Quote:
More words:
Me, on my knees, your growing rod in front of my mouth, as you say,
“Thank me.” I do, with your hands in my hair, gripping my head,
directing my mouth, my tongue, my whole body…
“I want to feel those long legs around me,” as you enter me…oh
how good that felt…
“Ah, there’s the look I wanted to see,” after God knows how many
orgasms, as I laid back in the bed, grinning…
“Take a deep breath,” as you pinched my nose, sliding your cock
deep into my mouth and holding it there, holding me there, then doing it
over and over…
“It’s okay if you don’t say Milord every time.” I had been
forgetting sometimes and knew as soon as I did. You read my face, my
disappointment in myself and my submission.
“How many times have you come?” That question froze me, my mind
raced as I wondered, “Crap, was I supposed to count?” “I don’t
know, a lot”, I replied and you smiled and said “Good.”
The clamps:
Oh, yes, the clamps. A chain of them. In your hands. I couldn’t
even look. I was too mortified by my own inexperience. A clamp on each
nipple, one down below, right below my clit, I fought to hold position
and completely stopped breathing. “Breathe,” you said, while you
fondled the chain, pulling just slightly. The lower clamp really hurt
– you knew that, didn’t you – yet I did not want to beg mercy and
disappoint you. When I said, “it burns,” you instructed me to take
a deep breath and you removed it, reaching out to catch me as I almost
collapsed to the floor. It felt like a long time, but really it was
only there for a few seconds. Once again, I felt like I had failed.
You were ready to move on though, and removed the nipple clamps,
replacing them with another pair tied together with a thin chain which you
placed in my mouth. “Hurt yourself,” you ordered, fondling me,
soothing me, making me wetter. With each wave of the building orgasm, my head
stretched higher, pulling the chain tighter, until I came.
The flogger:
On my breasts, my pussy, my ass – I regret that I couldn’t give
more. Then, when you showed me your new flogger – one you hadn’t even
used yet, with thick, braided strands – and told me you didn’t
know if it would leave marks or not, so better not use it – the utter
disappointment I felt must have shown on my face, because you gave me a
taste. Just a little, probably as gently as you’re able, and I loved
it and wanted more. There could be no “more”, though.
The crop:
You didn’t even use the crop. You just showed it to me, saying
“Maybe next time.” My knees went weak as I imagined what you could do
to my body with a crop, what intense sensations you could produce.
Your hand at my throat, fingers pressing under my ears as you explained
to me how the pressure worked, allowing me breath, yet stealing it at
the same time. “You like that, don’t you? You need to be
controlled completely,” you said softly. I came again.
As the afternoon wound down, you bundled me into the shower, telling me
I smelled like you. Your experience again showed, as you produced
unscented soap, recommending that I use it so no one would know. You
watched me bathe my skin, waiting patiently for me to realize that the
scene wasn’t over, that I still had things to do for you. While I
rinsed, you told me that if we ever saw each other again, you’d teach me
how to come at the sound of your voice saying the word “Come”, and in
fact, you thought I could do it right then. You were right.
“Come” you said, and I did, surprising myself. Not you though. You knew.
When I was done, I asked if you’d like me to bathe you. “Yes”,
you said – you’d been waiting. I bathed your feet, your calves
and thighs (you have really strong, muscular thighs, which I admire
greatly) your stomach, arms, back and ass. “You aren’t done yet,” you
informed me and when my brow furrowed, you reminded me that I needed
to wash your cock and balls. I thought I had, but obviously not well
enough. I kept that thought to myself.
We got dressed, talking about whether we’d have the opportunity to
see each other next year. Walking to my car, we both expressed our
enjoyment of the afternoon. As I climbed behind the wheel, you thanked me
for the day and reiterated how much you had enjoyed it. My inner
smart-ass decided to make an appearance as I replied, “Not me. Hated every
minute of it. It was awful.” And I shut my car door, laughing.
Driving away, the realization hit me. Even if we never saw each other
again, you owned a piece of my soul, forever.
