Ruin Me Gently

It was an average day in an average life. I had been in class all day, toiling away at earning my Bachelor's. My hand was sore from writing and my brain was fried. Why did I choose to have classes on only two days? Terrible idea.

Despite my exhaustion, I made my way across campus to my car. I was moments away from reuniting with my wife soon-to-be, ready for the short drive to our apartment and a relaxed evening. At least it was the weekend and I had no work to do.

I strolled down the long sidewalk from my building past the dorm we once lived in. In the distance, the sun reflected off the windshield of my car, keeping me from seeing my love waiting for me. She gets out of class a while earlier than me, and usually eats something and then finds somewhere to hunker down. Eager for the weekend, this time she chose to be ready to go in the car.

I crossed the few lanes of parking spaces and grassy medians to get there, lugging my heavy pack complete with laptop, books, and a million mechanical pencils and erasers. When I came up the last little hill, I looked up and met eyes with her.

She's so beautiful.

I couldn't put together an anthology of poetry large enough to describe her accurately. All that I need to say is that she is the most gorgeous and sexy person I have ever met, and a gift in my life. I couldn't wait to curl up with her on the couch over hot chocolate and popcorn later.

She popped open the door and I weightlifted my two-ton bag into the backseat. "Hi cutie," I called inside.

Smiling, she repeated our greeting back to me. "Hi cutie. How was your day?"

We began our usual discussion, recounting the interesting things we picked up in our classes, relaying information about new people we met. Nothing particularly unique today. The conversation lasted until we arrived at home just ten minutes away. I grabbed my pack, we headed inside, and all was normal.

As I opened the door and set my bag down by the couch, I was attacked. A flurry of roaming hands and soft pecks all around my shoulders and neck surprised me, and I turned around to face my love. I returned her many kisses, and took my time kneading her perfect butt. We were still love struck teens at heart, and we were honestly never judged for it. All of our old friends were used to it; our new friends thought it was adorable for a young couple.

The storm of kisses passed and our embrace turned into just that. We stood there in the middle of our small, cozy living room, arms wrapped around one another and my head resting on hers. After a moment, she turned her face back up to me, and planted her lips on mine. I kissed back, taking her bottom lip between mine, pulling her closer to me with my hands on her lower back.

Kiss turned to bite. Our tongues slowly worked their ways out. Love was in the air, and we breathed it in deeply. I'm enthralled by her beauty and gentleness, and these private and loving moments of making out only dug me deeper.

My hands found their way under her waistband, engaging the bare skin of her ass with my curious fingers. Hers did the same, but closer to my hips and thighs (her favorite features of mine.) We tugged and grasped at one another; our breathing grew quicker and warmer. All of our stress from the week was easing itself out, pushed by the sound waves of gentle moans and the tireless pulling of flesh at our fingertips.

She was working her magic on me, and I could only assume that was true for her too. But after practically taking chunks out of each other's lips and exploring every inch of skin we could reach, it changed. She spun me around so my back was lined up with the armrest of the couch, and pushed me back onto it.

I fell with a soft "flomp," the soft cushions catching me. I looked up at her and giggled, knowing she was out for blood and anticipating the adventures to come.

But something was different.

Usually, her eyes shine, she bites her lips, and her approach is sensual and needy. This time, she didn't look so needy. She looked strong. Her eyes spoke of teasing, her lips showed no sign of speaking, her approach didn't inspire any rush to get going. I wasn't going to have her screaming my name in a few moments. I wasn't in control of this evening.

She was in control.

With each slow step closer, I trembled with knowledge that she was ready to use me. I had always shown her worship in the bedroom, though often reciprocated in full. But recently, I decided to tell her about my deeper thoughts - things I hadn't revealed in our sex life for fear of embarrassment or rejection. I let out my biggest secret, shrouded behind high sex drive and disguised as lustful adoration:

I was painfully submissive.

I told her about everything I read, watched, and browsed. I had discovered myself sexually online, reading through blogs and essays on sexuality. I was corrupted more than anything with the idea of being hers; to adore and worship her, satisfy her every need, and put my own pleasure second was my purpose.

