Subdued With Sweaters

 Subdued With Sweaters

Part III

 

                I spent a fair amount of Thursday distracted with thoughts of the coming weekend. My mind couldn’t get around this feeling of anticipation, my desire to be with her. I was feeling anxious. I was thinking that I would do anything to be in her company. It was almost overwhelming.

                An associate and I were working on a project. He asked me why I was so crazy about her. He almost seemed concerned. I phumphered for something to say.

“She calls and you answer, man,” he said with emphasis. I blushed a little.

“No,” he said, “you go into, like, a trance.” “It’s almost spooky,” he laughed a little, nervously. He asked, “What is it that you like about her?” He pried a bit, “You talk about her, but you’re kinda vague, you know,” he went on. “I don’t want to say anything, but I’m your friend, you know. It’s like she’s got you hypnotized and under surveillance,” he opined. “Just observing.”

His two cents made me think a minute, but as soon as I started wondering, processing what was going on, I suddenly felt a little foolish, and uncomfortable, so I clumsily got back to what I was doing.                                                      

I told him that she was attractive and smart. I intimated that sex was really good, without going into too much detail. I extolled a few of her virtues, but I couldn’t give him any specific thing. I said that she seemed like someone who I have always known. I found myself settling on a broad response by telling him that she had somehow managed to capture my mind, body, and soul. He asked if she had stolen my heart. I paused. I told him that that is a part of my body. He stared a minute. I paused again. What was I saying?

                The Monday holiday meant a long weekend, and with the snow storm coming, the office was going to close at the end of the day, and stay closed until Tuesday.  Despite my anxious state, I managed to clean up the work that needed to get done. Fact of life, I was extremely focused. I was almost surprised.

Just before I left the office, she sent me a text message. It said, “En sof khay anu,” and it directed me to say the words out loud. I did. I didn’t know what it meant, but as soon as I said it, I felt that I triggered a sense of euphoria that washed over me.

                She called shortly thereafter. My face became flushed. An associate mentioned it. I brushed it off with a fake cough.

She said that she would be stopping by my house, at 7:30, just for a few minutes. She told me to have my shaving kit together and any reading material, and so forth, that I might like to have with me on the weekend. She would pick out my clothes, and other items she wanted me to have. She would take them to her house. I told her that I would be ready.

“Good,” she said.

                Of course, she arrived on time and was wearing an incredible mohair sweater and cashmere gloves, that crazy perfume, and a bit of natural body aroma. As it often times did, it caused the world to get a little fuzzy around the edges.

  She came in and looked deeply into my eyes, stroked my face, ran the tips of her fingers through my hair, lightly touched her warm, wet lips to mine, darting her tongue just a teeny bit. I was breathless.

She uttered, “Hamaaree aatmaen aapas mey-in ji udee hu wai ha een.”

I had no idea what it meant. I went weak in the knees. My concerns from earlier suddenly faded away. I felt as though she was the entire world, and nothing would exist without her.

                She had a devilish look, piercing right through me. She kissed me. She grinded against me. I could not move. I could only let her have her way. Her hands were all over my body.

“I am really looking forward to this weekend, honey,” she purred.

“Open your pants,” she ordered.

I did.

“Take them off,” she insisted. “And your shirt,” she barked.

The door to my apartment was still open.

I was like a robot in some ways, just responding to her directions, but I was not in a fog. I was fully aware of what was happening. I was responding to her commands just because. I was a little frightened, but I liked it. It made me feel dirty. And I was at least a little bit intimidated, and maybe a little afraid.

She groped and grabbed and stroked my naked body with her cashmere gloves at the ends of her mohair covered arms. She was feeling up my ass and my balls, and sliding her hands over my chest and arms and face. She teased my ass. I couldn’t help but squirm just a bit. She pinched my nipples when I did. She was hissing and growling. She was clearly enjoying this.

                Then she came very close and again, pierced my very being with her eyes. Instinctively, it seemed, I knew to not do anything unless directed. She licked my lips, slipped her sweatery fingers in my mouth.

“You’re so fucking dirty, property of mine,” she teased and giggled. “I love you, honey.”

Her mohair sweater was long enough that she could stroke it over my cock with strategic hip movements. I could feel it all. My mind was in a wild, erotic frenzy. All my body parts were tingling, and I could do nothing about it.

She concentrated her sweatery arms and hands over my cock, which was so erect from her taunting and teasing that it hurt. The skin was stretched to the point where I felt it would tear wide open, and it was so sensitive, a mere thought could make it go off. She was looking deeply into my eyes. Her lips were inches from mine. It was a very intoxicating moment.

I knew that I needed to focus on her instructions. I knew that I could not cum unless she told me I could, and I knew that that moment will not happen soon. Why I know this, I’m not sure. What the consequences would be if I cummed, I did not know. She had made no insinuations or implications there in thus far. I just knew to not.

Like she read my mind, she whispered, “What do you know, right this minute, sweetheart?”

I hesitated. I felt like I couldn’t speak.

“Oh, honey, please, you can tell me. You have my permission to answer,” she cooed in my ear as she stroked me and undulated her body against mine.

Why did I need her permission? Her granting me permission stuck in my head. When I tried to process that, the fog rolled in, and I couldn’t connect all the right thoughts, like waking from a dream and trying to reconcile the dream world with the physical world.

Suddenly I felt that I could speak.

“Thank you,” I found myself saying. “I know that I cannot cum.”

“Why?” She wanted to know.

“Because you control my body, mind, and soul, and you decide the time and conditions for my orgasms,” I said. I couldn’t believe I said it, but I, somehow, believed my statement to be true.

“Oh, my god, honey, I love you,” she gushed, while still doing extreme things to my distressed cock. She went on, “and if you don’t think you are not completely in my control, think about the fact that you were not able to speak until I gave you permission”. She pinched my nipple hard while looking deeply into my eyes.

“What the fuck?” I thought. “What the fuck?” I kept my mouth shut.

She returned to doing as she pleased to my body, while I did not resist.

“I know you want to cum,” she said. “It’s cooking up in your balls and you can feel it in that hot spot behind your balls, and places like that, am I right, honey,” she said slowly. “If I let you, you would blow a nasty load of cum right now, wouldn’t you, honey,” she said. “You don’t do it, though. You struggle because I tell you to.”

“Oh, honey, you’re so sweet, so loving, so good,” she oozed. “I will always entice you and reward you with sweaters and love.”

She pulled up her sweater and showed me her breasts.

“A little reward, honey,” she said. “You can lick my nipples for a minute because you’ve been so good.”

She sat in a chair and told me to kneel while I suckled her. She was obviously loving it. I suckled until she cummed.

I thanked her.

“Mmmm. Good, sweet honey,” she said.

It was all I could do to focus on not cumming. My body was tingling from head to toe. I knew that I was not to resist or even react to her advances, but I could feel each and every part and all the mental and physical actions and reactions were, indeed, happening within my body and mind. It was really fucking erotic, and dirty. I couldn’t help but love it. The pleasures centers of my brain were pumping out so much dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, endorphins, I could hear them gurgling in my head. I was high as kite, it seemed. She was dosing me with my own addictive brain chemistry. Oh, my fuckin’ god.

Some pre cum drizzled out of my cock. She scooped some up with her finger. She put her finger in my mouth and smeared some on my tongue.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take another minute, she stopped. She just touched her lips to mine, and lightly brushed over my body. She grabbed my painfully erect cock and led me to the bedroom.

“Stay there like that,” she commanded. She left me at the doorway.

I was beginning to think that, while I have been enjoying a sexually fun adventure, she has been conditioning a lifestyle, and my ability to choose in this regard was being systematically diminished by her. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, or how she was doing it. Although, I can’t deny that whatever she was doing was having an effect. I was magnetized at that moment.

On one hand, I am a man, a human being, a leader in various ways in several areas. It has been my position to be the one who makes decisions, to control situations, and to manage the people involved. On top of that, I have lived alone a long time. I have been used to making my own decisions about lifestyle. I have not been comfortable allowing anyone else to be involved in what I think, feel and do. That’s why I have live alone. It has not been ideal. The psychoanalysis of it is too lengthy for here.

This situation is becoming very different from that to which I am used. I’m not sure what’s on the other hand.  She was on the other hand, and I was powerless to do anything but comply. Did I like it?

 At times, living alone can be painful, but I wouldn’t say I’m an unhappy person in general. At times I have wondered if I should seek ways to end the loneliness, this aloneness; seek a mate. Then I would wonder what I would feel if someone entwined herself in my life. I would wonder how that would work within my set-in-my-ways lifestyle. I’ve had a few dates here and there, but nothing ever lasts long. Maybe I drive them away with apathy towards relationships.

But it is just the way it has been. I have persevered. I have been too busy, to be cliché about it, to experiment with breaking out of my self-created mold. I guess that I sort of settled with that. I am a good listener and observer. I have been a good instructor and leader. I have, however, not been comfortable with the intimacy of conversation and day-to-day living. I’m not sure that I’ve always liked that about myself, but I have accepted it. Why I let her in, I’m not entirely sure. I just thought that the powers of the universe had guided it or something.

She sensed that. I know she did. Maybe I signaled, in some subconscious way, a certain neediness. Maybe I have been unwilling to admit to myself, or anyone else, that neediness. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe she knows this. Maybe she picked me, like a pervert picks a waif on the street because a sense of loneliness and neediness exuded from me. For all I know, she used whatever otherworldly powers she seems to have, to pluck the knowledge out of my mind, or from somewhere in my soul.

Besides the obvious orgasmic benefits for her, what were her motives? If she is, in fact, somehow, manipulating, orchestrating, a situation to exert control over me, she has gone to a lot of trouble to do it. She has plenty of money, and good work that she enjoys. I make a good living, but not enough for her to go to extremes to get it. She has more assets than me. Am I just imagining some sort of conspiracy? Does she really love me and wants me to be part of her world, this world? Or does she have some more nefarious purpose? …some supernatural thing? …a combination?

My shaving kit was on my bed, next to some books and magazines and a notebook and a camera, and a selection at her direction of the homemade music CDs.

She had a duffle bag with her. She opened it and took a couple of things out. She put them on the bed. I was just out of line of sight and I couldn’t see what they were. She refilled the bag with the items I had put on the bed. She scurried around the room and got some under pants, and socks, a pair of jeans, shirts and tee shirts. Then she started rifling through the sweaters, purring and moaning and masturbating a little as she did. She picked some of the most arousing, erotic, incredibly textured sweaters in my collection.

“I’m going to head home and get ready for the weekend,” she announced, toting the duffle to the door. She teased, and taunted and intimated, maybe is the word, that it was going to be a monumental weekend.

“I love you, sweetheart,” she said.

She took out her phone and sent me an email that she had already written.

“Just some instructions, honey,” and the she said, “Ypomoni.” Again, something I didn’t understand. “Make sure you read email out loud and follow the instructions in the message.”

 She kissed me. She pinched my nipple. She said again that she loved me, and she would be in touch a little later.  She left.

I waited a few minutes after she left, as per her instructions, to read the email. After reading aloud the opening line, “Nia amo estas eterna, our love is eternal.” I felt a change physically, emotionally, spatially, temporally.

It said that she had left some special new sweatery things and other toys on my bed. I was to go look at them.

There were pants made with a built- in cock sheath, which was about 18 inches long, and a ball sack pouch. There was a long, close-fitting wool turtleneck sweater made with extremely rough wool, one of my own mohair turtlenecks, some heavy hand made socks with wool, mohair and alpaca, soft, woolly gloves, two manually operated nipple vacuums, two nipple clamps, a prostate massager, a short strap with hook and loop closure, and a little tube of lube.

                The next direction was to take all the items to my den, open my lap top on the small laptop desk and face it toward the easy chair, plug in the headset, turn down the heat in the apartment, and stand naked in front of the computer, headset on, then wait for a video call from her. I took the liberty of adjusting the lighting.

There were some odd syllables at the end of the message. As instructed, I read them aloud, “Du kannst dem nicht wider stehane was liebe dakstellt.” They seemed to trigger a deepened sense of focus, a mild arousal, a feeling of loyalty, obedience, and love.

Of all the things I could be thinking about at that moment, my mind was focused, fixated on waiting for her call. I was naked and cold and standing in front of my laptop. I was aroused, feeling dirty, and slutty, and liking it. That surprised me.

To pass the time, I thought I might think about a few work issues, or personal matters. I was not able to conjure thoughts about my work, or personal matters. My mind would only focus on waiting for the call. If I could have conjured the brain space, I would have been disturbed by this, but I couldn’t even get to that part of my mind.

It was as though the entire world was her and me. I could not conjure other thoughts because there were no other thoughts to have. To think that there are, my mind was telling me, was silly, and I would be crazy to even try. Negative thoughts about this relationship, suspicious thoughts, thoughts of resistance, conspiracy, witchcraft, were met with confusion and fear and discomfort and shame and anguish. I was compelled to focus on waiting for her.

Somewhere amidst all this were echoes of my life, like an alternate dimension. To try and explore that dimension brought a sense of emotional punishment. It was like vague anguish. I did not know the source of that anguish, that punishment.

I noticed that the headphones I was wearing were not completely silent. There was audio – tones, music, murmuring voices, maybe. I thought I heard something that sounded like my voice saying something like, “Her voice is all there is,” over and over. “The only substance I the world is her,” it said. “I, and all I have, are within her,” I heard. Other murmurings, too.

I was feeling a little ashamed, I guess, maybe a little humiliated, but I liked it. It was arousing. It was dirty, and exhilarating. I was standing naked in a cold room because she instructed me to do so, and for what reason, I do not know, I was going along with it. It was coming from her. It felt like love on top of it all. These were very divergent thoughts colliding. This was all wildly out of character for me. Should I go along with it? Should I try to get away? Could I get away? What was she doing to me?

After about 45 minutes, the familiar tone emanated from the laptop. I answered.  She appeared on the screen. She was sitting in the same chair in which she usually sits in when we video chat. She was wearing one of my sweaters on her torso, and another over her legs like pants. She was wearing soft, woolly gloves. A couple more of my sweaters were within the frame of the video, as well as a couple of toys. I could see small flashes of light in places within the frame. I heard music and tones, and a murmuring that sounded slightly like voices, but I couldn’t understand them. I felt a change. I can’t explain it.

“Vox eius est ibi,” she another strange thing. “I’ve been cumming all over your sweaters, sweetheart,” she oozed. “I’ve been fucking abusing them and I love it,” she kept on. “The big, soft woolly one under me is soaked with my pussy cum,” she taunted. “I fucking know why sweaters turn you on so much, my little piece of property. Mohair on cunt is fuckling out of this fucking world!” She exclaimed. “Fucking outrageous and I love it!”

“I see you followed my instructions,” she said. “Good.”

She did away with most pleasantries. She told me to lay out the sweater items across the chair and the other items along the arm of the chair. All the while, she was masturbating. At one point, she was wrapping one of my cashmere sweaters around a dildo and stroking it, and smiling and giggling and looking straight at me. She opened her mouth wide and put the sweatery dildo in her mouth. She performed a very sexy fellatio on it, then smeared the sweatery head of it with lube and started to fuck it. I was captivated by her. There was nothing else but her.

“Vox eius est ibi,” she strongly stated.

I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew it was important.

“Pick up the nipple vacuums,” she moaned. “Do you know how to use them?” she asked as she fucked herself. “Estiasi.” Another strange word.

I told her that I do. She told me to use one on my left nipple. She wanted to see if I really could. I had used them before, though not on myself. I didn’t get into the story. She didn’t ask. I pumped it up and my nipple got long and hard. It stung a little.

“I want them to stay on a few minutes, to tenderize your delicious nipples,” she sighed.

“Now do the other one,” she said enthusiastically. “I like it,” she breathed.

I felt that she was trying to terrorize me a little.

She teased me and told me very dirty things for the next few minutes, made me watch her fuck herself with the sweatery dildo.  She cummed like she was having a seizure.

“You are my property,” she gasped. “Say it. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” I said. “I am your property, to do with as you desire.”

“Good,” she said.

“You’re cold and naked in front of me, while we wait for your nipples to get sore,” she teased. “Look at you. I love it,” she said. “Look at me,” she gloated. “I’m warm and cozy in your sweaters. Do you like me in your sweaters, honey?” she asked. “They feel so good. You wanna fuck me in them, honey?” She taunted. “You do, honey, I know it. You wanna fuck me in your sweaters…. Mmmm. We’ll see.”

I liked it. My very perceptions were being altered. She was taking me on a ride.  After a few minutes, she directed me to take off the nipple vacuums.

“Pick up a nipple clamp with your right hand,” she directed. “Grab the skin around your left nipple with your left hand, so that the nipple is pushed forward,” she went on. “Good.”

“Now open the clamp and hold it over your nipple, but don’t close it yet, honey,” she instructed.

I was feeling light headed, but I could understand everything she was telling me. I was totally aware of what I was doing, but I had no control.

“This is going to hurt a little, honey,” she warned, “but refocus the pain,” she said. “That which is eternal can withstand all things.” She said. “Feel it in every part of you. Now release the clamp onto your swollen, aching nipple,” she directed.

I acted. I winced.

“Mmmm,” she growled.

“Your nipples look so sore honey,” she said in a caring voice. “Mmmmm, I love that you do these things for me,” she said. “Clamp your other swollen, sore, achy nipple now,” she said. “Do it fast, slut.”

Oh, my fucking god. Oh, my fucking god.

“Do you see the little set screw on the side of the clamp, honey?” She asked.

“I do,” I told her.

“That adjusts the tightness of the clamp around those tender titties of yours, honey,” she informed me. “They will be very important when you take them off,” she said. “You want to do that slowly so the blood flow will recover easily.”

“Now,” she sounded a little less nurse-like, “give each one a little crank, sweetheart, for me,” she flirted.

I turned each one. It was excruciating. I visibly shuddered.

“Mmmm, yeah, honey, you fucking make me so hot,” she said. “I love it. I love you. Feel it through your body, honey, focus, control the pain, in your mind, and in your soul, in the part that is eternal,” she said. “Enjoy it, love it, for me, honey. Can you feel me?” She asked. She was visibly aroused, from head to toe. “Efforia.”

Some of the things she says clearly affect my perception, whether I understand them, or not.

It felt like a violent lightning storm was raging through my body. Oh My God! I was struggling, but I was bearing up against as best as I could. She knew that inside I was suffering and it aroused her all the more.

“Touch them,” she insisted. “How to they feel, all hard, and achy?” she taunted.

“You may respond if I ask you a direct question, honey,” she said.

“Thank you,” I responded, “and yes, they are hard and achy.”

She giggled a little. “Now put on the really rough woolly sweater.”

I complied. It was very tight.

