It’s the Thought that Counts
It’s anything but a lazy Sunday.
It certainly is a Sunday, and I don’t have anything pressing to attend to, but it’s anything but lazy.
Today I’ve decided that, while I don’t have a Dom, I am going to be dominated. At least in my mind, for a little while.
I have never been very bold in dating to being with, and the situation what it is currently means it’s both difficult and risky to meet new people, for both me and them.
So today, on a rare Sunday not working, I’ve decided to indulge in a fantasy that’s been swimming at the back of mind for a long time. And you will all just have to serve as my collective “master”. Pretty please.
I wake with a sense of agitation in me. Not the bad kind, but the kind that makes you squirm, unfulfilled. I’ve been researching things I might be interested in for a few nights; subjects that are interesting but have made it hard to sleep. It’s hard to relax in a mind swimming in restrained pleasures, thoughts of pain, praised obedience and of ceding control to someone trusted.
I’ve been collecting items over the years, things bought on the side that caught my bursa escort interest. A choker that looks a bit too much like a collar to be a coincidence. A “fashion” thigh belt that is really just a waist to thigh restraint. A butt plug.
I start slow; feeling how soft the sheets are beneath me and how they contrast to the leather. Just the feeling of having something cinched at my waist and wrapping around my thighs makes me more wet then I have ever been. The choker pressing firmly against my throat and the binds on my wrists don’t help either.
I reach for my satisfier, which despite its rather crass name, very much lives up to it’s name. I click my wrist restraints into the tie at my waist, and another traditional belt holds my legs together and the toy in place.
I always start low, teasing. I convince myself it’s small kisses, worshipping. Pressure starts building, and it’s not long before I’m writhing, pulling on my bonds, but we’ve done well and I don’t have much wriggle room. What feels like hours pass by before you increase the intensity, and I almost instantly come apart. But I don’t, because I know you haven’t bursa escort bayan given me permission yet.
As I hang on the precipice for an endless time, writhing and tensing, you stop. I almost cry out, but I don’t, because you haven’t given me permission to speak. The belt holding my legs closed is undone, but I have only a second to feel disappointed before there’s something pressing at my entrance. Both entrances. It is a new sensation, but thankfully being so aroused means very little discomfort.
They both click on, and it’s a new level of intensity. So much in fact I tense so hard I almost expel them. I try not to because that would incur punishment, but I am in need of some help. A tie is introduced, one that perfectly holds in both toys and connects to the band at my waist. Hands free torture.
Now, once that starts up, and that damnable satisfier comes back, I don’t have to explain that it didn’t take long for me to fall thrashing and gasping into one of the best orgasms of my life. But it didn’t stop there, because I came without permission, and so I must be punished.
That intense sensation escort bursa transforms from an opening of the flood gates to you wresting them out of me, one after another. It’s almost too much, that feeling of pleasure pain, until it isn’t and I cum again, and again, and again. I’m almost crying, and most definitely shaking by this point. The binds have reduced my movements to little more than wriggling, and the belt pressing both my legs together and the toys inside means no escape, no fleeing from feeling. The only thing I regret not adding something to stifle my moans, perhaps you have some suggestions for next time.
After what feels like an eternity, when I feel as though I can’t take anymore, I hear you in my head, praising me for being such a good girl, and that I can do one more. I nod, because I trust you to know me, my limits. I come apart, splendidly, gasping, and finally the torture stops.
I’m sweaty, gasping and there are some marks forming on my wrists and upper thighs. I stand and look in the mirror and I see a different she; tousled hair, red tinged, with black on her throat and wrists. Someone who didn’t have to be in control 24/7, because you were there to take care of me. The binds are a comforting reminder, because while you aren’t here right now, I know you will be one day. And at that point I’ll probably need a bigger butt plug.