Honored

"As the unseen woman behind me pulls the ties in my corset tighter and tighter, you grasp the chain and pull my nipples harder and harder towards you, finally leaning in to kiss me full on the lips."



Those beautiful words above were written for me by a friend, her own personal Flash Fiction Friday.
She is a dear friend and I am thrilled and amazed that she is in my life.

I have the honor, the privilege of knowing many wonderful people.  I have been thinking a great deal about on-line affection, emotion, love, loss, jealousy, and the world in which my heart finds itself.  

Never would I have imagined, when I fired off an sexy post about a co-worker, 1455 posts and almost exactly 6 years ago, that my life would have been so enriched by all of you.

You have taught me new ways to love, many ways to find pleasure, and you have become important to me.  To be honest, some are more important than others, but we all know that so I don't feel bad saying it.  I have almost 200 followers on this little blog, some are spambots, some are gone, some are casual readers, some actually claim to have read my whole blog (yikes), and a few of you drop in, say hello, leave comments, and make my life a rich and rewarding place to be

Within this wacky world of virtual relationships, a few know my real name, have my phone number, and have become, and are, friends in every way except physical.  But the world is big and budgets are small. so I haven't seen you, held you, inhaled your fragrance, tasted your lips, shared a coffee, or felt my hand in yours.  That is the only difference.  You are no less important to me than my friends who reside in my zip code, we are just apart.

I understand the pain of not being connected to the ones I love in this way.  It is at times heart-wrenching and I feel the pangs of jealousy, loss, deprivation  and your absence makes my soul ache.  But I would not ease that pain with the unthinkable loss of the rest of you.

The heart is an expansive thing, and you have made mine full.

I will take the pain to experience the joy you bring to my life.
I will love you in the way reality allows us
I will not give you up, accept your resignation, let you go, or send you away.
You are too important to me.
We will work things out.      

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Go see who else submitted thoughts on Love at Prowling with Kat

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Run with me again.

This will be short, nothing important. I want to get in the habit of blogging a little bit every day, only if to keep myself in the habit. I know it is rather self-indulgent to think that anyone cares what I think about on a daily basis, but to fulfill the prediction of the radio DJ I listened to at lunch, I must become a “delusional narcissist” and I think that includes having a blog.

I complain many times on this blog. I complain about sex, my job, my wife, a little bit about everything, but today is a good day.  I will not complain.

I woke up on time and made it down to my gym as a beautiful sunrise was cresting the hill. I sent the picture off to a friend and she responded with admiration of the photograph and just seeing her name in my inbox makes me happy.  The weather was perfect. I should not gloat over my snowbound friends but there is a reason everyone loves California. It is because of days like today, in January.

I am going to a new gym so I decided to stick to a familiar road as to not get lost. I don’t really get lost, but some routes are dead ends, some take me the long way around when I’m not in the mood for the long way, and some are just boring. About 2/10 of a mile into my run I saw a trail. My neighborhood has lots of trails, a throwback to the time when horses actually lived in my Valley. I’m a sucker for a trail, especially when it goes along the river. So I took it.

Like most paths in my area and ran along the cement River carved as part of a flood control plan that seeks to keep nature in check, rivers within their banks, and trees growing in proper lines. But it is pretty, so I ran.

 

The trail lasted a little over a mile and then it kicked me back out to a sidewalk.  The sidewalk ended, then the road ended, and I ended up in a Park. The Avenue turned into a street which turned into a one lane road that wound itself between the trees and the craggy rock outcroppings and deeper and deeper into the canyon. After a couple of miles I passed a small preserved historical mining town. “Town” is the wrong word for it as all that is left is two or three buildings. But at one point it was the start of the oil and mining industry in my neighborhood. I passed through and continued on until my watch chimed at the 3.1 mile mark. I had stopped to take pictures along the way so my time wasn’t great, but I knew I would make up for it on the downhill return.

I love running when I don’t know where I am going. I love having the confidence that I can find a trail, take it, and have the energy and wherewithal to get back. I have told many people that I run until I am half tired and then I turned around. I like it with a bit of uncertainty.

