He groans but obeys, pumping harder and faster. She can smell his arousal mixing with her perfume, but while she knows the pressure that is already building inside him, he would not dare to orgasm without her consent. The toy will be pressing ever more firmly as his body shifts and adjusts to his body's response. He is rock hard, cock straining and purple.
"Release," she commands, and he does, her cock twitching and throbbing before her.
She lets him stand there, cock shifting gently as though stirred by a wafting breeze.
"Child's pose, on the rug, now," she instructs and he complies immediately, pressing himself onto the rug, knees wide and hands stretched before him. They have come to recognise and love this space as it comes on. She connects with the truth that she can require anything of him, and unless it is something that crosses a boundary for him - in which case he will be clear and honest with stating this - she can say and do what she wants.
Freedom. That's what it is. Freedom. From her past. From expectation and requirement. From being a performer, a toy for someone else's pleasure. This is her space.
She stands over him, basking in his submission. She takes her time. He is limited in what he can see to the periphery. She knows how much this turns him on, the anticipation, the waiting. His dirty mind will be conjuring all manner of arousing scenarios.
She takes her time attiring herself. She applies lipstick, crimson and bold. Her hair she piles on her head and secures with two long pins. She buttons the shirt carefully, deliberately. As she does she uses her words to keep his arousal simmering, though barely a nudge and it would boil, she knows.
"Look at my gorgeous whore, spread before me. Such a dirty slut. Such needy whore, so eager to please. You'll stay perfectly still, but Mistress knows that if she wanted she can order you to devour her cunt, and that would be the most wonderful prize."
He moans, hands outstretched on the material of the rug. He has indeed prepared himself immaculately, closely shaven and smooth.
She steps into the soft leather of the harness. The harness is a new part of the experience for her. No, not new. She has had for some time, but it always stirred in her a sense of obligation. It was not for her, it was for someone else, and therefore a requirement.
She has been fascinated with the masculine energy that she is learning about, but until now there has been no need or desire for something so overt as a physical prop. But she has listened to a podcast that talked about the physical feeling of an appendage, foreign and alien to her, and how it could change the way her physical space felt. So, she decides to try it out, not as implement for his pleasure, but to create a different experience for her.
The material feels luxurious against her skin, fitting and moulding to her curves as she pulls the straps taught. She lightly touches the glass cock. It is a work of art. If she could conceive her perfect girl-cock, this would be it. It is the perfect length and thickness, but it is the way that it is crafted that makes it so exquisite.
She stands and admires her girl-cock. She moves, testing and delighting in how it feels. She experiments with how it swings back and forth as she moves. She connects with her masculine. She feels the power that comes from the blunt instrument that swings between her legs. She laughs at the absurdity of it at the same time as celebrating the power it sends through her frame.
"What a thick, hard girl-cock I have," she says proudly, grasping it at the base, just beyond the metal ring that holds it in place. She allows herself to indulge in a side of her soul forever withheld, until now.
"Such a hard, sexy girl-cock. So powerful and beautiful."
She's trying this energy on, seeing how it feels, dropping into it and letting it flow through her. It does feel interesting, and she swaggers around the room, laughing like flowing water at the sensation and absurdity of it. But she also feels something else. She gets a sense of the power the podcast had talked about, being alpha, the man, the one in charge.
"You have done such a wonderful job of presenting yourself slut. Your Mistress is pleased by how tempting you look. Stand up, get on the couch."
He does, his breath coming quickly and his cheeks flushed. His eyes widen for a moment as he drinks her in, then he grins a wicked grin. He sits, and she straddles him, grabbing his throat and kissing him passionately. Her lipstick smears across his lips, another thing she knows he loves.
Her arousal is amping now, building and coiling in her belly. Once, early on, this feeling confronted her. She could feel the animal inside coming to life, but it frightened her; she was afraid of losing control. Now, she knows she can indulge her desires and he will communicate clearly if she's pushing too far. So far, she has been surprised with what he is comfortable to allow, and where she worries that he will tell her to stop, he moans and thanks her instead.
She slaps his face, once, twice, a third time. The third is hard, a crack expertly executed across his cheek. His eyes turn glassy and he moans a thank you. He has already starting to enter sub-space she can see, and it urges her on.
She's panting, grinding, feeling wetness starting to gather inside her. Her girl-cock is cool glass and rubs between them, the straps applying unexpected pressure to her crurer.
She looks down and sees his nipples, an area of his body that she's discovered he takes particular pleasure from. She starts to massage them while continuing to kiss him. Then she sits back and lets her fingernails trace the flesh of his chest.
She smiles with a knowing glint at his reactions, and takes each nipple between her fingers. She pinches, hard. Far harder than she would be comfortable with, but he reacts by thrusting his hips upwards, as though he feels the sensation in two places. She pushes further, pulling the nipples away from his chest. He is swearing and moaning almost incoherently.
"My beautiful slut," she whispers. "I do so love making you a mess like this. Such a needy slut, such a lucky slut having a Mistress who knows just how to make you moan and beg."
His reply is babbling but affirmative. She pulls the nipples again, harder this time, and twists as well. She does this with confidence, which only drives his arousal higher. She's learned that too; the more she's become comfortable in her power, the more turned on he allows himself to get. She enjoys the power of it. She pinches again, and leans in and traps an earlobe tween her teeth and he cries out in delight.
He's in some sort of ecstatic state now, willing and ready. She turns him around so he's kneeling towards the back of the couch. She pushes his head forward, and parts his knees. She takes the paddle from the coffee table and spanks him, hard. He moans and thanks her. She gives him three more on each flank, the material and lace absorbing some of the blow.
She reaches between his legs, grasps his cock and strokes it five or six times. Then she spanks him again, 6 times in quick succession. Again, she reaches between his legs and strokes him, longer this time. She begins to alternate this pattern, spending more time each rotation either stroking or spanking. His flesh is a satisfying red, and she knows that he will be driven to distraction with the sensation of it.
He described it to her after the first time as being a complete blurring of sensation, which heightens both. It also means she can completely control his arousal without ever letting him climax unless she wishes it. More and more he is relishing the denial. He loves the way he becomes so desperate to please, as though her release is all he will get, making him crave and worship her all the more.
He moans and squirms, his hips thrusting forward. That's quite enough, she thinks.
"Bedroom," she pants, jumping off him standing. He takes her hand, lays the most delicate kiss on the back of it, grins at her and pulls her down the hallway. She laughs as she feels the glass cock bobbing along with her.
The bedroom is just what her sensual side desires. The sheets are as tight as a drum across the bed. Candles cast a soft and subtle light throughout and the music is gentle and provides a sound scape rather than something to listen to directly. The room is warm but not hot.
She reclines onto the bed her like a cat in sunshine and spreads her legs. As she does the air touches the wetness there and it is her turn to gasp. She knows that her cunt will be flushed and opening like a beautiful flower by now.
She grasps the glass firmly, instinct urging her hand up and down its shaft. Each upward pull places delicious pressure below, and the down presses indirectly against her hardening clitoris.
