cherise and I: fiction, part 1

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Note that this is a work-in-progress, as yet unfinished.

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Cherise and I stand side by side, each of us naked.

Master’s lips are set in a thin line, the closest he ever gets to a smile. But he likes what he sees. He likes that we are both tall and the exact same height, five-nine. He likes that we have similar body shapes. He especially likes that we each have large, full breasts.

He likes symmetry. And large, full breasts.

He also likes our differences: I have fair, vanilla skin with red hair. Cherise has beautiful chocolate skin and long, rich black hair. Master likes that we are uncommon, unusual. And he likes that, in our uniqueness, we go together like salt and pepper shakers.

He has us each wearing a waist chain, a slave collar, and five-inch stilettos. Cherise’s collar and heels are a cream white; mine a chocolate brown. Master is a designer, of sorts, and he decorates us like rooms adorned with furniture. Like throw pillows contrasting with the color of a sofa, he likes seeing the color of cream against her black skin and the splash of milk chocolate against my milky skin.

We are joined together. My arm is wrapped around Cherise’s waist in back and my wrist is shackled on her right side to her waist chain. Likewise, her arm graces my lower back and is shackled to my waist chain on my left side.

This serves Master’s fantasy for twins, one black one white, alike but different, and better yet, conjoined at the hip. But there’s also a purpose to his madness.

Cherise and I each wear a waist tray. Each is eye-hooked to our waist chain in front, then held horizontal by cords hooked to the front corners of the tray. The cords are slightly elastic. Their other ends are attached to our bodies — to piercings in our nipples — providing a suspension system for the trays.

Master looks at us with his mouth formed into its thin line of pleasure. He likes.

Cherise and I will be serving drinks to guests at the party this evening.