3 miles from my gym and I was all alone.  If you are there with me we could have stripped down and played for hours without being seen. We could’ve kissed on the big rock at the turnaround and tanned ourselves under the winter sun. We would have had the forest to ourselves and it made me smile as I returned.

I write my little Monday updates on fitness, but it is days like today the keep me motivated. Days when I can find a new trail and run, days when I can find a new path and explore.

Come run with me.

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it's dark again

I love having it light in the evening, though we didn't start dinner until after 6, having lost all track of time based on the sun.  But now I'm back to driving to the gym in the dark, and that's no fun.  I was just getting used to seeing myself as I walked out the door.  (And no, the video doesn't make "sense."  It's just snapshots taken out my front window as I drive to they gym in the dark.)

So come with me for a drive.  

Meet me at the gym.

Show me your new spandex shorts, 

Your cute new tank top, 

The sports bra you love so much.

Let me see you sweat as you lift

Strain as you curl

Grimace as you crunch

and groan as you stretch.

Share a lane with me.

Let me see your arms dig through the water

the muscles of your back twitching and moving

Gracefully, as you suit conceals and reveals

And make me dream of mermaids and the deep.

Talk to me,

As the bubbles tickle in places hidden

And the heat soothes our limbs

as your smile soothes my mind

Take my hand under the surface

Hide your heart if you must, 

but don't let go.

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A true story

True Story

When I was in college I lived at home, commuted 25 miles to school on the bus every day, and held down a part-time job at the library to pay expenses. My dad said that I could live at home rent-free as long as I was in school and kept my grades up. He also covered my car insurance on a seven-year-old Toyota with a slashed back seat thanks to my brother forgetting he was carrying a box cutter on his way home from work at the local grocery store.

I caught the bus early in the morning and get to my first class at 8:10 am. I stayed in class until noon when I would get out, head to the sports center for a few minutes at the gym, and then grab lunch and head to the library for work at 2:00. I know that this is dating myself, but when I worked in the library I checked out software on a single floppy disk. Word, Excel, Word Perfect, Lotus 1-2-3 all fit on one disk in our cool, new, 9-inch screen Mac computers. We were high tech with a laser printer that only cost 25 cents a page to print. I made extra money by designing Excel charts for the liberal arts kids at $5.00 a page, unless you were cute, flirty, and a girl, then the price dropped to $2.50 a page.

I stayed at work until around 6:00 PM. After work I would study and try to be on the last bus at 9:00 pm. I worked 4 days a week and Thursday was my day off. This worked well because Thursday was “student day” at our local ski resorts with $5 lift passes. All my friends worked hard to get M-W-F class schedules in the winter so we could hit the slopes every week without missing too many sessions of our Thursday classes.

Thursday was also my day to get all my crap done that I didn’t get to during the week. My favorite errand, and the reason for this story, was getting my hair cut on 9^th East, at a little barber shop just north of the mall and across the street from the park. I found this place because my friends and I would meet for Frisbee Football (remember, I’m old) on the weekends.

I dropped in early one Saturday morning to get a price list but the door was locked. Some of the lights were on in the back, so I knocked a couple of times and waited, watching for my friends to pull into the parking lot across the street. My car was always parked in front of the same lamp post every Saturday so they would know if I had arrived since I owned the flags from a summer spent as a camp counselor.

Through the barbershop window, I saw an older Hispanic man cross the back of the shop with a broom in his hand. I knocked again, hoping not to break the glass, or my knuckles. While I was waiting for him to reappear, Ray pulled in to the lot and parked next to my car. I stepped to the sidewalk and called his name. He saw me as he got out of his car and I threw him my keys so he could unlock the trunk and get out the stuff to start the game.

 

Now that I knew someone was in the shop, I wasn’t about to give up.

I turned around to knock again and almost rapped my knuckles on the forehead of a woman who was opening the shop.

“Watch yourself kid,” She said, and laughed at my obvious embarrassment, “What’s the rush?”

