There is a dark and quiet place. A place which you draw me to. Once there, you will never let me leave. A place which dissolves all inhibitions upon entering. It dissolves all but desire, and fear.
Our kind of desire.
Our kind of fear.
They are inevitable, our couplings. I could no more easily resist your perfect submission than you could resist my benevolent power.
This is where we are equal -- but only here.
For you were destined to submit to me, completely, and most sweetly. Since a very early age, you've known, haven't you? All that was left was the waiting.
All that you do is for me. When you breathe, you breathe for me. When you sleep, you sleep for me. When you offer yourself, you are pleased only if I am.
I, in return, give you what you want, what you need: the need to be owned, to be used, and to be valued. The need to be punished when appropriate, and even when not.
We started so slowly. There was even a time when we had a "safe" word, shortly after we first met, in order to gain a sense of trust in one another. You've never used it though, whore that you are. So great is your desire to please.
You didn't even use it when I filled your throat with my hardness -- although you couldn't have then, could you? Your mouth used so relentlessly, the moans I could feel vibrating the tip of my cock; were those moans a way to tell me to stop? Wouldn't we both prefer I buried myself deeply in your throat and stifled all your noise?
You are mine and I am yours, and we are forever wedded in this dark entanglement.
Because I surprise you, because I test your loyalty, because I cause such fear, such excitement, such pain, and such sweet release -- you will never leave.
And because you seduce me, because you make me feel true power, because your need to be taken outweighs even your need for daily sustenance -- I will never leave.
Sweet Adrienne,
A dream I had last night has conjured in my mind a ritual. A test. A script for your complete and utter submission.
I will tie you to my futon upside-down on your back, your head draped over the edge, ass firmly planted against the back. Your legs in the air, spread, ankles bound tightly to the oak frame atop, your wrists stretched and tied securely to each of the futon's feet. You will be secured with blood-red silk ribbon, so that if I am overzealous, the stains will not show.
And your eyes will be covered.
You will have bathed for me. You will have dressed for bed, so tempting in your cotton pajamas, the pajamas I make you wear when I sense you are ripe for a good spanking. I've liked the look of you bent over the edge of the bed, pajamas pulled down to below your sweet bottom, as I slap the alabaster skin there until it is deep red, or until you cry. Or until you stop crying, depending on my mood.
I will sit quietly, reading my paper, glancing occasionally at you. The waiting allows you to make the slow but welcome change from your banal roles and responsibilities to your most important role as my slave. I can see it in your breathing, in the litheness of your muscles relaxing. I can sense your surrender in its early stages.
The blindfold and my silence, your lack of mobility, create an inward calm, a place where you are willing to be my instrument. With only the steady whir of the ceiling fan and the occasional crinkle of my paper to hear; the musky smell of freshly cut mango teasing the air around you; the cutting feel of tight silk; and nothing to taste but anticipation.
Four of your senses aroused, but the fifth -- merely a thick, comforting blackness.
When the sight of you bound and waiting has sufficiently aroused me, I will approach you and kneel down by your left shoulder, quietly enough so you don't know I am there. I will move my mouth to your tiny ear and whisper, "Say that you are mine," and you will say it. You are ready to offer yourself completely, proud to be mine.
"Louder, young lady," I whisper, as I slap your clothed thigh hard.
You say it louder. You always do.
I will then tell you, still in a whisper, to unzip me with your mouth, and to do it slowly. I will put my palm on your forehead and push your head down, down, exposing the pretty white column of your throat. I see you swallow and lick lips that are suddenly dry. I see the hard pebbles atop your breasts under the thin cotton of your pajama top.
I will move directly behind you, and you will comply. You will reach out with your tongue to search me out. I will place the bottom end of it against the tip of your tongue, merely to watch your pink muscle strain to run slowly up its length.
When you move too quickly over its length, I slap your cunt hard, ordering you to slow down. "Yes, that's it". I can see your heat, your desire pooling low in your belly. My heat, created by your need for me. You feel the wet fabric clinging to your dripping mound, and pain radiates through your tender belly. I imagine there are even tears forming in the corners of your wide eyes.