“I’ll bet that feels good, that tight, extra scratchy woolly sweaters on your tender body and neck, and tearing across those sweet, erect, very sensitive nipples,” she said in the midst of an orgasm. “I understand your discomfort,” she told me. “That’s kinda the point.” “I know it probably hurts,” she went on, “but you must accept it,” she said. “You must focus. You are giving me great pleasure to know that you are doing the things I tell you,” she said. “I am very proud of you, honey. You’re going to be such a disciplined man for me.” “It will be worth it, honey. I promise, she said.” “That which is mortal is dissolvable,” she said. Hm.

She said that I should feel the pain as satisfying for the effect that it was having on her. She told me it was making me a sexier, stronger, more disciplined man, and she needs me to be strong and disciplined and sexy and focused. She told me that I must not cry out, but to follow her directions, remain calm and accepting, and focus.

“Feel the pain, the discomfort, as emanations of love and arousal through each part of you,” she said comfortingly.  

“It’s all for good purpose,” she assured me. “All will be revealed,” she said, “in time.”

I was becoming concerned but I was unable to express the words, even the thoughts. When I tried to form the thoughts that would make sense of this all, I became confused and started to sweat, even though I was freezing-cold with the heat off. My vision became blurry. My mouth went dry, and the index finger on my right hand started to twitch.

“Do not try to resist me, sweetheart,” she said, like she caught me doing something bad.

She knew what I was thinking. I was starting to form a theory, but my mind shut down again, and she knew, again, from my physical reaction, the thoughts that I was having.

“I love you, honey. I will keep you safe. I won’t let any harm come to you,” she said, reassuringly. “You know what you mean to me,” she gushed. “You know that it’s important to me to help you learn to focus,” she said, somewhat clinically. She went on, “and you know how happy you make me when I watch you do these things. You could choose to focus, honey,” she said. “Sometimes, when we reach beyond our comfort level, we find good things, honey,” she soothed. “If you really wanted, honey, you know you could choose to not do this. You want to keep doing this though, honey,” she told me. “I know you by now, honey, and I know you do.” “Ypomoni,” she said it again.

I started to think more thoughts about how weird this was getting. Choice requires being able to assess a situation and to make a decision. When I tried to assess the situation, I was not able to focus on that. All of a sudden, my nipples felt like they were burning. I couldn’t move, and I started to feel tears in my eyes.

“Honey,” she whined. “Please focus on what I tell you to focus on, and love how it feels, even if it hurts,” she sighed.” It’s important, honey. I promise, if you accept what is happening to you, you will feel really good,” she said. “You want to focus, honey,” she said, “and I give you permission to let go and accept what is happening to you. Please?”

“This is hotter than I expected it would be,” she said.” You’re the man who you are, and you’re probably thinking that this is getting a little freaky,” she said, almost accusingly. “You try to resist,” she said, “but you can’t.” “I have you in my power and that is fucking hot, honey. You are mine and there is nothing you can do about it,” she said with a hint of satisfaction. “You should be aroused by that, too, honey. You’re an important part of all this.”

She went on, “You know what, honey, I want you to be the last man in my life. I really love you, you know, and everything about you,” she said sweetly. “I’ve found you after all this time and I want you. If I didn’t have you, I would be very unhappy, honey,” she whined a little. “I just know that, emotionally, you would have a very hard time handling being without me, too,” she assured me. “You know that I have invaded your mind and you belong to me on many levels, sweetheart. Accept,” she stated. “You are mine and we belong together, sweetheart. That’s all you need to know right now.” “Et confortavit me, ut per illam fiduciam in fide,” she said.

If this is a trance, I just went deeper.

She began, what I would say, was like a guided meditation.

“Take a long, deep breath, sweetheart,” she instructed. “Just hold it a second, honey, that’s it, now let it out slowly,” she directed. “Now again, long and slow, honey. Good,” she hushed. “Now one more, feel all the world and all your troubles fade away. Just listen to my voice. That’s all you need right now, honey,” she went on. “Vox eius est ibi,” she said.

I was transfixed.

“Keep breathing, long, and slow, and relaxed,” she gently directed.

She took me through a scenario of love and sweaters, and the benefits of being her property, benefits for her and me. She described beautiful scenes of her and me, in sweaters, in love. She talked about how I should feel honored and proud to have someone love me as much as she does. She talked about how she had fostered a love of sweaters just for me, and how she knows that I appreciate that and love her all the more for it, I appreciate that and reciprocate by doing what she loves me to do. She created intoxicating images with her words, talked about a warm glow that I create in her and that she knows she creates inside me, soothing us, easing all our pains and burdens. She went over my body, head to toe, and described how good each part should feel, in the midst of our love, and wrapped it in sweatery imagery, and sexual suggestions.  She was moving her body and her hair and her clothing constantly and looking right at me the whole while.

“Ast okkar er eilif,” she said.

She also added messages about how important it is to understand my role in the relationship, and how powerless I am to resist her directions. She reminded me that I was nearly naked in a cold room, enduring extreme discomfort, because she told me to.

She directed me to feel a wave of euphoria wash over me, and it did. I couldn’t believe it. This was feeling less game-like and more like some sort of initiation or something.

This is otherworldly. I can’t deny that the feeling of euphoria was addicting. Just like she said she wanted. I was addicted to her. I was addicted to the feeling, the erotic nature, the odd freedom. No one else was looking. I could explore this if I chose. I was feeling that choice was a function for which I was showing declining ability or availability.

I did find her attractive, and whether or not the effects of whatever she was doing to my mind was making me think it, I did like her and enjoyed her company. Maybe I even loved her. I did feel a warm connection, and acceptance. It was hard to be sure. I was under her spell. Of that, I was sure.

“Do you feel better, sweetheart?” She asked, sweetly. “You may answer,” she said.

“I do,” I stuttered. “Thank you.”

And I did. I was beginning to accept. It was like a science fiction movie from the Cold War Era. I should just give in, because I had no choice.

I do admit that I like feeling dirty, and slutty for her, and all the sweatery things, I have longed for some real sweatery play all my life. It’s here, right here. In some ways, to a hard-core sweater fetishist, this is a dream come true. Am I willing to go along with this all because of the sweaters? I wasn’t sure. …a need for sex? I didn’t know anything at that moment.

She was doing a fine job conditioning my mind. She knew it. She freaking knew that sweaters were the gateway to owning me. She lured me like a carrot and a stick, and now she has me. I can’t say I hate it.   Am I compromising for the sake of indulging my sweater fetish? This is more than that. Am I compromised because of the control that she has somehow, and I’m not sure how, has managed to wrest from me?

“Good,” she said. “Now, let’s continue.”

I was bound to comply, and suddenly, grateful.

The tight, coarse wool of the sweater against my clamped, erect, and achy nipples was sending pulses of pain shooting through me.

“Now shimmy, sweetheart,” she said a little luridly.

I hesitated a second.                          

                “Do it, honey,” she said softly. “Don’t you want to?”

                “Yes,” I said. “I want to.”

I did it. I shimmied my shoulders back and forth. I tried to make it a little sexy for her. It hurt so much. I winced. It felt like my nipples were going to tear right off my body.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” she said moonily. “I love you so much, honey, look at you being hot and sexy for me. Does it hurt a lot?” she asked with concern.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes, what, honey?” She wanted to know.

“Yes, my nipples hurt very much,” I replied.

“Good,” she sighed. “Brush you hands up and down over those achy nipples through that itchy sweater,” she nearly hissed. “Gra an phian,” she said.

When she made these mysterious statements, my perception became altered. In this instance, I knew I was feeling excruciating pain, but some part of my mind was telling me that it was waves of pleasure coursing through me, courtesy of her. I felt grateful for the pain.

“I am inside you everywhere, soul of my soul, property of mine. Feel me. Love me. Accept my love. Love this feeling,” she chanted. “It’s good, honey.”

“Direct those pain sensations all through your body,” she instructed me. “Feel it shooting through your cock, and around your ass, that opening in your body that was the first thing I took from you.” She licked her lips at that direction, “and up your spine,” she went on, “and around your ears that you love me to fuck with woolly fingers, and through you lips and tongue and throat, and all through your mind,” she continued. “Feel like your whole body is an organism that I control. I will treasure you for this, sweetheart. Love every bit of it, honey. This is forever. Estiasi,” she said.

She was masturbating all the while. She told me to feel the pain as waves of love, like it was her hands and fingers and sweatery body on my body, and inside my body and mind and soul, binding us together.

“Our lives together are endless. Our life together is endless,” she chanted.

I was concerned. Suddenly, I was accepting and loving the pain, and I was feeling protected. I was also feeling almost unnaturally aroused.

“And you like to follow my directions because you love me and you want to please me?” she asked. “You need love. You need connection.” “Accept.”

“Yes,” I told her.

“Good,” she said. “I love it, dirty boy,” she seethed. “I fucking love it.” She finger-fucked herself while she watched me.

“Your cock is so hard, honey, good,” she said. “You’re getting it. You’re doing what I told you,” she said with a bit of surprise

“I can’t stop cumming because of you, honey,” she moaned. “And I don’t ever want to stop.”

“Listen carefully, honey, and breath slowly and evenly,” she said.

“Close your eyes,” she said. “Do remember the first time I stayed over your house, honey?” She asked. She told me I could answer.

“Yes, I do,” I responded.

“Good,” she said. “You were so sweet, so loving, so open to letting me take control. Do you remember that honey?” she asked.

“I do,” I responded.

“Good. Can you remember how you felt in your mind and in your body that night?” She asked.

“I do,” I responded.

“Good, honey. Bring those memories to the front of your mind,” she directed. “Did you like it?”

“I did. I liked it,” I told her.

“Good, honey, now can you, with your eyes still closed, remember all that you did and that I did to you, you naked and excepts for a sexy, erotic sweater, you on your knees, pleasuring me, while I cummed all over your face. Can you conjure up how that felt, honey?” She asked.

“I can,” I responded.

“Good,” she said. “Feel how soft my pussy was that night, and how wet it was, my cum flooding all over you, feel my hands on your head and my legs around you, holding you in your place.

Can you conjure up those feelings and images in your mind, honey?” She asked.

“I can,” I responded.

“Good,” she said. “Do it. Do you feel our connection we made that night, the energy between us, the power I held over you, sweetheart, when I took your body, mind, and soul as my own?” She soothed. “Remember how I asked and you so willing gave it all to me, said that you were willingly giving yourself over as my property?”

“I did,” I told her.

“Good,” she said. “Did you feel like you belonged to me at that moment, safe, doing what you should be doing in this world,” she asked, “and that I was invading your mind and your body, and filling you with overpowering love?” She asked.

“I did,” I said. “I do,” I went on.

“Oh, honey,” she sighed, “well, Good. Can you feel that now, honey?” She asked sweetly.

“Yes, I can,” I responded.

“Good,” she said. “I can feel every beautiful nasty, sweet, dirty moment, too”, she said further. “It felt so fucking good,” she growled.

She started me on a journey of remembering how she started riding my body, grinding into my back while I laid on my stomach, grinding into me, cumming, taunting me, saying dirty things.

I was feeling all the things she said, like she said it - love, safety, powerlessness, but was it a memory of that night, or something that she has been cultivating in my mind. It didn’t matter. The results are the same. I was powerless, feeling loved and loving, free, dirty, slutty, and I liked it. The feelings were affecting my body and mind, and maybe even my very soul, my essence.

“I could feel my pussy right against your hole,” she moaned. “Do you remember that, honey? I was cumming so hard all over your ass. I could feel my energy and yours as one, sweetheart,” she cooed. “It was the most wonderful feeling. Do you remember? Do you remember feeling my cum pouring out of my pussy, and all down the crack of your ass as I stroked your tight little hole with mine?”

“I do,” I told her.

My heart was beating faster. She was making me more and more aroused and more deeply enwrapped in what was going on. It was a roller coaster, emotions and sensations rising and falling. It was like whip lash.

“Good,” she said. “Do you remember the first time I went inside your body, taking you in every way, opening you, fucking you? Do you remember that?” she went on.

“I do,” I responded.

“Good,” she said. “Did you feel shock and a little shame, honey?” She asked. “Shame because I was just taking you and fucking your asshole? …stretching it, going inside you, knowing I didn’t even need to ask, I could just open it and fuck it?” “Shame because you liked it. You wanted me to do the dirtiest things to you that you have ever experienced,” she analyzed me. “You wanted it and you liked it. Mmmmm. Imagine if anyone knew what you thought and what you liked?”

“Yes,” I told her. “I felt like a dirty, shameful slut. Most would be surprised.”

“Good,” she said. “Did you love it? Did you feel like you loved me?”

I hesitated, but I couldn’t say no. I did, I told her, a little surprise in my voice. I could feel waves of arousal wash over me as she made me remember, and made me admit to liking being her slut, and admit to feel ashamed, and that that made it even more arousing.

“Oh, honey, good,” she gushed a little. “And Were you surprised that I knew what you wanted, what you have been wanting for years, a sexy woman driving you, controlling you and pushing thick, soft sweater deeper and deeper inside your ass, fucking you with sweater while you groaned and growled like a whore, begging for more, begging me, telling me you’ll do anything, are willing to do anything, loving me, me loving you, making you cum by letting you fuck my sweatery hand. Feel it now, property of mine. Feel it now, whore. Everything you ever wanted, taking your cum in your mouth when I kissed you, did you love it? I know you loved it, you little whore, you made me fall even deeper in love with you at that moment. Can you feel all the dirty, nasty feelings you felt at that minute, when you were first falling in love with me? Can you feel it all? Picture it, honey. Feel it, in every part of your body. Can you feel every inch of me fucking you, honey, taking your hole, not once, but many times? Giving you sweater in the dirtiest way? I’m the only one who has ever given you sweater the way you want it, huh, honey. You are everything I want, a submissive, obedient, slutty whore to please me and love me and obey me and worship me, and I give you sweatery love in return. Powerful man out in that world. Look at you in my world, our world.” She was ranting and masturbating, almost out of control, just like that first night in my apartment.

She talked so fast, and with so much imagery, and so many ideas, I was dizzy. Whatever she said, it must be. There was no split second during which I could process her words.

“I could feel it all through me,” I told her.

“Good, honey,” she breathed. “And you want more of these feelings, am I right?” She asked.

“I do,” I responded, a little breathless, a little surprised.

I was very aroused. There was no other reality but our world. I was tingling from my head to my toes. I couldn’t believe it. Oh, my fucking god. My cock was very hard. She’s talking about taking me and abusing me and dominating me, in the midst of love and connection and sweetness, and she is causing me to be wildly aroused. She had complete control and could manipulate me in any way she wanted. I was a little shocked. She had instructed me to remain calm and accepting. This was very hard. She kept going.

“Now put your hands over those achy nipples,” she barked, “and rotate your hands over them through that sweater.” “Oh, fuck, honey, you’re doing it. Good. Does it hurt?” She asked.

“It does,” I whimpered.

“Good,” she said. “Pinch them now, and pull them.”

I did. I writhed. But I was rock hard.

“Good,” she said. “Look at your cock. See how hard it is?” She observed. “Take a sock, and slip it over your cock,” she instructed.  “Do it slowly. Bunch it up first and slide it down, wool, mohair, and alpaca, hand knit, honey,” she said tauntingly. “And you can’t cum.”

I agonized as I complied. I focused. I tensed. I tried to turn my focus to unattractive things. I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t let me. I could only focus on her instructions and the things that were involved within those instructions, and not cumming. It was brutal.

“Now the other one,” she insisted. “Come on, honey. Stretch it over the other one. Look me in the eye. Be seductive to me honey.”

I did as I was told. As I excruciatingly stretched that second magnificently sweatery sock over the first one, I looked at her with sleepy eyes and parted lips, dreamily, slightly wetting my lips, swaying back and forth slightly, rhythmically. She swooned a little.

“Good. Oh, fuck, yeah, honey,” she oozed. “Yeah, fuck, yeah, look at you, dirty little slut. You want me and you’ll do anything for my attention and love, won’t you?” She was grinding against a pillow of sweaters she built up under her. “Show me baby. Slide that sweatery soft and scratchy bundle of sweatery things up and down your shaft,” she seethed. “Do it for me. I love you, and I love you even more for doing these things for me, honey,” she said. She promised, “I am going to take good care of you, sweetheart.”

“How many women have sucked on that cock?” she asked, while I was stroking with the sweatery sheath. “How many women have knelt before you, naked, maybe half drunk or stoned, looking up at you, right in the eye, their wet, warm, soft tongues lovingly lashing the shaft and teasing the head? You, manly man, fucking their faces.”

What the fuck? She is being nasty. She is causing me to conjure images of blow jobs throughout my youth and beyond. So many beautiful faces, certainly plenty of pretty faces, anyway. Each with her own unique technique for which she prided herself.

So many images of hair cascading in my lap, soft and warm, hands on my cock and balls, the feeling of orgasms building, watching their faces, their eyes looking up, the arousal, and the explosions, the rush, the bursting of sperm from the head of my dick, propelled by their skills and tenderness, and warmth, and willingness to please, the cum dripping out of their mouths, then swallowing. She was causing all these images to appear in my head like watching surveillance video. It was a little mind blowing.

“You thought you were controlling them, but think about those times,” she said. “They were controlling you. You would do anything for them to get them to even acknowledge you,” she was taunting. “The looks in their eyes, their soft faces, and then there were a few who would at least pay a visit around the back, maybe tickle that little hole that belongs so lovingly to me now, thank you, kindly, and maybe one or two actually finger fucked you and you’ve been secretly chasing how that felt ever since,” she said. “And you loved it. Those are the tools they used to subdue you. Ultimately, if anyone of them asked you to rob a bank or something, you would have, just to get their attentions, love, sex, warmth, sweetness. You would have done anything. They probably didn’t understand the sweater thing like I do, though,” she sassed at me.

“Good looking guy like you, making a decent living, living a clean life, mostly. You are kind of a catch, you know,” she stated. “You probably got a lot of blow jobs, in cars and parking lots, and young trollops’ apartments, a few driveways while their husbands were asleep inside. Feel in your mind, your cock sliding in a warm, wet, willing mouth, that thick, velvety tongue hugging the shaft, wet lips, maybe she used lip gloss just before hand to make her lips more slippery, beautiful hair, smelling of fruity shampoo. You loved it. But you wanted to be alone. You took what you could from them and didn’t follow through. You didn’t mean any harm. You just didn’t pursue.” She pouted a little. “You probably got laid plenty enough by women just wanting to make you happy. You didn’t want them to make you happy,” she said. “Why didn’t you want to let them make happy, honey?” She wondered. “Do you feel bad about not accepting love from those who offered it, honey?”

“How does alone feel, honey, huh?” she asked. “Not very nice, huh.”

“Will you let me make you happy?” she asked. “Do you think you have a choice?” “Sa oled minu omand,” she intoned.