I told her I wanted her to take control. I didn't want to be the one to initiate everything, or beg for what I wanted, or do what I wanted to her (though she, submissive herself, wants that at times, and I provide.) I wanted her to use me. I wanted her to tease me.

I told her about the more adventurous and kinky areas of my desires. I told her about tease and denial, edging, multiple orgasms, ruined orgasms. I wanted these things. I wanted her to be in total control of me and the pleasure I received.

In her face, I saw what she was thinking, and it was devious. It was everything I ever wanted.

She was standing over me now, gazing up and down my body sprawled across the couch, reading each feature of my body like pages of a book. She had a plan for today. I was about to witness her control.

We locked eyes. She looked down at my shirt and nodded away from the couch. "Take it all off."

I did as she commanded. I took off my shoes and socks first (and she sat down on the coffee table to do the same.) When we met glances again, I started with my shirt. I pulled it off quickly, lifting up slightly from the couch, and tossed it to the side. She tried not to show it, but I could see her eyes light up at the sight. She was so loving, and equally as enchanted by me as I was by her.

I reached for my shorts, and she stopped me. She grabbed the corners of her own shirt and took it off in one fluid motion. With it, she then clicked off her lacy bra, exposing all of her beautiful stomach and chest to me. I leaned over to kiss circles all around, but she grabbed the back of my hair and threw me back down. A sizzling sensation ran down the back of my neck.

Now she let me take off my shorts. I hooked my thumbs in the side of my boxers and slid it all down and off, catching it on my left foot and kicking it over the armrest. I was now completely exposed to her - at attention, already straining under the tension - and with my exposure came hers. With some struggle, she removed her tight (gorgeous) jeans.

She stood there for a moment and smiled. Slowly, she turned all around, standing up on her toes and making the best of her curves. I was practically drooling at the sight. Her panties fit so well to her form, accentuating the sharp interjection of her hips and the smooth perfection of her skin. I would kill for her to let me kneel at her feet and kiss all around her waist...but I knew she wouldn't let me.

When she turned completely around, she then let the final barrier between me and her drop. With a quick motion of her hands below the band and down the sides of her thighs, the pair fell to her perfect feet. She stepped out of them and toward me, and my eyes followed her as she came and sat above where my head lay.

"Lay in my lap, beautiful." She motioned for me to come and lay across her lap and stomach, and I did. I knew what she was planning; she was putting me in the exact position I had described to her before. And I knew exactly what she was going to do to me.

It couldn't be clearer that this was all planned than when she suddenly pulled our small bottle of lube out from behind the other side of the couch and rested it next to me. She left it there, and her hands wrapped around my head and lay on my chest. She ran her fingers around in little circles, gradually moving them more outward. Given my ticklish sensitivity, I squirmed a little, and she giggled. "Adorable," she tells me.

She played with my chest for a few moments, and then abruptly reached for the bottle. Snapping the top into place, she poured a generous amount into her palm. She let it run through her fingers just slightly, holding her hand in front of me to tease me with the sight. (It worked.) Closing the bottle again, her hand moved down, and I braced for the cold sensation of the liquid.

Her gentle touch, comparable only to the feeling air must have under butterfly wings, made me moan as she spread the lube all around. Her fingers lightly gripped me, and soft and slow strokes doused my already hard cock. My head was pulsing at the mix of cold of the lube and warmth of her hand.

Once she spread it evenly, she began to play with me, starting out quickly with the best of her moves. Her grip was tight, forcing the blood up and down through me, exciting me and rapidly driving me up the mountain. With her strongest strokes, I couldn't help but thrust forward, pulling myself in tight and curling my toes. It was so intense. I was expressing my tension by pushing my foot against the other end of the couch, driving me only further into her lap and her reach.

This went on much the same way for around ten minutes (if I could really focus enough to keep track of time) until I approached the point of no return. My moans and hums grew louder, and she had learned what each tone meant for how close I was.

