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.