Gone 20

So let's make one thing clear: When I touch you, when you give me permission to own every part of you, that includes your mind as much as your heart. You, the whole girl, all of her, belongs to every and any part of me.

I know that when we're together that you can't turn your mind off. You worry about a thousand things from the time I see you until we're finished. The way you can't let go shines as concern in your eyes when I look you over. Comes out as your muscles flex at every touch. It calls out to me as I fuck you that you're worried if I'm disappointed.

And I've let this go on long enough.

When you invited me into your life you gave me permission to do whatever I wanted with you. To turn you into a toy for my pleasure. And how can you serve me if you can't stop your mind from running through a dozen thoughts each time I touch you?

It occurs me that you are never so concerned, and never as aware, as when I am going down on you. That's when your self-prejudices and loathing hits a fever pitch. When it's most evident that you can't disentangle your body from your wonderful, educated mind. Which makes me believe that if I can own you as completely in that act as I do when we fuck, that you'll truly be giving yourself to me.

There are also the side benefits of you enjoying yourself more, being more confident, and so on. But that's not our primary concern. No. What we really need is to stop you from saying and thinking all those silly, harsh things about yourself just once. If we can do it then, I'm certain, we can manage again.

And again.

I know that you give me permission to swat your ass and place my thumbs into your neck. To use ties and crops and handcuffs on you. That even though you are so much smaller than me, and I am so much stronger than you, that there is hardly any fear or hesitation of letting me take you, grab you, carry you into the darkness of my room and to use you as I see fit. But all of that is nothing for you compared to simply trusting me to touch you gently. To focus on you and your disquieted mind. I have never, not once, accepted that a woman could not cum from my attentions and mouth focused on her.

So you can do what you always do. Feel the pressure that you're supposed to cum like a good girl because if you don't I'll be mad and you'll hurt my little boy ego. Or spin a thousand stories in your head about what I could be thinking instead of being present. Maybe just tell yourself that women don't actually cum from it, and you know that for certain, so it's not a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Or you can be mine. And if you are intimate and free? If you trust yourself to trust me the worst possible outcome is that I lick you, hold you, stroke you and it's very nice.

Now give yourself to me. Let me take you by the hand instead of the wrist, and guide you from the faintly-lit living room into the bible black of my bed. Make the choice to step into my bedroom, to cross the threshold and give yourself wholly to me. Show me that you're willing, no matter how concerned, by closing the door and swimming through the absolute darkness of our sanctuary. Where it is just us, alone, away from the world.

Don't gasp when I touch you again. It's only the devil you know, the monster you've made a pact with, and nothing else. Feel me as I cup your hips, press my lips onto yours from far above. I want you to know the size and shape of me in the dark like we are brand new to one another. Feel my shoulders and my thighs. Reach up on your tip-toes to hold onto that kiss as I pull back. Know that I can break you without effort and that you chose, almost without hesitation, to follow me alone.

Trust me.

Let me take you to the bed and guide you into it. Press you into the mattress with my size. Kiss you one last time before I rip the panties off you and spread your legs like they have no weight to them. I stroke your legs, I press my thumbs into the balls of your feet. I swim over you with my hands.

"Listen to me." I let the words hang in the air, demand your attention and your patience. "I am going to lick you, from the base of your pussy to the top, in one long stroke. I am then going to repeat the action over and over. And every time I do I want you to count one. Focus on the number, and no other thoughts."

I press my tongue into you, taste you, push until it is flat against you and I can grab your thighs with my hands. Then I tilt my head back while moving my face forward, so that there is pressure being applied with the whole of the lick. That you feel it when I move over your clit to the very tip of your lips.

You say the number one.

I repeat the process. Just as slow, just the same amount of pressure. As exact and equal as I can. Feel me, not your thoughts. Be here and not any other place. Together we make the most amazing, most powerful couple I've ever been a part of. And the more you are with me in this room, in the stillness of your own mind, the more of a gift you are. The stronger we become. The more faith I have that I can fuck you harder, push you further, and know that we'll rebound by the end of the night to holding one another for dear life.

You say the number two.

We fall into a rhythm and as you count out higher numbers I become comfortable that you're here, with me. That you've surrendered even your ability to think yourself into trouble. So my hands slide up you to grab your hips, to pull you closer so that I can push deep into you with ease as my fingers and sink into softer flesh. I want you to feel me, to remember that you're just your body when you let go of your thoughts, and that body is amazing.

You say the number twenty-two.

