Kooth
Posts: 16
Joined: 8/17/2004
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You wake up abruptly, lying on your stomach, with your face pressed into your pillow and a moan trying to slip past your compressed lips. It's only moments before you fully realize your dissatisfaction with having left that particular dream, so you close your eyes again and try to chase its thread. With one arm bent and trapped underneath you, that hand continues to squeeze your breast, and a thumb and finger close in on a crinkling nipple. You grip your thighs tighter around your other hand, pressing your fingers harder against your lips, as you try to find some friction on your wet palm.
With a rushing gasp to suck air through your now open mouth, you relish the tight feeling of the damp sheets twisted around your legs. The tendons in the back of your calves tighten as your point and curl your toes. You push your breasts against your arm, your face into the darkness of the pillow, and your hips...against the too yielding mattress. There’s no purchase, no force, besides your own.
Frustrated, lonely, the sudden, unbidden wish for someone to see you writhing in your dark need burns a red flush across your face, descending down your neck to your chest. Fat needle-pricks of heat wash your cheeks, your ears, your lips and throat, quickly followed by a cold dread in your gut, like a knot, that no-one should ever see you like this, so low with desire. You want both the arousing shame and the furtive secrecy of your fantasy.
Most of those conscious, analytical thoughts have left by the time you are approaching the edge. Your fingers are working faster now, plucking, pinching, flicking and rubbing towards your building climax. Force and need are forgotten as images of dirty, no, perverse acts flit across and take over your inner view - gang bangs in a school cafeteria, criminals sodomizing their jailers, huge coke-can sized cocks spitting at you...
...and you stop, breathless, shaking, both unbelieving, incredulous, and yet resolutely firm in your conviction, and dedication. Perhaps you are simply full of pride, but you are training to be a good submissive - you want to be the best! - and this is how you must show him your obedience and self discipline. That your submission extends to this, giving up control over your own pleasure, and leaving it to him. That you will not come without his permission, and will continue this daily regimen of compulsory masturbation he has devised, to tease and test and torture you with.
You take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, knowing you could lie, he would never know you broke this rule. You've dedicated your days to him, dressing as he instructs, telling him daily how your feelings of submission and obsession are growing, daydreaming of the day you will finally meet. After all, isn't that why you wanted this, to be a submissive - to take your pleasure - no, for someone else to take your needs and desires, and twist them like a wet towel, until they wrung every ounce of ecstasy from you and left you as satisfied, satiated, as a limp rag discarded and falling to the floor? Splat - oh how you long for that rush of neural demolition!
But this denial is making you crazy, unable to focus on work or normal everyday conversations or anything. Your plants are as thirsty for a watering as you are, but they are fading from your attention just as your last memory of coming has grown distant, too. You wonder if, when he tells you to, you'll remember how, or if that's his goal, to keep you in constant, distracting need. This state of mind certainly lends itself to giving up, giving over all your will to him, and concentrating on his pleasure, his needs. Will your cravings and fiery ache be imperiously converted to attention and drive to his?
You run your hands over your damp skin, thigh to stomach to flank, before rolling out of bed, still uncertain but wanting to see this through to the end. Wanting to know what happens, and have the mystery solved - are you doing this for him, to please him, to catch and make him your Dom? Or are you losing control, falling under his spell, until, like a mad doctor, he can pull your strings like a naked puppet - or worse yet (or would it be better?!), will you blindly hear him say "Jump", and without a twitch or thought or pause, hear yourself whisper, 'how high?'
< Message edited by Kooth -- 9/7/2004 8:26:30 PM >
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A new Dom, he played one, he played knick-knack on your bum...
Lip smacks, quick whacks, give your Dom a bone, beg to *cum* when your lips start to foam...
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Vessel of Abandon - Shaman's Rites - 
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