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Sernova's Summer Retreat

Seranova

Seranova

Literotica Guru
Joined
Oct 9, 2011
Posts
1,115
Welcome to my home. It is called the Summer Retreat; not for a season of the year, but rather for the fact that no matter the weather anywhere else, the climate in and surrounding my home is perpetually warm and inviting. Leave your worries and your cares behind, and enjoy a refreshing summer rain, or bathe in the glow of the loving summer sun if you like. Outside the home is a lounging area, a roped ledge for enjoying the view of the water, and a path leading down for swimming, clothing being optional for such. Located in front of the main entrance is a sculpture; a gift from a dear friend kept in pristine condition by the grounds staff.


Once inside, the foyer stands ready to greet and offer choices for the guest as to their destination. The first floor is a fairly straightforward layout, open and expansive. It features a kitchen, dining area, and large living room to accommodate many guests and their needs. Wait staff is on hand to serve every whim. Please treat them with kindness and respect, as they are not slaves, but hired hands.


The second floor is designated as the living quarters, and features four bedrooms, one of which being the master bedroom. All hold a similar style and feel, though each unique in their own way, as it seems to cater to the occupants subtle desires. All but the master bedroom are free to use, and will be cleaned after each visit by the duteous staff on hand. The same applies to the bathroom, which unlike the simple ones on the first floor, offers far more to guests and owner alike.


The third floor is smaller, and features only one room, designed to cater to the darker side of sexual desires. Here is the place where a myriad of kinks can be played to the heart's content. The room has only the look that the occupants desire, as items and decor shift on their own depending upon whoever inhabits said room. When you enter this room, feel free to describe exactly what you see.

The Summer Retreat is open to one and all, though it will also naturally serve as a holding for all of my personal belongings. I ask that you respect the wishes of any and all inhabiting this property, and each has the right to be respected in return. It is a haven and safe zone, where you should leave your cares and drama behind. Anything that happens outside of my property stays outside of my property, as well as anything that happens within, stays within.

And lastly, enjoy your stay, one and all.
 
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Here is a little bit about Seranova...

I have been on Lit before, under a different name, a different personality. I have decided a fresh start was for the best, after a many month hiatus. My former name will always hold a place in my heart, as will all the friends it gathered, and maybe will make a return of its own some day. But for now, this is me.

In writing and in life, my signature says it all about how I feel about sex. It is a truly wonderful and quite fun endeavor, but there has to be more substance to stories, just the same as relationships. That being said, I fully enjoy everything from dark non-consent, full practiced lifestyle settings, or training new slaves, to the romantic chance encounters, lovers kindling passions, and everything in between. What truly matters is that the story is strong, and the sex is used to enhance, not detract.

I take my writing seriously, and put forth effort for my posts. I don't expect always epically long replies from those that simply don't write that way, all I ask is to treat our stories (and me) with the same respect I put forth. If you are most comfortable and at your best with a few short paragraphs, I won't judge, and will do my best to enjoy the thread as much as any other. The story and effort are what are truly most important.

I have a real life that gets in the way of writing. I strive to have a reply to each thread within two days tops, depending on how many active threads I have going, but I have been known to take as long as a week when life becomes increasingly more pushy and stressful. If you are considering dropping a thread because my schedule can no longer hold your interest, please PM me to let me know. Hopefully we can work something out, but I understand that some people desire faster replies and a more quickly moving story.

As far as my kinks and limits go, that is something that you will have to ask me in private. I enjoy most things, especially catering to most of my partners desires. As one note, however, I simply cannot write a submissive role, nor can I write as a female. Submissive is simply too far from my personality, and females are simply too complex for me to give them justice. My preferred role is that of a man in his mid 20s to 30s (or the human equivalent) of various body types. I usually don't write ridiculous body parts, or overt super powers, unless needed by the story.

And that is just a small bit of information about me. Hope you have enjoyed. Feel free to stop by my retreat any time, or contact me via PM if you would like to request a thread or leave a note about one of my current stories.

-Seranova
 
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*sweat beads upon her brow as she pulls the large cart behind her, the large object within covered by a white sheet. By the time she finally makes it to the large doors, she is heaving for breath; hunched over as she gulps in the air. Making a mental note to find smaller gifts, she leaves the gift at the front door for the owner to find.

Peaking under the sheet she smiles. Art was subjective to personalities. She knew well that not all enjoyed such pieces. But it was her style; sensual and elegant. Even if he hated it, at the very least it would fit his decor somewhere. She had planned the timing well. She knew she could make an easy escape before he woke. She wasn't ready to visit, but she did want leave a home-warming gift.

