I’m lying on my back, my legs splayed open, not widely, but enough to have one leg wrapped through yours, where you are lying on your side next to me. My other leg is angled away from you such that you have access to my cunt. You are propped on one elbow, looking down at my face, my eyes gazing steadily and adoringly up at you, hesitant and expectant, shy even. We’ve assumed this position many times before, and you’ve watched me masturbate for you. At first, I could barely touch myself, bashful and wary of allowing you to watch me do something that I had done for years and years, with fingers and all manner of toys, but privately. Only on occasion had someone watched me, and commanded me to masturbate for them. And then I would perform. Always about performing to please, or behave how I perceived this man or that man wanted me to, to please him. And I never came. Not once. Always the self-consciousness tipping me away from that slide to orgasm, making me clamp down internally on all sensation, lock it, block it, and disallow myself. I knew it wasn’t about trust. I trusted all the men with whom I’d ended up in bed in that vulnerable a position, but I didn’t want to give them that, that power I suppose, that right to see me at my most vulnerable and disinhibited. They might have fucked me till I ached, made me cum vaginally and anally, squirt, gush; they may have hit me, hurt me, cut me, bruised me, but never had I masturbated myself to orgasm quietly under their gaze. Not one single time. And of course, one or two had thought I had, because I deceived them. And they were none the wiser, or, if they were, they chose not to challenge me, having finally come up against a wall they could not breach with me. And I had been happy about that, never seeing it as an issue, never wanting it to change, never needing it to.
But you, you are not them. And you’ve handled this so very differently. I’ve touched myself multiple times in front of you, always in this position, sometimes angled in such a way, aligned away from your body, so that your cock is nestled deep inside me, pressuring me, filling me, but never really fucking me, and asking me to touch myself while you hold yourself oh so still inside me. And you’ve been whispering filth in my ear, telling me what a slut I am, telling me what a good little girl I am for touching myself for you. How all the nasty you do to me, is highlighted for you in this moment of stillness, watching me let your words tease my mind, recall sensation to my cunt and mouth, and yet you simply fill me, and let my fingers massage my body into an ever increasing state of arousal at the whispered filth and memories of all you’ve done to me. And you’ve always stopped me, before I’ve approached orgasm. Never asked me to get close, to back off, and certainly never demanded that I cum. You knew I couldn’t, wouldn’t. Why set us both up to fail?
But today, not that I know it yet, you’ve made a decision. And this won’t be about me touching myself. You’ve watched me, over and over again, how my fingers swirl and tease along my labia, how I scoop inside myself to pull moisture to my clit, how I lick my fingers, spit on them a little sometimes, to circle tiny motions on my clit, or swipe alongside the left or right of it, longer strokes. How I settle after a time, as you turn me on more and more, to rubbing my clit, ignoring my cunt, or grasping tightly at your cock deep inside me, trying to impale myself on your further as my motions become more frenetic, almost frantic sometimes, and yet no orgasm. I know that I’ve teetered on some occasions, getting actually very close, but never close enough to reach that panic and shut down point, so that I won’t, can’t, cum in front of you.
So, you’ve watched me, and learned. And today, your hand is lightly stroking my belly, up and down, reaching up to brush my breasts occasionally. We are talking, about not much. I’m increasingly aware of the sensations on my chest and stomach. I haven’t cum for three days, not clitorally, and not vaginally or anally either until two hours ago. I’ve not seen you, and when we spoke on the phone, you denied me. I’ve asked four times to cum, to masturbate in your absence, and each time you’ve told me, simply, “No, my dear, you may not. Wait till Saturday.” We’ve had battles about this, and you know how I struggle to allow you to control it, how I’ve failed in the past, long ago now, always admitting it, and it took a very long time before we negotiated you controlling it. And you rarely deny me. That game doesn’t work for us, and you know it’s never worked for me. The frustration and angst interfere too negatively in my real world, away from you, and I cannot handle it. Only one man, ever, has been given that control over me. I’ve simply never managed to cede it since. But you and I, we got there, eventually. But still, you wield your control carefully, setting neither of us up to fail. Your denial over the last three days has confused and bewildered me, but you have been implacable, and you have reminded me over and over about obedience, and expectation, and played the card of knowing I don’t want to disappoint you. And still, despite this bond, that control has almost not been enough. I have wavered, almost touched myself, and yet somehow held off. I felt mildly sulky about it for much of the three days, while simultaneously getting off on your control of me, and your constant reminders and pushes. I have not dared touch myself, because I know myself too well, and once I start to touch, I can never pull away in time to prevent orgasm, occasionally in the past coming after I cease touching, simply because my body can’t stop cresting to orgasm, and cleansing me of the pent up desire and need. But, amazingly to me, I have managed to obey you this time. I have not touched, and whilst seeing you again made those feelings recede a little, simply because you’re there, and we are touching, and you have fucked me, and I have cum and cum vaginally, and feel partially sated, my clit has not been touched. And lying here next to you now, with you stroking me gently, that need is rising, building, beginning to take me over.