I began to almost feel like I was a part of her, or her of me, or both.

I didn’t get much opportunity to respond. I wouldn’t know what to say in response anyway. Her reporting of my past sexual activities was near to accurate. Some of her statements were a little broad and could be within the profile of many men my age, but she was pretty close to my stories.

She seemed to be accusing me, almost, of maybe engaging in relationships for short periods of time, and once sex starts to get a little boring, I sort of ebb away. She was kinda right. Many relationships suffered from extreme neglect and lack of proper maintenance, after a period of really fantastic sex and not much else. Maybe I let them fade away to stay in my personal exile.

“That’s not going to happen to us, honey,” she said.

She painted a less than wholly attractive relationship history picture, although outside a few anecdotes in conversation, I never talked all that deeply about my relationships. This was either conjecture or she was tapping into something supernatural, or, hmm, something. I was having a hard time processing it all.

Maybe it wasn’t always that sex was getting boring in those relationships, but maybe I was afraid to give myself over as relationships became cozy. Maybe I was afraid to give up the idea of options in matters of love and sex, and lifestyle in general, if you could even say that my life was of any particular style. Maybe I was afraid of being possessed, owned, belonging to someone. What’s different now?

She was playing with her own nipples while she went on. “I love arousing you. No cumming, dirty boy, no fucking cumming,” she groaned. “You don’t have to worry about giving yourself over to me, she said. I’m taking you, regardless.”  She uttered something, “Ta myala mas einai ena.”

She was cumming as she said it.

I was through the roof with arousal and desire for her during all this. It was nearly freakish. I had to curtail reaction, and certainly not resist her efforts. She knew what I was going through. She planned this. I know she did. I don’t know if I love her or hate her for+ this.

“Pull the socks sharply off that lovely rock-hard cock, and put them on your feet,” she demanded. “Now put on the pants, and be sure to put them on facing the right way,” she ordered.

I have gone, in these relatively few minutes, from being dirty and taunted to warmed and loved and loving to euphoric to down and dirty and gritty to prurient to submissive to domineering in my past, to sweet and tender to suffering and struggling, to alive, and a full gamut of emotions and conditions. I didn’t know which end was up. I was aroused and under her spell.

The pants were the thickest wool-mohair blend. To a sweater fetishist, that’s a magical combination. …or at least to this sweater fetishist. She knew it. She had to have had these made special. They were very heavy and very tight. They had stirrups so they’d keep from creeping up. There was an overlap in the back, like the front of a pair of men’s underpants. They felt fucking great, very arousing as they slid up my legs. I was freaking dizzy.

The cock sheath and ball sack sack were a different combination of sweatery yarns. I guessed alpaca and cashmere. She was stroking herself as I slipped into them. I was feeling dreamy.

“When you get to the top, put your very pretty, very hard cock into the cock sheath.” she instructed. “My mouth and pussy are jealous, honey,” she joked.

“Nicht wider stehen,” she said.

Every time she utters these odd syllables, I could feel her hold, her spell, more closely enwrap me.

The atmosphere blurred and the universe did not extend much beyond the space in which I stood and the small table holding the laptop from which she was directing me.

“Pull all the draw strings around the cock and ball bag compartments, honey, nice and tight,” she reminded.

I did.

“Good,” she said. “Do you have the hook and loop strap, property of mine?” she asked.

“I do,” I responded.

“Good. Notice that there is a loop at one end,” she guided. “Put the strap around the base of your sweatery dick. Notice a soft, flatter, wider part,” she pointed out. That goes on the bottom to gently presses against the veins and vesicles,” she told me. “It’ll help you to resist cumming. Now put the tail through the loop, and pull as tight as you can,” she directed. “It will feel uncomfortable, but you are learning how to deal with that, aren’t you, honey,” she said.

It was very uncomfortable. I writhed. I was finding it really dirty and really sexy. This was surreal. I was doing it for her, in front of a web cam.

Pick up the giant mohair sweater and put on,” she told me. “Your nipples must be ready to explode, sweetheart. You’re so nice to do this,” she sighed.

It felt so good slipping into the giant, heavy sweater. It felt so good sliding down my face. The weight, even the way it pulled on my electrified, clamped nipples. The feeling on my hands, the sensation of the nearly-alive sweater draping over my sweatery cock, the smell, the texture, the feel of the layers, the arousal that such a sweater even represents. She knows what she is doing to me. She knows what such things do to me. I cannot resist. She has me. Fuck. There might not be any getting away.

“Now pick up the prostate massager,” she ordered.

I did. It was about seven inches long, with a girth of better than an inch and a half, along the shaft. The head was bigger, as were a couple of other points along the shaft.  It was bright red, silicon. It had a knob at the tip, and it was slightly tilted. Half way down, the shaft swelled out in two places, ball-shaped, and it flared out at the end, to hold it inside my ass once I’ve taken it all. Then a short stem, and a flange to keep it from disappearing inside my body.

“Now,” she hesitated, and she bit her lip a little. “I want you,” she drew out the syllables. “I want you to,” she stopped. She went on, “you know what I love to do with my fingers and your mouth?” she asked. “And be specific,” she said.

“Yes,” I responded. “You love to fuck my mouth with your fingers,” I said, a little embarrassed.

“Mmmm, you make it sound so dirty, honey,” she said. “Thank you, property of mine.” She was cumming a little.

“Now do it, show me,” she said, “with the toy.” She moved closer to the screen.

She was beaming her eyes into mine. She was looking a little dreamy. She smiled and touched her sweatery breasts, licked her lips. I knew she wanted to see something hot.

Looking into her eyes, I swirled my wet tongue around the head, a big ball of spit on my tongue. I felt really dirty, but she was liking it. She squealed a little, with glee. I closed my eyes. I slipped the knob past my lips and slobbered on it.  I hear her gasp.

“You know what a blow job looks like honey, right?” She asked.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Good. And you know, certainly, what a blow job feels like, is that correct, honey?” She asked.

“I do,” I responded.

“Good,” she said. “Now give it a blow job, honey,” she hissed.

She said some that sounded like, “Aagya ka paala, assentio.”

Suddenly, I became very passionate with that toy. There was no denying that she was loving watching it.

I opened my mouth wide and slid my tongue just outside, like a welcoming blanket to accept the phallus inside me at this opening. I let her see it inside my mouth, my tongue massaging it, then wrapping my wet, full lips around the shaft, pushing it in and out, in and out, pressing it deeper into my throat, gagging, moaning, sucking off the toy that I know she intends for me to insert into my anus. I felt a little ashamed.

“That’s so fucking hot, honey,” she cummed. “I want to remember what that looks like, in my mind… Mmmm,” she whimpered a little. “My pussy is so sore from cumming,” she gasped.

“Put on your woolly gloves and turn around,” she barked. “Bend over at a roughly ninety-degree angle, and aim your asshole at me,” she continued.

I did.

“Rub your woolly hands all over the sweatery pants on your ass,” she said with a deep growl. “Rub your fingers up and down your ass crack, honey,” she said. “You look like such a desperate, slutty whore, sweetheart. Are you my desperate, slutty whore, doing everything you can to please me?” She asked.

I felt so dirty. “Yes, I am your desperate, slutty whore, wanting desperately to please you,” I whimpered.

“Good,” she seethed. “Now push some sweater into your hole, do it honey,” she said. “I’m watching.” “You love the way this feels, don’t you, honey,” she said. “A little prize for you, honey.”

I did it. I pushed in that incredible sweateriness well past my first knuckle. It was un-freaking-real. I couldn’t believe how good it felt, like being in another world, like I was released from my physical body and just letting these feelings overtake me, the textures, the fullness, the dirtiness. Fuck. I pumped my fingers in and out.

“Oh, honey, I love you,” she gushed. “Good. Good.”

“It will mean a lot to me if you show me you ass, honey,” she said sweetly. “I do own it.”

I spread open the flap over my ass and raised my hips up to show her.

“Play with your ass with your woolly gloves on, sweetheart,” she instructed.

I did it. I liked it. I felt ashamed and dirty, but I liked it.

“Now, hold each cheek and pull them apart a little,” she said in a deep, lascivious manner that sent a chill through me.

“Reach over with one woolly finger and stroke your beautiful, sweet opening, honey.” She was almost singing as she said it.

I did it. My hole twitched. I shivered.

“Do you think you could get one woolly finger from each hand into the hole and open the hole, itself,  a little?” She asked. “I want to see inside you, sweetheart,” she said. “I love you, honey.”

I was able to get the middle woolly finger from each hand into my hole. It was a little humiliating, but I loved the feeling of the woolly gloves touching my hole and even a little inside my hole. I could hear her panting. I could hear the sounds of her sex toys. I knew she was getting off like cannon fire over this. I felt dirty, but I was enjoying it. I was liking it. I felt like such a slut. I was conflicted. I shouldn’t be feeling this. She using me like an object for her arousal. She’s making me do so many things and fixating so much on my ass. We always learned that that was too dirty a place to find pleasure and only certain types explore that area. This was wrong, culturally, but fuck culture. It was fucking dirty and it felt good and she loves it and she loves me. Fuck. I liked it, though, and she kept telling me that she loves me, and wants to take care of me. How do you fight that?

At this point, I couldn’t tell if it was that I was going through a traumatic experience with seemingly few ways out of it, and coping, if she was creating these feelings in my head, these feelings that nothing else exists except her and me,  and she is in charge, and that this will be my life from now on. Anything I know from my previous life and visions of the future, perhaps she was creating in my head, seems like pure illusion, fiction, and this is all there is. It is mine to serve and obey, or, is it that she has prodded awake in me something hidden deep in my subconscious that loves to be a nasty, dirty, slutty thing, who is willing to be owned and subjugated to get have those feelings. Of course, there is the chance that I do love her and am more than happy to do the things that please her. I was not at all sure of anything.

It was all very confusing. She had my mind in some state. It was becoming clear that she was methodically altering my perceptions.

“Stretch it open a little, honey,” she hissed. “Wider, honey. Yeah,” she growled.

I did. I felt a wave of arousal shiver through me. I felt my hole sting as I stretched it. I felt the soft wool of the sweatery gloves on my hole. What the fuck? I kept thinking that.

“How do your nipples feel, honey?” she asked.

“They hurt very much, thank you,” I gasped back, “but it feels like love and I make the pain pleasure, because it pleases you,” I stated.

When would I ever even think of such a statement?

“Good,” she said.

I could hear her. She was enjoying this. I am not sure which aspect of all this she was enjoying – the power, my compliance, pure prurient arousal. All I know is that she was enjoying this.  That, and that I found myself feeling grateful that I could make her enjoy this so much. I had an unexplainable joy.

“You make me so happy, honey,” she said sweetly, a little breathily. “Do you feel dirty?” She asked.

“Yes, I do. I feel very dirty,” I responded.

“Do you feel like a slut, honey?” She asked.

“Yes, I do. I feel like a dirty slut,” I responded, a little sheepishly.

“Oh, you like it, sweetheart,” she teased. “C’mon now, honey. Tell me you love me, and tell me how grateful, and happy, and aroused you are to have become my property,” she taunted. “You gave yourself to me freely, honey,” she reminded me. “I asked. You had a choice. You chose to give yourself to me, and ceded all rights and privileges except those granted by me,” she declared. “Maybe you feel right now that you can admit that you love this and that’s why you ceded control to me,” she suggested. “And look at you.”

I told her everything she wanted to know. I am not at all sure I was speaking correctly. I stumbled and stammered. She smiled, not in a cocky way, but in a holiday gift kind of way. Waves of warm and cool rolled over me. I declared my love. I admitted that I like it. I was dizzy, but strangely clear headed. On top of it all, pain was rippling through me, that I was to feel as love and joy, and transference of pleasure and passion and possession. She had my brain processing a number of things at once. It was overwhelming.

“Not take the lube,” she directed, a bit sternly. “Don’t even think about it,” she guided. “Lube on finger, smear on hole, finger-fuck a little and wriggle for me, because I like it when you do,” she seethed. “Now do it, honey. Do it,” she ordered. “I am watching your hole, honey. Press your finger on the hole,” she guided. “Steady it,” she assured, “and now push it all the way in. One shot,” she barked. “Yes. Oh fuck,” she moaned and cried out.

I wriggled my ass. She moaned.

I don’t even know what I was thinking or feeling. I had my sweatery fingers deep in my ass. It did feel very good. She was teasing me and taunting me and using me to cum, but it felt so fucking good. My hole was so slippery with the lube, I finger fucked myself, one finger from each hand and the bulkiness and the woolliness of the gloves was so fucking good. It was so dirty, and I felt so free to enjoy the feeling of sweatery, woolly things this way. Here I was. She had me.

“Oh, you fucking slut,” she declared. “You fucking love it. Look at you,” she teased. Finger fucking that hole with two fingers,” she was growling. “What would your friends think of you if they knew, you dirty, filthy, sweet, nasty loving piece of property, piece of ass, that I own, that I control, and you love it. You fucking love it, you slut,” she ranted on.

“Do not cum, slut, do not cum. I own you,” she stated. “I have you. You love me and you love what is happening to you,” she went on. “You’ll admit it soon enough. You’ll admit that I am your ruler, your owner, your keeper, from whom all things, good and evil, come,” she said. “And you are now unable to function without me.”

“Are you afraid, sweetheart?” she asked.

“A little, yes,” I said. “I am a little afraid.”

“Good,” she said.

“Do you know what is going to happen next?” She asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I will put the toy inside my body.”

“Ooh, good, honey, yes,” she said. “While you have your fingers inside you like that honey,” she eased into, “could you stretch your hole open a little, for me, huh, honey?” She went on, “It’ll make it easier to get that toy, that fake dick-like thing, inside your body, and, well, truth be told, I like seeing you do extreme things because I tell you,” she groaned.

“Stretch it some more, honey, go ahead,” she breathed. “Two fingers on each hand,” she said. “Fuck, yeah, honey, oh, fuck. “

It stung. It was extreme. I could not not do it, and I liked it.

She was rubbing her clit.

After she was satisfied with my minor mutilation, she told me to take the toy in hand and cover it in lube. Then she told me to add more lube to my ass hole.

Having on the sweatery gloves with all that lube, it was a challenge to hold on to everything, and I was nervous. I dropped it twice.

The head of the toy was pretty wide, and I was subjugating myself in front of a camera for her pleasure, and her directions, her passions were becoming increasingly erotic, exotic, and aggressive. It would seem that my ability to exert my will over any situation involving her was dissolving rapidly, and besides, whether it is as a result of her direction and conditioning, or my own deep-seated desires, I wasn’t sure I wanted to alter what she was doing at all. I found myself wanting this. It was very confusing.

“I’m as nervous as you, honey,” she squealed. “This is so fucking dirty, okay, go ahead, just do it, honey.” She was breathing heavily. “Just press it on the hole, yeah, just like that. Good, honey,” she assured. “Now push hard, push it into your body, honey, just the head of it. Push,” she commanded.

I pushed. It hurt like a mother fucker. I tried not to cry out. I was unsuccessful. I yelped. She groaned. I felt my hole stretch open, past the rings of muscle. I couldn’t stop. She had me in her power. As much as it hurt, I liked it. I liked feeling dirty. I liked knowing she was cumming like an avalanche because I was obeying her, willingly, or seemingly so, accepting extreme pain, for her pleasure. I liked the full feeling in my ass. I loved the feeling of all that sweatery material all over my body. It was surreal. The universe was no more than five feet by five feet, and I was fucking my ass with a reasonably sized prostate massager while she watched through an internet camera.

Finally, the toy came to rest a couple of inches inside my body, and at a narrowed neck under the bulb-like head. I convulsed. She moaned.

“Make a slow, easy circle with your hips, sweetheart,” she instructed. “Just do it, honey. I want to watch your ass with that toy dangling out of your body,” she groaned. “You are so fucking dirty, oh yeah, honey, do it, wiggle it for me.” She was borderline lecherous.

“Now there’s a little bit of a shaft,” she described. She digressed. “I love saying shaft regarding something going inside your body, you slut. Oh, I fucking love this, I love you,” she gushed.

“Anyway, honey, just the below the shaft are two, like, ball things,” she told me. “Push it in until you feel the first ball hit your asshole, honey.” She giggled about ball on my asshole.

The shaft was about three inches, but it felt like a mile. It bowed out a bit in the middle, making it extra stretchy. Even with all the lube, I could feel it tearing over the edges of my hole. I wriggled just because. It was hell, but it was heaven, and she was clearly loving it and controlling it.

I got to the first ball. I stopped as she directed.

“Good, honey,” she said. “Reach over to the table. Take the large, flat, solid coffee table book that’s there, and put it on the chair,” she said. “Stay bent over and try to keep the toy inside you without your hands, honey, but you can use at least one if needed.”

“Now turn towards me, sweetheart, while bent over, and maintaining a hold on the toy, the sort of fake dick, in your ass,” she said. “Now stand up straight,” she insisted. “Mmmm, good, honey. Now back up to the chair.”

I could see her face. She was biting her lip a little, looking like an excited girl at a rock and roll show in the 50’s.

“Now slowly sit so the base of the toy is flat on the book, then stop,” she directed. “Do you like it? Honey, are you ready?” She taunted.

“Yes, I like it, a lot, and I am ready for whatever you tell me,” I said, in a trance, stretched, full, dirty, slutty, but I felt loved, somehow, and wanted, and cared for, and this was my duty and privilege to please her in return.

Trance-like state though I may have been in, I could feel everything. I knew everything that was going on. Was she causing me to like it, or did I just like it, or both? Was I so starved for attention that I would do anything to get it? Where I come from, they’d say that this is aberrant, perverted shit. What do I think? I’m not sure what I think.

“Good, honey,” she said. “Now take the lube, honey, and smear some more all over the two balls.” She giggled, and then she purred, “Mmm.”

I did as she instructed.

“Good,” she said. “When I tell you, slide down onto the first ball, and then stop,” she instructed. “If you need to reach down and pull your hole open, do it. It’s wider than I thought, I guess,” she said offhandedly.  She moaned when she said it. “Remember, you’re going to have to take this out of your body at some point, sweetie,” she reminded me.

I pulled my cheeks as wide as I could, and still it was so fucking tight. I pressed down. It hurt. She could see that. She was near drooling. I could feel it going inside me. It will be tough to get out. I could feel the knob at the end and the shaft going deeper and deeper, seeming like it was going to go up my throat. Finally, the first ball was all the way it. I could feel heat rising around me.

“Good, sweetheart, oh, good. I love you, honey,” she said, over and over, like she was weeping a little. “I’m so happy, honey. Okay, let’s keep going,” she enthused. She bit her lip sideways, and said, “I hope you like it.” She smiled a bit.