Then with a brisk step, she makes her way back to her own online home.*
 
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He returned late, to find the gift awaiting his arrival. When the house staff described the woman who'd dropped it off, he chuckled softly and shook his head in pleasant surprise. That girl did too much.

"Put it on display in front of the path, where it belongs. And make sure to add polishing to the daily list of duties. Thank you."

He retreated into his home with a mental note to make sure and return the favor of the lovely Shy. It would have to be something nice and appropriate. He would figure it out soon enough, and surprise her with it when he found the opportunity.
 
A wolfling comes calling bearing a small picture for use. This is how she sees his character that he writes for her...so she figures...maybe an av...Tis the proper size even. She leaves it for him, with a smile...and scampers off.
 
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He smoothly descended the stairs of his home, his bare feet padding nearly silently along the hardwood steps. A hand trailed the wooden guide-railing idly as he neared the bottom, and upon his arrival, slipped away. Soft-textured black pants with a tie at the waist was the only attire he sported at the moment, as he had sent the house staff home for the evening already. It was simply himself and his quiet, peaceful home.

A silent walk passed, and he arrived at his favorite chair, plush and comfortable, and casually sat to cross his legs. From the table beside it, he picked up a leather-bound book and began to read. There was a chance of a visitor this evening, and he was going to wait to see whether or not she showed. His home was ready. He was ready. Was she?

Otherwise, the book would hold his attention well enough.
 
To show or not, THAT is the question. The answer is obvious. Of course, she will show. Will she be nude? More than likely. Each step, from her Haven to his Retreat, is thought upon. Each breath, from her Home to his, is counted. Is she scared? No. She knows and trusts him. This is something built over time. This is only a step toward something they have both thought upon, at various stages. This is only an ending...and a slight beginning.

She sees the statue. Beautiful. Wanton. Here? Yes, here. Jeans are slipped off, so are panties. Black shirt and bra are removed. She kicks off her flip flops. There. Naked as a jay bird. No adornment other than the silver nipple ring~a large hoop and the silver nose ring~ a rather smaller hoop.

She hesitates. Thinks about it. Folds her clothes neatly...and then moves, toward the entrance. Once there, she knocks, just once, upon the door.
 
A knock. A simple, short sound.

He replaces his bookmark in the leather-bound tome and stands with a contented sigh. As his bare feet carry him towards the entrance to his home, a knowing smile begins to grow upon his lips. He would be sure to care for his honored guest properly.

A hand grips the door's brass latch and twists slowly. As the door opens, he stands in its place, his eyes starting from the feet of the nude figure before him and working their way up. A gradual, appreciative climb up soft, powerful legs. Delicious hips and waist were next, and then up stomach, full luscious breasts. Higher still, his gaze came to the graceful neck, and finally the captivating face with eyes so fascinating. All the while, his eyes betrayed his hunger, his desire. But all that fell from his lips was a sly grin and soft, simple words, once he had completed his visual assessment.

"Hello, Wolf. Welcome to my home."

With that, he steps back and gestures with an arm for her to enter. Once past the threshold, there was no turning back. She would know this, if he was an accurate judge by now.
 
The door is opened and I am facing him. He towers over me, but I knew he would. His frame is slender, defined, masculine without being overpowering. His voice is sweet, sweet...with an edge of something other. I KNOW what that other is. I do not care.

He states only what is needful. Giving me an out, if I want it. I do. I don't. And it doesn't matter because I am here. I step over the threshold, my eyes dropping to his toes, the floor beneath bare feet. Pretty floor. Masculine feet. I think for a moment that this is way earlier than my birthday...but it doesn't matter.

"I am here, Sirrah."

Voice husky, quiet.Trembling. Fight or flight? Neither. I am here. Holding my pile of clothing up, so that he may see them. A simple question. He will know what I mean.

"Where shall I?"
 
A simple smile is all that is offered in reply to her entrance, and then a nod at her greeting and following question. No further words were needed or desired yet. He places his hands on either side of the pile of clothes, then leads the way further into the house. The pile is deposited carefully on one of the end tables at the front of the living area, then a pause, as he thoughtfully stares at it for a moment. An idea occurs to him, and with a wicked smile, he acts upon it.

A single finger settles into the small stack and hooks around an item. It withdraws a second later, the pair of panties dangling from its upward curve. His eyes flash to her with a knowing wink, and the undergarment is set aside. She would not be leaving this place with that particular item.