“I just need a haircut.” I stammered, forgetting that I was really only there for a price sheet.

She took me by the hand, pulled me into the shop, and led me to the first chair on the left. The shop was classic barbershop décor. Old magazines, mostly sports but a couple of Playboys at the bottom of the stack. There were mirrors in front of each chair and a couple of black and white TVs anchored to home-built shelves between the cutting stations. The smell of shaving cream and disinfectant pervaded the air and I started having flashback to watching my dad get his hair cut at “Frankie’s Chop Shop”, a surprisingly hip name for 65+ year-old Frankie.

She stood behind my chair and pressed her foot on the pedal, lowering my eyes until they were even with her breasts. I tried to avoid staring at them but there they were…

I have 4 different versions of this story in my drafts folder, they all date from 2007.  That is 5 years ago!  It is a story I have struggled to tell because it was very important to me and yet so long ago that I only remember the romanticized details.  I find my writing skills on poor display as I go back and look at what I tried to capture in just words…  As I look at the drafts, some are more accurate than others are.  When I started blogging I changed the details a lot to “hide” who I was.  I was always worried about being discovered, but honestly, who was I kidding?  I barely got 1 comment a month back then so my fear was mostly ego and the hope that someone cared enough to find me.

A Truer Story

OK, so here is how it really happened.

I was 17, just out of high school, still a virgin, and very unsure of myself socially. I wasn’t in any rush to lose my virginity, but I was discovering how wonderful women were and they still made me very nervous, and my shyness was quite a bother.

I met Jane because my regular barber quit. She was chair number three and was rarely (never?) around when I got my haircut because she only worked weekends for a long time and I was only on campus during the week, so we never crossed paths. I was at school for an advanced prep class getting in-coming freshman ready for college.

She was really pretty, beautiful, very down home, simple make-up, fantastic hips, a beautiful smile, lips that smiled often, and very nice breasts. No one has found a subtle way to describe a woman’s chest, so most of us don’t try. You can say that a woman is full-figured, but that sounds like fat, you can say she’s “curvy” but that means a big ass, you can say she’s stacked, but that sounds like a truck-stop girlfriend, so I’ll just say that she had nicely shaped, always covered, perfectly sized breasts.

I would usually get my hair cut every 4-5 weeks, keeping it in control, but not too short. After I met Jane, I adopted a buzz cut that needed attention almost every week. At first she laughed at me when I’d come in only 7 or 8 days after our last cut, but as we became friends I think she started looking forward to Fridays at 4 o’clock.

Each week we would go through the same ritual. I’d come in, pay my 10 dollars to the receptionist, grab a magazine, and head back to the shampoo station. With my hair barely a quarter inch long, the women in the shop would look at me with a raised eyebrows….

I still keep my hair short, but now for much more practical reasons.  While still sporting a full head of hair, unlike my brothers, it’s changing “shade” and I want to hide that as long as I can without going to hair in a can route.

Jane was her real name.  I quickly fell for her.  She was married and as a young religious kid, I had a huge struggle between emotion and morals.  I though she and I were a perfect match and the ideas that were running through my head were counter to everything I had grown up believing.  I knew my mom had been unhappy for years, and though I never confirmed it, I suspected her of having an affair.  I wondered if her affair made her happy, if my dad new about it, if he cared enough to even care.  I say that only to say that my parent’s relationship, and the worries I had around it, changed how I related to Jane at a fundamental level.

Here’s the short version.

Jane started cutting my hair in the summer of ’83, after I got out of high school and started working on campus for the college football team. Summer was hotter than blazes and I found that I felt better with a buzz cut than anything else.

Jane’s shop was the closest to campus and that fact that she was seriously pretty didn’t hurt.

I started going in every week just to see her. She would slowly shampoo my hair and I would be in heaven. A couple of times, when the shop was empty, she would kiss me on the forehead and stroke my neck as I let my head soak under the hot running water.