It is as if you actually enjoy the feeling of the little steps of cold metal against your warm tongue, you move so slowly. It is as if you are counting them with diligent care.
Then at last, you reach the little trigger. You stretch the tired muscles of your neck out far to get your teeth around it. Chomping down quickly, before I can move away, because I always move away.
This time you grasp it immediately. "Good girl" I say, and you smile. But I slap your cunt even harder than before, and tell you calmly that there'll be time for smiling later. Now to the task at hand.
Your smile evaporates. I place my thumb firmly on the center of your neck, and push down slightly so that you will remember what I am capable of. From my tone, you sense that tonight I will be rough with you. Rough, and maybe a little callous.
Your teeth grasp firmly and as you bend your neck back, my zipper trigger moves down with your teeth, slowly -- too slowly even for me. I watch your belly heave up and down. I watch your wrists and ankles turn darker red. I watch your muscles tense, until it is opened completely and you uncover my cock with your lips. You sigh in exasperation, and I slap you still harder for it, a deep redness already forming under the thin cotton of your white panties.
I have a surprise for you this time, as I've worn nothing underneath, and as you search for me with your thirsty lips -- straining out, out, out, kissing the air, expecting the dry taste of cotton -- your kiss finally, and perfectly meets the satin skin at the base of my cock.
You're so very careful not to smile.
Your lips pressed firmly against me, I tell you that tonight we will dispense with the foreplay. I order you to open your mouth, for I wish to embed myself in your silky, tight throat without delay. You taste my first drop of liquid, which has run quickly down to your bottom lip. You draw your lips back in a tight grimace, a forethought of the torrent of thick liquid to come.
But you comply. You always do.
You silently open your small, pretty mouth and I sternly order you to open wider, and you do, with trepidation. I run my hand from your throat around and down to grasp a handful of your dark hair. I yank it down roughly, and the sharp scream opens your mouth to my liking.
"Good girl," I say.
I quickly wiggle forward so that I can place your head between my legs and bend your neck down completely. You struggle against all your bindings, because you know what is in store for you. You take as many deep long breaths as are able, for you won't have many chances from now on. Your heart beats wildly.
You brace yourself, for you know that I usually take cock in hand and force it inside you, but this time I wish for you to take the head firmly between your lips before I plunge into you.
As I unbutton my pants, I help you by placing my fingertips at the base of me and pushing down until the glistening tip is within your reach. I place my cold hand on your warm throat so that I can feel you there. I love the feel of your soft throat -- inside and out.
Then as your lips have become firmly planted, and the head is starting to slip in, I place the other hand on the cushion by your shoulder and use it for leverage as I lift myself up, knees off the floor, to get the perfect angle down into you. And when I've found it, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, I force myself all the way, deep into your tight throat, the tip of me stretching you.
As I hold myself so deeply inside you there, your lungs full of fresh oxygen, you still strain to breathe freely, your lips tickled by soft curly hairs. Your jaw naturally begins to tire, and the moment I feel your sharp teeth graze the vulnerable flesh at the base of me, I tell you that for each infraction like this, you'll get ten spankings on your bare behind, later.
You open your mouth wide, and I pull out slowly and wait with the tip poised lightly on your lip. I move one hand to your left nipple and through the thin cotton of your pajama top, pinch it hard, sending an arrow of silvery anguish sharply into your chest. and as you use the sore muscles of your aching back to arch yourself away to escape the pressure, you have finally given me what I want, what I need: the perfect angle down into you.
The muscles of my thighs, abdomen, forearms, all tight and anxious, my heart beating in my throat, I slowly, deliberately fuck your tight mouth. Slow, deliberate strokes, as the music reaches a climax. The tip scrapes against your tongue as it travels deeper and deeper, finally embedding itself in your supple throat. Then, just as carefully, I retreat -- and again plunge into you with more urgency.
As I tell you what a good girl you are, stroking your hair, I lift up my body. Thrusting deeply into your mouth, I lay my body down on top of yours, careful not to slip out of you or to interrupt our perfect rhythm.