I squirm against you a little, inviting you with my body twisting away from you for you to enter me. You place your hand firmly on my belly, “No, kitten. No cock.” I blink and look up at you.
“Kitten? Where did that come from? You don’t call me kitten. Why did you call me that?”
“No why. Just came to me. Do you have a problem with it?”
“No,” I hesitate. “No problem, just not been called that before, and you’ve never called me that.”
“Well then, seems like a fine thing to keep on calling you.” You bend your head down and nip at my neck, gently, but keeping still in a way which inevitably ratchets up the sexual tension I am feeling. Your teeth are still on me, and I feel myself groaning, and turning my head from you to give you greater access. Your teeth part, and reach again to take in more flesh, and I feel your lips seal, and feel you apply suction. The pressure builds, pain and pleasure swirling from the point of contact to my chest, my stomach, my cunt. My hips raise on the bed a little. Your right hand moves down my stomach to rest firmly on my abdomen, your fingers on the smooth shaved flesh of my mound. Your teeth remain in contact with the delicate skin of my neck, and all I can think now is that I want you inside me, again. I feel fluid bubble at my cunt, a mixture of my cunt juices, and the cum you’ve already spilled inside me. Your teeth release their pressure and pull gently away, eliciting a soft regretful moan from me.
“Let’s just get your legs a little wider, shall we, I want you to be nice and comfortable, and for me to have nice easy….access,” you say, readjusting your body, and mine. Your fingers begin to swirl against the skin above my cunt. “Oh, wait, I nearly forgot.” You move my head and upper body a little, so you can reach to under the pillow above and away from me, grasp something and drop it onto my chest. It is a latex glove, one of those medical type blue ones, and a little sachet of silicone lube. My cunt seizes at the sight of it. You know damn well that I have a thing for gloved play. I love the anonymity of it, the objectification it implies to me – that you don’t want to be flesh on flesh, that barrier of removal, you remaining detached from me somehow. I find that highly arousing, and in conversations, you know that mentioning gloves sends me off into little daydreams of erotic coupling involving hands and lube and orifices and cocks in mouths while shielded fingers slide in and out of me. I shudder a little under the items, and look up at you. I’m torn between injecting a little humour, and actually giving in to the powerful sense of arousal this evokes. I hedge, “Fucker, you planned this.”
“I did, kitten, now undo that packet of lube for me and drizzle it on your cunt lips while I get this glove sorted out.” I can’t help but giggle a little at that, and am grateful. The lube is cool, surprisingly liquid. I like the silicon ones, oily and silky, and they never do that tacky thing that’s actually quite distracting when you need the liquid seasoning of lube the most.
I watch you pull the glove onto your hand. Your hands are large, strong hands, and you know I have a thing for them. You’ve teased me with them before, on my clit, and with multiples of your fingers thrusting into me. I’ve gushed on your fingers more than once, but mostly in passing, as part of a long session, bundled in a myriad of other sensations. You’ve never used your hands or fingers on me in a prolonged way. I find myself swallowing now, anxious, but aroused, very aroused, and keenly anticipating the feel of you on me.
“Close your eyes, my dear, and breathe for me. Five deep breaths, in and out.” Your hand, now catching at my flesh differently, the latex feel very apparent to me, rests heavily on my stomach again. You keep it there, totally still, for the time it takes me to draw, and exhale, those five breaths. I go to open my eyes as the last air is exhaled from my lungs.
