Fantasies

He never looks at me when he walks into the room.

That’s the first thing I notice - the way his attention slides past me like I’m overused furniture, like my presence is both assumed and irrelevant. He speaks to others, nods once or twice, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in a way that is so familiar to him. I feel smaller around him, almost transparent, but also can’t put my finger on why.

I’m telling myself I don’t care.

I randomly say something to the room, something meant for the group, and he pauses - almost missable but not quite. If only for a second. He laughs to himself, just for a barely acknowledgeable second.

My stomach dropped. 

Ever since that moment, I am acutely aware of him. The way he stands too close without facing me. The way he addresses the room but never directly looking at me, even though I know he is listening. It almost feels intentional. Like he knows exactly what he is doing.

Later, when the room is quiet, he says my name for the first time. I didn’t even know he knew my name.

He says it casually, almost like my name itself is boring in his mouth... of course I answer immediately.

He doesn’t praise me. Doesn’t flirt. He just watches - that assessing distant look, like I’m something on his shoe; momentarily interesting. That imbalance hums between us, both electric and uncomfortable; intoxicating.

In my fantasy, I don’t chase him... I wait.

He doesn’t reassure me. He lets me want him.

And that’s the point - the way his indifference becomes my permission to give everything, to kneel emotionally, to offer myself without expectation of being seen or thanked. I’m not seeking tenderness, no.. I’m seeking surrender.

In my fantasy, his attention is rare and devastating when it comes - perhaps a palatable glance, a half smile, a quiet acknowledgement that I exist - only for now, because he’s decided that I do. And that’s enough.

And somewhere in that quiet imbalance, I understand something clearly.

It isn’t the man himself I want. It’s the feeling he gives me — that exquisite power exchange where I don’t have to perform, don’t have to anticipate or align myself to his reactions. There’s no need to mirror his desires, no need to manage tone or read the room or adjust myself to be palatable. His lack of feedback, his refusal to meet me halfway, strips all of that away.

With nothing reflected back at me, there’s only me left.

And what remains is startlingly simple: the way I soften, unravel, crumble under the weight of wanting. Wanting his attention, his indifference, his power. Wanting the permission to fall apart without being seen — or comforted — or corrected.

In that absence, I am finally just myself. 

And it turns out that self is aching, devoted, and undone by the gravity of my deepest desires.... 

*Note, these are purely fictional fantasies... currently at least:

I fantasise about being taken with reckless abandonment. I fantasise that I’m splayed out on a four poster bed – each of my limbs tied securely apart with handcuffs. I fantasise that I have nipple clambs attached together by a small silver chain – instructed to hold it in my mouth… punished if I drop it. I fantasise about it also being attached to a ball gag in my mouth… I’m drooling around it as I’m constantly instructed to stare deep into the man’s eyes. I have a collar around my neck.. the leash resting lazily down my body. He looks up at me – gently touched my body with a feather, planting kisses on my thighs as he does so. He starts to degrade me, tells me how pathetic I look lying there – so desperate for him to fuck me as I feel my wetness seep into the mattress below me. He tells me that to be a good girl I must look at him – no matter how much the pleasure consumes me. He starts to drip an ice cube down my body, telling me that every droplet that runs off my body is to count as punishment for later. He tells me that I’m a useless whore who is so desperate to be fucked – and that he feels bad for me that it’s down to him to do it. He praises me – says how beautiful I look lying there, waiting for him to do whatever he pleases. In this moment I feel like a fuck doll – a fuck doll who has lost all inhibition and tension; so overcome with desire that I’m willing to let him do whatever he wants to me. He loosens off my restraints a little and places a pillow underneath my hips. I see him hug my thighs as he pushes his face into my dripping wet pussy. He circles my clit, laughing at me whenever I moan. He gently hits my thighs whenever I move – telling me to stop being such a greedy whore; to lie still and take what he is giving me. Soon after he’s hovering his cock outside my hole, instructing me to beg him to fuck me. He laughs as I muffle my desperate pleads through my gag, looking at him with such intense desperation. He dips his head inside of me – before slapping my tits and face and telling me to stop reacting like such a desperate whore….. me waiting for him to finally enter me…..

I fantasise about being at his complete disposal and truly submitting to him. He sits on the sofa and puts a cushion down for me to sit on. He holds onto my leash and tells me to warm his cock in my hands as I sit there. He tells me to not look at him or speak to him unless spoken to first. He puts down bowls of water and food for me as we watch tv together – myself feeling completely content. He tells me that I’m not worthy of making my own decisions and doesn’t want me to ‘worry my pretty little head’ – he even decides when I go to the toilet. I must ask for permission if I would like to sit next to him, I must kneal by the bed each night expressing my  submission – he chooses if I spend the night in the cage or in the bed sleeping next to him….

(CNC) I fantasise about waking up to his cock deep within me. He smiles at me lovingly and tells me that I’m doing amazingly. When I begin to panic he holds my wrists down – telling me that it’s for my own good and even if it’s not what I want, it’s what I need. I imagine him going into intense detail about how he was wanking over me whilst I slept – admiring how beautiful I look when I’m not a brat and acting out. When I say no or tell him to stop – he holds me down even tighter, telling me that he will continue to do this day after day until I learn to enjoy it. That he has the control and I must submit to him.

I fantasise about a mirror in front of us. He is fucking me from behind with such wanton need – holding my head up so that I’m staring at myself in the mirror, watching my breasts swing as he pounds into me. He tells me how pretty I look when I’m being used like the whore that I am. I fantasise him coming all over my ass and back, before scooping it up and feeding me his cum – holding my mouth closed until I have swallowed it all.

I fantasise that after all of this – he holds me lovingly in his arms. He asks me about my traumas and difficulties in life, I can be completely vulnerable with him. I tell him everything and feel his heart beat synchronise with mine as he drips with empathy for me. I imagine myself sobbing with such intensity – all the while he holds me, he sees me and understands me. He wants to learn everything about me – wants to explore me mentally, spiritually and physically.