The sting of the stretch was sending lightning bolts all through my body. I could suddenly feel my nipples again, stinging.

I knew this was going to be uncomfortable. I did it. It was. My brain was rewiring itself to turn the pain and discomfort into something else. I’m not sure if it was pleasure, or what, but I was kinda liking it. It was like drugs.

“Now the next one,” she oozed. “Come on, honey, do it for me, next ball, and stop.”

I did it. I stretched. The shaft went further up inside me. The displacement was affecting every part of my body. My cock was harder than steel in it’s sweatery sheath. My nipples felt like there were needles in them. A strange ease, pleasantness, or something, was washing over me. I felt my hole pop when the second ball was in. I stopped. I shuddered and shook for a minute.

“Good. Now press down all the way until it’s all the way inside your body, with only the wide butt stop on the outside,” she told me. “Do it honey. Almost all there.”

The base popped in.  I was convulsing a little.

“Your whole body is my sex organ, honey,” she proclaimed. “I own it. Look what you’ll do for me, and I’m not even there,” she taunted. “But you’ll be here tomorrow!” “You’re a slut, and I love you for it. You love feeling loved and accepted and wanted, don’t you, honey,” she told me. “That you would do this for me, oh, honey,” she seethed. “You can’t even imagine what it means to me.”

“Pick up you phone, honey,” she directed. “Notice that there’s a new app on the home page. Open it. It’s all set up,” she assured me. “Tap on my picture.”

I did as I was told.

“Good, honey. I am now connected to the toy that is buried so deeply inside that beautiful ass that I own and command.” She began pressing buttons.

I could feel a stirring inside my body.

“This is a very sophisticated toy, honey,” she reported. “I hope you like it. It has a variety of motors that make it do all kinds of things,” she stated. “Your whole hole is probably on fire right now. Listen to me,” she giggled. “Your whole hole.” The whole experience was making her absolutely giddy.

If she wasn’t directing me in vile and dirty ways, I’d say it was almost sweet, endearing. I felt a warmth from her and for her. How fucked up is this, huh?

A rapid, quaking pulse started shooting through me.

“Oooo, do you like that, honey?” she asked. “Let’s try this.” She was tapping away at the app on her phone. “There’s no way you can stop it, sweetheart, and taking it out is going to be a bitch, and if you try to stop any of this, well, I know you won’t, honey. You love me, and you need me to love you,” she sorta-kinda threatened.

The balls near the opening to my anus had something inside that was whirling, each in the opposite direction. Something inside the knob-like head was rotating, while the shaft thrust the thing against my prostate, and I’m not supposed to cum. I was dizzy. I was quaking. Tears were brimming in my eyes. My cock was spasming and drizzling copious amounts of prostate fluid. It was matting into the sweater material that was clutching around my exceedingly aroused cock. My nipples were shrieking while tearing against that tight, razor-like wool. I felt wanted and loved. My body was vibrating like a tuning fork.

“Good, honey,” she said. “Look at you. You’re doing it. You do love me. You do need me. I knew it all the time,” she said. “I’m going to show you a video in a few minutes, and during it, were going to be doing some edging, and other disciplinary training.” “Nerezistu.”.

“Now focus on me, first off. Before we start, I want to tell you about a dream that I had last night,” she said. “Let me turn this down a bit, honey,” she soothed. The vibrations and other motorized actions eased a bit.

“I know that it’s going to get me hot, telling you about it, so you’ll have to watch while I play with myself, and my toys,” she gloated a little. “I am aching to have you here, and I want to tell you more things, in person, hands on, and mouths on and fingers on and Mmmm, oh, fuck,” she teased. She went on, “You have that lovely toy deep inside my sweatery, sweet, honey-like property, so you’re getting what I need you have right now,” she said.

In her dream, we were in a very crowded public place, like an outdoor concert, or a rally, or something like that. In her dream, I was dressed very much like I was at that moment, heavy, magnificent woolly pants with a cock sheath and ball bag, and a flap in the back, a big mohair sweater, and naked under all.

She was wearing, in her dream, a wool-mohair blend cat suit, with a flap in the front, and a large sweatery knit shawl, that went nearly to the ground and was big enough for two.

                We made our way through the crowd, she recalled. ”People were looking at you, at your sweatery suit with your cock trussed up in its sheath, and your beautiful face,” she said. “They wanted to touch you, you, honey. I let some of them. I liked it. You were a little shy about it,” she said. “It was endearing.”

                We stopped after a while, in the midst of a sea of people, everyone facing the same way. It was high-energy. It was a little loud, she described.

“I was standing behind you, feeling you up like you were the local slut,” she told me. I draped my shawl over both our shoulders,” she said. “I want that shawl from my dream,” She snuggled against the sweater she was wearing.

                All this time, the toy is vibrating at a steady pace, deep inside my body, tickling my prostate, and doing the craziest sexual things to me. My nipples are much like they would be if razors were tearing against them. My cock and balls were strangled into aroused states. My body is squeezed into some of the most incredible sweatery things I have ever experienced. She has been conditioning my mind, I am sure of it. I am in another world, while she watches me and taunts me over the internet, and I like it. I can’t wait for what is next. There is nothing but that which she tells me about and instructs me to do, and above all else, her. That is all there is from my current perspective.

                “It starts to get really dirty from here, sweetheart, this dream of mine,” she leered. “I’m going to give you a little more juice.”

                She picked up her phone and tapped a few things. The vibrations increased inside my body. I had to focus.

                She told me in her dream to hold the shawl closed in front of me and to not let go. I think, not only for privacy, but also to keep my hands busy while she did what she was going to do, probably.

She told me that she remembers massaging my cock, and me making little purring noises. That was a little unnerving. She said that she felt taller than me in her dream.

                “I slipped my hands into the opening in your magnificent woolly pants and caressed your ass cheeks and teased you hole,” she said. “You were making pretty little sounds. When I touched your hole, you pushed back like you were asking for it.” She was flushed in the face while she said it.

                “I took out this toy from my bag.” She showed me a two headed dildo.

                One end was short with a bit of a bulb at the end, and was at about a 60-degree angle to the longer end, about seven inches, that was shaped like a penis. That end was at least as thick as the toy inside my body now, but was maybe a little longer. It was moderately rigid.

                “I bought this for us, honey,” she said with a lilt, “and it showed up in my dream. I handed it up to you so you could feel it and want it, and so you could know what was going to happen to you, and what you were going to feel,” she told me. “It’s kinda big,” she said. “I wanted you to be ready for it, in my dream.” She said she felt like doing this to me in such a crowded place would be like declaring our love to the world.

“I slipped on my gloves,” she said. “I spread globs of lube on my fingers and started to work them into that ass that belongs to me, and in my dream, I got carried away, and I was nearly fist fucking you,” she shuddered. “It was a hot fucking dream. You were doing everything you could to be good while I did it, used you like my plaything, my property,” she said. “You loved it in my dream and moaned and sighed and wriggled. Fucking hot,” she said.

She continued with her dream. “I took the toy back from you,” she said. “People knew what we were doing, and that made it kinda hotter. They were trying not to watch, but they were. I worked the toy into my pussy. It felt good,” she sighed as she told me.

“I pressed the tip of the cock head right at the opening to your beautiful body,” she said, “and started to push,” she said. “My heart was beating and my pussy felt so fucking nice, and I pulled your body close to mine. Just as I was about to push the head inside you, I heard you groan something,” she said with a little shock. “It sounded like you said, ‘No.’”

“In my dream, I was going to tenderly and sweetly enter you and take you, long and slow, hugging you and kissing you and caressing you while we both cummed; me, many times, I’m sure, and you at least once,” she said. “I was going to let you cum. It was going to be so nice and loving. We were going to be making love amidst all those people, letting them feel it.”

“In my dream, I reached around and grabbed your balls in the protruding sack, and squeezed,” she said. “I asked you, ‘Did you just say, ‘No?’ Did you resist me?’ And you started back peddling, and stuttering, ‘I did not,’ you moaned,” she said. “’You knew that I wouldn’t like that, I told you,’” I said.”’ I didn’t say it,’ you whined.”

She said that she didn’t know what to do. She said that she was momentarily confused. She said she wasn’t expecting her dream to go that way. She was surprisingly detailed in her dream recollection.

“I remember that I felt disappointment that you would try to resist me,” she said. “I pulled you close and growled at you,” she said. She asked, “Don’t you trust me, sweetheart? why would you resist me, honey. This was going to be sweet and loving. You’ve never resisted me before, I told you,” she said. “We’ve never had to deal with this, I told you. We can’t just let this go, I told you,” she said. “It was going to be tender love making, now I’m going to fuck you like a fucking whore, I told you. You will learn to respect me and trust me, sweetheart. I am your world, your owner, your everything, I told you,” she said.

She said she grabbed me around the waist with one arm, and the other, around my neck. Her eyes got wide when she said it.  She told me that even in her sleep, she felt exhilarated.

Just before she told the next part of her dream, she changed the settings on the dildo inside me through her phone app. She turned up the speed and intensity. The head and balls were spinning. She had the thrust function like a piston inside my body. My body jerked.

“I repositioned the dildo right at the hole and pushed it in a little,” she said. “Feel every bit of this, you untrusting fuck hole. I should leave you here, alone, no way to get home, no money, no name, I told you,” she said.

She said she told me in her dream that she would take all my sweaters. She owned me, she told me, she owned the sweaters. She owned everything that belonged to me.

“’Have I told you that I have conditioned your mind so that being without me would leave you in great despair?’” she seethed in her dream.

“’I don’t want to do that, honey, I love you and this is just a mistake, I know it, but I must reinforce rules,’ I seethed at you,” she said. “Then I drove that long, thick dildo deep inside you. ‘Do not make a fucking sound,’ I told you. I pulled all the way out and jammed it all the way back in, over and over, and it got faster and faster. I was saying the most-foul things to you. Through it all, you were hard as a rock, and my blood was pumping. So was yours. You looked so frightened, honey,” she said. She said that it was beautiful. “You said at least three times that you loved me. You apologized over and over. You were weak in the knees and I had to hold you up a couple of times. Fuck, honey, Mmmm, I really liked doing it,” she said. “Does that frighten you?” She asked me.

“Yes, it does,” I told her.

“Good,” she said.

“After a few minutes, it seemed,” she explained, she stopped, with the dildo still all the way inside me, in her dream.

“I asked you, ‘did that hurt, honey,’ and you said that it did,’ very much’. You were nearly weeping. Tears were in your eyes. You looked so vulnerable. I asked you, ‘do you understand now?’ You whimpered. You said you did. You apologized in many ways, and proclaimed your love.”

She said that it made her hotter than she expected, fucking my aching, burning hole in her dream.

“’Let’s start again,’ I told you. I slowly withdrew,” she said.

She said that, in her dream, she re-applied lube, leaned in, kissed my neck, and slowly pressed the toy just a little inside me, and more, then more, and more, until it was all the way in. She said I was quivering and purring. She said that she had her hands all over me. She was moaning and loving it, feeling very good and connected and in love. She said that she reached forward and started to massage my cock through its woolly sheath. She said that I was noticeably enjoying it.

I was very aroused listening to her dream. I shouldn’t be. She describing abusing me on made-up charges. It was so dirty, and even through it all, I was feeling loved and wanted, and like I was doing what I should be doing in this world, being the object of her arousal and pleasure. Why was I thinking this?

“I was cumming and cumming in my dream, and I’m pretty sure I was cumming for real,” she revealed. “I was stroking your cock. You were like in a trance,” she told me. “I was fucking you and fucking you and cumming and cumming, and your woolly cock felt so good in my hands while I stroked you and stroked you, Your body and soul responding to mine as I made love with you right there, in the middle of a crowd of people.” She was hot while she was telling the tale.

“I made you cum,” she said. “I my dream, my fake dick was right up against your prostate, and I loved it.”

 She said that cum was pumping out of my cock through the woolliness of the cock sheath.

 “It felt so good. I had my hand over the head of your cock while it pumped out.” She was squirming while she said it.

“This is love, honey. Dirty little slut, this is love,” she said she told me. “I scooped up the cum and brought it to you face,” she said. “I smeared some on you lips, and you knew to not resist. It was so powerful,” she said, “and of course I made you lick some up, and I spread the rest on you face. You had to leave it on,” she said. “People saw it. They knew that you loved me.”

She said that she turned me around, kissed me, and reminded me to trust her. She said that she and I walked out through the crowd.

“I woke up, drenched,” she said.

“You know, honey, sometimes when you dream, you find the answers to your questions,” she said. “I ask a lot of you, sweetheart, and I’ve been asking more and more of you. I wondered about what I would do if I ever thought that you might try to resist me, or didn’t want to please me,” she worried.

I felt a wave of panic and fear.

“I’m just thinking out loud, honey. You’re sweet to experience fear and panic,” she said.

How did she know that I was feeling panic and fear?

“We’ve never really come up against that, though, and I love you so much for that, but what if we came to something that you thought was going to make you very uncomfortable?” She wondered. “I know you do things for me, now, that make you a little uncomfortable, but I’m going to be asking more and more,” she said, “and you’re so good to endure, but what if…, huh, honey?” She was hypothesizing.

“Well,” she said, “I have actually thought a few things about that, but I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”

“I thought that I may have found, at least some direction from my dream, about dealing with catastrophe,” she said.

“What do you think, honey? Did you like my dream?” She asked, “and kept on without letting me respond. “You did, I could tell in your face. You thought it was hot,” she drooled, “even when I was raping your ass to punish you, you loved hearing me tell you, watching me, hearing me cum in so many ways,” she was delirious. “Maybe you like punishment, honey. I kinda liked doing it, even if it was a dream,” she breathed. “Hmmmm, so maybe my questions weren’t really answered, but I did find something I really like,” she said, looking deeply into my soul.

A little bit of fear sparked in me. A little conditioning seemed to be waving through me.

“I am going to show you a video in a minute,” she stated. “It’s about twenty minutes, and you’re going to like it, sweetheart. I made it for you,” she smiled. She had a pretty smile, I must say.

“I need to give you some instructions,” she told me.

I was thinking, “What the fuck! This is getting to be crazy shit, and if I try to stop it, I become confused and feel nearly physical pain.”

I didn’t know what to think or do. There was nothing I could think or do. She has me. She owns me. She is controlling everything that is happening and I am powerless. Struggle or accept. …or who knows what.

“Now push the book back in the chair and sit right down on it so that that big, fucking toy inside my property has a good solid base,” she said. “A good, solid base is important in everything, honey,” she said.

“Sit, honey, your hole centered and feel it. Elongate your spine so you’re aware of the position of the toy inside you,” she instructed.

I complied.

“Good, honey,” she said. “Put your hands flat on your lap. Relax your neck. Relax your face. Feel your shoulders release all the tension of the day, Breath in and out through your nose, honey, slowly, evenly, fill your belly, fill your lungs, release your lungs, push out from your belly,” she nearly whispered.

I complied.

“Good,” she said.

“Notice that there is a joint and an ashtray on the table, and a couple of bottles of water,” she said. “You deserve a little break,” she said nicely.

“Open the bottle marked with the number one, and drink it the way down, honey, go on, now,” she directed. “Just so you know in advance, there is a mild euphoric in the water. I would understand if you object to consuming it, but I would prefer that you do not object.”

I did not object. I drank the water.

“Good,” she said. “Now light the joint and smoke the whole thing,” she instructed. “This is really, really good pot,” she said. “It should probably do nasty things to your mind,” she said. “Now open the other bottle and sip as needed, with permission, of course,” she said. “If you need a drink, look longingly at the bottle and I will most likely let you drink,” she said. “Let’s try it.”

I looked longingly at the bottle.

“Good,” she said. “You may drink.” “Oh, honey, that was cute,” she smiled.

I did not protest.

While we each smoked our joints, she started telling me that this was an exercise in discipline for her, too.

“You’re just down the street, for all intents and purposes,” she groaned. “I could come and get you right now, or have a ride share of a cab take you here right now.” She was ranting a little.

We were both getting off on the really good pot. I was starting to feel what she had put in my water. I was feeling floaty, and loose, and light.

“I would love to have you on my sweatery body right now, honey, fucking me with that beautiful, hard, desperate cock, of which I have taken possession,” she seethed. “I want to feel my pussy muscles massaging your cock inside me, your woolly body all over me, my arms and legs holding on to you, my hands and fingers all over your ass, inside your ass, inside your body, inside you, telling you the most loving, sweetest, dirtiest, most vile things, fucking you for as long as you can possible stand it, until you release all that beautiful, hot, runny, liquid-y, sperm-filled cum inside me, mixing our juices, our souls, in delicious, orgasmic, divine, celestial elixir, your body quaking and quivering while I milk every last drop of all that sperm you have been saving for me, out of your body. You know why I want all of that cum inside my pussy, honey, you know why?” She was licking her lips and snarling, like a primal beast.

“You want that, honey?” She taunted. “You want to feel my cunt on your dick, honey. My cunt, honey, my hot, welcoming, delicious, wet cunt, honey, all over your dick?” She wanted to know. She went on, “my fingers all over you, inside of you, mmm, huh, honey, and all these sweaters that I love to give you. You want that, honey, of fuck yeah….”

“Oh, fuck, honey,” she said, “I have to be strong, too, she raved. I have to control my urges and honor the demands I put on you, honey, oh fuck, I want you here.” She was looking right in the camera, licking her lips, moaning, obviously reaming her pussy and stroking the shit out of her clit.

I was stoned to the bone. I was rivetted to the screen and her words. I relit the joint several times until it was spent. What would I do if she told me to come over?

She calmed herself down, and was breathing deeply, herself, centering herself.

“When the video comes up, my image will reduce to an inset,” she said. “Make sure that that inset is positioned top-center of the screen. Move it you have to,” she said. “All knowledge comes from experience, honey. I want you to know yourself thoroughly, and I am going to help you experience your true self, sweetheart,” she assured. “We are on an eternal journey together.”

“Sa oled minu omand,” she uttered.  My focus deepened. I went deeper into some sort of trance.

“Before we start, as we go, I will be giving you instructions. You should continue to look at the screen while I am talking, that’s important,” she said. “If I need you to look at me, I will tell you, and of course, you may look longingly at the bottle of water,” she said with a little grin. “I don’t want you to get thirsty, sweetheart.”

“I will tell you, for example, ‘Sheath off,’” she said. “That means you should pull it up over your cock the entire length. If I tell you to do it slowly, comply. ‘Sheath on,’ means you should, with two fingers on each hand near the base of your cock, pinch and pull until it’s all the way on, get it?” She asked.

“And I will say, ‘Number.’ You will tell me, on a scale of one to ten, with ten as orgasm, how close you are to cumming. You will follow my instructions from there. I may have you stop, or continue, or change activities,” she said. “There will be other directions as we go. Do you understand?” She asked.

