Loading...Yesterday. Oh for the Gods yesterday. The drive down there was so intense once again. My foot sensing my desire and anticipation easing its way towards the floor again and again. My mind struggling with these same desires forcing my foot to lift time and time again. Control is all at these times, and yet it is so hard to get a hold of when it is pure anticipation.
Seeing her come out the door, her head down as if acting demure, the natural posture of a slave walking towards her Master. Yet her ass and body sways as if in slow dance while she walks. Showing the sexuality and sensuality that she is so full of despite herself. Getting in the truck, feeling her in my arms. Tasting her mouth then her flesh. My nose assailed by the scent of her. She wears no perfume, fresh soap perhaps natural pheromones, intoxicating. Getting her settled down into her place next to me. My hands caressing, nipples hard already. She is soaking wet, massaging inner thighs in greeting my hand is quickly so wet. A wet spot forming beneath her almost as quickly as she sits down. Listening to her moan as I realize my hand has strengthened its intensity betraying me. Grabbing hold of myself firmly now.
Letting myself center for a moment. Sitting there next to her quietly, gathering myself. Relaxing and yet all the controls tightening. Allowing myself to slip into that comfortable place. I guess this is what is called Domspace. An area I have been intimate with for so long but kept hidden so well. I have really only become social in the last couple years or so therefore my vocabulary improves slowly.
Foreplay. I can put a large giggle with that word. The drive, stopping by Mac Donald’s for food I know we will not consume. A ritual of sorts I suppose. Off to a motel, a place that we are both comfortable. Away from family and normal responsibilities. Just us. These next hours to be so treasured during the following days. Sustenance to keep us whole until the next time.
Getting into the room seems such a chore. The distraction of having to deal with people, though I have gotten to know them it still seems like a violation of my senses. Parking adjacent the room the world starts to disappear. Getting stuff from behind seat of the truck. Ropes, straight dowels, a bag full of “toys,” the tools of the day. Most often they are unused, however better to be prepared as always. My coffee cup, cigarettes, the always present things that are me.
In the room. The world now quickly fades as we both take a moment. Coming into each others arms. A bit of fear noticeable in the air. It sheds as she sheds her clothes, trappings of “normality.” These fears always seem to depart with them for some reason. Touching, caressing. My hands are busy now reassuring myself that she is real, her presence is no longer a place in my mind, her scent a will-o’-the-wisp floating thru the air enticing me. Her breasts, firm beneath my hand. The soft swell of her tummy leading me lower, her wetness now trailing onto her thighs. Her slight moan as my fingers caress and tease between the lips of her cunt, the quivers that runs thru her. My left hand firmly taking her hair, bending her head back. Looking, licking, then biting into her throat. Feeling her body instantly convulse. A groan as she finally releases herself to me. The day has begun.
Watching as she settles my chair by the door, blocking entry from without. Sitting for her as she guides me. Feeling her hands upon me as she eases my shirt over my head. Watching her take pillows from the bed for her knees. She hates this weakness, her knees bother her and she wishes to be able to stay on them to be better able to serve me. On the edge of control with her as I almost always am now. Sitting there watching her at my feet. Stroking her hair, feeling her touch me. Every moment accentuated, every touch a sensory thrill. Slipping my shoes off. She giggles as she slips my socks from my feet commenting on our use of the same store. Helping her ease my jeans off. Watching as she carefully pulls the belt from the loops putting it close to hand then folds the jeans, putting them aside. Feeling her lay her head on my thigh, relaxing drawing comfort from her Master. Her eyes and then hands betray her. She cannot keep her eyes from my balls and cock. Slowly as she relaxes she loses herself her hands move up my inner thigh first caressing my balls and then my cock. A slow sensuous hello. Licking her lips with absentminded forgetfulness her desires so apparent.
If you have never had a woman that hungered for your cum you have missed one of the true wonders of the world. I do not at all mean just liked giving head. This is a far different topic. This one hungers. Her body and heart demands the taste of it in her mouth, slipping into her belly, filling her. There is always a competition within her. The desire to swallow all of me that she can get as well as of that to please me. More often then not her hunger wins out. To watch her and keep it in check is a joy, to unleash her is to thrill at her voraciousness. Either way your cock is going to receive satisfaction, often to a mind numbing extent.
Dom space No way I can keep myself from going kind of half berserk and yet always succeeding in not going over the edge . Desires running rampant. It is a sensory feast at times. Every sense afire, visual, auditory, scent, touch, each an overwhelming sensation mixed into a mélange that is the feast before me. Urges so strong so hard to resist. Such pleasant torture to resist them. So many little things, yet each so huge.
