She Subdued Me With Sweaters Pt 02

We both woke up at the same time. The sun was streaming in and I had forgotten to shut of my alarm clock.

We were spoon-fashion. She was snuggled up in front of me and nestling. It was a contrast to the dominant woman-in-charge who she was last night. It was very cozy and nice. She made sure to grind against my cock.

"Mine!" she growled.

That was more like the dominant woman-in-charge who she was last night.

We rolled toward each other, still in embrace. She kissed me, and wriggled against me.

"Mmmm. That was quite a night," she said, satisfied. "Did you like it?"

"Oh, yes," I stated enthusiastically.

Fact of life, I really did. I'm not sure why, but it just felt really good on many levels. I was feeling something powerful for her while feeling powerless to resist her. I ground against her body.

"Mmmm...good," she purred. "You're just what I've been wanting. Now let's get this day going," she commanded.

I started to take off my sweater.

"Uh Uh. Leave it on," she directed.

I reached for pants.

"Not now. I want you naked except for the sweater," she insisted.

I complied. She smiled slyly and made a little purring sound.

She rummaged around in my closet and came out wearing a cashmere, a favorite of mine, very soft, and very nicely shaping her lovely body, erect nipples beaming through. She slipped into her jeans, which were good jeans for her, and some simple, flat shoes.

"Where's your CD player?" she wanted to know.

"Near my desk," I told her.

She had more homemade music CDs to which she insisted that I listen. Not that I didn't like the music and the mixes she programmed, I did, but it was a little weird. I like all sorts of music, and she managed to pick some of my favorites in every genre, which seemed a little metaphysical, but I figured that we just have similar taste. Her obsession with my listening to these CDs had me curious, but I felt that I couldn't resist and that I should do as she suggests. She made them for our enjoyment. I should appreciate that.

She put a CD in the player. Music played.

Planning ahead for our sleepover, I had potatoes already boiled to make home fries, eggs, nice sausage, fruit. We got pastries and treats at the store the night before. I had good coffee.

I was feeling so dirty, hustling around the kitchen in my very large, extra-long turtleneck sweater, damp with sweat from having slept in it, a splash of dried cum across the front. I was in my bare feet. She sat, fully clothed, watching me, teasing me.

She made a point of coming up behind and feeling my ass while I prepared the meal. She ground her hips against my ass, and giggled. She reached around and played with my nipples. I couldn't resist her. She grabbed my cock. I squirmed a bit and ground my ass against her. She got kinda hot.

"Mmmmm... I love how you go along with my little games," she said, in a low, sexy voice. "I like owning you and making you do what I want."

I was dizzy, but I couldn't help liking it, feeling slutty, being owned by her. It was a very sexy. It was a fun sex game.

In my experience, crazy, hot sex in a relationship will mellow after a few months, and if there is a bond between the two when the heat dissipates, then there is most likely love and true connection. Sometimes, the heat dies down and so does the interest. When I thought about the possibility of our relationship fizzling, I started to feel anxious. That was not like me.

While I was cooking, she was sitting on a kitchen chair. She started to masturbate and insisted that I watch. My interest in what she was doing was becoming very evident under my giant sweater. She told me not to touch my hard on, and just watch. I watched.

She stroked her clit over and over and finger fucked her pussy and convulsed and jerked while she came like a tornado. It was hot to watch, and her actions were having incredible effects all over my mind and body.

It was an odd exhibition, though. She became a primal being arousing herself, clearly to achieve an orgasm for herself, but also to taunt me, tease me, and arouse me, maybe even intimidate me a little.

I have had girlfriends masturbate while I watched before, as part of foreplay or another tantalization. This was not the same as that.

Amongst all the different relationships in which we find ourselves, the roles we play vary from relationship to relationship, at least slightly. In my life, roles have been mostly traditional with some minor variations. It was not typical of me to give myself over.

This was very different from any role I've ever played. I felt like she was overtaking me and I was somehow letting it happen, and wanting it.

She wanted to masturbate again. I was cooking, so she moved her chair closer to me. Her nipples were nearly tearing through the cashmere sweater she was wearing.

