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.