“No, keep your eyes closed for me. Breathe again, kitten, five breaths, nice and steady.” I begin to inhale, and your hand lifts from my stomach, fingers trailing my skin as you reach down, down my abdomen, to tickle across my mons. My breath catches, and your fingers stop. “Breathe.” My throat unlocks and I continue to inhale, and your fingers move down again, and swirl over my skin, catching but beginning not to as your fingers encounter the first spilled edge of lubricant. I can’t help that my deep breath in catches in my lungs and I find myself holding my breath. “Breathe out, kitten nice and slowly, more slowly than you breathed in. Just breathe.”A ragged, deliberate, tortured breath out. I can feel my stomach contracting as I force the air from me. Your fingers are now on the fleshy mound of skin above my clitoris, nowhere near the sensitive tissue really, but my cunt spasms nonetheless. As my lungs reach their lowest point, all breath squeezed from myself, you say, “And hold it. Do not inhale. Hold…..hold…..” I want to groan against the throat I’ve just locked in obedience. Can feel my throat and lungs constricting and fighting against the command. Unnatural. Of course I’ve held my breath before, but I’ve never forced all the air from my lungs and held nothing inside me, never. “And inhale, kitten, breathe deeply in.” An audible inhalation now from me, can feel my heart pound as I do so, and feel myself squirm against you, my head tipping in towards you, a mewl. Your fingers have slipped to between my legs, and your hand spread so that you are cupping my cunt, no pressure, no insertion, no contact with inner flesh, but present, oh so present. And those next four breaths, you have me hold on the exhalation, for longer each time, concentrating on keeping my lungs empty for you, on command. Your hand never moves, just a little pressure from your fingertips against my outer labia. I can feel myself slipping sideways into an unfamiliar yet welcome space, a sort of focused stillness, feeling your body against me, your hand cupping my sex, your words in my ear commanding my right to oxygen. And then you release me. “Good girl, you may breathe normally now.” I mewl and shift my upper body into you further, pressing against you, lifting and realigning my left leg so that my legs are further splayed for you. “Keep your eyes closed, kitten, and just feel me.” My head is turned into you, and I am grateful for the command to keep my eyes closed, for I can feel your hand begin to move between my legs, your fingers to lift and start to stroke along the length of my cunt. The sensations sweep from stomach to cunt and back again as the insides of my cunt shift and clench in pleasure, I feel a gob of fluid leak from me, slide down my perineum and puddle between my arse and the bed. You’ve felt it too ,as it slides over your gloved hand, and you chuckle. “ You’re leaking all over my hand, kitten, did you know that?” I feel mildly ashamed and humiliated, and mumble something about it being your fault, and it’s your cum that’s buried inside me, spilling from me now, nothing to do with me. You chuckle again. “Ah, well, see, I happen to know that even if that little gobbet of slime was me, you are about to produce a whole lot more, all by yourself. But we’re just going to relax and let that happen. No pressure, no rush, and I’ve no intention of stopping until I’m good and ready. I suspect you’ll fall asleep on me before I’m done having fun with you. Eyes closed, kitten.” And, with a huge sigh, I relax into the feelings you are eliciting. Your fingers are stroking alongside my cunt, outer lips only, and above my cunt, the palm of your hand massaging the flesh above my clit, lazy circles, not a lot of pressure, but enough to make me want more. The lube and the glove feel divine, smooth and warm and slick. I am desperate to feel your fingers slip into the moist inner folds of me, to penetrate me. My hips rise up from the bed to press against your hand. You whisper in my ear, “what do you want, kitten? What do you want daddy to do?” I freeze at this. We do not use this language, not ever. You know that my theory of how all this works for me is that daddy dom/little girl thing..i love that deference and younger, shy, inexperienced woman contrasted to older, wiser, stabler and steadier guiding figure, but we don’t use the words. We just don’t. And yet I can feel my cunt spasm in response. That little war of thinking you don’t like something, and your body challenging you to wonder whether that’s really true. I mewl at you, turn my head even further into you, to hide. You chuckle at me again, bend your head to kiss the top of mine.
“I know what you want….” And your fingers slip to my smoother, wetter inner flesh. Slide up and down the length of me, stroking, from just beneath my clit, to my perineum, almost to my anus, not quite, massaging a slow circle there before being pulled up again, and stroking round and round and round my cunt. I mewl and press my cunt to your fingers. You repeat this motion several times, no variation, just repeating that gentle and insistent massage, driving me insane with longing to feel you finally penetrate me, fully, wholly, drive those thick fingers deep inside the cunt which is sopping wet and begging for you.
“Please…..” I manage.
“Please, what, kitten? What would you like daddy to do?” I semi-freeze again at this, confused as to why you are talking like this, but turned on in spite of that confusion. I am at the point of not really caring what you call me, or you, I just want your fingers, your fucking large and manly fingers, fucking inside me, to fuck me. Right now. I half groan, a sort of frustrated grunt, and thrust my cunt at your hand. You pull your hand off me, completely, and I cry out. You lean close to my ear, as your hand descends again, “I know what you want, kitten. You want daddy’s hand inside you, don’t you? You want these fingers, “and here you drum your fingers over my cunt lips, as if you were merely tapping them on a tabletop,” pressed into you. You want to be daddy’s good little girl, and feel him fuck you up real good? Make you beg to cum? Is that it, kitten? Is that what you want daddy to do?”