She looked deep into my eyes. She swirled her fingers over her nipples and shuddered. She slipped a hand into her pants and pumped her fingers. She pushed her pants down past her knees.

She was inches from me. Her mouth was watering. It looked like an aroused cunt. My cock was stroking against the wool of the sweater as my hard on rose up. She reached for it with her free hand.

"Look at you, barefoot and naked except for a giant sweater all over your body," she taunted. "Cooking my breakfast and being the object of my arousal." She was slyly. "You like it. I can tell," she said.

Fact of life, it was very compelling. I was enjoying it. It was like waves washing over me.

Physically, this relationship was incredible, sexy, arousing. Emotionally, I was feeling more and more reliant on her, agonizing in her absence, tingling from head to toe in her presence, and in increasing compliance with her increasingly erotic wishes.

I felt so dirty, but I was feeling more and more that being the object of her arousal, being dirty for her, being available to her whims was what I was supposed to be doing. It made me feel good to be part of such dirty, shameful things. I was finding it hard to believe these thoughts were in my head. How did they get there?

I began to feel like she was my keeper. I was feeling safer near her than away from her. It was so hard to understand what was happening to me. I was becoming confused.

She was playing with my cock while I was in that spell-like trance. I couldn't tell where she began and I ended. I couldn't tell the planet I was on, even.

She took my cock in her mouth as she was cumming and thrust it down her throat. After some strokes with her velvety esophagus, she stopped.

"You don't get to cum yet," she informed me, breathily. "That'll be later."

She looked like she was in total ecstasy. She told me to lay a wad of spit on her fingers. I did.

She looked entranced, like she was looking right through me. She reached under me and swirled the spit into my ass hole. With a swift push, she buried her fingers a mile into my ass. I gasped. She moaned and smiled.

"You cannot cum," she stated,

"I won't." I was struggling, but taking it.

She finger-fucked me. She moaned.

"You are the object of my arousal. You are here for my pleasure. Say it!" She was ranting.

Her fingers were deep inside. I dared not cum. I had better say it.

"'I am the object of your arousal," I whimpered. "I am here for your pleasure."

She was cumming like a volcano. I was nearly off the floor with her fingers inside me. I was trying so hard not to cum.

She let out a shriek, and then stopped. She pulled her fingers out from me. She shivered and quaked for a moment as her series of orgasms was winding down.

She brushed the hair from her face and fixed her clothes. She washed her hands, then came over, and kissed me. She thanked me for being so sweet to let her indulge herself. She said that I am just what she needs, and that she will have me addicted to her. I was powerless.

We enjoyed our breakfast. She was impressed with my cooking and presentation. She let me suck her breasts for a few minutes as a reward. She stroked my cock while I sucked, but I did not cum.

We sat back on the couch after breakfast and smoked something. We planned the day a little.

Her feet were in my lap. I massaged them. She enjoyed that. She asked if I could do a back massage, I said I could. She rolled onto her stomach.

"Just a sample," she said. "Let me see what you can do."

I started with the ropey muscles along the spine, working toward the lower back. She purred and wriggled. I attended her shoulders and neck. She groaned.

"Mmmmm...you are good," she cooed. "I could lie her all day, but we should go out for a while. You can finish later," she directed.

"This package is getting more and more attractive," she sighed. "I'm glad I have taken ownership of you."

We started to get ready. She insisted that I wear a very large wool/mohair blend sweater; one that I would not wear in public, typically. I wanted to tell her that that would make me uncomfortable, but something stopped me. I found that I could not protest against her commands. I complied. It was cold that day, and she had me wear a cashmere sweater under an alpaca underneath the big one.

"Aww. My little sweater boy sweetheart," she said with a lilt.

She kissed me.

It looked a little bulky and goofy, but it felt really good all over me.

We gathered at the bathroom sink. She was brushing her hair; I was brushing my teeth.

"I've never really been like this before," she confessed.

"You said that," I responded. "Like what?" I asked.

"Well, sort of playing dominant over my boyfriend, you know...," she stammered a little. "Is it okay, by the way, that I called you my boyfriend?" she shyly asked.

