Glass Her the Question

'Do you want to see it?'

She nods, biting her lip, unwilling or, perhaps not trusting her voice to speak at this moment in time. I grin at her, because I know exactly how she feels in this moment - it's exactly the same way she's felt time and time again now, a feeling she's come to anticipate uncontrollably and even yearn for as my special toy slowly reprograms her through sheer, simple bliss to enjoy, no, adore - no, to

love

how it makes her feel.

She seems to lean back a little on the couch as I reach slowly, agonisingly towards my backpack, as if already trying to position herself for it, and yet she seems to pull closer with her head, as if her body suddenly weighs twice what it had before, but her head is tied by rope to the ceiling above my head and it won't move. Even though I told her not thirty seconds ago not to look away from me, her eyes are riveted on my fingertips as they plunge under the now opened zipper on my bag, knowing what waits inside, begging for it to come out. But that's not how this works.

'Trish,' I breathe, my hand halting its progress into the bag. Almost desperately, her wide green eyes flick up to meet mine, and I see what almost looks like desperation in them. Even though she doesn't know she's doing it - every time I'd mentioned it before, she'd stopped - she's still biting her lip even as she huffs loudly at me. There's an internal turmoil going on inside her - the desire to see it again as quickly as possible intermixing with the knowledge that the only way she'll see it is if she does as I say. She seems to wobble on the spot, almost as if she's bouncing on her ass on the cushions of the couch, and her eyes flick back to the bag for a millisecond several times before she finally obeys and settles her glittering green eyes on my face.

I can see the fight dying inside her, and as it does, it seems like she almost relaxes back into the decision, as if fighting the battle to look at me over the bag has been a physical pressure on her. Her flat stomach sags ever so slightly underneath her tank-top covered bosom as she relaxes her internal musculature and I grin again, unable to resist her sheer damn attractiveness.

At 19, Trisha Mackie is a youthful goddess, the type of girl who goes through school with the eyes of countless silent, distant heartthrobs following her every single day. She has a shock of long, mostly straight black hair that she usually wears in either a bouncy ponytail or, more commonly, two twin braided tails that reach down to below her shoulder blades. Her bright, almost crystalline green eyes are enormous and sit at the centre of two milky white orbs that seem to take up her entire face. She has a round, straight nose that sits atop two thin yet surprisingly bright and plump red lips, and when she opens her mouth distractedly - as she does when concentrating or feeling hot or panting in the blissful throes of me fucking her, for example - her top lip dips inwards right at the centre, creating something of a crosshair for her mouth that seems to make you want to look beyond to the perfect teeth and imagine what it would feel like to kiss her.

Despite her numerous admirers, I feel certain that I'm one of the few that have felt them, though. Trish is actually very shy, which only serves to double or even triple her cuteness. Frequently she walks around the university campus, her books clasped to her chest in that stereotypically schoolgirlish way that even straight girls would adore, her tall, slender frame hypnotic as her shapely hips swing and her inwardly angled legs stride below her, making it look almost like she's on the runway. Her liking for well-fitting sweaters, turtle-necks and, in summer, tank tops and singlets only serves to make her yet more angelic, with the added bonus of always showing off her seemingly perfectly round breasts that, no matter what, look like two perfect balloons stuffed down her top.

Despite all her insanely gorgeous character-types, though; there's still something more attractive about seeing her sitting on my tiny studio apartment couch, her legs crossed, her wide green eyes as deep as the centre of a valleyed forest trained on me with complete and total attention, begging me to show her my special toy and then to take her however I like best. Because I know that's what she's about to do, and she knows that's what she's about to do, too, because that's what it's trained her to expect, and to want, through repeated, regular sessions with it and with me.

Still watching her, never taking my eyes off her form, I reach into my backpack where I exclusively keep it nestled amongst a plethora of old shirts and towels. She's a good girl and doesn't look away even as she sees it emerge through her periphery, a fact I can tell because I see her chest bump as her breathing hitches and her excitement climbs up a few notches. It's still wrapped in a ragged old shirt, but she knows what's inside it. By now, the shirt is probably as arousing to her as it is. I lift it slowly out of the bag and place it in my lap, gently unwrapping it in a way that only lets me see it. Despite my order earlier, her eyes flick down to land on it, and this time I don't berate her, because it's almost time for her to see it anyway, and because behind it is the thing I want her to want once she's deep in its grasp.