Once, I was wearing shorts because I would be on my way to practice after my cut. I let my mind wander and I popped an erection that was very visible. She must have been looking at it for a minute or two before I realized what was happening.  I tried to cover it up, stammered out an apology, and tried to stand up.  She me from leaving and simply said that she took it as a compliment and that she wasn’t upset.

We continued like this for 6 months. I would come in every Friday, we’d talk, I’d try to flirt, she’d flirt back, and she’d give me wonderfully sensuous shampoos. When the football team was on the road, I would send her post cards, the tackiest ones I could find, and when I returned, they would be up on her mirror and it would make me smile.

After Christmas, I noticed a change. She seemed to be a bit more serious. We would talk more about her and her husband and, while she never admitted it, I started to notice problems that they were having. She missed a couple of weeks of work and people asked me if I was growing my hair out for the winter.

When she returned she was in a much different frame of mind. She stopped complaining about her husband and she returned to her fun and flirty ways. By necessity, she was always inside my personal space when she cut my hair, but on her return, she took it to a new level. When she stood in front of me she would lean in closer, when she spun me around to look at my hair, she would drag her fingertips across my shoulders and neck.

As time moved on and the end of the school year approached, she asked me to move my appointment back to 5:00, the last appointment of the night.

My story ends there, with one final meeting in the darkened barbershop on 9^th street.  My shampoo took hours, the cut was a languid two days, and the time under the hot towel was a week as Jane told me that she was moving away with her husband so he could take a new job. He hoped that the promotion, and the money that came with it would ease the marital stress at home, allowing her to stop working,

We found every excuse we could to stay together that night. I helped her clean the shop, put away the towels, start the laundry for the next day and count the till.  We sat next to each other as she talked and cried and held each other until the tears stopped for a few moments.  I felt her body in my arms and cried with her knowing that we would be apart within minutes.  I asked if we could see each other before she left town but she just shook her head.  This was, quite literally, her last hours in the shop.  She gave me my postcards as we cleaned up her station and boxed up her cutting supplies. 

We looked through them and laughed and she took one of them back to remember me.  It was one without my signature, just some funny drawing, her address, and a smiley face. 

We turned off the lights and held each other as I leaned back against the wall, letting her body melt into my arms for one last time.   I kissed her for the first time, I mean really kissed her.  I had kissed a few girls by then, but not too many, and it make my heart race and all the cliché’s of fireworks and heavy breathing ensued. 

Then she did something that surprised me to my core.  She took my wrist in her hand and guided my fingers between her legs.  This was new, unfamiliar, my head swirled, I stiffened, and I kissed her harder as I felt her mover her body against my hand.  I knew better than to move it away so I pressed firmly and upward and felt a warmth and excitement that I had never felt.  She ground her body against my hand and gasped as she climaxed and the tears started anew.  Her hand came to my hard cock and with a few strokes through the already strained denim, I came and shivered and held her very, very close. 

We stayed like that for a long time until the night air, the clock on the wall, and the reality of what had happened sank in.  I wiped away her tears and kissed her lightly one more time.  I walked her to the car with her boxed goods in my arms, set it on the back seat, and closed the door.  By the time I got to her, she had gotten in the car and rolled down her window.  Our goodbyes were done.

I leaned in but she took my head in my hands, kissed me on the forehead, and said good-bye. 

True to her word, I never heard from her again.

I kept the postcards for years.

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Discovering Dominance

I haven't written a simple erotica piece for a while.  This morning, while on the bus, I was talking to a friend and as she yammered on my thoughts turned to an old friend.  I pulled out my laptop and fired it up and stopped talking back to her inane conversation.  "Writing for work?"  she asked.  "No, I just had a thought and wanted to get it down."

Little did she know.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been longer than I thought and the sight of her walking through the door made me gasp a little. “Oxygen stealer’, or OS, was the name she came up with for herself that day. She didn’t know how true it was and how hard it was for me to breather normally, or think rationally, when she was around.