"Um, Yes! Please do!" I was surprised, but delighted. "Does that mean that I can officially refer to you as my girlfriend?" I asked.

"Yay! Yes!!" she smiled wide. "That'll be all wonderful." She kissed me and made a happy sound.

Once again, this passionate, boiling mistress was like a giddy girlfriend.

We had digressed.

"Oh, yeah. No. My relationships were usually pretty vanilla," she stated. "Even boring, a couple of them."

She did her share of dating, a few relationships longer than a year. She said that she would get bored with them, or they would each just sort of drift in different directions. No real disaster situations. The things that attracted her to them didn't hold her attention for long.

She dated one guy for ten years. They had dated a little in college, and then lost touch. They met up at a conference, and were together after that. They were engaged for probably six of the ten years. They just became a habit to each other. They were in similar businesses, talked the same language, and traveled in similar circles. It was convenient. It didn't work out.

After they broke up, she decided to just be alone for a while, focus on work and other things that interested her.

Deciding to be alone doesn't take away all one's sexual urges. She started surfing the internet for porn, and chat rooms, and erotic stories. Somewhere down the line, submissive men started PMing her in chat rooms. She played along and she even started to enjoy it.

She had a few on-line regulars that she would tell what to do, made them send pictures and describe their nasty acts.

She started to be turned on by it. She was reading more and more Domme/sub stories, and watching more femdom-related videos, playing a more Domme role in chat rooms, and masturbating more over it. Her fantasies were evolving.

Funny thing, we were both looking at each other in that coffee shop weeks before we had even spoken with each other. I liked her because she was adorable, and upbeat. She seemed smart and interesting, and she often wore great sweaters.

She liked me because she liked the way I looked. She thought I looked confident, maybe even a bit cocky. She liked my energy, and she thought that maybe I looked like someone who would play along with her emerging fantasies, at least a little.

She admitted that she started looking for weaknesses that she could play on. She knew that sweaters were going to be a big part of her seduction. She just knew from seeing me that I liked my sweaters for more than just the fashion aspect. She always liked sweaters. It was worth a try.

From even before I understood sexuality, I found something arousing about sweaters, so much so that when I was young, I was uncomfortable even touching incredible sweaters. At some point, my brain translated the sensations that I got from sweaters in to sexual arousal. I was okay with that.

I bought sweaters for many girlfriends, some of whom would actually offer me some indulgence of my fetish, typically to a minor degree. Beggars can't be choosers.

I've enjoyed sweaters and images of them in masturbation for years.

A woman who would enjoy involving sweaters in sexual situations could easily overtake me. She figured that out somehow. She liked sweaters; maybe not in the same way as do I, but she liked them, and they would be pleasant leverage in her scheme.

I was willing to play along. I was even enjoying it. I was open to letting this thing play out. It was exciting.

My experience with relationships was a little different. I did a little dating in high school, had one long term high school girlfriend. After that I went a little crazy, drinking, picking up women all over the place.

Older, married women had a thing for me. I was a bit of a rebel, and I could make them laugh, and maybe do a few things they weren't getting from their husbands. Younger girls thought I was cool.

I had a few long term relationships. I was usually cheating, though. That becomes a self-defeating miasma. I was a little bit of an arrogant jerk, to be honest.

Truth in life, most of the sex I was having was pretty ordinary. People like to think about really nasty, wild, boundless sex. Most chicken out and a watered-down version of their mad desires is what appears, and most are okay with that. It's a hard, cultural reality to overcome.

Once I got into my thirties, I calmed down, quit drinking, had a couple of good, long term relationships. I settled in. The world works in crazy ways. My business took up a lot of my time. I ultimately ended up alone, and decided to bury my head in work, and personal interests.

During my alone time, I was poking around on the internet, myself; a lot of internet porn, chat rooms, stories, and found myself intrigued by, among other things, femdom and pegging and CEI JOI, oh, and of course sweatery things. l never expected any real-life action there in, unless I was to hire a hooker, and that was not very likely. It was fantasy stuff. But she seemed to have some uncanny psychic connection to these things going on in my head. She sensed my fantasies and was playing on them.