I give a strangled cry. This isn’t right. Isn’t normal, isn’t what we do. But I can’t help but want you. The need to feel you inside me now is overwhelming. Too much teasing, not enough release. I can feel cunt juice ooze out of me, puddle at my outer lips and slide down my perineum. “Please, please just fuck me…I need…please….your fingers inside me. Please fuck me.”
“Pardon, kitten? I don’t think I heard you properly.” I cry out again against you, wanting to push you away, but wanting to grab at you and force you to touch me. My left hand reaches for your right hand, to pull you back to my body. “Get your hand off mine, right now. If you move it another inch, this stops, all of it.” Your voice is stone cold, firm, immovable, and I shudder at the sound of it, yanking my hand back, unsure if I’ve completely pissed you off and this is game over, or if you are just, what, putting me in my place? You speak again, your tone entirely warm and forgiving. “Good girl. You aren’t in control of this, my dear, none of it.” There is a long moment of silence, where you let your words sink in, and your hand resumes its position just cupping my cunt. No contact with labia, inner or outer. “Do you understand me, kitten?”
I nod at you, eyes still tightly closed, “Yes, yes, Sir. I understand. I’m sorry.”
I can feel you smile at me, I swear it. “No apology necessary. Now, where was i?” And your fingers part my lips once again, and begin stroking, stroking. It is only a few seconds before the moment has passed, my transgression utterly forgotten, forgiven, and I am mewling against your fingertips. You bend your head to mine, put your lips over mine, kiss me gently, and then your tongue parts my lips, enters my mouth, oh so slowly, licking inside my lips, pressing inside my mouth. The fingers of your right hand come to rest against my inner labia, and begin to circle, to massage in the tiniest motions, and move slowly, oh so fucking slowly, to reach inside me. I groan into your mouth, my tongue rising to meet yours, to twine with you, as your fingers insert themselves. And then you are pressing, pressing, pushing against me. My groan into your mouth is deep, and long, and I can’t kiss you back, all sensation focused on what you are doing to my cunt. You lift your head from mine, watching my face, as I arch my back, my neck, and moan. Your fingers twist and press within me, slowly inserted until I feel your knuckles pressed hard up against the outside of my cunt. My cunt spasms and clasps at you. “How does that feel, kitten? Daddy has his fingers inside you now, to the hilt. Just like you wanted. How does that feel?” My cunt spasmed doubly hard at your reference to yourself as daddy. I’m beyond questioning that now though. And I am incapable of answering. The sensation is overwhelming. I can feel your hand twist inside me, your fingers curling themselves so that your fingertips sweep over my g-spot. I groan and press onto your fingers. You lean in to whisper in my ear, I can feel your beard tickling at me. “How does it feel, kitten? How do daddy’s fingers feel inside you?”
“Oh my god…you feel good. That feels good, oh god, please don’t stop.” My hand is now clutching at the sheet next to me, clinging to it to anchor myself. Your fingers curl up within me, then straighten, and then you begin to pump them in and out of me…slowly, deeply. No rush, this is not intended to make me squirt, no rapid and fast movement, no inevitable crash of sensation that makes me gush for you. Just full and filled and deeply massaging me inside. I am groaning and can feel how flushed the skin is on my face and chest, can feel my heart pulsing rapidly, can hear my heartbeat in my throat. Slowly, your fingers are drawn from me, very slowly, no wrenching, just a gradual withdrawal, but as you do so, your thumb is placed on my clit gently, and begins to massage in tiny circles. I feel my cunt spasm and grip your fingers as they pull from me, the sensations from within my cunt being replaced by clitoral stimulation, much sharper and more surface than that deeply satisfying internal sensation. And yet this, this clitoral stimulation, is what results in the biggest orgasms for me, screaming releases that often leave me laughing or sobbing uncontrollably. Your fingers leave my cunt entirely, and I moan a little in frustrated need, but can feel more than your thumb on my clit now, can feel your fingers slippery and sliding around me, stroking the length of that sensitive band of tissue, left hand side, right hand side, and then, curiously, concentrating on the left hand side. And I realise that that is precisely what I do, when I play for you, when I’ve masturbated on command. I always do concentrate on that side of my clit, and you are mimicking that now. The stroking turns to circular movements, wider diameter, then shrinking. And then you aren’t circling, you’re rubbing, with more than one finger. And, fuck, all sensation in my cunt is by the by. I can feel myself building to orgasm now. And then a splash of fear, because I know I can’t cum, won’t cum. Something must change in my body language, you must sense my sudden reticence, for you lean in and whisper in my ear, “You may not cum, kitten. Do you hear me? You may not cum. Daddy doesn’t want you to. You don’t have permission.” I cry out at this, this invasion of my headspace. It isn’t up to you, is what I start to think. You aren’t controlling this. But then, yes, yes you are. And I can’t cum anyway, you know that, so why tell me I can’t. And your fingers are rubbing, faster now, my clit and labia slick with my slime, and the underlying lube, so silky, so wet. I can feel the urge to cum return, the shutdown response blown away.