“I do,” I replied.

“Good,” she said.

“I want to let you in on a little secret about edging, honey,” she confided. “When you boys think about cumming, you think about that last few seconds when all the sperm is exiting the heads of your cocks,” she stated. “You get one good shot, if your lucky, and maybe a few dry orgasms after a lot of work at arousing and stimulating to orgasm, she went on. What about the part where you build up to orgasm?” She asked. “Do you like that part? Do you like how your body feels, your cock, your mouth, your fingers and hands, your ass? Do you like how all your sexy parts feel while your touching and kissing and stroking, and hugging? I know you love a long, slow hand job, honey,” she said with confidence. “What would it feel like if you could feel that, almost to the edge of the orgasm, over and over and over, in rapid succession, for sometimes hours? Hmmm, honey?” She asked. “Girls do it all the time. We get almost to cumming, then we stop, enjoy the feeling a minute, then start again,” she sighed. “I have been nearly cumming all night,” she said. “I cummed all the way a couple times, because I can.”

“I want to teach you this, honey. I want you hot and aroused for hours for me,” she gushed. “I love you, honey,” she declared. “I want you to love this. I want to help you reach your essence, which is eternal,” she proclaimed.

“Close your eyes, honey,” she said. “Feel your body from head to toe. Imagine that you are surrounded by a cloud of sweater, cream color, bulky knit, slightly fuzzy, enclosing your universe, just behind you and no further than the backside of your laptop, she told me. You feel warm, and soft. I am right inside your universe with you,” she said. “Trust me. Follow my instructions. Empty your mind so we can rebuild it, honey. You’ll see,” she assured me. “It will be worth it.”

“Open your eyes, honey, in every way. The immortal body is the essence, which is eternal,” she proclaimed. That was similar to something she already said.

“I am starting the video,” she stated. “Make sure my inset image is top-center. Notice the logo that comes up. It will start to play a part in our lives, honey, and the production company name,” she smiled.

I was glued to the screen, feeling like I was in a small woolly igloo, all the things that were going on in my body, my mind. This was a crazy scenario, but I was in it. The video premiered on the screen.

It was a HER/him Production. The symbology is self-evident. Was she creating a production company around us? Huh?

The logo was interesting. She said it would become meaningful somehow. It was like a cartouche, roughly oval, with a short bar at the very bottom.

Several symbols were stacked within it. At the very top, a small heart. Below that, a circle within a circle with rays from the inner to the outer circle in the top half. Below that, links, connecting that circle with a smaller circle, within which was a yin/yang symbol. Below that, a figure like a sideways figure eight. It was a visually appealing image.

The symbols, no doubt, had some meaning. She will tell me if she needs to.

All the events, and the substances coursing through my body made it hard to think. I had to focus on not cumming. I had to focus on the video. I had to focus on her voice. I had to focus on my body and mind and her.

Music began to rise. A montage of sweater porn pics. People doing very dirty things with woolly sweatery items, beautiful body parts wrapped in sweater, nice. Then came a video of a very sweatery woman, pretty, kneeling between legs with knitted mohair leggings on them. She’s slowly sucking his cock, looking into the camera, licking it, loving it, blowing it, sucking it off. It faded, it went to an image of a man in sweatery things being sweetly pegged, by a sexy, gentle mistress. There seemed to be at least one other layer of image over that, and words scrolling by from every direction, saying things like, “I own you,” “I love you,” “This is your new normal,” this is your life from now on,” “slut,” “Love it, slut,” “you love being her whore,” “You grovel to her and love it,” “You love it, I know you do.” “Don’t you wish you could cum?” “Don’t you wish you could release all that built up sperm?” The voice was taunting. “Don’t you want some of this?” “What would you do?” “What will you do?” “What are you going to do?” “What will she do to you?” “What do you want to happen to you?” “Anything? Everything?”

A very faint spiral was whirling at varying speeds. There were several layers of audio, tones, sex sounds, rhythmic music, voices saying similar things to the scrolling words. I heard her voice amidst, them all, being assuring, but firm, slightly stern, then sweet, then sexy, then primal, then harsh, then tender. I heard the sound of my own voice, begging, moaning, crying out, professing love, obedience, subjugation.

Rapid images of cocks coming, glistening pussies, cocks entering, pussies streaming pie cream, being licked by grateful, ravenous men, fucking, pegging, hand jobs, nearly everyone in sweaters. She went to a lot of work to create this.

“Sheath off,” she commanded.

I did not hesitate. I kept my eyes on the video and followed her instructions. I grabbed the tip of the sweatery sheath on my cock and quickly pulled it all the way up.

“Good,” she said. “Sheath on.”

As she instructed, I pinched at the sheath starting at the bottom until it was completely on me.

“Good,” she said. “Number.”

“Five,” I responded.

“Good,” she said. “We have a ways to go,” She grinned. “Sheath off.”

I complied.

“Good. Sheath on,” she instructed.

I complied. She did this maybe eight times. It was getting excruciating. All the while, I was glued to the computer screen, absorbing increasingly extreme Femdom imagery, and it was becoming increasingly arousing, while messages were being driven into my brain through written and spoken word. I knew that the tones I was hearing were there to make my mind malleable, open to suggestion and manipulation. I was being taken over and I either could not or did not want to resist. “This is fucked up!” I was thinking.

“Number,” she barked.

“Eight,” I moaned.

“Mmmm, good,” she said. “Sheath off.”

I complied. I was shaking. She looked me in the eyes and tapped on her phone. I could feel the vibrations deep inside me get stronger.

“Sheath on,” she demanded.

I complied.

“Good,” she said. “Sheath off.”

Oh my god, I was on fucking fire. This went on several more times, all though it seemed like a thousand.

“Number,” she barked.

“Nine and a half,” I whimper.

“Good,” she said. “Sheath all the way on and rest for a minute. Hold on to your cock with both hands and the sheath all bunched up on your dick,” she guided. “Keep watching. Rock your hips a little while keeping your hands still,” she told me.

I complied. It was hard, in so many ways. I could feel my brain resetting to deal with this. The images on the screen continued to show extreme Femdom scenarios, rooms full of CFnm, men being used as entertainment for their mistresses and their friends. Sweet images of loving couples, violent images of several women taking one man, men strapped to sex furniture, classic S&M scenes, women directing their submissive men to sexually use another woman’s submissive, fucking, sucking, cum, hands, holes, more cum, and more and more and more cum, erupting from stimulated penises. Vaginas pouring out pussy cum and pie cream. Hypnotic, arousing statements that shouldn’t be arousing to me.

Men servicing their Mistresses in every imaginable way. The sounds of sex and screaming and pain and delight and cumming and building. Messages being sewn into my brain to accept this, to be aroused by this, to be freed by this, to subjugate, to accept love, to see it all as normal, and love it, implications without clear specifics of consequences for choosing to not accept, ability to choose being stripped away.

“Love this,” it said, over and over, “Love this.” “Take it, in every way.” “I love you. “You need me, you cannot exist without me.” “This is your new life.”” You are no longer in charge.” “Concede.” “Give yourself to me.” “You want to cum.” “You want to release all your beautiful sperm, honey.” “You cannot cum.” “I’ll take you, anyway, so give yourself over.” “Do it.” “This is normal.” “Love cum.”  

I was watching, and holding my cock, and feeling the toy inside me, pounding, vibrating. She was telling me to imagine it, what it looked like inside my body. She showed me screen shots of me in the midst of this. It was disturbing and arousing and dizzying. It was a lot of information.

I was trying not to come. My favorite things, sweatery things are all over my body for sexual purposes. I have always loved the feeling of sweatery things, and this is over the top. That would be nearly enough for her to completely absorb me, control me. She was taking this far deeper than that. I could feel that parts of my brain were activating that have never been activated before.

She wants me and she loves and I need her and I love her and this is the world. The mild euphoric was a mild hallucinogen, too, I believe, that and the pot, the events as they were occurring, my head, my body, my mind, my soul, all are stimulated. All are vulnerable to anything she wants to do to any of them. I am helpless, and I can’t help but love it all. The world is wavering. Her voice, her attention, the only things that stabilize the world.  My brain is getting near overload. That’s what she wants. She is literally blowing my mind. She wants to rebuild it. This is the dirtiest fucking thing I have ever done, And I have a feeling this is the tip of the iceberg.

I was slowly fucking my hands through the sweatery sheath and my sweatery gloves. She restarted the thrusting function on the toy, so deep inside me. She told me I was good. She told me she was proud of me, and that she loves me. She talked about reaching my higher essence.

As she talked, I saw what seemed to be images of me that she had obviously taken during some of our encounters, of her finger fucking me, me cleaning her wet, dripping pussy with my mouth, sucking her nipples, and more. How did she get them?

There were also some pictures of me that seemed to have been at a time that would preclude them being me, early twentieth century, late eighteen-hundreds. There were similar images of her. She must have done something to some photos. They sparked something in me. I continued watching and following directions.

“Number?” She asked.

“Seven and a half,” I told her.

“Good,” she said. “Keep fucking your hands. I’ll keep fucking you with my new toy, even though I am not even in the room,” she oozed. “I fucking love this.”

She was getting primal again. That could be frightening, but I did not resist, and was becoming grateful that I contribute to her obvious pleasure. Who am I?

“Start building up spit on your tongue, honey,” she ordered. “In a second, I want you to lean toward the screen,” she instructed. “Yeah, like that. Now stop,” she directed. “That’s it, keep watching. Open your mouth just slightly,” she told me.

An image came up of the girl at the beginning, still sweatery, still sucking the cock of a sweatery man, looking in the camera. The girl switches to a hand job and aims the cock toward the camera.

“Lean in a little closer, honey,” she said. “Let a little of your incredible tongue lazily come out. Can you imagine welcoming that in your mouth to help finish it off, honey?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer.

“You look so nervous, honey, does it excite you?” She asked. “Is that why it’s making you nervous. You like it, don’t you. You wish you could wrap your lips around the head of that hot cock that’s just about to explode. I would love to watch you doing that, honey, pleasuring a cock in your mouth. Get closer,” she said, “yeah, I see the spit on your tongue.” She was panting, and stroking.

“Catch it, honey”, she said. “Catch it in your mouth, on your tongue. Mmmm. Good boy. Now close your mouth and press the spit against the roof of your mouth. Keep watching,” she insisted.

“Number,” she barked.

“Nine,” I replied.

“Good,” she responded. “That’s what cum feels like in your mouth, honey. I want you to like. Keep looking at that cock.” “and look at that, honey,” she said. “You’re up nearly two points after doing that. Mmmm. Interesting.”

It shot another load.

“Mmmm…all over your dirty, slut face, honey,” she squealed.

“Shimmy those titties, honey,” she said. “Do they hurt?”

“Yes”, I said.

 

“Now stay like that,” she commanded. “Keep fucking your sweatery hand.”

“Number?” She asked

“Still nine,” I responded.

“Good,” she said.

An image came on the screen came up of a man in a magnificent mohair sweater, face down on a bed. A body came up behind him. I could see the head of a cock. I couldn’t tell if it was a dildo or a real cock. It was large. It pressed against the man’s hole and started to disappear as the man moaned and yelped a bit. The speed of the thrusting mechanism in my ass increased. Dirty messages were streaming into my head.

“Keep leaning forward honey, like it’s you getting fucked,” she seethed. “Do you like? Hump a little, honey.” She tapped her phone. The thrust was slow and deliberate in my hole, inside my body.

What the fuck?                                                                                                                                                                      

The man quaked. The body quaked. Both convulsed. The obscured body thrusted forward and back with determination. Two voices cried out. Cum started to drizzle from the man’s hole around the large cock cork.

“Love it, honey,” she gritted through her teeth. “Want it.”

Voices, some recorded to sound like me, maybe some recordings she made unbeknownst to me, and tones and her voice and strange voices, kept battering my brain. Images were making me feel dirty and slutty and shameful and I was loving it. I was feeling so connected and loved and warmed and dirty and slutty.

“Do you understand what’s happening here, honey?” she asked, breathlessly. “I can’t tell you everything right now, but think about what you know,” she directed. “Close your eyes a minute,” she said. “You have a toy deep inside you, that I control from an app on my phone. Think about that honey, and you’re accepting it, honey. I have you. You are mine. You accept that. Say it, honey.”

“I accept that you have me. I accept that you I am yours. I belong to you and you can control me as you desire,” I answered back, in distress.

“There are more toys that do the same thing as the dildo, remote control thing, , honey. I got some. Keep watching,” she admonished. “One goes inside your dick and sends out pulses all through you. You like that?” she asked. “We have it.” “Think about it. Me using it on you, sliding it into you your dick.”

“Number she barked.

“Nine and a quarter,” I replied.

“how does your body feel, honey? Can you feel that dildo deep inside?” she asked. “I put on the warming feature,” she drooled.

“Look at you. Listen to me. Watch the video. Do it,” she groaned. She hit some buttons and she was showing me myself. “Look at you, slut. Look at you. Can you feel everything, everything, inside you, outside you, sweatery things everywhere? Oh, fuck honey, look what you’re doing to me. “

 “Feel it, honey, every inch, every vibration. All the stitches of the sweaters are like mouths and fingers, massaging you, fucking you, feel it. Watch the video. Listen to me. Read the statements out loud. Do it honey. Do it. It’s hard I know. Just do it for me. Do it.” She turned the volume on the toy and the volume on the video up to full.

“Sheath on. Sheath off. Sheath on. Sheath off. Count the number of times and do it fast. Do not cum.” She was not mean, but definitely in charge.

“Number,” she barked,

“Nine and three quarters,” I whimpered.

“Good, honey,” she said.

“Fuck yeah, fuck yeah. Oh honey, I love you. Don’t cum. Do not cum. Imagine me now in this sexual fury, this state of mind, wanting your cum and finding that you wasted it,” she ranted. “Don’t even think of cumming, not even a wet dream, honey.” She was nearly raging. “Remember how I reacted in my dream when you went against me?” she taunted, threatened. “Remember that? Do Not Cum. Do Not Resist. I’ll it all be worth it, honey. Trust me.”  

I was frightened. It was feeling really warm inside around my pelvic region. I liked it, but it was very strange, like I was melting away.

“Sheath off,” she barked.

I complied.

“Good,” she said. “Sheath on, fast.”

I did it. Over and over. I was nearly in tears trying not to cum. She kept me doing it.

“Number,” she demanded.

“Nine and a half,” I replied.

“Good,” she replied, and she kept at it, over and over.

I was on fire. I was nearly in tears. I was trying so hard not to cum. I was seeing things by this point, nearly hallucinating. Images on the screen were compelling and repelling at the same time. Words were overlapping. Tones were manipulating the fibers of my mind.

“Look at you, beautiful boy, doing everything I say, and you still haven’t cum. I am so proud of you,” she gushed. Although, she went on, “some part of me wants you to screw up so I can punish you, but I like that you are doing every fucking thing I say,” she went on, domineeringly. “That makes me want you to do more and more honey.” “It is pretty hot thinking about punishing you, though.”

I was suffering. She kept at it with the sweatery sheath. It felt really fucking good, but so stressful. I was trying so hard to not cum.

“Do you like going right to the edge?” She asked. “Getting so close and feeling all those arousal feelings? You can almost feel the cum inside your shaft, trying, wanting to burst out the head of your cock. Do you like it? Do you, honey,” she taunted. “Do you like that feeling of cum bubbling up inside you, your body going weak, feeling hot. Your mind having little seizures? That’s what cumming is,” she said. “It’s like little electrical circuits firing like crazy in your brain,” she said, breathing a little heavily.

“Why are men so afraid of that, honey?” she asked. “I want you to love it. Honey.”

 “I’ll teach you to cum like girls cum, all night if we want, if we are stimulated by our submissive dirty sluts, like you especially, honey,” she said. “Imagine me right there with you, touching you, making you feel like this with my warm, soft, sweatery hands? Will you like that honey?” She asked. “You will. I know it,” she assured me.

“Sheath on slowly, honey,” she directed, “then hold it.”

I complied.

“Good,” she said. “Now watch the video while you wriggle in the chair, holding your sweatery, nice cock, grinding that nasty toy inside you, and raking your desperate nipples against that rough, beautiful sweater, wriggling like a slut in heat in a sleazy dance club,” she instructed. “I want to see you moving like you love every single sensation tearing through your body, and your mind and your soul, honey,” she said. “Do it, do it, honey. I love you.”

I complied.

“Good,” she said.

The audio on the video got louder and more intense in its hypnotic messages. Sounds of my own voice, pleasure and pain, increased. Her voice extolling love and tenderness, punctuated with dirtiness and primalness and sternness and punishment. The images were increasingly hard core. Groups of women preparing to abuse men who are bound and helpless, women directing men to use other men sexually, montages of orgasms, and Dominatrices, and submissives, and dungeons and play rooms. The images were coming faster and faster. My heart was pounding. I was still wriggling as per her direction. Every part of my mind, body, soul, spirit, was electrified. I felt fear and shame and I liked it.  My mind was nowhere near the same as it was just a few short hours ago. I was so close to cumming so many times, so many times. I can’t imagine that I am even alive to tell the story. Holy fuck, what a fucking ride. Oh my god. I am hers. I belong to her. I am diminished in her presence and it is only through her benevolence that I can even function. This is crazy. This is crazy. But I fucking love it. I need it. I will suffer inside without it. I know it.

Finally, came a scene of a Mistress wearing a massive strap-on dildo. Her submissive being is kneeling before her, clearly just after having been fucked, licking the head of the dildo, then blowing it, and blowing it. With his hands, he is jerking off into a glass that already appears to be full of cum. He shoots a load, waits for her direction. As ordered, he drinks down the entire glass of cum. His mistress holds his face so he can’t open his mouth, and his throat so he can’t swallow. He’s has had this happen before, it’s clear. She takes her hands away. He swallows. He opens his mouth to show her. She pops a small candy in his mouth. He curls up at her feet. The screen fades to black. A short montage of body parts in sweaters floats by.

“Don’t stop stroking, honey,” she hollered. “I’m fucking myself with a dildo. Keep stroking until I cum,” she ordered.

“I’m thinking of your cock going inside my body and fucking me as long as you can until I let you cum and cum and cum inside,” she growled, “your cum filling my pussy, filling my cunt with all that live, wiggling sperm, honey, it’s fucking primally fucking hot. Mmmmm. I love watching you wiggle like a sperm, honey. It’s fucking erotic. It’s fucking weird to see, but it’s fucking hot. All that sperm I told you to save, and you did. It better be there,” she threatened. “Don’t fucking let me down. Don’t waste a drop of that cum until I give you permission.”

