I'm lying on my back, my legs splayed open, not widely, but enough to have one leg wrapped through yours, where you are lying on your side next to me. My other leg is angled away from you such that you have access to my cunt. You are propped on one elbow, looking down at my face, my eyes gazing steadily and adoringly up at you, hesitant and expectant, shy even. We've assumed this position many times before, and you've watched me masturbate for you.
At first, I could barely touch myself, bashful and wary of allowing you to watch me do something that I had done for years and years, with fingers and all manner of toys, but privately. Only on occasion had someone watched me, and commanded me to masturbate for them. And then I would perform. Always about performing to please, or behave how I perceived this man or that man wanted me to, to please him. And I never came. Not once. Always the self-consciousness tipping me away from that slide to orgasm, making me clamp down internally on all sensation, lock it, block it, and disallow myself. I knew it wasn't about trust.
I trusted all the men with whom I'd ended up in bed in that vulnerable a position, but I didn't want to give them that, that power I suppose, that right to see me at my most vulnerable and disinhibited. They might have fucked me till I ached, made me cum vaginally and anally, squirt, gush; they may have hit me, hurt me, cut me, bruised me, but never had I masturbated myself to orgasm quietly under their gaze. Not one single time. And of course, one or two had thought I had, because I deceived them. And they were none the wiser, or, if they were, they chose not to challenge me, having finally come up against a wall they could not breach with me. And I had been happy about that, never seeing it as an issue, never wanting it to change, never needing it to.
But you, you are not them. And you've handled this so very differently. I've touched myself multiple times in front of you, always in this position, sometimes angled in such a way, aligned away from your body, so that your cock is nestled deep inside me, pressuring me, filling me, but never really fucking me, and asking me to touch myself while you hold yourself oh so still inside me.
And you've been whispering filth in my ear, telling me what a slut I am, telling me what a good little girl I am for touching myself for you. How all the nasty you do to me, is highlighted for you in this moment of stillness, watching me let your words tease my mind, recall sensation to my cunt and mouth, and yet you simply fill me, and let my fingers massage my body into an ever increasing state of arousal at the whispered filth and memories of all you've done to me. And you've always stopped me, before I've approached orgasm. Never asked me to get close, to back off, and certainly never demanded that I cum. You knew I couldn't, wouldn't. Why set us both up to fail?
But today, not that I know it yet, you've made a decision. And this won't be about me touching myself. You've watched me, over and over again, how my fingers swirl and tease along my labia, how I scoop inside myself to pull moisture to my clit, how I lick my fingers, spit on them a little sometimes, to circle tiny motions on my clit, or swipe alongside the left or right of it, longer strokes. How I settle after a time, as you turn me on more and more, to rubbing my clit, ignoring my cunt, or grasping tightly at your cock deep inside me, trying to impale myself on your further as my motions become more frenetic, almost frantic sometimes, and yet no orgasm. I know that I've teetered on some occasions, getting actually very close, but never close enough to reach that panic and shut down point, so that I won't, can't, cum in front of you.
So, you've watched me, and learned. And today, your hand is lightly stroking my belly, up and down, reaching up to brush my breasts occasionally. We are talking, about not much. I'm increasingly aware of the sensations on my chest and stomach. I haven't cum for three days, not clitorally, and not vaginally or anally either until two hours ago. I've not seen you, and when we spoke on the phone, you denied me.
I've asked four times to cum, to masturbate in your absence, and each time you've told me, simply, "No, my dear, you may not. Wait till Saturday."
We've had battles about this, and you know how I struggle to allow you to control it, how I've failed in the past, long ago now, always admitting it, and it took a very long time before we negotiated you controlling it. And you rarely deny me. That game doesn't work for us, and you know it's never worked for me. The frustration and angst interfere too negatively in my real world, away from you, and I cannot handle it. Only one man, ever, has been given that control over me. I've simply never managed to cede it since. But you and I, we got there, eventually. But still, you wield your control carefully, setting neither of us up to fail.
Your denial over the last three days has confused and bewildered me, but you have been implacable, and you have reminded me over and over about obedience, and expectation, and played the card of knowing I don't want to disappoint you. And still, despite this bond, that control has almost not been enough. I have wavered, almost touched myself, and yet somehow held off. I felt mildly sulky about it for much of the three days, while simultaneously getting off on your control of me, and your constant reminders and pushes. I have not dared touch myself, because I know myself too well, and once I start to touch, I can never pull away in time to prevent orgasm, occasionally in the past coming after I cease touching, simply because my body can't stop cresting to orgasm, and cleansing me of the pent up desire and need.