We had talked about getting lunch all summer. Her new house in the valley, my travel plans, a bout of summer flu, and some nasty fighting in both our houses caused the summer to drift by and then she was back in school and I was on the road even more with the pending layoffs and transition work. We kept in touch via e-mail, and occasionally I’d see her name pop up in Gmail chat and I’d say hi, usually long after she had moved over to play strip Wii with her boyfriend and roommate. That was an image that stole the breath right from my lungs and burned my heart a little each time I heard about it.

I knew how they played, it was usually late at night, her boyfriend, a nice handsome boy, was gayer than either of them wanted to admit and under the cover of video games and “victory parties” he explored his options in slow motion.  The lassitude in the apartment was palpable after Ray lost his 2nd job in 3 months and the book deal fell through, again. All she talked about now was smoking out and going clubbing. He seemed to be burning through the last remnants of his trust fund. He laid around a lot now, pawing at her weakly as he lay on the couch watching Sports Center or light porn. She would stop in front of him and let him caress her ass through the thin denim, or terry cloth shorts that she wore when home and out of the business spotlight. Truth be told, she liked him this way, always a little eager, lazily horny, as is the habit of the rich, lazy, and currently unemployed.

If she stood with her legs just so, his hands would find the center seams and he’d caress her cunt gently, almost absentmindedly as he watched TV and she would feel her nipples harden as she closed her eyes. She liked being touched in this way, not too urgent, but without hesitation either. It turned her on and she liked to be turned on, she liked to cum, she had the body to do it, and knew it wouldn’t always be this way so she liked it when he took advantage of the situation.

Lately she had started wearing more skirts and skipping school to smoke out with him, a habit she knew she needed to break, but after Jake lost his job at the brew house, it got stranger.

The first Wii party happened by happy accident when Jake got home early from being “out” one day.

They had gotten the console as a parting gift when the BrewHouse shut down. The money was from the sale of the brewing recipes and, though the business was already lost at that point, they had some money to give out parting gifts. She had been at school all morning and saw the box on the kitchen counter when she returned. She ignored it and hopped in the shower for a quick rinse and a finger-bang. She masturbated like it was just another part of the routine, like instructions on the conditioner bottle, “Lather, Rinse Repeat” If you did that often enough, it felt pretty good. A secret she had discovered at Girl’s Camp when she and Cindy stayed up late talking in the showers on a night when the hot water never seemed to run out.

With Jake and Ray still gone after her shower, she stepped to the kitchen, a towel around her hair and nothing else, to get a glass of cool water. She leaned against the counter, the smooth curved edge hitting her pubic bone just right, and began to innocently bounc against the 1970’s Formica as she opened the box.

It was easy to set-up and 20 minutes later she was naked and playing Super Mario Cart. She heard the garage door open and thought about running to the bedroom to cover up, but she was in the middle of a tight race with Princess Buttercup and didn’t know really how to pause it, and besides, she thought, it’s probably just Ray coming back from his mom’s house. Ray’s mom was cool about the trust fund money, but occasionally had him come over to pick up the checks just so she could put her arms around him and give him the “money’s tight” lecture again.  She heard rustling in the garage as her race ended.  Popping in another cartridge, she kicked it up a notch.

When Jake finally walked in and saw her, he just stopped and quietly watched. She was, in his mind, one of the most beautiful women he had ever met and living with her was difficult. She saw him watching her, acutely away that she was naked with her feet spread for balance as she tried out Wii tennis. She shuffled her feet from forehand to backhand on the dirty living room carpet. For all of Ray’s family money, they lived as his professional street cred required for a young “artist” in the industry, in a dumpy 3 bedroom with a tiny kitchen.

Every time she shifted for a hit, she felt her thighs rub together and she planted her feet a little further apart than she needed to, knowing that Jake was watching her breasts sway and knowing that his eyes were glancing downward at her waxed crotch. He liked it that way, she knew it, and he knew that she knew.

When they allowed Jake to move into the apartment they had been very up front that clothes weren’t always required and that Ray and Carrie weren’t shy about being naked. Everyone claimed to be OK and soon Carrie found herself leaving the bathroom door open more often and shower time meant a towel around the waist but if you needed to use the loo while the other was showering, you just did it. Carrie joked that the shower doors steamed up so much in the poorly ventilated bathroom that it hardly mattered, you couldn’t see anything.