“Now tell me dirty things. Tell me you will drink cum if I tell you. Tell me you want to fuck me and cum and lap it up afterwards, dirty cum slut.” “Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”

I complied. I kept jerking. She wanted dirty. I told her that I could hardly stand the hours until my face was buried in her pussy, feeling her pussy cum drench me and whatever sweater she tells me  to wear, licking her cunt, sucking her clit, taking whatever direction she gives me. I told her that I knew she would probably want something inside me before I fucked her and I anxiously await to see what that will be. I told her that I wanted to feel her warm, welcoming pussy all over my cock, her arms and legs wrapped around me, her telling me how to fuck her so that she cums all over my cock, and  until I finally am allowed to release all the sperm, all the cum, that I have been saving for this moment. I told her that it will be an honor and an arousing, erotic pleasure to slurp my cum out from her beautiful pussy, and savor it and let her see it and taunt me and tease me.

“I will not swallow until you tell me to,” I promised.

“Oh, you nasty fuck,” she hissed. “This is going to be an even greater weekend than I could ever have imagined, honey.” “I was a little worried that you would shy away from my little games, honey, and you didn’t,” she said smoothly. “You have been going above and beyond. Good, honey,” she said.

“Number,” she barked.

“Nine and three quarters,” I replied.

“Good,” she said. “Keep going. Keep going.”  “Oh, god. Keep going.”

She started cumming violently, knocked a small lamp over, yelled, and growled and moaned. She was rubbing sweater on her clit and tits.

“I can’t wait for this weekend, honey. I can’t fucking wait,” she was like a beast in the wild. “I love that my house is sound proof, honey,” she breathed. “No one will hear you scream.”

She finished cumming and spent a minute returning to the planet. She snuggled against the sweaters. She became this sweet, tender girlfriend all of a sudden.

“Did you like it, honey? Did you love it?” she wanted to know. “This is your life from now on, honey. I love having you as my boyfriend.”

“Oh, honey, we have to get that toy out of your ass. I’m getting me hot again, thinking about it.” She showed concern.

“Turn around and kneel on the chair, your ass, that I love and own, facing me. Oh, look at that. It’s so sweet. I’ll have video of it to show you, honey, of the toy inside your body,” she giggled.

“Now pull gently. Add lube if you need,” she said. “That’s it. Good, honey.”

It hurt so much, but in some ways, it felt weirdly good. It stretched. It was meant to go in. No one thought about it coming out, or maybe they did.

“Pull, honey, up to the first ball, then stop,” she said. “It hurts I bet, honey. It’s making me a little hot,” she said with the slightest of growl.

I moaned and winced. I didn’t want to scream, because she would not like it, neither would my neighbors.

“You’re being so brave, honey. Give it one quick pull and take it all the way, honey, do it,” she dared.

I was afraid. This is going to hurt. It’s what she wants. I had to do it. I will take her direction and feel it as love. Three, two, one, pull. Yeee-ouch!! Oh, fuck. I’m dizzy. I’m still stoned, and now, this sent something to my brain. I shuddered and convulsed like I was having a seizure.

“Oh, honey, you don’t even know what that does to me. Oh, fuck,” she moaned. “I have to calm down, honey. Look what you do to me,” she said with surprise. “Oh, I love you and I can’t wait until we’re here together. Now go wash the toy that has been deep in your ass for so long.”

I complied. I was very sore. Walking to the kitchen produced some agony.

“Good,” she said.

I returned.

“Good,” She said. “Now raise your sweaters and let’s look at those nipples,” she said.

I did. My nipples were long, erect, and ravaged.

“Give a slight crank to each of the set screws, honey, just a little,” she directed.

I did.

“Good,” she said. Now wait a minute. Let some blood flow back in. It might sting a little.”

It did.

After a minute, she told me to open them a little more and wait. She was very caring and sweet.

“One more, honey. I have some special ointment for them,” she said. She warned that I will be needing it.

Finally, they were off. My nipples were still very sore and hot and tingling with returning blood flow. As per her, I lowered the sweaters back over my burning nipples. They were freaking sore. Oh my god. Every movement sent electricity through my body. Sure bet, she made me shimmy against the sweater. Oh my god.

                “You can take the binding strap off your cock, honey, but you have to keep everything else on,” she said. “If you have to pee, honey,” she said with a sly grin, “I want you to open the flap over your aching anus, sit, and aim your piss into the toilet that way, while sitting. Okay, honey?” she was taunting.

“Oh, I am so looking forward to this weekend, just the two of us trapped by the snow together for days,” she said. “This is going to be a very special weekend, honey who I love so much. I have some nice breakfast things for when you arrive in the morning, and lots of food for the weekend, and movies and things to read, and of course, you and me, and all that I want to do to you. You will not be the same man as you have been by the time Tuesday rolls around,” she assured me.

                “Now close up here and get into the bed. I left a couple of DVDs by your player in your bedroom,” she told me. “They’re light, fun things, some comedy, maybe a couple of dirty things.”

“I want you to watch them and relax and thinking about being in my loving arms and under my loving spell all weekend. You cannot resist me,” she reminded me. “Resistere futilis,” she quietly uttered.

“You cannot resist that which represents love,” she stated.

“Don’t forget my instructions for what to wear and to bring and when,” she said. “If you’re looking for your house keys, or car keys, or wallet, I have them. You don’t need keys to lock your door. If you let the door lock behind you, and you don’t have everything with you, you can’t go back in until Tuesday. Focus,” She emphasized.

“You don’t need your car. You only need your debit card and your driver’s license. I left twenty dollars just in case. Bring your lap top and the other things I told you. Drink plenty of water tonight and in the morning. Don’t eat breakfast. We’ll have it here. Be here by 9:30 in the morning, before the snow starts,” she told me. “And no cumming. You understand that, right?” she asked.

“I understand,” I replied.

“Oh, I love you, sweetheart. Do you love me, honey?” She insisted on knowing.

“I love you, I truly do,” I responded. “I am anxious for this weekend.”

“Good night, honey, I’ll see you in the morning, and no cumming beforehand,” she said. “Put on some music to sleep by. There’s a CD for that, too, honey.” She had a sly grin as she told me.

The computer screen went dark. I did as I was told. I drank water. I got into bed. I enjoyed the comedies and porn on the DVDs, then went to sleep, music from her CDs playing. I am little nervous about the weekend. She was grooming me for something, although I don’t know what.

I will find out, it seems. I slept reasonably well.

 

 

 

Subdued With Sweaters

 

Part II

 

            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 co mpelling. 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. 

She played with my nipples through my thick, soft sweater. She pulled them and pinched them. She swatted my hands away when I raised them. She rubbed the sweater on my face, stroked it on my cock. 

I was writhing and moaning, and thoroughly enjoying it. I felt dirty. I felt a little ashamed that I was enjoying someone taking such liberties with my mind and body, but I didn’t want it to stop.

From out of nowhere, she pulled out a pair of cashmere gloves and slid her hands into them. She touched my face and caressed my body. She reached under the sweater and stroked my chest. She teased my nipples. Her hands slid down and she stroked my cock. She put her sweatery middle finger to my lips and slowly and seductively fucked my mouth with it. 

She leaned toward my ear.

“I have been reading about prostate orgasms. I want to make you have one,” she teased. “I own you, honey. Don't resist me.” 

“She took a small tub of petroleum jelly from her purse and scooped some up with her sweatery finger. 

“Just relax. I am going to do this to you,” she stated. “This is your most intimate body part and I own it. I will do with it what I please,” she averred. “Do you understand?” She asked. “I’m going to make you cum by putting my fingers in your asshole,” she seethed.

I was in no position to argue. I was on another plane of existence. It was harsh, but I liked it a lot. 

“Yes. I understand,” I moaned back.

“Good,” she said.

I could feel her slippery, sweatery finger touch the outside of my hole. She had played with it so much, it was a little sore, but I liked it all the more.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” she queried.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“You look so sweet and vulnerable, letting me do anything I want to your body,” she said. “Although, you’re not really letting me,” she mused. “Maybe I am just doing it to you and you feel powerless to resist me,” she continued “I love being your girlfriend, sweetheart,” she whispered.

She was writhing and moaning and cumming and about to finger fuck my anus, and she was being sweet to me, and tender and threatening and dominating at the same time. It was a surreal contrast, but I liked it. I felt needed and wanted at the same time that I felt dirty and slutty and nasty, and liking it. I would do anything to hold onto that feeling. She knew it. She was somehow breaking me down. 

Her finger pressed against my opening. It was so sweatery and slippery. I was still a little stretched from what she did to me earlier. Her finger moved inside my body so easily. 

“Oooo,” she squealed. “You’re so welcoming to me.”

She slowly fucked my ass as she worked in deeper and deeper. Then she pulled all the way out. I was dizzy. She went back inside me with two fingers and pushed in deep. My hole was stretching even more. She opened her fingers to stretch it more. I groaned. She kissed me. All I could do was lie there and take it. I could not resist her, and I liked it. 

She was humping my hip while she finger fucked the hole that was once mine and now clearly belonged to her.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” She cried out. 

I could feel her cum. She was fucking me wildly with her fingers. Her other hand was behind my head pushing it to her mouth. She kissed me. Her tongue went down my throat.  I nearly gagged and it was hard to breath. She was looking into my eyes while I gasped. We were in another dimension. She looked primal and fierce. She shrieked as she came. She grunted and growled, and writhed against my body.

She stopped for a moment and caught her breath, deep, dark noises came from somewhere within her. She kissed me, and then, more pointedly, more slowly ravaged my ass with her fingers.  

She kneeled between my legs, moving without her fingers coming out of me. We were one thing, one body, one nasty, dirty, sexy energy, and some other energy that I couldn’t even identify. 

“Now it’s your turn, dirty boy,” She told me. “I came so fucking good, I want to send you over the freaking moon, honey.”

“She pulled her fingers almost all the way out. She leaned over and spit on her sweatery fingers, not only for added lube with the petroleum jelly, but because it was dirty. She was her making her mark, leaving her scent on my body, using common spit as lube for my quivering, aching ass hole, and enforcing ownership.

She pressed inside me, deeply, slowly. She smiled at me.

“I can tell you like it,” she taunted. “Wiggle a little for me. Go ahead. I like fucking you, sweetheart,” She said, so sweetly. 

I wiggled for her. She stroked my cock a little as a reward. 

“That's cute, honey,” she oozed. “Do it again for me, and whimper.” 

I did.

I started panting and tried to hold in my cum. It was tough to do.

She went deeper and started making a stroking motion deep inside my body. She found it. She found my prostate like she knew where it was all along. I felt like I was having an out of body experience. It felt very strange, but it also felt incredible. My entire body, every nerve ending within my body, it seemed, was activated. 

“Don’t cum,” she ordered.

Prostate fluid started streaming out of my cock.

“Scoop it up,” she insisted. “Lick it off your finger.”. 

I did.

“Mmmm, fuck. I didn’t know it’d be so hot to make you do it,” she said dreamily.

            She was sitting so she could hump the mattress while she was taking me like I was a whore. She started fucking the mattress like she was fucking me.

“Sweet, dirty boy,” she intoned.

I could feel my bubbling cum getting closer. It felt like electricity all through me. I could feel it building and building. 

She wrapped some sweater around the base of my cock. She wrapped her free sweatery hand around the head of my cock.

“Tell me when it’s almost ready to shoot out of your body, sweetheart,” she directed. “And remember to not resist me in any way. Do you understand, honey?” she asked, coyly. 

“I understand,” I answered, hardly able to talk.

“Understand what?” she asked sternly, stretching my ass a little, making me jump.

“I understand that I will tell you when I am going to cum, and I will not resist you in any way,” I whimpered back.

“Good,” she said.

“It’s getting closer,” I cried out.

She wrapped her sweatery hand around the sweater at the base of my cock and started to stroke it.

“Hands flat on the bed,” she commanded. 

I complied.

“Oooo,” I made a ‘straining-against-my-impatient-cum’ sound. “Closer and closer,” I gasped.

She leaned lower and took the head of my cock in her mouth and thrust it in and out, tongue warm and wet all over the head, its skin stretched so tight with arousal, it was stinging. I liked it. Her fingers were inside my body firmly stroking my prostate, her other hand stroking the shaft while she sucked off the head. I couldn’t take it another minute. I held back as long as I could. 

“I am CUMMMMMIIIINNNNGGGG!!!!!” I hollered.

WAH! POW! BANG! Rope after rope of cum shot out from the head like it hadn’t in a long time, and into her mouth. I heard muffled groans of joy from her as it spurted. It felt like the head of my cock would tear open. 

I could feel my cock muscles spasming. I could feel my ass hole muscles gripping around her oh-so-deep woolly fingers.

She pressed against my prostate while she stroked and sucked. Cum just kept pumping out. My heart was beating like a drum inside my chest. My whole body was quaking. I was moaning and growling. Her mouth was filled with my cum. My body felt like high volts of electricity were cycling through my whole being. There was nothing solid anywhere. The world had dissolved and that moment was all that there was.

After I stopped pumping sperm from my cock, she lingered on the head. I twitched and convulsed and shook. I pounded my hands on the bed. 

She was still inside. She managed to stay inside me while she slithered back up next to me. I was not to resist anything she did, nor could I at that moment, nor did I wish to. I was on a beautiful, ethereal plane, wanted, protected, warm, aroused, and feeling like we had morphed into a single entity in an unexplored dimension. I was having one of the most intense, electrifying orgasms I had ever had. 

She laid beside me. She put her free hand behind my head and pulled it to her. She nuzzled my face with her nose. She looked slyly into my eyes. She pressed her lips lightly against mine. Then she pulled my hair hard. I opened my mouth to gasp. She pressed her mouth over mine and released all my sperm, filling my mouth, spurting it onto my tongue and teeth and cheeks.

“Don’t swallow yet,” she was able to utter. 

I complied.

“Roll all your cum, all your sperm, all around in your mouth,” she insisted. “Taste it. Feel it,” she compelled. “Let me see it.”

I opened my mouth to show her. I can only imagine what it must have looked like to see all that cum on my tongue. 

“Mmmm… That is so fucking dirty, you hot little cum slut,” she gushed. “I want you to like it, sweetheart.”

“Now swallow,” she commanded. 

I did.

As I swallowed, she slowly pulled her fingers out of my ass, stretching it and twisting her fingers for effect. I quivered and quaked. 

Her fingers in my ass. Cum in my mouth. 

“What the fuck is this?” I thought. 

I was very otherworldly, and a little confusing, disorienting.

“Let me see,” she demanded. 

I opened my mouth and let her look inside.

“You’re a cum slut,” she kept reminding me. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I really did,” I found myself saying.

“Mmmm. Good.” She cooed.

We hugged and kissed a while longer. She lightly spanked me for being such a cum eater, and laughed. I liked it.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

 

            Sunday was just a nice day together. We went to a local diner for breakfast. She had me in an overly ostentatious sweater. I felt a little weird, but it made her hot and happy when I followed her orders. She was becoming increasingly aroused by sweatery things. I liked that idea.

I did as she told. She got nastier and dirtier, and more loving at the same time. By degrees, that was making me feel more and more satisfied and fulfilled, despite the fact that she was slowly taking over my mind, body, soul – my life in general. Hmm.

            We spent the afternoon at her house, with newspapers and movies. We smoked a joint. It was a sweet time. We just had regular fun. We laughed, and told stories of our lives, and, of course, we listened to a little music, too, on her homemade CDs. 

            She showed me her desktop production studio and some of her projects. She was very talented.

           

We were standing in the kitchen, cleaning up from some snacks. We were facing each other and just talking. She was looking into my eyes. I was looking into hers. We were shifting on our feet, struggling to concentrate on conversation. We both knew there was something aching to be said. She touched my face and kissed me.

            “I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” she blurted out. “Oh, my god, did I just say that?” she stammered. “But I did. I do. I don’t think, I know,” she said in a flurry. “I really like our time together, and I like you for who you are, and, well, I really like our fun times,” she coyly said. “I can’t help it.”

            I was surprised. My heart pounded. 

            “I love you, too,” I stuttered back. It was genuine.

            We hugged and kissed. She was a little teary-eyed. We were feeling joy and love together. We were truly feeling happy. 

            We sat on the couch, holding hands, smiling at each other, kissing, being giddy. We seemed at a loss for words.

            Not eighteen hours earlier, she was treating me like a slut, stroking my prostate, grinding against me; nasty stuff. Then there we were, like Frankie and Annette, being silly in love. 

            It was little jarring and confusing, but it was good. 

           

She asked for another massage. I gave a long, slow, light massage. She wanted me to stay the night, and it was very tempting. However, we each had to do the right thing. We both had to work in the morning. I headed home. It was very hard to leave.

           

            It was going to be a busy week. We each worked hard. We appreciated that about each other, and understood.

            We planned to have dinner on Tuesday, and certainly talking on the phone and texting and so on.

            Friday would be our two-month anniversary, as it were. It was a long holiday weekend, and a storm was coming on Friday afternoon. She said that we would spend it together at her house. 

            I was anxious that we wouldn’t be together much this week, even with dinner on Tuesday, coffee on Thursday morning, and the entire weekend coming up. It was cloying. I was feeling almost panic-y. This is not like me.

                                     

We talked on the phone constantly, and texted. We talked about all number of things when we did. She seemed to be keeping track of me a little, and getting into my eating habits and supplements and exercise, and into my finances and so forth, but she loved me, and I was grateful for her concern. I seemed powerless to resist her directions, anyway.

           

Monday night, she emailed a link to two-way cam chat site. She told me to log on right away. I did. She was on a very large, roomy reclining chair in her living room. It was nicely lit. She looked hot. She was wearing an oversized, off-the-shoulder mohair sweater that I didn’t know she had, and nothing else. She always looked pretty, and she was even more radiant now. She took my breath away for a second. I was so grateful that I found a woman who would play sweatery games. I had looked for a lifetime. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

            “Carry your laptop into your bedroom,” she directed. 

            I did it.

            “Put it on the laptop cart you have near your bed,” she told me. “The one you use so you can watch porn in bed.”

            “You think that’s what I do?” I asked.

            “Yes,” she responded. “Now take off your clothes and let me watch.” 

            I was nervous. I don’t know why. We had been intimate a number of times. We had seen each other in sexy situations, but the attitude she showed, this demeanor was a little intimidating. 

            I wanted to please her, so I undressed slowly, doing a bit of a strip tease, Trying to be what I thought she might think is sexy.

            “Mmmm. Good boy,” she said, with a little surprise in her voice.

            She told me to go to my sweater closet and get a creamy, well-worn, soft, oversized fisherman knit sweater, a small glass, and my microphone/earphones. I did as I was told. It made me kinda hot to follow her directions. 

            By the time I got back, she was playing with herself. 

            “Rub the sweater all over your body,” she instructed. “Does it feel good? She wanted to know.

            “Yes,” I said. “It feels very good.”