But, amazingly to me, I have managed to obey you this time. I have not touched, and whilst seeing you again made those feelings recede a little, simply because you're there, and we are touching, and you have fucked me, and I have cum and cum vaginally, and feel partially sated, my clit has not been touched. And lying here next to you now, with you stroking me gently, that need is rising, building, beginning to take me over.
I squirm against you a little, inviting you with my body twisting away from you for you to enter me. You place your hand firmly on my belly.
"No, kitten. No cock."
I blink and look up at you.
"Kitten? Where did that come from? You don't call me kitten. Why did you call me that?"
"No why. Just came to me. Do you have a problem with it?"
"No," I hesitate. "No problem, just not been called that before, and you've never called me that."
"Well then, seems like a fine thing to keep on calling you."
You bend your head down and nip at my neck, gently, but keeping still in a way which inevitably ratchets up the sexual tension I am feeling. Your teeth are still on me, and I feel myself groaning, and turning my head from you to give you greater access. Your teeth part, and reach again to take in more flesh, and I feel your lips seal, and feel you apply suction. The pressure builds, pain and pleasure swirling from the point of contact to my chest, my stomach, my cunt. My hips raise on the bed a little. Your right hand moves down my stomach to rest firmly on my abdomen, your fingers on the smooth shaved flesh of my mound. Your teeth remain in contact with the delicate skin of my neck, and all I can think now is that I want you inside me, again. I feel fluid bubble at my cunt, a mixture of my cunt juices, and the cum you've already spilled inside me. Your teeth release their pressure and pull gently away, eliciting a soft regretful moan from me.
"Let's just get your legs a little wider, shall we, I want you to be nice and comfortable, and for me to have nice easy...access," you say, readjusting your body, and mine. Your fingers begin to swirl against the skin above my cunt.
"Oh, wait, I nearly forgot."
You move my head and upper body a little, so you can reach to under the pillow above and away from me, grasp something and drop it onto my chest. It is a latex glove, one of those medical type blue ones, and a little sachet of silicone lube. My cunt seizes at the sight of it. You know damn well that I have a thing for gloved play. I love the anonymity of it, the objectification it implies to me - that you don't want to be flesh on flesh, that barrier of removal, you remaining detached from me somehow. I find that highly arousing, and in conversations, you know that mentioning gloves sends me off into little daydreams of erotic coupling involving hands and lube and orifices and cocks in mouths while shielded fingers slide in and out of me. I shudder a little under the items, and look up at you. I'm torn between injecting a little humour, and actually giving in to the powerful sense of arousal this evokes.
I hedge, "Fucker, you planned this."
"I did, kitten, now undo that packet of lube for me and drizzle it on your cunt lips while I get this glove sorted out."
I can't help but giggle a little at that, and am grateful. The lube is cool, surprisingly liquid. I like the silicon ones, kind of oily and silky, and they never do that tacky thing that's actually quite distracting when you need the liquid seasoning of lube the most.
I watch you pull the glove onto your hand. Your hands are large, strong hands, and you know I have a thing for them. You've teased me with them before, on my clit, and with multiples of your fingers thrusting into me. I've gushed on your fingers more than once, but mostly in passing, as part of a long session, bundled in a myriad of other sensations. You've never used your hands or fingers on me in a prolonged way. I find myself swallowing now, anxious, but aroused, very aroused, and keenly anticipating the feel of you on me.
"Close your eyes, my dear, and breathe for me. Five deep breaths, in and out."
Your hand, now catching at my flesh differently, the latex feel very apparent to me, rests heavily on my stomach again. You keep it there, totally still, for the time it takes me to draw, and exhale, those five breaths. I go to open my eyes as the last air is exhaled from my lungs.
"No, keep your eyes closed for me. Breathe again, kitten, five breaths, nice and steady."
I begin to inhale, and your hand lifts from my stomach, fingers trailing my skin as you reach down, down my abdomen, to tickle across my mons. My breath catches, and your fingers stop.
"Breathe."
My throat unlocks and I continue to inhale, and your fingers move down again, and swirl over my skin, catching but beginning not to as your fingers encounter the first spilled edge of lubricant. I can't help that my deep breath in catches in my lungs and I find myself holding my breath.
"Breathe out, kitten nice and slowly, more slowly than you breathed in. Just breathe."
A ragged, deliberate, tortured breath out. I can feel my stomach contracting as I force the air from me. Your fingers are now on the fleshy mound of skin above my clitoris, nowhere near the sensitive tissue really, but my cunt spasms nonetheless.
As my lungs reach their lowest point, all breath squeezed from myself, you say, "And hold it. Do not inhale. Hold...hold..."
I want to groan against the throat I've just locked in obedience. Can feel my throat and lungs constricting and fighting against the command. Unnatural. Of course I've held my breath before, but I've never forced all the air from my lungs and held nothing inside me, never.
"And inhale, kitten, breathe deeply in."