Besides, from Carrie’s point of view, Jake was a safe kid from a good home who claimed to have been a virgin when he got married. After meeting his ex- however, she knew that there was more to the story and that he was a virgin because he wasn’t going after the right dates. He was, according to his ex, a little confused.

She kept playing, and he kept watching and she felt rivulets of sweat collect on her collarbone and run down between her breasts. She loved sweating, working out, and getting a sheen on her skin, shiny, sweating, breathing hard, it was almost as good as sex, almost. The final point was coming up, and she was disappointed that her game was over. Jake set down his backpack and smiled then looked away as she caught his eye. She pressed the button and the game’s match point started. She swung hard, feeling her body move, her digital avatar ran back and forth, she felt her nipples harden and her lips tighten between her legs with the effort. She loved having Jake watching, she felt flushed, aroused, and wanted to fuck.

With a strong backhand, she won the point and went up, Advantage Carrie. She breathed hard, the weight of her breasts without a bra made her acutely aware of their shape and size.

“Come here.” She said and Jake stepped closer. She kissed him hard then pushed him out of the way and hit the button for the last point.

Sweat dripped and her arms burned as the electronic opponent, set on expert, of course, challenged her lithe body. Finally, with a spin and a drop shot, she won the game and stood naked, sweaty, and panting in the middle of the over-heated apartment.

They looked at each other and Jake lowered his eyes in the presence of a stronger force.

“Come here” she said again, and he obediently stepped into her personal space.

Her lips crushed against his as she forced her tongue into his mouth. Her skin dripped with sweat and she slipped her hands into his hair and pulled him close. Without a word she pressed down, he resisted until she grunted and pulled his hair at the roots, forcing him to his knees. She spread her legs and drove his mouth to her cunt. He had no choice but to open, taste, and eat.

The pleasure ripped through her body like fire and she refused to give him a moment’s respite. She felt him searching for her soft center and she rotated her hips forward, crunching in her toned abs and giving him access to her clit. Her breathing never recovered and with a punch he found her clit and began tugging at it roughly with his teeth.

 Aaaaaang… she cried out as her roommate knelt before her bare cunt and sucked. She felt so alive, so hungry.  She gripped his head tighter and tried to pull him inside her aching need.

This was the passion she needed as he devoured her. His arms wrapped around the backs of her thighs and slid upward, gathering sweat and heat along the way. Meeting the crease at the curve of her ass, she felt three fingers from each hand reach deep between her thighs.

“Oh FUCK” she groaned out loud as her “good boy” roommate hooked the wet lips of her flesh and pulled them open. Her orgasm was so close, so tantalizingly close.

“MAKE ME CUM” she growled and pulled him in closer with one hand while the other rose up to tear and abuse and her swollen breasts.

She felt light-headed and felt her world turn black until every sensation was between her thighs. His tongue move in expert circles as six fingers invaded, stroked, and played in her wet slit. She felt open and invaded and alive and hungry, again and again that work came to her mind, eat me, eat me, take your fill, I am your feast.

Her orgasm hit with such force that her legs buckled and she fell back, tripping over the coffee table and on to the floor. Desperate for more, he scrambled after her and latched on again like a starving child, lifting her knees up and pressing them wide. The small apartment grew hotter as she breathed and moaned and bucked up against the eagerness of his tongue. It was overpowering, and all thought and logic vanished in the haze of lust and climax. Four, five, more? she lost count of the peaks until she felt that first tingle of too much and she began pressing him away from her. He was insistent and numbers six and seven ripped her into beautiful pain and she clamped her legs shut and lay panting on the floor. Her whole body was satiated and she felt rivers of sweat between her breasts, across her lips, and giggled as a cool droplet of water traced its way down her back and between the cheeks of hr exposed ass.

She opened her eyes and saw him kneeling at her feet, gasping for breath, his face shinning with her juices and cum. He sat patiently, his hard cock evident through his slacks, a large wet spot on the beige cotton.

