in any of her requirements, she would pay a penalty. Then again, she often enjoyed the penalty, so she would sometimes leave her pubic hair a bit frazzled, "forget" to do a cleanse. There wasn't much chance of her pussy not juicing since the very thought of Him made her puddle, nor was it likely that her nipples would not be perky for the very same reason. Just the thought of His mouth on them turned the pretty pink points into hardened pebbles. 
Rose hung her head and nodded. He sat on the edge of His chair and patted his lap. Silently, Rose assumed her position.
Speaking as a Ginger, I'd like to address some of these myths. Number 1. Gingers have a fiery temper. Sometimes true, but who doesn't. Treat us with respect, consideration and we will do anything for you. Our loyalty is as unfailing as our passion (again, I'm speaking for myself here). I bow my head before no one, even the One I love. Nonetheless, I will go on my knees before him. I will anoint his body with kisses. I will honor him as he wishes me to because not he has earned my respect by giving the same to me. I will bear no only my entire (and yes, I do mean ENTIRE) body for his use and pleasure, but I bare my soul to him as well.
Number 6: Gingers are unpredictable and dangerous. Aren't all women? Can you say hormones? I'm going through a "magical" time of life right now and I can't even predict what my moods will be, if I will be hot or cold, if I will laugh or cry. I freely admit this makes life quite challenging for my One, but again, patience and caring enough to see warning signs and to know me well enough to know what I need has played in his favor. A few nights ago I was crabby, unhappy, sad and angry at the world for no good reason. You know what he did? He ran a hot bath for me and lit pretty candles in the bathroom while I was pacing back and forth muttering about various unpleasantness. Then, he handed me a glass of my favorite wine and kissed me. He told me to go take a bath and relax. He expected nothing of me that night. He simply held me in his arms as I went to sleep. The next day - I couldn't have felt more loved and cared for. I made him a cake. See - not dangerous at all.
Number 7: Gingers are witches. Only if we want to be. Personally, I do. I love the basic tenet of Wiccan - DO HARM TO NONE. Seriously, who can argue that that isn't a good thing!! I admit, I don't always follow this belief, but I try to. I also have a deep and abiding respect for nature and try as much as possible to use natural, chemical free products. I think I'm rather a kitchen witch. I mutter little "spells" (which are really no more than prayers) as I cook. I want the food that I prepare for my friends and family to nourish them, but also to bring them joy in the flavor and texture. After all, eating is without doubt a very sensuous activity.