You chuckle. “Oh yes, I know you want to. I can feel your body tighten against me. Do you not know, kitten, that your clit swells, and hardens, when you get very close? I can feel it, I can feel your little clit responding to Daddy, tightening and sharpening for me. She wants to please me. But is she listening, kitten. Are you listening to Daddy. I know you want to cum, but you can’t. I’m not going to let you. I’m. Saying. No.” And, perverse as it is, you telling me that I can’t, that you don’t want me to, instead of being heard by me as a command not to cum, is instead heard as a permission to not have to. That sliding away of a shutdown response is because you don’t want me to anyway. You aren’t giving me permission. So, I don’t need to cum, don’t need to want to cum, to please you. I need to not cum. And that’s easy.
Except it isn’t, because you are whispering in my ear again. “Oh, kitten, do you know how beautiful you are, when you’re so desperate to cum?” Your hand has slipped to grab a handful of my hair hard in your left hand, pulling against my scalp. “ So wanton, legs splayed, mewling at me, flushed, your clit hard, your needy little cunt dripping. Oozing at me. Greedy little slut, you are. Greedy little kitten, and right now, Daddy just wants to shove his cock into that mewling throat of yours, shut you up and fuck that mouth good and hard.” Your hand shakes my head back and forth as the fingers of your right hand dance over my clit, pressure, heat, sensation, slippery sliding goodness. And that’s it. Those few words, telling me what you want to do to me, your hand in my hair, tip me irrevocably. Your command not to cum stands for naught in the onslaught of your words. And you sense it, and grip my hair all the harder, and as my body arches against your hand, and my mouth opens to scream the arrival of my orgasm, you say, “Come for me, kitten, come for daddy, come all over my hand.” And fuck knows how you know to do this, but your thumb presses into my clit, circling, as you push three of your fingers hard up inside my cunt, just as the crashing spasms of orgasm tear at me, ripping through my cunt and up my arching body and emerging as an unholy scream from my throat.
Waves of sensation burst through my cunt as your fingers pump and push deep, deep inside me, fucking the orgasm into me, suspending the waves and prolonging it. And then you’re stilling me, shushing me, telling me I’m a good girl, good kitten. Daddy’s very proud. Hush, quiet now. And I am curling into you, drawing my legs together and up, towards you, your fingers still deep inside me, my cunt holding you there, gripping and pulsing in the aftermath. My throat sharply burning from my scream. I can feel liquid dribbling from me, over your hand, sliding down my arse and falling to the sheets. I feel myself sob against your chest. You slowly withdraw your fingers, turn me so that my back is to you, and wrap your arms around me, pulling the glove from your right hand and dropping it to the floor. “I’m here, my dear, let it go. I have you.” And I cry for a time, the release so very welcome, and good. I am vulnerable, here in this space, so very vulnerable, but you have me, and I am safe. And I calm, and wiggle into you, heaving a huge sigh. I can feel the puddle of liquid underneath me, and groan as I feel another slick of it puddle from me and slide to the sheets. I laugh, and take your hand and guide it to my sopping cunt, and the cooling puddle on the bed.
You chuckle. “Are you going to try and tell me that’s all me too, my dear?”
I laugh and press my arse back to the concave curve of you. “No, Sir. I know it isn’t. Funny though, right?”
“Right.”
“And where the hell did kitten and Daddy come from, seriously?”
You laugh a low laugh behind me. “I don’t know. But, kitten,” here you squeeze me tightly to you for a second, “do you care? Forgive me for saying this, but those words, well, uh, they did rather work, right?”
“Right.”
I am silent for a moment. And then speak again, a whisper, “Thank you. Thank you, Daddy.”
You squeeze me to you again, kiss my hair. “You’re welcome, kitten.”