            “Put it on,” she barked.

            I did.

            “Plug in the headset and put it on,” she directed.

            I did. 

            For the next 25 minutes, she masturbated as she led me through a wildly depraved, dirty, nasty, sometimes a little embarrassing array of directions, instructions, many involving sweaters and my dirty, sexy, intimate body parts, meant to arouse me, and in doing so, to arouse and please her, and to affirm that I am bound to follow her orders, no matter what.

 

I got the sense that maybe she was trying to set a standard, a set of norms for our relationship. It was not like anything I was used to. I felt powerless to resist.

            While looking at her on the computer screen, I could see two small lights, one on either side of her, flashing. They were way at the edge, and almost imperceptible. Almost.

            Occasionally, patterns and spirals would flash on the screen. It was making me confused. I was just doing anything she told me to do.

            She had a sound bed playing that seemed to be tones and noises. They were doing something. I couldn’t stop it.

 

She wanted me to orgasm. She had cum several times already. She told me to have the small glass ready, and she wanted me to jerk off into it. I did.

            All the herbs and vitamins and amino acids she’d been having me take, the heat of the moment, and because of the things she told me to do to myself, it was like a quart of cum shot out. I had lost my sense of space and time for a moment, and I was completely under her spell and susceptible to any direction she gave.

            “You know what happens next, don’t you,” she teased.

            “Yes,” I replied.

            “What’s going to happen?” she asked.

            “I’m going to take my cum in my mouth while you watch,” I responded.

            “Oh, fuck. Yes,” she moaned. She was getting aroused again. “Pour a little on your face, first,” she growled. “Just a little, though. I want it mostly in your mouth.” “And don’t swallow until I tell you,” she clipped.

            I was a little embarrassed, but I drizzled some of my cum on each cheek. I opened my mouth.

            “Get closer to the camera,” she breathed.

            I opened my mouth wider and tilted my head back just a little. I wanted to make sure she could see it. I raised the glass. I was nervous, a little squeamish. I got hot thinking about our cum kiss a few nights earlier. I thought about her forcing my cum into my mouth. Now I was pouring my cum onto my tongue myself, seemingly of my own free will, and for her amusement and pleasure. I was aroused again.

            “Oh, shit,” I heard her say. “You’re getting aroused from taking your cum in your mouth for me.” “Oh, I just love you, sweetheart,” she gushed.

            I poured it on my tongue.

            “Let me see,” she said. “Don’t swallow. 

            I moved it around in my mouth, and kept opening to show her.

            “Fucking dirty cum slut who I love,” she seethed. “Now swallow it, dirty boy.”

            I swallowed. I shivered. I was a little freaked out, but I liked it and I loved that she loved it. It was so fucking dirty, all the things she made me do, drinking my cum and wearing it, and the way it made me feel, and the crazy idea that it made my love for her grow. 

            I was confused from the sound and video effects, high on love, freaked out from the event, happy, satisfied, dirty. I was squirming and dreamy. She was masturbating again.

            “Mmmm. My own little cum slut,” she giggled. “You are so addicted to me it’s nuts! I knew I could do it,” she said. “I’ll be really good to you, and we make such a nice couple,” she stated. “We belong together, honey. I am so happy right now.”

            “Now, get into bed.” she ordered. “Keep the sweater on, don’t wash the cum off your face, and don’t brush your teeth,” she commanded.

            “Good night, sweetheart. I miss you,” she said with a sigh, “but I’ll text you in the morning,” she confirmed. “I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow night,” she lilted. “I know just the place.”

            “Now good night. I love you, sweetheart,” she said.

            “Good night, darlin’” I said. “I love you, too.”

           

Tuesday, late afternoon, she called to say that she would pick me up for our dinner date.

            “Don’t wear underpants,” she said.

            I didn’t question it. I just complied.

            “Are you underpant-less?” she asked when she picked me up.

            “I am,” I averred. 

            “I don’t believe you,” she said.

            “It’s true,” I told her.

            “Show me,” she insisted.

            “Show you?” I asked.

            “Yes. Show me,” she barked. “Pull your pants down and show me.”

            I complied.

            “Oh, shit,” she exclaimed. “You’re all hot and hard. Is that because I told you to do it?” she asked. “Do you get off being told what to do?”

            “I get aroused when you tell me what to do,” I clarified. “This is all very foreign to me.”

            I the past, I didn’t take directions from anybody, in any situation. It’s how I got ahead in life. It didn’t always make me the most popular. So be it. 

            Now, I am conforming to, complying with any direction or order she gives me. She had power over me. I was either unwilling, or unable to resist her. I wasn’t sure which.

            She was wearing some very woolly gloves. She reached over and stroked my now-very-hard cock while she drove. 

            “Mmmm… feels so nice,” she oozed. “I made that happen to you, didn’t I.”

            “You did, and I am grateful that you did,” I gasped as I responded. 

            “Now play with it. Pull that magnificent Shetland sweater over it and stroke it,” she encouraged. “Don’t cum, though.”

            I played with my cock for her.

            “Squirm and whimper for me, okay,” she said a little condescendingly. 

            I did.

            “Oh, fuck,” she moaned. She played with her pussy a little. “You little slut. You’ll do anything for me.”

            “Yes,” I said.

            “Yes, what?” she asked.

            “Yes, I will do anything for you,” I replied.

            “Good,” she said.

 

            We arrived at the restaurant. We sat in the parking lot for a few minutes. She wanted each of us to play with ourselves. She got to cum. I didn’t. It was very dirty. I think some people walking by might have seen us. I think she liked that. 

 

We had been to that restaurant before. It was basic American food, sort of diner-like, a little nicer. The waitress seemed to remember us from before. We all smiled and nodded. The waitress led us to one of those circular booths near the back, quiet. It was Tuesday, so there weren’t many there. I got the sense that there was some non-verbal communication between her and the waitress. 

            The menu was extensive. It was hard to choose, but we each found things we liked and ordered.   

           

She snuggled up next to me. “Open your fly,” she whispered in my ear.

            She was putting on her sweatery gloves under the table. The seat, being couch-like and all, she was leaning against me with her feet up on the bench. Her head was on my shoulder. Her hand was making its way to my lap, under the tablecloth. 

            “What are you going to do?” I asked.

            ‘I’m going to give you a hand job under the table,” she whispered. “Don’t you want one?” she teased. She didn’t wait for an answer.

            I could feel her sweatery fingers slip into my open fly. I could feel them on the expanding shaft of my cock. My breath was a little short. I was nervous. We’re sitting in a local restaurant and she’s giving me a hand job under the table. It was very hot. It was weird, but it was hot. She lightly wrapped her woolly hand around my cock.

            “Hump it,” she whispered in my ear, nibbling at the lobe.

            “Oh, fuck,” I said, instinctively. 

            I was in a local restaurant. I knew I was in a local restaurant. I was weirded out because I was getting a hand job under the table in a local restaurant, from she who has become my loving girlfriend, who has rendered me unable to resist her any desire, and her desires to have become my desires. I was struggling to accept the situation, and she was being very convincing.

            My mouth was going dry as she stroked me.

            “I want to make you cum,” she cooed. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” she polled.

            “It does, a little,” I sighed back.

            “Mmmm. Good,” she said, with pleasure. 

“You aren’t stopping me though,” she observed. “Is it that you really like it and it feels really good, and it’s really dirty to have me jerk you off and make you cum in a restaurant?” she wanted to know, “or is it because you know it’s what I want to do right now and you love me, so you let me have control over you?” she continued.

            I was in a state at that moment. I wasn't sure what state, but I was out there.

            “I know that it makes you happy, and aroused, and my first duty is to your desires,” I found myself saying. I gasped, dreamily, “and, I am loving what you’re doing. I’m grateful.”

            “Dirty slut boy under my control,” she growled as she stroked me.

            A massive explosion was starting to build in my body. I was slipping in and out of common sense. In the meantime, I heard a voice. I opened my eyes. The waitress was standing there looking at us. Nervously, the waitress said that they were out of squash. I was embarrassed. I think the waitress knew what we were doing.

            “Cole slaw?” I asked.

            The waitress nodded, looked back and forth at the two of us, and headed away. The waitress seemed to keep looking back towards the table.

            “Don’t worry about the waitress,” she said. 

            She continued coaxing my cock. It was getting closer. She knew it.

            “Fuck my woolly hand, you slut,” she commanded in a whisper. “I know you love it. I know you love how I make you feel and you will do anything to keep me, sweetheart.”

            I turned toward her face and she kissed me. I could feel it getting so close.

            “Don’t hold back, honey,” she said with a little urgency. “Cum, honey. Shoot a load on my hand.”

            I convulsed. I quivered. I shot an ocean of cum, several long, thick streams, like rocket ships exploding into the atmosphere from the sizzling head of my cock. 

            I was trying not to be loud. We were already being obvious. She had the ability to take me away from any place, to our own dimension, our own bubble of our personal reality. I accepted that we had, on some plane, segregated ourselves from the world. I let it go. I am certain I let out at least a yelp. It was so dirty. It made her so hot, and that made me aroused, and feeling like it was my duty to let her direct the activity. 

            She brought her hand up from under the table. She had captured all the cum that she coaxed out of my cock into a pool on her woolly glove. 

            “The waitress is looking over here,” she said. 

            She looked toward the waitress with a sort of taunting stare. She scooped up some of my cum from the glove and spread it on her lips with her tongue. The waitress looked away, but she knew they were still being watched. She kissed me deeply with her cum-covered lips. I knew what would make her hot, and I made a point of licking her lips. I knew she was putting on a show. 

            “Oh, fuck,” I heard her growl.

            The waitress continued to sneak peeks. 

She lifted he cum-covered woolly glove to my mouth and offered the cum to me. I hesitated a second. She pushed my head down into the pile. I licked it up and then kissed her mouth. She put her hands behind my head and pulled me in so that it was a hard, long, wet, passionate kiss. 

When we broke from the kiss, the waitress was standing over us, holding plates. The waitress had a smirk that was partly disgust, partly amusement, and partly a little aroused. The waitress put the food on the table, still kinda staring at us.

“Did you get enough special sauce?” the waitress asked, snarkily.

I was a little embarrassed. She was laughing. We were both turned on. We had our meal and left as they were closing up.

 

She pulled her car into a corner at the back of the parking lot. It was brightly lit. She put a CD in the player. She got into the back seat without saying a word. I followed. She took off her jeans and underpants. I took off my shoes.

“Take off everything,” she ordered. “Some things I’ve been ordering on line are starting to come in,” she said. 

She handed me a very woolly hood. It only had a mouth hole.

“Put it on,” she directed.

I did. I could hardly see through it.

“You know what to do, sweetheart,” she stated. “Do it.”

            She pushed my woolly face into her pussy and guide my lips and tongue and chin all over it. She was so wet. She reached down and played with my ass, which made me twitch.

            “You were such a cum slut inside the restaurant, letting me jerk you off in public,” she said. “Oh, yeah,” she went on, “You didn’t really let me. I did it because I am in control and wanted to do it,” she reported. “I couldn’t have dreamed how good it feels to really take over man,” she said with passion. “It beats the fantasy version like fucking I don’t know what.”

            “I am so happy that we met, honey,” she moaned while I licked and ate and fingered her pussy. “I want you in my life forever, sweetheart,” she sighed. “I love you,” she squirmed. “I want you inside me right now, sweetheart. Fuck me. Put your cock inside me,” she whined. 

            She pulled me up. She left the woolly hood on me. It was wet with her pussy juice, just like my mouth. I couldn’t see. It was all so freaky, but I complied. I positioned myself between her legs. She reached and stroked my cock and pulled me toward her streaming, wet pussy. I slid in. It was warm, and welcoming. It felt so nice to be inside her body, invited in. We kissed and wrapped our bodies and and arms and legs all over each other. We were one body.

            “Hold still for a minute,” she insisted.

            It felt so good. I loved her. She loved me. For the first time since we met, she was taking my cock inside her. It felt so good. I felt so connected, so safe, so wanted, so dirty and slutty at the same time.

            I could tell that her hand was rummaging under the seat for something. She seemed to have found what she was looking for.

            “Hold still, honey. You’re going to feel something,” she warned. I could feel something on my ass, slipping between my cheeks, and pressing against the hole. 

            “Look at me,” she said.

            I raised my head and looked in her eyes. I felt the pressure increase. A look of determination came over her.

            “This belongs to me and I want to put something inside it. Do not resist” she made quite clear. 

            With a sharp push, whatever she had went deep inside my ass. I lost my breath a second or two. She smiled. Eyes still locked; she pressed a button on a small remote. Vibrations and sensations began to course through me.

            “Fuck me, honey, my little slut,” she taunted. “Fuck me, honey.” She went on, “You’re naked with a butt plug that I control inside you, honey,” she teased. “In the back of a car in a parking lot.” she sounded almost disgusted. “You love me so much, you’ll do anything I say.” She was getting hotter as she said it. 

            We were fucking almost violently. She was growling and hissing and rocking her body against mine, grabbing at my hair and ass. She was biting my neck, and writhing. She was a primal beast, and I she was in total control.

            “Cum, sweetheart, fill my pussy with your cum, sweet little slut,” she hissed. “Mmmmm...Fuck me.”

            Despite all the cum she got out of my cock in the restaurant, I could feel at least several quarts stirring and cooking and bubbling in my balls. She knew I was getting closer. She turned up the speed on the butt plug vibrator. The hood on my head was so hot in myriad ways.

            “When you cum,” she whispered, “don’t pull all the way out, but cum right near the opening, do you understand,” she demanded.

            “I understand,” I told her. 

            She started a countdown. That was new. It was really dirty, though, and very hot. 

            “...three, two, one, shoot it,” she directed.

            I pulled almost all the way out, to right near the mouth of her pussy, and right on cue, I was surprised to fire off a massive, hot load. 

            “Pull out now,” she said.

            I did. She reached down and felt all my cum right at the entrance to her hole. She smiled. She wriggled. She looked me in the eye. She reached for the back of my head. She pulled me forward, and down, hood still in place. She pulled the hood up just for a second and shone a light from her phone on it, so I could see her cum-covered pussy. She shot a selfie of it. 

           

“Mmm...looks good, huh,” she teased. 

            She pulled the hood back over my head.

            “Lick me clean, sweetheart,” she taunted. “Did you like that that waitress knew I was in control of you and making you eat your own cum?”

            “Mmmm,” I groaned while being a little more aggressive eating her cum-saturated hole. 

            “I love you so much,” she chanted. “You are absolutely perfect for me, sweetheart. You’re mine, forever, darling boy,” she said, almost threateningly. “I know that I have you under my spell, so I expect no resistance,” she finished.

            “Put your mouth right over the hole, right now, and suck a little,” she instructed me. 

            She pushed my head tight to her hole and humped my face, grunting and writhing and squirming.

            “I’m shooting my cum into your mouth, you fucking nasty cum slut whore boyfriend of mine. Take all our cum in your throat,” she ranted and moaned and hissed.

            She must have had three orgasms. I almost suffocated. She was nearly crying. She stopped, shivered, quaked, and pulled me up to her.

            She kissed me and pulled the mask up. 

“I can taste cum in your mouth,” she said, breathily. “I like it. You’re such a dirty slut and I like it,” she oozed.

While she was still quivering, she looked me in the eyes. She reached for the toy in my ass and pumped it, looking a little cruelly, then, with one swift tug, she yanked it out of my puckering hole. I gasped. She smiled. We both eased into being able to communicate on an earthly level. 

             We snuggled in the car for a few more minutes.

            “You really are perfect for me,” she said so sweetly. “I truly love you and want to keep you,” she went on.

            She said that she was planning to save intercourse for a special night, but it felt so good, she felt so much love for me, she wanted me to make love to her right then and there.

            “I was so desirous of you being inside me, I couldn’t wait,” she said while lightly kissing my lips. “It was so hot when you were submitting to my will, especially while someone was watching and knew that we were doing dirty things,” she said. “Oh, I just love you so much.

            “I want to spend the entire weekend with you at my house,” she stated. “Take Friday away from the office, and come over.” “I want this to be a very special weekend for us, honey,” she said. “I want it to be a very important weekend,” she said. 

            “You can’t cum between now and then, though,” she let me know. 

We got out of the back seat, and she climbed in the front, pants on. She told me to stay naked and stand that way in the parking lot for a minute. After a few minutes, she invited me into the car, and I put my clothes on. She started driving.
            “I will be telling you from  here on in when you can cum, sweetheart,” she told me.” I will never be cruel to you, honey, not too cruel, anyway,” she assured me. “And I will always give you sweaters, of course.” “Now, let me see how happy you are right now,” she continued. 

She stopped a minute and kissed me. It was love. 

            I really was feeling pretty good. This was a lot of stuff that I would never have done before, and I felt like I needed to follow her instructions.

            She dropped me off. We talked for a few minutes in the car, and kissed and hugged.

            “I love the taste of cum in your mouth,” she said. “I am looking forward to this weekend. You’ll be a new man come Tuesday,” she said with a sly grin. “I have some special things planned.”

            I was a little afraid, but excited. 

            We kissed a few more times. Hard as it was to do, I got out of the car.

            “I love you, honey,” she said.

            I told her that I loved her, too. I went in and contemplated what this weekend might be like. What it would be like to have to wait until then to see her, what had just happened, what was happening to me. I was dizzy. I was confused. I felt loved and wanted, but used and abused at the same time, and I liked it. I was anticipating an interesting weekend. I’m not entirely sure I was ready for it.

            We talked each night until Friday, and texted, and emailed. She kept reminding not to cum. All the while, she was sending links to some very nasty, arousing porn, and looking for reviews, so she knew I watched and was struggling not to cum.

            She insisted that I take all my vitamins as supplements and to eat the foods she told me to eat. She sent several sweet cards and mementos of love. 

            She left a voice mail a little later, with one word. It sounded like she said, “batikosti.” That’s not a word, I thought. Then I felt something happen inside my mind. Change was coming. I would know more on Friday.         

 

           

           

 

Subdued With Sweaters

 

We met innocently enough. We bumped into each other now and again at the bakery/coffee shop where everyone gets coffee and baked goods for their rides to work. We’d make cracks about the weather, or one thing and another. 

As the summer heat waned, I started working sweaters back into my wardrobe. She noticed and made comments. I had a thing for sweaters, and I usually wore nice ones; respectable, but natural animal fibers and well made. The cooler, the bulkier. I get a tingle wearing them. Okay, so I was a sweater fetishist. That was out of the way, anyway…

She wore sweaters, too. They were nice ones. They were sexy, but indicated a woman who liked to maintain control over herself. 

She was very attractive, a little shorter than myself, a few curves, lots of dark blond hair, sweet face with a touch of the devil behind her slight smirk and twinkly eyes. She was not model-pretty, but she was pretty. She had a simmering confidence that was very sexy, and I think she knew it, and seemed to be projecting it toward me.