She and I were like a perfect storm, and I was willing to go along with her games. It all seemed harmless. Besides, I was feeling more and more powerless to resist.

The local village was just down the street, so we walked. We clutched onto each other for warmth. There were nice shops there. It was a nice village.

We were both doing reasonably well, money-wise, and we went on a spree. We hit a number of stores and bought some books, and treats. We even bought a few sweatery things in a great sweater shop. We had a nice late lunch, poked around a little more, and headed back. I was really having fun with her.

All the while, she was teasing me, edging me under the table at lunch, playing with my nipples, a surprise oral arousal, without cumming, in an alley. I was fulfilling her wish. I was becoming addicted to her.

Back at the apartment, she insisted that I return to just an oversized sweater, oh, and the very woolly and long leg warmers we bought.

Her homemade CDs went onto the machine. I scurried around in my sweatery outfit and she was overjoyed. I was liking it, too. I was feeling a little slutty.

We laid out some of the treats we brought home. We rolled a couple of joints.

I was suffering a little. She had been teasing me all day, and insisting that I not cum. She insisted that we sit on the couch and watch some movies, have treats, and get high. We watched a couple of classics, and she mixed some porn in between movies - cum compilations, JOI, dildos, some very hot videos. She was masturbating all the while, occasionally teasing my cock. She offered me her nipples, and let me lick her a little. It was very hard not to cum.

She directed me to give her a deep massage while we watched movies. I worked her back and neck and shoulders and hips and thighs. She groaned and writhed and said I was a good boy to take care of his girlfriend so well.

It was time for bed after a while.

"You've been a very good boy all day," she growled, "and now, I want to take care of your needs."

I was dizzy. I was clearly under a spell. She led me to the bedroom.

"Stand in front of me and play with your cock for me," she directed. "Through the sweater," she insisted.

I felt like a whore. My cock was rock hard and very sensitive. She looked me in the eyes as I stroked. The sweater on my cock and hands and against my balls felt freaking incredible. I was twitching and trying not to cum. She smiled at me.

"Come closer," she beckoned. "Remember, you cannot cum until I say so, and I will say so when it's right for me," she told me. "Can you remember that? Do you understand?" She went on.

"I understand," I said, hypnotically.

"Why is it that I get to control your orgasm?" She asked.

"Because you own me, body, mind, and soul," I responded. "You need no permission to use my body for your pleasure. I am grateful that you own me and that you can use me for your pleasure," I committed.

"Good," she stated.

I was thinking," What's happening here?" It was a little eerie.

She put her hands on my hips and stroked the sweater over my body, rubbing her face on it, looking me in the eyes, giggling. Her hands were working around to my ass. She smoothed her hands up and down my sweatered ass while I continued to stroke my sweatery cock in front of her.

"Squat a little," she said, a little breathily.

I did.

"What's going to happen to you right now?" she taunted.

"You're going to enter my body with your fingers," I said back.

"Why?" She wanted to know if I understood.

"Because you're getting off by owning me and doing the dirty things of your fantasies," I said back nervously.

"You do understand." She seemed surprised.

She was building a wad of spit on her fingers. With the sweater pulled tight over my cock while I stroked, she opened her mouth and let me fuck it a little. Her hand went under me. I could feel her rub the spit into my hole. She stopped sucking a minute, and looked at me.

"This might hurt a little," she warned. She put her mouth back on my cock.

I could feel two fingers swirling on my hole. I gasped. Her mouth clamped around my cock. Two fingers shot into my asshole. I hollered out. I was trying not to cum all the while. I was nearly crying. She looked very happy. She was playing with her pussy.

She stopped everything at one point.

"Get on the bed," she gently insisted.

I did.

We were facing each other. She was kissing me. She was fondling my cock, occasionally checking for pre cum, and sharing it with me from her finger.

"I really like the way our relationship is going, sweetheart," she cooed. "You're handsome, and fun, and smart, and you are addicted to me. You'll do pretty much anything I want, at least sexually," she went on, "and never deny me my desires."

She kissed me tenderly while just running her fingers loosely over my cock. She rolled me onto my back, she lifted my legs so my feet were flat on the bed and my knees slightly bent.