When I was moments away from breaking through the barrier, humping into her hand and pinching the fabric of the couch between my fingers for stability, she would pull her hand away. Of the kinks that I told her, she had latched on most to edging, and she excelled at it. I sighed and pouted, to which she responded only with a smirk that made me blush. I waited patiently, wanting desperately for her to continue, wanting to reach down and help myself. But she didn't move, and neither did I, knowing vaguely that there would be some punishment for doing so.

When I had effectively reached the bottom of the trough again, she would continue. I squealed and twitched when her palm met my head again, and she assumed the same placement of her hand each time. She did this more than a dozen times; I was driven to the edge of insanity, slowly losing my mind and thinking only of the beautiful body under my shoulders. I hoped that we would change position somehow so that I could see and admire every inch of her.

I was getting dangerously closer inbetween edges when she decided to do just that. After waiting for a moment after the last edge, she stood up and said "come with me."

She guided me to our bedroom, a warm, cozy, dim-lit love cave. The same sequence of events happened that put me on the couch as she pushed me back onto our pillowed mattress. With a deep sigh of relief and tension, I rest my head back and gave her full control yet again. Her devious mind welcomed this as she joined me, laying fully aligned with me along my side. She leaned up against the wall enough to reach one hand around me and hold my chest, while the other hand shot back down to continue its work.

I was close - very close. Every stroke sent shockwaves to my toes, and I locked up my body more and more each time. This had gone on so long that an unbearable pressure was building down there, and I knew that she had to let me go now, or I would be in uncomfortable pain for the rest of the night.

I knew she would let me go - no matter what, she feels bad not to let me finish, and so always finishes me - but I didn't know when it would come. Was she done teasing me (even though I loved every minute of it)?

She was. As I moaned to her for the thirteenth time "I'm close," she responded only with "I know." Her speed increased. Her grip tightened. Her other hand joined me, taking hold of my sack and twiddling it back and forth between her fingers. I was so sensitive there that it was a catalyst to the whole thing; I could feel myself slipping.

I couldn't take any more. I croaked and begged up to her distant ears, and finally could do nothing else but say "I'm going to come..."

I was moving against her motions, building up the friction and delivering a powerful sensation like I was being sucked into a wormhole - that's the only way I can describe it. I was gone. I was hitting the ceiling. I was tipping over the point of no return.

"Come for me, my love."

The moment the last word tumbled off her tongue, she let go.

The only thing I could do was whimper a mix of yelp and moan. Her eyebrows raised and lips curled to a grin, adoring my "beautiful sound," she cooed. I couldn't look away from her and all her beauty, despite the tremors beginning to rock my abdomen. Her hand glued itself to my side, softly moving back and forth, encouraging my release.

I could feel every fiber of muscle tightening and rolling. An hour of teasing and denial, along with every sweet whisper and nibble at my ear, worked its way through my body. My cock jumped with every heart pounding rush of blood; the head swelled and the veins grew. Out of my control, my testicles pulled up and away, trying to stop the flow at the same time as letting it build.

I blinked rapidly. Sweat rolled down strands of my hair. Every second waiting for release felt like an infinity. I'll swear up and down that I hate it...but it's the best part.

Then the first drop appeared. The teasing had gone on so long that it was nearly crystal clear, diluted with precum, thin and smooth as glass. With one pump, a string dripped from my head and onto my stomach. It streamed seamlessly down and around my aching length, coasting down my thighs and onto the sheet below.

My hips rocked and bucked, looking for any shred of sensation. There was no point - it was already ruined. All I could manage was to slap the back of skin against skin, offering nothing but spreading the mess. Another wave washed over me, causing another rush down my thighs, all the while keeping my eyes locked to hers. I loved her and she loved me, and this was something special she did just for me.

Heartbeat slowing, a few small trickles continued, but the intensity of it was over. I began to relax every muscle, my head falling back onto the pillow. She kissed the hair draped over the side of my forehead and held me close for a fleeting moment. I breathed deep and she reached for the cloth she had set aside. The warm, wet feeling of the silk engulfed me, catching every drop, wiping me of the mess.

As she gently washed it all away, the tension in my entire body grew. I had been abandoned at the height of it all, and her timing was perfect, trained over the last few weeks to leave me in the greatest state of need. My eagerness for her touch was beginning to explode exponentially, driven by the release of hormones following my orgasm. It made me want her more.