Satisfied, he turns to face her, and closes the distance between them slowly. His feet move in measured steps, only the slightest audible evidence of skin on finished wood reaching their ears. His hands hang loosely at his sides, not making a move to touch her in any way. Yet. There was plenty of time for that. Circling, he knows his presence is enough for now, the close proximity of their bodies would provide a level of something intangible. This was all a part of the game.

Hunter and hunter. Dangerous if there was no trust. Beautiful with.
 
And so, he has claimed the first prize. Panties. Not sexy. Rather girly. Winnie the Pooh hipsters. A smile as I see them dangling from his fingertip. But my eyes never really raise towards his. They won't. Not until he says.

Tension coils in the pit of my belly. Tempered by desire, held in check by trust. A simple word, yet without it, nothing else is possible. I feel his heat. There is no touching, not yet, not even close. I can still feel his heat. It rises, encircles me, soothes and stresses, all at once.

A maso, a bottom. rare. Very rare. Yet, I stand here~circled by an animal, a man. And I feel quiet, within my heart. At peace. There is nothing he requires. Not yet. Just my silence. My acquiescence. He has it. He knows it. That is enough.

The movement. Slight. Quiet. It is a stalking. A chasing. I feel as if I am prey. Unusual that. Not with him, though. It is a feeling I am quite used to. Still, there is nothing else for me to do. I only have to stand there and be stalked, be hunted. I can do that.
 
There is still no touching.

Even when he reaches the front of her again, and his fingers rise slowly, he doesn't make contact with her flesh. Even when thumb and forefinger grasp the silver ring hanging from pierced nipple, he is careful not to graze skin.

He takes a step backwards, his grip locked on the small ring. She would follow, as she wouldn't have much choice. It was either follow or have him continue to walk away with her ring in his hand. The latter option didn't much seem like a viable one to him. And so, he takes another step back. His eyes stare hungrily at her form, drifting up from body to face, then back down. He notes that she hasn't yet met his gaze since entering, and he knows exactly why.

A Top through and through, her bottoming is a gift. A gift he holds most dear. But he knows why, and he knows just what to do with it. Before the end, if he did his job well enough, she would be loving and hating every moment spent with him, with every fiber of his being. Hopefully more loving, than hating.

This thought brings a smirk to his lips.

His steps backwards take him further into the living room. Maybe there would come a point when the third floor was needed, but not yet. For now, he settles into his favored chair, and pulls the hand with nipple ring in tow downwards in front of him.
 
Ah, sweet. A shiver of pleasure/panic/pain. Fingers grasping, tugging, leading. And what can I do but follow? He will not release the ring. He will not stop walking away. It is either follow or lose the ring. I follow.

Still no words. Still no actual contact. I want to look around, but I do not. One step. Another. Until he reaches a chair. Until he tugs. until I fall, gracefully, at his feet. Kneeling.

There is a proper way to kneel. Only a Top, a Dominant, would know what to expect. Only a submissive who loves her Dominant with a whole heart could imbue her submission with something more than I can give as a bottom. It is not natural. Not for me. It is unusual. But I remember my lessons and kneel, with hardly a hitch.

Back straight. Shoulders up. Hands resting palm down on the long muscles of my thighs. Ass resting on the backs of my heels. Head up, eyes down. It is a beautiful position. Hard to maintain without practice. I don't practice. This position doesn't feel natural, but it doesn't feel odd either, not for him. Not with him.

I wonder how long I can hold this before my knees give me hell.
 
The kneel was beautiful, and his appreciative smile conveyed as much.

But he doesn't desire a perfect kneel, or a perfect submission. All he desires at this moment is her. And he has a plan for that.

The first touch of flesh comes when the back of his finger grazes her cheek. A simple gesture, and one that he figures she was expecting. Or at least close. He had warned her. He is going to ignore her wants, and target what he feels her needs are. She needs a great deal many things, but the first is what he is immediately concerned with. The rest will follow suit.

The finger curls under and makes a motion to lift her already raised chin. It was more a sign to lift her eyes than anything else. He leans forward next and places lips gently upon hers, before pulling away only a small breadth.

"My Wolf..."

The ring from her nipple is released, and a single short nail travels up the curve of breast, past the hollow at the base of neck, and up delicate throat, before retreating. All the while, his smile is a mixture of knowing and a bit of wickedness.
 
He is doing this on purpose. I know it. I feel it. Teasing. Testing. Drawing out. Soft touches. Fuck.

Fingers on my chin. That means.."LOOK at ME..." so I do. First contact. His eyes~steady, glinting, sweet, wicked. Then the kiss. Soft. Gentle. I think I want to scream. There is no thinking to it. I want to scream. But, the best lesson, when it comes to behaving like a bottom, is the first lesson. You take what you are given...whatever you are given. Because the Top is there to provide you with what you NEED, even if it isn't what you want.