“Did you cum?” she asked, panting on the floor.

“No M’am” he replied and his demeanor and tone made her giggle a bit until she made the connection. She had seen this before, in the porn she watched with Ray on occasion. He was waiting for her. She felt her body flow again.

“Do you want to cum?” she asked in a kind voice.

“Yes M’am” he said, almost in a whisper.

She sat up and rested against the couch, knowing that the sweat from her back would leave a mark. She pressed her elbows back and pulled her body up a little more, feeling her tender lips move across the carpet, knowing that this position fully exposed her breasts and she spread her legs wide to complete the tease.

She improvised, trying to play along, to keep a straight face in a game where she wasn’t fully sure of the rules or goal line.

“Look at me.” She knew this would make him uncomfortable, so she let her knees drop wider. Without the excuse of the game, or sex, this was now a battle of wills, she was showing herself to him as he knelt humbly at her feet. She felt her cunt on fire as she displayed it fully.

“Do you deserve to cum?” she asked. In her mind the answer was a resounding YES. He had been exactly what she needed and she knew that she needed to play this right in order to make him the perfect roommate.

“If it pleases you.” She smiled and the idea struck her at once.

She stood up and looked down at him, so lowly, so needy in the moment.

Her role became clear.

“Undress” she said.

He began to stand and she just put two fingers on his shoulder and pressed him back down. His shirt came off easily but his pants and boxers were trickier as he attempted to undress from his knees. She was impressed, even kneeling his stomach was flat and his cock was hard.

“Lay down.” In his eagerness, he stuck his head hard on the coffee table, still overturned after her climax and collapse. She stood over him, naked, commanding; in a headspace she had never felt. She waited for him to complain or grab his head, or at least, react, but he did nothing but adjust himself and lay perfectly still on the floor.

“I will make you cum, but you are not allowed to touch me at all.”

“Yes M’am.”

She placed her bare foot on his cheek and pressed his fact to the side.

“I did not give you permission to speak.”

“You may not touch me in any way.” The role was taking over and she felt her cunt drip.  “Do you understand?” she looked down at him.  He nodded to the affirmative and she moved.

She straddled his face and brought her body down in a low squat, spreading herself over his face.  She felt his body twitch but he obeyed, and lay still.  The power was going to her head and she had to calm her breathing.  She knelt over his chest and rubbed her hands downward toward his hard cock, still dripping pre-cum from the swollen purple head. 

She wanted to reward him but was unsure how to play the scenario.  With body open and his hard cock waiting, she paused, brushing her nipples lightly over his stomach.  He moaned slightly, obviously trying to hold things together.  Without touching him any more than necessary, she pressed a finger at the base of his shaft causing his cock to rise up.  She took him in her mouth and began to suck gently, coaxing him without servicing him as she enjoyed doing so much with Ray.  She felt this was different. 

His cock was smooth and large and a good size for her mouth and she had to fight back the urge to toy and play with it and enjoy it as she wanted.  She slipped up and down, generating saliva to make it wet and slippery, but just moving up and down slowly. She felt his hips buck once and she snapped her fingers like a harsh schoolteacher.  His body held still. 

She moved quicker now until she knew he could not resist.  She pulled her mouth off for a moment.

“Ask” and she engulfed him again.

“May I M’am?” he voice was tight and desperate.

“Yes” she replied and clamped her lips around his expanding cock just as the first ropes of cum filled her mouth.  She swooned with delight as she swallowed again and again.  He did not move as she milked the last drops of cum from his obedient cock.  She felt herself wetter than ever and just inches from his talented tongue but she controlled herself and lifted her body off of his with precision, not allowing any skin-to-skin contact.  She had given him the orgasm he deserved but no more.

Without a word, she stood and walked to the bathroom, grabbing her towel on the way to her bedroom.  She would cum again, and hard, but he must not know it, not yet.  Things had shifted, she felt it, power had been discovered and aligned, and she had it.  The Mistress as in the house, and things would never be the same.

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