Neither of us said anything - I for one was too busy panting anyhow - but I knew what was coming. Once she put the rag back, she would give me ecstasy. Another chance to finish. A well-deserved ending to a long night of torment. I couldn't wait to feel her fingers wrap around me again, to hear her encouragement for me to come.

She wiped away most of the shining layer on my skin and tossed the cloth back on the dresser. As her body settled in next to me again, I let my legs part slightly, exposing myself more and eagerly anticipating the return of her hand. She caressed my far cheek, pulling my gaze up to her. I smiled shyly, still embarrassed by how much I enjoy when she does this. Blushing, I could only say "thank you, my love..."

Another smile - a mix of devious and lustful - and her hand began to drift. It brushed down my neck and past my collar. Her hand wavered as it slipped past the middle of my chest, feeling and memorizing every curve and divot. Her fingers arched and spread to cover all of my stomach, and I knew she was taking her time to admire it. After a moment she continued on, and when it came close to my still-hard weakness, I strained, imagining the electrifying feeling of her fingertips on my head.

She slowed her movement to a crawl, and bent her face down to kiss me on the nose and put her forehead to mine. I let out a short breath of half excitement, half anticipation. The suspense built, if only for a split second, when she at once pulled her head back to look down at my sensitive flesh and surrounded the tip with her fingers forming a cage-like dome.

The feeling was bliss. Each finger had its own agenda, placed perfectly in the right ways to ignite every sensation she had learned to cause. She knew exactly where to put them to tease each side, and focused especially on my oh-so-sensitive frenulum. I moaned again, a slow and hot "ohh" as I clutched at the pillows.

To be ruined like that meant I was already moments away from the plateau. My body folded slightly, pulling away from her touch while yearning for her motions. The smallest drop of precum formed, a sign of just how close I already was. "God, you're beautiful," she spoke out in the air, still watching her own hand work.

Every word she speaks has an effect on me, and in this moment, those words were the hottest thing she could say. With each twirl of her fingertips I moaned into her neck. I had buried my face between her chin and shoulder, in a way showing her how happy I was to be submissive to her.

She formed a ring with just three fingers, her thumb wrapping behind my head and the others pressing against the front. Without time to react, I knew what she was about to do - one of the most torturous techniques she had. She rapidly moved her fingers up and down, only covering the tip. Her grip was just perfectly settled between tight and loose, enough for her fingers to catch under the rim at the bottom and conform to the curve at the top.

The effect is toe-curling (and my toes couldn't curl harder once she started.) It feels like ice, or fire, or something like a cross of the two. The most pleasurable burning sensation heated me to a thousand degrees. She moved so fast, and the move was so effective, she had me writhing and on edge in seconds.

Had she asked, I would beg for her to finish me, but we both already knew it was coming. My knees twitched again, uncontrollably bending and lifting my legs for her. I kissed her neck long and hard. I can only picture this moment like driving off a cliff: accelerating all the way to the end, and then all hope would be lost. I would lose all composure and cover myself in my own mess. Just picturing it drew me that much closer.

"Ohh, I love you." Those words pushed me over, and she knew it.

And to my horror, that's when she let go again.

I was aching, throbbing, and more sensitive than ever...and she let go again. What could have been my hardest orgasm of our bedroom adventures, and it was taken away at the last possible moment. Her hand moved down, cupping and pushing me against her palm. We could both feel the tugging of my inner body as it scrambled for something to leak.

I had every urge to break the rules. I wanted to reach down and finish what she had started, because it wouldn't be the same after this. I had reached my peak, and anything more would be difficult and borderline painful. But I knew I couldn't, for fear of rebuke. Still, without trying, my hand twitched, as if dashing to grab myself and stroke.

Her smile vanished and she grabbed my wrist with the hand that had rested on my other side, pinning me to the bed, despite my insistence that I wasn't going to do anything. "You said I have control," she touted, and I agreed. I had told her that, and I wanted her to follow through. I humped the air, providing the lightest feeling of movement instead; she saw this too, and used her other hand to lock down my hips.