Even so, two words, set me to trembling. I can hear the echo of it in my ears. I don't think I can breathe. There isn't enough air. And then he smiles...and I know that I am in for it. Not what I want, but what he knows I need.

I can not answer those words.

Another lesson. You give silence when you do not know if speaking is wanted. You give silence when you do not know what the rules are. You give silence until someone explains what they are willing to give to you and what you are expected to give in return. Then and only then do you speak.

But my eyes are eloquent. Light brown, glistening, questioning. He gets me... and so he will explain this to me. He will tell me what I am supposed to do.
 
His head tilts slightly to the side as he watches her carefully. Nothing was done without careful consideration, careful planning, or a knowledge of his prey for the evening. Nothing. And he feels that she knows this. He is letting her stew, pushing a different side of her desire and trust than the sexual one. Soft touches, he knows, drive her to the brink of so many emotions. Would those emotions win out her desires?

Finally, a hand slides slowly past her face, and slowly, but firmly, wraps in her short hair. The fist closes tightly, and he guides her head closer to rest against his thigh. Calculated actions, unknown results.

The game.

His hand remains locked in hair, and he watches for reactions carefully. He knows that he should give her something, some clue as to what he expects or desires, but how will he word it? What will provide the most effect?

Finally, he settles on a simple phrase, one that he hopes conveys his intent clearly.

"Get comfortable, my Wolf. We're not in a hurry tonight. You can move as you like."

Move, of course, is a relative term, as his grip remains steady in her hair. Her head, at least, would not be going anywhere without a fight. He rather enjoys the delicious idea of what might be going through her head upon such an action and proximity. Even if she could move freely, he would still be in control.
 
Hand in my curls and my breath eases out, in puffs. That same hand guides me closer, pressing my head to his thigh. I can't really escape. Though he says I can. He lies. Or even better, he doesn't lie, because he knows that I don't want to move. I want to be where I am~my head pressed to his leg. My breath trapped.

He is telling me that I can speak, that I can be myself...or the self that he knows. He is telling me that nothing will go on that I am not ready for. He is lying. I am never ready for this. It is a game. I am the prey.

My voice is soft, but not hesitant. He wouldn't buy it. I wouldn't either. I may be a bottom at this moment, for him. But I am NOT a bottom. I am a Top, just not right now.
A grin.

"Ah, Sirrah. Telling a Wolf she can move when that is a physical impossibility is a mean thing to do."
 
"Is it? Hmmm..."

His words might say one thing, but his tone and the smirk touching his lips speak far more volumes. He is fully aware of what his offer had implied, just as he was fully aware it wasn't simply well-placed grip that kept her in place. They both know better than that, convenient excuse as it may be. There is more. But, when in doubt...

The hand tightens its hold on hair while the other slides down her upturned cheek, past jaw, pauses to carress throat momentarily, then slips even further past collarbone to grasp full breast below. His breathing is even, his motions slow and deliberate. It was the little things that made so much difference.

Fingers kneed and prod at flesh, thumb idly grazing the nub at peak. His next words come with a raised brow and a slight hint of sadistic teasing.

"And what of promising a Wolf sharp gifts? Is that mean, as well?"
 
Silence.

I can't give him a word right now. Not when his hand is drifting, downward, over soft flesh. Barely there. Like fog. His words are soft, measured. The words are hints. I wish I could figure out his plan of attack. But I know him, almost as well as I know myself, and if he has a plan? He won't share it with me until after the fact.

He's an ass. A Sadist. A Dominant. My friend. Who is trying to drive me completely out of my mind.

His next statement is a tease...and blood thrums in my cheeks, heating them.

"No, sharp, pretty, pointy gifts are always appreciated, as you well know, Sirrah."
 
Only the slightest hint of a laugh escapes him in the form of brief noise from his throat at her words. The fingers that had teased at her skin now lift back up in a calculated ascent back up their original path, then pause at cheek and pull away completely. The lock in her hair remains, as he shifts slightly and pulls open the drawer of the stand next to his favored chair. The device withdrawn by steady grip is a small, decorative knife, its blade barely four inches. He had planned this, obviously.

The metal catches the light from the closest lamp as it turns and descends towards her cheek. He is certain it will be cold when it finally makes contact.

"Sharp, pretty, pointy gifts like this, Wolfy?"

His teeth are barely exposed and the flat of the blade presses her cheek at the exact moment 'Wolfy' passes his lips. The game takes a turn in this moment, but to where? Will he inflict the delicate pain she craves? Or will he continue to tease her?