The burn in her breast still new and fresh, it peeled when she showered. Draws my eyes like a magnet. Torn looking first at her eyes, then her beauty, then my freshest mark. The smallest of bruises showing here and there on her breasts. Marks of intensity and passion from last time. Healed enough that we can feel free, present enough that she can still draw reassurance from them. Her position, the way her body is poised, her breasts hanging softly, her belly softly swelling. No small woman this one. This is the size I prefer. A canvas of a large size with which to display myself. Her eyes heavy lidded half smile on her lips. Anticipating as I am.
The smallest nuance held within a breath or gasp. The clear meanings of a scream. Each their own treasure. Worked for, earned. The slightest moan as my fingers caress the fine hair of her arms, the tangle that is her hair. The vocalized needs given at first on a voluntary basis then as the day progresses becomes more and more animal. Unbidden and uncontrollable by her. They are a means of measure. A gauge that betrays the truth beneath. Learning to read them as they are instead of as what you wish them to be is an art within itself. Slightest moans can be of anguish, the greatest screams of pleasure.
They feel of flesh underneath ones hands when real pressure is applied, the resilience of it. The heat of the flesh beneath my hands, the sound of your voice as the intensities rise. So much reaction. The feel of a nipple as it is pinched rolled and stretched. Different sensory inputs being applied with each direction of stretch is a study within itself. Watching her face so carefully, listening to each nuance with the moan of her voice. trying to sense just the right direction just the right pull. Snapping my hand back, feeling the nipple escape in sudden intensity, hearing the gasp of indrawn breath. Watching the rush as the intensity jumps several notches then eases quickly.
The sound of a belt, cutting air in its smallest movement, the sound of its impact on flesh. Each kind of flesh makes a different sound. The sound of a belt impacting the flesh of a breast is far different then the sound of a belt impacting an ass. The moan of pain/pleasure that accompanies each. Sensing the difference as the pain shifts steadily to pleasure. The variation in timbre within the moan is so apparent to me but I wonder if others are even aware of it. Slowing at the right spot in time, the belt on her ass landing more slowly , more caressing though with an even greater impact, running down over the crack of her ass now and again the tip of the belt bringing fire to cunt and asshole. The animal that is her bursting forth, such a strong desire to mate. At these times she cares not her body screams in passion. “Fuck me. Master I beg it.” She cares not with what or in what orifice as long as she can feel me within her.
Burning, marking is a true sensory feast. Though perhaps one of the most simple it is also perhaps the most emotionally complex to sense. Watching her light a cigarette for me, ceremony, religious in its own right. The mental preparation seems to go with it, by the time she hands it to me she is ready. The looks passing between, no words now, none needed. Cupping the breast in this instance. Holding it for a moment admiring it, examining it for the perfect spot though I have no idea what makes that spot perfect. Bringing the head of the cigarette down, pressing it down, knowing there will be a twitch, there always is till you lose yourself in it. As fast as the twitch appears it is gone and with it the hesitation. Marking it firmly eyes locked on the spot as you hold it here. Glancing upwards at her eyes now and again as time stretches. I cannot come near describing the peace that can be found in her eyes at these moments. I cannot stay locked on her eyes for fear that I will lose myself in them therefore losing control of the burn.
So much quietness in this act. So very little noise that one can actually hear with ones ears. But the emotions that are spoken scream thru the space between us speaking volumes that words cannot say.
Needles, blood play. Symbolic at the same time sensory as well. Her life blood. flowing from the penetration, the taste of her. The gift of her. Starting using the smallest of needles and for either of us it will not be enough. this one is deep and I will save it for another time.
And now the funny part, there was at best only a miniscule amount of these things this day. The intensity was such that the slightest touch was a challenge, the feel of her body taking me within her all encompassing. Such slow sensual making love. Taking several hours, softly touching the continual tasting on both our parts. Gods she tasted so good to me, filled me with a pleasure so hard to describe. The feel of her hands as she touches me challenging me to keep more and more control.
The orgasm. Usually a spasmodic jerky kind of thing was an upsurge that just seemed to flow out of me. It is like so few I have had before, such a rare treasure. Feeling like I was almost vacuumed out in it’s intensity.
It must be strange for all those who feel bdsm is all dark and dirty to read the above and find that at times the most intense of it is nothing more then normal vaginal sex.
The balance of the day is even more vanilla even more intense. WE SLEPT IN ONE ANOTHERS ARMS. How trite is that. And yet as the Master of my slave it is one of the most intense experiences we have to share together at times.