Initially, they had been photo shoots. Our excuses, that is - for her to come to my place. She hadn't even wanted to the first few times, and when she stopped needing anymore photos from me, I risked showing it to her. I had only used it on one woman before her, and she had been my girlfriend at the time, and even it's strong power over people couldn't convince her to stay with me when she left a month later. I'm convinced that she'd waited to break up until her own had arrived from the online store. That had been over a year ago, and now, here she is - this gorgeous, timid, willing beauty from my class. When she'd first seen it, it had been from a distance, and she was running high on emotions - flustered, emotional, and perhaps a little tipsy from the drink I'd offered her - and had left after looking at it confusedly for about thirty seconds. But from then on, she'd stayed for longer, and looked at it more closely, and then one day, sooner than I'd ever thought would happen, she'd sat down on my couch, lifted it from my pack, and begun to touch herself.

At first I was shocked, but then I quickly realised what it was doing to her. In the time it took me to hastily pack my camera off the stand (in case my wildest dreams came true and we knocked it over - it

had been

my entire year's savings after all) she had pulled the button and fly of her jeans open and was shimmying her pants down so that she could slip it inside her.

I was stunned. There, nestled like the golden treasure at the end of the rainbow was her most sacred of places, and as I watched it emerge, I saw it appear, part wide, and fill up in the space of ten seconds, the ever so slightly haired mound already glistening slightly with her wetness. Almost before I could react, she was jiggling it back and forth, fucking herself on my couch, her eyes closed, her mouth hanging open, slightly downcast at the edges as if her lips were forming an arrow to point her pleasure towards her brain.

That had been less of an awkward explanation than I'd expected, but it had ended having provided me with more than I could have ever dreamed of witnessing - Trisha Mackie pants-less on my couch diddling herself blissfully with my dildo right in front of me.

The ensuing pleasure-filled, mind-dulled blowjob I'd received had of course been

more

than enough payment for what had just become my gift to her. Now, after four more intimate photoshoots with her that resulted in no photographs being taken, here I am again - hard, tense and horny, while Trisha Mackie can barely keep her panties on as she gazes at me. If there is a god, I must have been very, very mistreated in a past life.

I unwrap it and lift it up so that she can see it, but I know she's already been seeing it in her head for the past twenty minutes at least. Still, her enormous green orbs seem to double in size as her gaze locks onto the glittering crystal core buried at the very heart of the dildo, drinking it in as I twist it gently by the seamlessly formed spherical base, my blue eyes on the other side of the surprisingly transparent glass from hers. I watch her through it, watch the distorted green of her eyes through the already insanely rich colours inside the dildo, and I think it's only my focus on her that keeps me from losing myself in it too.

That, and the fact that I'm in love with her, and because, even though this mystical device has controlled her and even me at times before, the beauty I see in her dulls even this hypnotic dildo to a milky plastic chunk in my hands.

It seems like an instant between when I hold it up for her and when I'm leaning over her body, her legs parted wide on my couch, her pants gone completely. In truth, it's close to ten minutes - I hold it up, twisting and turning it for her, letting it suck her right in deep until she's completely lost in it. Then, I hand it to her, and watch her dumbly do the same as I undress her from the waist down, positioning her just the way I know works best to give us both plenty of access and room to move. Then, I take it back and position it so that it's ready to enter her sacred place, her limp fingertips hanging atop her slightly darker-skinned mound, placid but ready to churn up a frenzy of vibration there once that core disappears inside her and the pleasure takes her over.

I part her slightly, but she's so wet and ready that she practically slides shut again under my fingers. I can smell her scent, thick and delicious and making me feel drunk all through. I can see her wetness underneath her limp fingers, know that she's put them there already in anticipation of what she'll do with them in a minute. The whole scene is just so insanely hot that I pause a moment, staring at her, staring at all of her, at the thick glass tip sitting just at the apex of her lips, at her body, at her eyes.

Then, I slide it effortlessly into her body, right up to the wide spherical base, and she gasps and her fingers dance and my dick swells and she lets out a tiny moan and we're both lost in her arousal, thick and deep enough for the two of us and then some.

It feels like another instant only, but in truth, I fuck her for about ten minutes. Every second of it is filled with the incredible, unbelievably perfect joy of her pleasure, which only serves to mimic itself in me. I watch her, sometimes staring at her eyes as they glassily look to the ceiling, to me, or to where that shining, crystal core with it's countless glittering veins of every colour imaginable would be inside her. I watch it as it vibrates almost as if on its own inside her body, watching it move her around it and stimulate such intense bliss within her, building up her orgasm as if it's the key to her body. Sometimes, I just stare off like she does, losing myself in it, in her, and in the utter euphoria of the moment.

