The Velvet Edge: Fantasy/reality

Today you have been gone all day.

You left before the sky could lighten, and gently woke me to issue the commands I am to obey in your absence.

Like a parent handling a drowsy child, you removed my sparse clothing. You looped a length of silk rope around my waist and securely it snugly, whispering into my ear that it was to serve as a reminder of your ownership.

As ordered, I remain undressed save for the rope, which is just tight enough that I cannot forget its presence.

As you tangled your fingers in my dense pubic hair, you whispered further instructions.

"You are not to cum today. That's mine to have when I return."

In the darkness I protested, begging that I cannot think of you without touching myself, that I cannot touch myself without coming to orgasm, and that, most of all, I cannot help thinking of you. You know my sexual appetite is vast, perhaps even totally insatiable, and that, most of all, I live to be filled by you.

"Then don't think about me." You said nothing more and left.

It is later in the afternoon and I have spent the day trying to ignore the sex parts which hunger for even more upon prohibition. I have been thinly successful, desperately distracting myself with books and chores, the rope against my skin acting as a barrier between my desire and yours.

By now, however, I am positively humming with sexual energy. I stretch in front of the mirror, going up on my toes as if I were a dancer. I admire the way my muscles flex, the way the rope accentuates my waist, the way my body meets in a dark patch of curly hair. Holding up my arms, I admire the shape of my breasts, the shape of my face, the shape of my buttocks as I turn.

It is the regard with which you behold me that has made me so vain. Sometimes when I look into your eyes I see my own reflected back, and I am Narcissus leaning into the pool. Now I imagine you watching me, your eyes roving over my body, your penis hardening between your legs. I know the power of my mere image, I know the way you change, the way you tense when I remove a last article of clothing. I have seen you change when I move a particular way, when I use a particular voice, when I wear a particular outfit, and if we are in public, you put your hand on my neck, and I feel it - I know. I think about the way you look at me as I dance slowly to music I imagine dripping like melted wax, and I indulge in the figure that moves with me in the mirror.

The rope hugs my skin deliciously, its ends dangling from a skilled knot. You could grab these ends and pull me toward you or you could tie me kneeling to the bedpost. I wonder which you will choose when you return.

Or you could secure a rope between my legs with it, pulling it tightly against my crotch, splitting my labia, pressing against my clitoris. Would you tie my arms behind my back? Would you bind my breasts so that they swell?

I am descending down a spiraling staircase lined with thoughts of you, and I am moved to the bed. I imagine you spreading my labia to place the rope between my lips before attaching it to the rope around my waist. I let myself touch my lips, and closing my eyes, I part them with my fingers, stretching my vagina open.

What would you do now? Would you examine my hole, slick with arousal, and determine it deserving of your penis? Or would you decide to take another hole instead? Would you grab my legs and force them over my head, would you spit into my outstretched vagina?

I pull back on my clitoral hood, exposing the tiny pink pearl inside. I tap it with my finger, and the jolt of sensation sends a twitch through my body. My vagina grows more wet and I feel a thump of blood pump between my legs. I press a finger into myself, smelling the organic heat of my sex. When I remove my finger, it pulls silky strands like a spider's web. If you were to put your penis inside of me right now it would feel absolutely divine, we would be operating as designed, my arousal lubricating your entry, our bodies matched like puzzle pieces.

I open the nightstand drawer to retrieve my vibrator, my desire driving me out of submission. How are you to know? And, I muse, so what if you do know? I adore your punishment just as much as I adore your praise, and sometimes I misbehave intentionally. I turn the vibrator on and press it to my clitoris as I imagine you striking my buttocks with a flat, firm palm.

What if, while I close my eyes in self-indulgence, you come into the room as silent as a jaguar hunting prey and you lean against the wall and watch me? It is my greatest recurring fantasy. Sometimes I am lying outside in a gorgeous field of flowers and sometimes I am lying on the kitchen floor, but always I imagine you watching me without my knowledge. I imagine the erection pressing against your pants as you watch me flatten a hand against my abdomen, arching and writhing as the tension builds between my legs, but you do not touch yourself. Instead you fold your arms across your chest, letting your own tension mount through delayed gratification.