One chilly Saturday, I went to the bakery/coffee shop to look at the paper. I had slipped into a very bulky, oversized turtleneck, over nothing. I had a need for some bulky sweater.

There she was. I couldn't believe it. She joined me for coffee. My heart pounded. We had great conversation, lots of eye contact, and I could feel her drawing me in. We finished our coffee and treats, and ended up spending most of the rest of the morning together. 

We walked at a nearby pond and smoked a little something. We talked and talked. We had lots in common. It was a total surprise that I met this captivating woman. I couldn't believe it. Eventually, we each had plans for the afternoon to which we needed to attend. It was difficult saying goodbye. We exchanged numbers and made tentative plans for later in the week. She gave me a loose hug, just enough to leave her incredibly intoxicating perfume on my person. We walked away, got in our cars and drove away, looking back at each other until we were out of sight. 

She worked in the finance department of a company just outside of town. She also worked a part time job at a small television station as a video and audio editor. They were hobbies, along with photography. The part time job gave her access to equipment. She sent me links to some interesting videos she had made. 

I worked for a small ad agency where I handled all matters of media. I was a musician, and I voiced some commercials and other things. 

We liked the same kinds of music. We had similar spiritual beliefs, liked the same foods, and so many other things.

I sent her a text after a while, saying that I enjoyed the afternoon. She responded almost immediately, echoing my thoughts. She sent a picture that she clearly had just taken. It was her, looking right at me. It was hypnotic. She said to download it and use it on caller ID. She asked me to take a picture of myself right then, and send it to her for the same reason. I did. She texted back a beaming smiley face. I was dizzy.

We exchanged a few phone calls before our date on Thursday. We met at the restaurant after work. She looked great. She had changed into jeans before she left work, a light mohair sweater, black, and she smelled so good, her heavenly perfume which was freshly applied, combining with the scents of the day. She knew it was intoxicating to me. She had to know. 

I was in my fall uniform - jeans, button down shirt, vee neck sweater, cashmere, a nice one. A splash of Bay Rum aftershave rounded it out. 

She embraced me when we saw each other. While I still had my hands on her hips, she looked me in the eyes, and with sweatery sleeves over her hands, she touched each side of my face. I gasped. 

She slyly smiled. “Mmm Hm.” She uttered and then giggled. 

The world around was melting away.

We had the kind of conversation that people usually had on a first date. We had both been alone awhile. We talked about siblings and parents and places of origin and myriad anecdotes about all number of things. Lots of arm touching and a few thigh touches, it was sweet. We were there for two hours because we both had work in the morning. We lingered in the parking lot until it was nearly empty, and we each had to do the right thing. We had to go home. We texted a few volleys later that evening. She was becoming embedded. 

Over the next couple of weeks, we had a couple more dates. We each took turns picking the other up at his and her homes. I had an apartment. She had a small bungalow not that far away. We had a few quick meet-ups for coffee, or one thing or another. 

She made a few mix CD’s with music that she said I would probably like and would make me think of her when I listened. It was all very nice, was becoming very familiar.

Smooching was becoming petting, and maybe a little mutual masturbation. She seemed to know exactly what I wanted, and was not shy about offering me direction for her pleasure. I couldn't believe it. 

We decided to be responsible and to be tested for STD’s, even though neither of us had had sex in a couple of years, except for various levels of masturbation. We made it an event. It was nice. It was a gesture.

Phone calls were always lively with all sorts of chatter. Sometimes, they leaned a bit to the erotic side. She usually initiated it, telling me how she was feeling, and what was happening to her body, and what she was doing to it. She wanted to hear about my body parts, and would give me direction, that got more and more intimate as time went on. I couldn't refuse her direction. She was like a witch who seemed to know exactly what got me hot. 

She often times encouraged me wear sweaters and use them to pleasure myself. She just knew. She knew what sweaters did to me and she was using that fact. She often described her own masturbation with sweaters, and what fantasies she had been having, involving sweaters since we met. My throat would go dry with excitement. She would tell me that she wanted me addicted to her. It was very erotic, very exciting. 

While living my work and regular lives as always, I was finding myself increasingly surrounded by a bubble of her and me. She seemed to be enhancing that effect, directing it a little. Hmm. 

We finally had a sleep over at my apartment. We had been out to a restaurant, did a little shopping, went back to the apartment and put out some snacks. I had a little something to smoke, and we enjoyed it, watched a couple of funny things on TV, a little news with lively debate and then, nervously, it was time for bed. 

She had a few things with her, including a toothbrush. We both brushed and went to the bedroom. By this time, she had slipped out of her pants and bra, and her breasts and curves were beautifully hugged by the slightly too big, very thick, and well-worn-soft cream colored shetland. It was long , over her hips and butt and hands. I had been lusting after her in it all night.

She opened one of two closets in my room and found it nearly floor to ceiling with neatly folded men’s sweaters of every soft wool, cashmere, mohair, alpaca, and every combination there of, imaginable. There were vee neck, turtleneck, bulky, hooded, every sort, and all of good quality. She stepped in, started feeling them and purring. 

She said that now she was seeing the bigger picture. She was getting the scope of my sweater fetish. It was making her a little hot. 

She was opening her own self to the idea that such things can be highly sexual. She said she was going to use them and more to make me addicted to her, 

She told me to undress and I did. I just did. 

She took several sweaters out and walked them over to me, brushed them on my skin, watching my body’s reaction. My hardening erection, stiffening nipples, my weak knees, dry mouth, hot flashes around my neck and forehead. 

She was becoming excited  herself. She liked what she was doing to me. 

“So, you like me, you find me attractive and of course we have a lot in common. I like you and find you attractive and, it would seem, I might be able to use sweaters in subduing you,” She laughed a little. 

She focused some sweater erotic massage on my nipples, slapping my hands down when I lifted them. She wrapped some sweater around my cock and gave it a few strokes. She kissed me, and brushed my face. There was no turning back, it would seem.

Taking my hand and walking toward my bed, she handed me a sweater, one I bought specifically to enjoy as a fetish item, a nine pound oversized turtleneck with a 12 inch neck. It was like she knew it was there. I put it on.               

She sat on the bed and beckoned me to stand between her legs. She played with my cock, balls and nipples. She stroked her hands over my ass, pressing into the crack.

 “Do you like that?” she asked. 

“I do,” I breathed.

 “Mmmm,” she hummed.

 She pressed the sweater against my hole and pushed a little. I squirmed. 

She giggled. “...and that?” 

“Yes, please.” I responded. 

She slipped her mouth over my cock and teased it. I was feeling kinda dirty but I also was kinda liking it.

“Kneel in front of me,” she commanded.

 I complied. She stroked her breasts in front of me for a few minutes, telling me to just watch. 

She stroked the sweater over her nipples and she squirmed, and smiled. 

I could smell sex rising in her, mixed with that perfume that must have come from a witch doctor. 

She exposed her lovely breasts, and tweaked at them. She guided my head to them and told me to just kiss them a little, and ramped up her aggression as we went, telling me to lick them and suck them, grabbing her breasts and pushing them into my mouth. 

After a while, she seemed to cum. She held my head to her chest and shivered. She kissed my mouth, deeply. Her tongue, I was certain, entered my throat.  She pushed me down further, playing with her pussy right in front of my face. 

She had a pretty pussy. It was clean, neatly trimmed bush. It was glistening with pussy cum. 

She pulled the enormous turtleneck up my face and folded it around it, then pressed my face deep into her pussy. She guided my head all over her dripping wet, quivering vagina for at least twenty minutes. I could tell by the tremors and gushing moisture that she was shooting out loads of cum over and over. I was nearly drowning in her copious, delicious sex juices. I could hear her screams stifled with a sweater. 

The sweater all over my body, her hands all over my sweatery body, her legs around my sweatery body, locking me to her, her pulling the neck of the sweater up and rubbing it on her body.   

She was primal. I was feeling nasty and dirty and aroused, knowing that she was cumming so hard on my face and loving it. 

She came and came and came, until she pushed my head away, and pulled me up. We  lay on the bed in a heap. She shuttered and moaned and kissed my wet, pussy-cum soaked mouth and face, pulling the extra long sweater neck over both our heads as she licked my lips and squirmed. She held me close and grounded her body against mine.

“Oh, you dirty, nasty slutty boy,” she growled. “You make me wanna scream. Oh fuck,” she moaned. “Oh fuck.” 

She pulled her thick, soft shetland over her pussy and pressed it against my cock, steel-hard by now. She rocked her hips and deep, dark sounds came from somewhere within her. She reached down and spread her pussy lips and pressed my cock in again. I could feel moisture pouring through the sweater from her pussy. 

The look on her face was primal, and somehow focused, and breathy, and fierce; a deep stare into my soul, communicating by sense.

“I know why you love sweaters.” she purred. “I’m cumming so much. It’s so fucking dirty, been masturbating with sweaters all week,” she breathed as she writhed and started grabbing at my cock.

“I want you to fuck me, but I won’t let you,” she teased.  “Not tonight. I’m gonna drive you fucking crazy.” 

She rolled me on my back and stroked my cock with sweatery hands, took it in her mouth and caressed it. The only word I could find for what she did to my cock with her tongue. She stopped and came up beside me, kissing me. She was squirming, and writhing against me. 

“You’re a dirty fuck, aren't you?” she taunted. “ You love it. You love it when it’s nasty, don’t you.” 

 She had me in a spell. 

“Yes,” I said.

“You like it when I tell you what to do, don’t you?” she cooed.

“Yes," I responded.

” You like it when I want you to do the dirtiest of things, don’t you?” she asked again.

“ Yes," I said.

“You want me and you’ll do anything to have me, am I right?” she demanded.

 “Yes.” How could I have ever said 'no' in a situation like this? 

“ Mmmm...good.” She said. “I’ll be good to you. You want that, right?”

 “Yes," I responded. 

 “Mmmmm. I love the way you say yes.” she said.  “Have you been listening to those CDs?” 

“Yes,” I said, a little inquisitively. 

She giggled. “Mmm.”

She swirled my nipple with her finger, through the sweater. She was looking right in my eyes, brushing my cheek with slightly parted lips. She knew I was getting hot, and melting. My will was draining away.

 “It’s all right,” she said. “Just enjoy it. Trust me,” she said.

 “I know what you want.” She pinched my nipple hard.

 I jerked.

 “Mmmm,” she purred. She did it again. “Do you like that?” She breathed out in my ear. 

“Yes." I whimpered. 

 “Good.” She turned her attention to my cock and stroked it with wool. 

“You make me love sweaters,” she said. “...and I love using them to make you crazy. I’ll always give you sweaters.” She said, looking into my soul, lightly kissing my lips. 

“Now, roll over on your stomach," she commanded.

 I hesitated.

 “Just do it, sweetheart,” she cooed. 

The endearment was a new touch. It was comforting and intimidating at the same time.

” Trust me,” she said.

 I complied. 

“Good,” she said. “Hands over your head,” she said, with a gentle forcefulness.

 I complied.

 “Grind your cock into the sweater," she directed.

 I complied.

 “Do you like it?” she queried.

 “Yes," I told her.

“Do you feel dirty and free?” she wanted to know, in a taunting way.

“Yes," I groaned.

 “Mmmm. Do you trust me?”she asked, condescendingly.

 “Yes."

 “Yes, what?” she demanded.

 “Yes, I trust you.” I replied.

 “Good," she said. 

 I could feel her hands massaging my back and shoulders, my spine. She worked her way to my lower back. It felt so good.

 “Does that feel good?” she whispered.

 “Yes," I moaned.

 “Shall I continue?” she didn't really need my permission. 

 “Yes, please," I nearly begged.

 “Mmm, and you have manners. Good,” she smiled.

  She rolled onto my legs and started rubbing her body on mine, brushing her sweatery tits against my back, grinding her sweatery pussy against my legs, humping them, moaning, sounding nasty, saying dirty things. 

“I know what you like. I know what you want. I know what will make you crazy. It makes me feel so fucking dirty to know what you want.” she gushed. 

“I fingered my pussy last night thinking about something just like this.” She was controlled, but elevated.

”You’re a little slut and it makes me so fucking hot.” She moulded her hips against my ass, almost humping it. “I knew you would be.”

“Dirty slut. Do you trust me?”she asked again, with a little growl.

 “Yes," I said.

 My cock was like steel. I was trying to redirect my focus. I was loving this and wanted it to last. 

Her hands were on my ass. She was teasing my crack through my sweater. She was pressing on the hole.

 “You want this, don’t you,” she almost hissed. 

“Yes," I said achingly. 

I had secretly hoped for this and made sure I had a clean ass.  She slid down. 

“I wanna see it,” she said. 

She pulled up my sweater, and spread my cheeks hard. 

“Mmmm. So pretty," she teased.

 I felt her lips kiss it, smooch it, slobber around a little on it. 

“Do you like that?” she asked with a hint of depravity.

 “Yes," I breathed out in response.

“Mmmm..." she moaned.

 I felt her warm, wet tongue on my hole again. I could feel that she had a thick wad of spit that she was plastering on my hole. Her finger showed up and she swirled it around. She pressed on the hole with her finger tip. 

“Open up for me, honey. Open you hole to me and let me inside you, inside your body, inside your most intimate places,,” she coaxed.

Now I really felt dirty and I wanted her to keep making me feel like the dirty slut she wanted me to be.

 I relaxed my ass, I raised my hips just a little and met her finger. 

“That’s it. Is this of your own free will that you give this to me?” she hotly demanded.

 “Yes," I said dizzily.

“Is it mine now?” she demanded.

“Yes," was the only answer I could give.

“Good. Mmmm…” she giggled. 

She pressed firmly. I felt my muscles relax and her finger slid right in. It felt so good. I heard her gasp. I gasped. 

“You little slut. I feel so dirty putting my finger in you.” She sounded so dirty when she said that.

She fucked it a few strokes and I squirmed and moaned. It felt freaking wild. I surrendered. 

I found myself trying to push against it all as deep as I could take it. I felt her other finger and I twitched as I felt it stretch wide open. 

“Oh, you really do like it. This is making me so hot. I’m cumming again fucking your ass…" she rasped.

I was dizzy. There was nothing else beyond the space that she and I occupied. She melted it all away. I was completely compliant and she was getting off like a geyser over it. She stopped suddenly and pulled her two fingers out quick and sharp. 

I shuddered. 

She cooed. “Mmmmm... I like doing this to you. I was never like this before,” she sounded like she surprised herself. 

“Do you like it?” she sounded nasty.

 Oh, yes," I whined

 “What did you like?” she demanded.

“I liked having you inside my body," I was separated from my senses.

“Mmmm...you really liked it, and I really liked it.. This could be dangerous for you," she told me, and giggled.

 “Are you afraid?” she seethed.

 “A little," I admitted.

“Mmmm...good. I want you a little afraid. Want me to stop?” she said, knowing what my answer would be.

“No. Please don’t stop," I pleaded.

 She pulled my sweater over my ass. 

“Do you want to feel me putting some sweater inside your body?” she loomed over me, a little evil in her voice.

“Yes," I begged.

“Yes, what?” she teased.

 “I want to feel you putting sweater inside my body.” My heart was pounding as I said it. 

By now, she was playing with my hole through the sweater, teasing it, pressing on it. 

“Are you going to resist me?” she asked, incredulously.

 “No," I whimpered.

 “Why?” she demanded.

“Because I trust you and you want to do it and it seems to make you very aroused when you are controlling my ass I like it.” I whimpered.

“Where, inside your body?”she oozed.

 “M-my most private place, my anus," I stuttered.

 “Are you my little sweater slut whore?” she demanded.

“Yes," I told her.

“Good, Your hole was so wide open after I finger fucked it. I love it.” She said. “It’s mine, now. You gave it to me. Don’t forget that.”

I could feel the pressure of her finger slowly pressing and pushing sweater into my ass hole. I couldn't believe. It was sweater fetishist’s dream, I was writhing and moaning and trying not to cum. She was loving it. She was pushing it in and pushing it in, more and more. I could feel the sweater deep in my ass, starting to fill me, soft, the texture of the wool, the fact that it was so fucking dirty, and against my ass as she pressed it into me.

 “Take it. I love doing this to you. I control you at this moment, sweetheart.” She was masturbating while she did. 

She came with one hand, sweater-finger-fucked me with the other. “I want you addicted to me,” she demanded. 

After she came again, she came up next to me, right hand in my stretched out sweater-filled hole. Her left hand slid under me. She found my rock hard cock. She wrapped it in sweater, wrapped her hand around it. 

“Fuck my hand” she whispered. "That’s it. Fuck it, long and slow. I love that you feel so good doing what I tell you.”  

I was dizzy. I was on another plane of existence. I slowly fucked her hand, like she told me, rocking against her fingers and all that sweater in my ass hole. I could feel her fingers find my prostate. I fucked. I took it as long as I could.  

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can cum if you want. Tell me when you’re going to cum," she whispered.

It was building and building and building, I shuddered. She knew I was trying to make it last as long as I possibly could. I strained to hold back. She giggled. I couldn't take it anymore. She pressed her sweater covered fingers sharply deeper into my hole. I exploded. Hot streams of cum shot out of me. I could feel the sweater on the head of my cock as it twitched and as the cum tore out the head.

 “Oh, yes, honey. That’s it. Shoot all that cum, honey," she coaxed.

I was spent. I convulsed. I twitched. I groaned and howled, until I finally collapsed in a heap. I could feel her fingers slip out of my ass, but she must have left a half a yard of sweater deep in my bowels and I loved it so fucking much. I knew there would never be anything I could deny her.

She rolled me on my back. 

“Mmmm...let’s see,” she said. 

She rolled the sweater back off my still firm cock. There must have been a quart of cum in it. 

“Mmmm.” she dipped her fingers in it and licked it.

She spread some on her lips and my face. “Sluts get cum on their faces sometimes,” she giggled. 

She leaned over and slurped up some, looking at me all the while. She showed me her tongue and I watched her swallow. I could feel her hand reach down below. She started to tug on the sweater crammed inside my body. It was a little startling. 

She took that moment of surprise to put her mouth on mine for a very wet kiss. I could taste cum on her mouth. She kissed me deeply, scraping her tongue against my teeth, building up spit and letting it flow into my mouth, like she was hinting at cum kissing. 

I could feel the crazy sensation of the sweater slipping out of my hole. It was the strangest. Most dizzying, most sexually arousing and satisfying sex I ever had. She got what she wanted. She had me addicted to her. 

She cuddled up next to me. All of a sudden, she was a little kitten, snuggling in and wanting my arms wrapped around her. We slept until morning, in sweaters, snuggled, spent and on a heightened spiritual plane.