Friday, 2 November 2018

Given

Femdom is this week's Kink of the Week, and although I rarely manage to co-ordinate my posts here with any of the sex-blogging memes, I couldn't possibly miss this one, could I? After all, this whole blog is woven about and around ''dominant female'' dynamics. So here is a little scene for all you kinky readers. 

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I'm watching him float in that grey space filled with blue glowing haze, that place I neither can or really want to go to, but that I love imagining. The place I love feeling vicariously reflected in my own mind and body. The place I love taking him to.

And to have him like that -- slutty and desperate and trembling in staggered breaths, pleading for something that he could just have but he's given me to control as I please -- to have him like this takes me somewhere too.



Balancing on the edge between the shimmering sea of my own lust and the sharp focus of power, a shiver of excitement that takes the sexual and transforms it into something beyond and above it, a heady high that nothing else compares to.

I can't take my eyes off him.

He's going ever deeper as he gets ever closer, losing his self there, his mind almost gone, his whole body given to the building up of pleasure.

All of his pleasure to be given to me.

I am suddenly shaken by a need to touch him; no, not just touch him, and not even hurt him this time, not to make my mark, not yet; now I want to fuck him, so much that it makes me moan and swear, though what's left of my reason tells me it wouldn't be ideal in the circumstances, so I let that thought go, aware that there will be time for that. 

I moan through my own racing breath, reach between my legs to cover my fingers in the slippery wetness, lean over, grab his hair at the back -- it's short, so I grab his right ear too -- pull him back, awkwardly, to the side of the headrest. His face is now close to mine, my right hand pushing his chin up as I cup it between my thumb and fingers, slide lower to his neck. I can feel that the pressure restricts his airflow a little, my palm steady on his constricting trachea. I can feel him doing his best to breathe under my hand and it makes my whole body tingle.

He's body is tensing, not knowing what's coming, almost ready to start fighting me, torn between the impending orgasm and the animal reaction to the threat my hand on his neck implies. I move my hand up, the thumb stays under the chin, the fingers up along his jaw and towards his mouth, grabbing.

I push them all in, not too deep, not to gag him but to be inside him, somehow, and this will have to do. It feels like I am fucking his mouth with my hand and he instinctively starts sucking my fingers in rhythm with my movements.

I can feel his arm moving against my chest as he is stroking faster, his body tensing and although he can hardly talk, he manages, "So close now M... please... may  I... ooooh... please..."

I pull his head further back, my fingers digging under his tongue, my thumb pressing harder, my face moving closer to his. "Open your eyes, J. Look at me."

He does, right there on that edge, the dark brown eyes fixated on mine and yet gone completely at the same time, waves of energy washing over me, the power and desire in a hot ball, glowing, pulsing.

I nod, slightly.

“Now, slut boy. For me. Come,” I say, barely managing to keep myself from shouting.

I feel his body buck, a deep groan spills out of his mouth over my fingers. His features twist and contort into that ecstatic expression that's so alike to the expression of pain.

I can't take my eyes of his face. 

His pleasure is resonating in me, flowing from him to me, given all, becoming mine.

I reach down, meeting his cum-covered fingers and cock, scooping as much as I can, bring it back up to his mouth, rub onto his lips, and deeper. His eyes have closed but he licks and swallows obediently. I smile, then lean down to his face again and briefy kiss him, taste what's mine. 

His breath is slowing down, deeper and steadier, but little shivers are still travelling through his body. I let go of his head and pull him closer, both my arms around him, into a tight embrace; hold him, his face below my shoulder, somewhat awkwardly across the gearstick and the handbrake.

I am thinking about the way I manhandled his face earlier, remembering the tightening of his airways under my hand, the heady mixture of his fear and elation mirrored and reinforced by my own. I am scared, scared of what might happen, and scared of what I might do, and yet riding an exhilarating wave that I don't want to break.

I'm also horny as fuck, and we still have a few miles to drive.

“You OK, J?”

He mumbles a low but seemingly confident yes, so I shake myself out of this moment, push away my tiredness, let go of him completely, grab a blanket from the back seat and cover  him, "Sleep now, boy. It's not far."

He seems to drop off before I even get back to speed on the main road. I drive on as the road gets narrower, steeper and wilder, then single track; small villages thinning out to single houses; all passing by in a blur of a fast-falling night and my own tiredness.

I can't see him clearly in the dark, but I know he's sleeping next to me, and although there is a part of me that still finds it hard to believe, I am getting closer to accepting that yes, it's  actually happening, yes, he's here, now, in this car, on this road, on the way to becoming mine.

In times like this the reality, the greater scheme of things loses all importance, and all that matters is the here and now, accepted without questioning. The self, one's own self, and others' too, reverts to what it was originally for, an efficient tool for focusing and processing the here and now. The search for meaning and the attempts to understand become irrelevant. 

Things are, and that is all that matters, without a why, without a how, without what for. I reach out with my left hand, briefly touch him somewhere in the region of his knee, reassure myself again that he's really here, that I am not dreaming or imagining any of this.

I don't know him. I have no idea who he is. And yet he's here, and will be here for the next few days, and I can still taste him on my lips, and I want more, I want more of him, possibly more than I have ever wanted anything or anybody in my life.

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See other entries inspired by this week's prompt:



2 comments:

  1. *sigh*

    This is lovely. Sweet and sharp and poignant and bittersweet and so very arousingly REAL-ly conveyed.

    Beautiful.

    ReplyDelete