I'm going much faster now. Long full licks up that I now want to add a down motion to. I am getting restless. The way you make me feel, the way I want you, it is hard to keep myself in check. You make me want to break discipline, ravish you, take you and use you every time we touch. But I keep myself even. Let your counting guide me. Instead I move my hands between you and the mattress, I cup your ass and grab it with the fully of my hands. And now, at the end of every lick, I squeeze.

You say the number forty.

I place a long, loving kiss against your pussy to signify the counting is over and already I feel closer to you. You seem so much more relaxed and at ease than when we've tried this before. "Instead of counting I want you to say 'I'm yours.' With every kiss, with every lick, with all that I do. Say it slowly, make it your mantra. If you're mine you can't be clouding your own head. Do you understand?"

I can hear your soft affirmation before moving my tongue into you, penetrating you to the first gasp. In an instant I am moving closer to you, into you, my hands grab as much of your ass as they can. I dig into you with my fingertips, push my face into just the early depths of your pussy and try and inhale you, devour you, take you all with that one juice-coated push.

You say that you're mine.

I start to rock my head back and forth, crane and shrink my neck, all so I can get more and more of my tongue into you. My hands act like they are no longer my own, trying to make you feel them on their own accord. I jut my head back and, as soon as I spring forward, they squeeze again. And again. Again. I start to feel your hips rising and it makes me smile. Yes. Feel it. How sexy you are, how beautiful you are when you're free. Open your legs a little more so that I can press my face into you, get just the tip of my chin inside you as lick.

You shift, moving even closer to me and I take the opportunity to move my hands back to your hips to pin you down. You're too close now and I don't want you getting away. There's also a tactic involved here, one that I hope you'll later appreciate. For now I drive my thumbs into you as I take my tongue from inside to you clit. I give it long, loving licks before fastening my lips around you, sucking you into my mouth and letting you out just enough so that I can suck you in again.

You scream that you're mine.

Too much of this will desensitize you, so we must stop, release your clit, give it a slow kiss before I run my tongue in circles around it. I'm careful not to touch you there, but my traces are imperfect, and I brush up against you. When I do, you moan, and it makes me moan into you. This becomes a loop. Both of us become louder, more urgent sounding as you come closer and closer to release.

One quick lash to your clit and I'm back in your pussy. The art has left me and I am now nothing but a machine who sticks his tongue out and fucks you with his face. I die with your gasps and come back to life with every time I claim you through you words. I ache, my neck becomes hot, my lower back trembles and sweat begins to pool in and around my upper lip, but I am steadfast. I refuse to let this moment go.

Your toes curl, your legs start to stretch and I realize that you are close. Just keep saying your mantra. Keep saying that you're mine.

I move my hands back to your ass but I wait. I'm going to need that final burst of touch, of sensory pleasure, in order to push you. For now they lie in wait as I tongue you, pushing myself into you as far as I can go and then swirling my tongue in wide, sliding circles so that I can feel you. The hint of ridges on the ceiling of your chapel and the long, beautiful depth of your valley. I move my tongue inside you like I am exploring you for the first time despite the spasms that pull at it. I lap up as much of you as I can before moving in again.

You shift. For the first time you can't quite get the words out and I know it's time to pounce.

My hands grab your ass, firmly, but back under my control, only squeezing you when I make a long lick to your sweetness or along your clit. But mostly, truly, I focus on your pussy. On using my tongue as deep and rapidly as I can while your ass pulsates in my hands. I use your breathing, your inability to tell me that you're claimed, for guidance. And as it breaks further and further apart I am spurred on.

I give you everything I have. I lay my tongue into you until the membrane beneath it is sore from extension and my body burns.

We sit on that line of tension for far too long.

Then you cum, on my tongue and in my mouth. You shudder, you kick, you scream and call out my name, my real name, the name that only you know.

I wait for you to recover. I clean you gently with my tongue and as soon as I start you begin to call it out, softly, wonderfully, like an ordinary woman would say I love you.

"I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours."

I kiss up your navel, along your breasts and to your lips. I pull you towards the headboard and clamp my arms around you, possess you, need you.

We sit in the darkness like this for an unknown amount of time. No screens, no blinking lights, nothing at all to see. Just feeling each others bodies, heartbeats, heat.

Then you rub your head against my chest like you're some kind of animal. You tell me thank you with kisses so much better than my meager words.

And it's moments like these I wish I could eat you alive. Just take every last part of your into my mouth so you'd be inside me, with me, forever.