In the throes of my own pleasure, I trace my hand from my stomach to my breasts, feeling the rope that divides my body, its touch tight and secure. Did you know that its pressure against my skin would serve as arousal just as much as it would serve as a collar? Suspended between these two acts of bondage, I cup and then pinch the nipple of one breast before moving to the other. I imagine that my hands are yours, that you have commanded me to bring myself to orgasm and that as the vibrations bring the blood to my sex, you are touching me all over, perhaps slapping one of my breasts, perhaps putting your fingers in my mouth, perhaps pulling back my head with a firm tug of hair, my body still yours though I might be consumed otherwise.

Or I imagine that you have come home, that you have come upon me as I am right now in bed, that you are now watching to see if I will do it, if I will disobey you and give myself a forbidden orgasm. And then what? Would the sight drive you so mad with tension that you would take me right away? In my fantasy you do just that. Sometimes you step close to me and stroke my face, and as I come startled to my sense, you whisper how I shall be punished for my transgression. Sometimes you simply take me, descending upon me, pinning my arms to the mattress as you free your erection from your fly, and, without undressing, thrust into me. I cry out but you put a hand over my mouth, and you have me mercilessly as I plead my apologies. They go unanswered.

I know your body so well, I know your skin so intimately, I have admired your face so deeply that I can see it clearly now, that I can imagine your eyes upon me. I can smell your skin, I can smell the heat between your legs, I can hear your breathing, I can hear the way you cry out when you orgasm deep inside of me. I can taste you, I can taste the wetness on your erection, the drop of arousal pearled on the head of your penis. I imagine you whispering to me, touching my hair, and it sends me spiraling into a pool of light as I press the vibrator harder against my clitoris, pulling back its hood so that the bundle of nerves receives the sensations fully and completely. I press one finger into my vagina, and then another, and can feel the crush of the muscle that forms my sex which is slick and sticky with lubrication. I press as deeply as I can and then remove my fingers, putting them to my mouth so I can taste myself, and I imagine you tasting me as you put your face between my legs and instead of my vibrator, it's your tongue against my clitoris.

I feel all the muscles inside of me tighten and rise, and I arch my back to receive it better, squeezing my legs together. My whole body is alive with light and I reach for its burning center, my breath quick, my body hot, the perspiration forming on my forehead.

Do I pretend I cannot hear the key turn in the front door? Is it my imagination? Am I that deep in my fantasy? Am I willfully ignoring reality? Or am I hopeful....

Do I hear soft footsteps in the bedroom? Do I hear someone struggling to control his excited breath? Do I feel the heat of another human body?

A hand comes quickly over my mouth to muffle my startled cry. I open my eyes wide and to my wildest dreams come true, I am confronted with your eyes, which are bright and intense. Fire instantly surges between my legs, my vagina contracts as the orgasm rises inside of me like a tidal wave, a tsunami of pleasure about to wreck my entire body. The fulfillment of my greatest fantasy pushes me to an edge I never knew I could achieve and my body threatens to betray me.

"Don't do it," you say, and my eyes widen with a panic I have secretly longed for. I gesture to remove the vibrator, but you force my hand to stay, pressing the vibrator harder against my clitoris. You lean in and whisper, "My princess deserves to have all her dreams come true."

It is too much, and I fall backwards, arms open, into a pool of warm glowing water as the muscles tighten, knotting up, and then release, over and over and over again, pulsing with orgasms so strong that I cannot help crying muffled into your hand. My whole body shakes as I close my eyes tightly against the blinding sensation. For a moment I know only pleasure, pleasure so intense it sears me, it strikes a line of fire from between my legs up through the center of my body and to the tips of my toes.

When I open my eyes it is an eternity later and I am struggling to regain my breath. You are slowly shaking your head.

The terror that floods me also sends a pulse of moisture to my vagina. With one hand still on my mouth, you take the vibrator with the other, shutting it off and restoring it to the nightstand. I instinctively spread my legs. You strike my vulva with your hand in quick successive strokes. I whimper and struggle against you.

And then you undo your pants, freeing your erection, and the lines between fantasy and reality blur deliciously.

"Now it's my turn," you say.

I watch wordlessly as in one swift motion you fill me and take my breath away.

You are so good to me, Sir.