And then, she's cumming, yipping in a gorgeously high-pitched little bark that turns my insides to water and shaking from head to toe, her thighs clenching around a body that isn't there, her stomach pulsating, her breasts bouncing even in her tank top and bra as she cums a heavenly spray-pattern all over my couch cushion and hand while I continue to fuck her with the hypnotic magic want that has given her to me.

Almost as if it's the end of a movie and the lights are slowly coming up and we're both slowly stretching and wondering whether the movie or this world is the real one, we both look up at each other at the same time, locking wide, distracted eyes onto one another as we both ride down her high. When she finally focusses and sees me behind her blissfully cloudy vision, her only thought is of an insurmountable appreciativeness to me that she feels, at least at that moment, can never be repaid.

But she tries. She leans in, ignorant of the redness at her entrance or the wide part of her legs or the thick wetness coating her, me and the couch between us, and grasps my face, suckling those uncomprehendingly soft lips onto mine and pulling what non-existent reservations I didn't have left out of me in a heartbeat. Then, she's all over me, her half-naked body swimming, her lips working up a storm of sensations on my face, her soft hands working up a storm on me as they slide like fireworks down my body, searching for and finding my button and releasing it before I realise I can't feel her palms on my chest anymore.

Then, she's taking me in her slick hand, a hand that's already run itself over her thoroughly coated pussy, her grasp nearly making me cum right then and there, and she's positioning herself over it, and then she's sitting on me and I'm inside her all the way up to the base in one swift motion and I'm lost inside her and I can barely think or breathe or exist under the intense weight of everything she is, and then, bizarrely, my addled, overloaded brain zeroes in past everything else in my exploding world onto one singular sensation. That of her cool, wet lips touching my pelvis all around my length and how weirdly similar they feel to her cool lips that seem to be permanently attached to my face. It's weird, I think, that two so very distant and different parts of her body can feel so similar in this moment, and I almost laugh in the meta-time of thought as I realise the absurdity of the steps taken to come to this realisation.

And then I'm back in the utterly overpowering world of my wet, abused couch as she tucks her legs in and begins to bounce her hips on me, taking me fully with every single thrust, her ass shaking, her breasts bouncing under her top, her face never parting from mine as she pants through her nose and fucks me.

I can't believe I last as long as I do, even though I'm pretty sure it was only about 45 seconds. But she doesn't care; and neither do I. This moment has been more than I could possibly have imagined, more than I could ever have hoped to wish for, and it's complete and utter ecstasy. If this came as a drug, I'd buy out the store, then the manufacturer, and then every crop, paddock or lab that has any part in making it and do nothing but have it drip-fed right off the production line into me for eternity. I think, for about ten seconds, I leave my body and exist entirely in heaven.

When I come down, she's there, her hips rolling sensually on me, milking me for every last drop, working me like a porn star, her back arched into my chest, her lips still planted firmly on mine. When she at last lets go, we part with a slightly dry suck, and the moment is so stupid and we're both so high on each other and the sheer intensity that we laugh, at first softly, then uproariously at it. She sits up, still straddling me, still with me inside her, and strips off her top, pulling off both tank and bra in one easy motion, and as I watch her golden orbs drop free before me, what little resolve was left inside me - I don't know, to work, to sleep, perhaps just to breathe, it doesn't matter - melts into oblivion in an instant, leaving only her.

When she lays back down on me, her warm breasts like cloudy cushions on my chest save for two tiny hard points at each's centre, wrapping her arms underneath my back, contently laying her head on my shoulder and sighing against me, I barely dare to breathe. I feel like my entire being is shuddering, as if my very brain is generating too much energy for my heart and is frying itself in my skull. I'm hers, entirely - and I think giddily about how ironic it is that my hypnotic dildo has made her mine, yet I'm probably more utterly devoted to her in this moment than she is to me. Or maybe not.

Eventually, I wrap my arms around her too, and we just lay there, silent, quiet, hot and panting, wet and sore and still interlocked together. Eventually, I slip out of her as I soften, but she only slips her soaked torso in more comfortably beside me and sighs even more happily than before. I can feel her heat on my leg, feel the damp trail she's left as she moved her pussy across my skin.

Even though I've only just cum -

inside her

- I already feel myself stirring. I can't resist; she's irresistible.

As if she senses it, she lazily opens one enormous green eye, looks down at it and grins. Then, she puts a finger to my tip and sensuously samples it. I nearly die. I'm pretty sure I

do

die when she loops that same finger lazily up inside her own body and pulls out a wet digit, which she proceeds to feed me like the divine fruit of a goddess. She tastes even better than she smells.

And that's how I met, feel in love with, hypnotised, fucked, and later married my wife, Trish Mackie, dark-haired heartthrob, sex-god, love of my life and devoted worshipper of one certain glass dildo.