Letting Go

At one point I flashed back to the Felliniesque moment I experienced, sitting on the floor of the baths in St. Petersburg, the babushkas surrounding me, beating me with the banyan leaves. Not that there was anything sexual then, but this moment was reminiscent of the physical sensations - the circulation being brought to the surface, feeling like raw, pure energy. No, that's not completely honest. The other part that is familiar is the moment, the choice, of letting go and giving in to physical sensation or retaining control and choosing to drive the situation rather than respond. Always, since I was a small child, I am conscious of this moment. I have always been seduced by the notion of what letting go would bring.

Long before it was sexual it was sensual. Hiding under the kitchen table, having stolen the can of condensed milk. I sucked through the little triangle, not the big one, and simultaneously put my fingers in my panties. The silky, sweet milk somehow mirrored the silky feeling I felt beneath my little fingers. Swimming in Lake Huron each summer, the way my blood turned to ice when I first dove under. Moving through the water my long hair felt like seaweed on my neck and arms and I was no longer a girl, a daughter, no longer trying to fulfill "smart", "nice", "mature". I was just sensation and motion and energy. Playing the cello, my bow hold, my arm, my entire body, wrapped around the sounds, the vibrations, gripped between my knees. Forever keeping myself in check to keep my head in the game: allow myself the experience but do not lose my self. Even playing in the mud after eating mushrooms, I reminded myself to hang on.

Now here I am, slightly exhausted but more alive and alert than I have felt in years and years. Sir has me on edge and every cell in my being vibrates with pleasure and pain and desire. I am redolent with the scent and taste of our mingled cum and sweat; that alone could send me into a thundering orgasm - if I had permission to do so. He has flogged and stroked, spanked and praised and punished me so that my emotions and sensations are spinning and soaring and dangerous and exhilarating. I could have cum over and over again, but have been instructed to await his cue. In a short time I have come to loathe the idea of disappointing this man, the very idea of providing his pleasure sends ripples of delight through and through my body. No longer on my knees, we are in the most fundamental, straightforward position between and man and a woman.

On my back, Sir hovers over me, teasing me, threatening me, cajoling me, promising me. My pussy is hot and wet and craving him desperately. My clitoris, like my nipples, hot and hard, pulsing with a dull ache bordering on intense pleasure. He teases me still, the tip of his penis gliding through the outer lips, pushing in just slightly, only to pull back as soon as my hips thrust, trying to draw him in deeper. The walls of my vagina clenching, squeezing, wanting. I moan in frustration, and the tears slide from my eyes not from pain or grief, but as the only means to relieve the tiniest bit of overwhelming tension. "Shhhh," he tells me, "you're almost there. Be silent, and still, leave this up to me." As usual, his voice is authoritative, quiet, assuming complete dominance.

And here I am again. That moment of fear, of discernment. How much do I let go? How much danger is there in relinquishing control? This is what true submission can give. I would do anything in this moment that Sir asked of me. Anything. It is a physical sensation of wholeness that I cannot find elsewhere. A pleasure singular and exquisite and only imagined thus far. Except this time I do not fear oblivion or humiliation. I have given the control to Sir, and I can trust that he will keep me safe. I can let go and feel without fear. I become quiet, and still, my breath deepening and falling in step with his. He slams his hard, thick cock deep into my hungry cunt, filling me, stretching me, over and over. I stop thinking, I feel like a sea creature, all suction and pulsing and undulating, somehow he is fucking so much more than my pussy. My entire body is singing and in synch with his, and it is somehow effortless to wait until I hear him again at my ear. "Good girl. Cum for me now."