In either case, he knows that she will enjoy every moment of sweet surrender.
 
NOT fair. That is what I think. He is playing fast and loose with the rules. Whose rules? Mine. He knows it. He doesn't care. Or he does, but he won't let that stop him from his evil little plan.

Fucker!

The touch of cool steel against a warm cheek. Not the point, but the flat of the blade, laid against soft skin like a blessing. Damn the man. He is awful. I wish I could bite him. Goddess knows, I want to. But his hand stays locked in my curls as the other hand places the blade on my flesh with the delicacy of satin or silk.

"Yes, like that..."

Laughter in the words. Not expressed but I know he hears it. Pleasure there as well. It is a serious game, with serious consequences. How long will we play this way before seriousness intervenes? How long can he keep the tease? how long can I take it before I forget that I do not lay myself down, unless I am forced into it.

There is no force here, no coercion. There is simply a man...who knows this woman...and they are playing a game, that requires concentration. Yet, cool steel on warm flesh...is not fair. He knows it. I know it.

Not fair at all.

"You are an awful tease, Sirrah....and a very bad man..."
 
This time the laughter is a real, even if marked by the undertones of sadistic glee and evil intent. He knows full well that he is playing with fire, but he also knows that this fire is in the shape of a woman who can and most likely will respond so well to his games. After all, the blade was always so much fun for them both. He has been considering getting one specifically for her. Luna's Blade. Well, not hers, so much as for her. To be used on no one else. He already has the desired blade in mind. Something with a curve, a near crescent in design. After all, the Wolf has her name chosen for a reason...

He leans down and his teeth drag along the soft flesh just beneath her ear, then lift slightly so that she can feel his warm, moist breath directly on her lobe as he whispers with a wicked tone.

"I am a bad man. But isn't that why you're here?"

Even though the words had been spoken already, his face does not retreat. The knife poised in his hand is guided flatly down her cheek, then slips away. There comes several long moments of nothing as his fingers readjust in her hair, and his breath falls free on her skin from not even an inch away.

What happens next happens quickly. A finger shifts to the end of the blade, sitting just at the back of the point to act as a guard so that metal cannot possibly go deep, and rapid flicks of his wrist punctuate each word that follows. He can feel skin grazing the tip of his finger with each flick, so he knows that contact has been made, but no real damage would or could be caused. He would sooner harm himself than her.

"A. Very. Bad. Man. My. Wolf..."

And then, with the blade pulled back, he takes a small lick up the trace of her ear.
 
Breath against my skin, beneath my ear. It is odd, to know that this man is capable of gentleness, when he chooses. A true Sadist, indeed. Softness when pain is wanted, pain when a gentle touch is wanted. Never what a girl says she wants, only what a girl really needs. That is his way. I knew it before I came. I knew when he left. I knew it when he returned.

I should have held off.

A slow, in drawn breath as he removes the steel from flesh. A hiss of sound as he underlines the truth of our involvement. I am here because he is strong. I am here because he gets it and will never, ever back down from me.

I am here BECAUSE he is a very bad man.

"Yes...that's why..."

The knife blade retreats. Long moments of nothing. Nothing. Nothing. And then. Sweet, sharp, pain. High and tight, like a flute. He uses the point to underscore his words...but all that truly sticks is the bright flash of sharpness...and the words~ My Wolf..

I would like to deny the truth of that statement, but is a difficult proposition. After all, I came to him. he didn't have to hunt me down. if that doesn't equal HIS, at least for right now? Nothing does.

A hiss.

"Yesss..."
 
A strong hand guides her further along his thigh, closer to the gradually growing need located at the apex. The soft, thin pants are no good at hiding that much, and even he wonders if they were chosen purposefully on some level of his subconscious for that very reason. It was worth exploring later.

His face lifts from her ear since he could no longer bend far enough at such an angle to reach. Given her close proximity, he knows she will feel the heat, maybe even smell desire. He is hoping to ignite hers ever further, of course. But his hand releases her hair slowly as soon as he has her in position. It was up to her to stay. When the fingers loosened their grip, they slid sensually down her bare back, nails only making contact with skin on their return trip back up. The other hand, with knife well controlled, dropped the sharp edge to gradually drag a few inches along the back of her neck now. The pressure was there, but only barely, as he imagined the top microscopic layers of skin being flayed apart like a rose spreading its petals. No blood is drawn this time.

Meanwhile, desire grows, and what had been a slow inflation of organ now presses tightly against the thin material that covers it.
 
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