I have him naked, with his ass up and his face in the pillows, red stripes down his pale back where I’d scratched him, and his wrists and ankles cuffed, each wrist connected to the corresponding ankle. I’m rummaging around in my backpack for lube and a plug. When I find what I was looking for, and turn back around to face the bed, I see that he had twisted himself around so that he could look at me. The sight of him exposed, with his face terribly lustful and hungry, was, cliche as it sounds, breathtaking.
I return to my spot behind him, lubing up my fingers and pressing one into his ass, then two, using my other hand to squeeze and pinch his hip. He is making the most wonderful, breathy noises, jerking forwards slightly every time my fingers move inside him, searching, feeling the plush press of warm flesh. His entire body quakes. I am kneeling between his spread legs. One of his hands inches towards my left knee, he finds and squeezes the flesh just above the joint, squeezes every time I push in, hard enough to make me gasp. Every pump of my fingers equals one jolt of pain for me. He has told me that being penetrated is intense, so intense that he has to hold my body in his hands, take handfuls of me and crush me as hard as he can.
Eventually I lube up the plug and slide it in. I ask him to turn over, and he maneuvers himself so that he’s on his back. His skin is pale and his lips, nipples and cock are a soft pink. I suck on his cock for a moment before rolling on a condom and unfastening the cuffs so that his hands are free. He doesn’t miss a beat. His hands find my hips as I slide him into me, both of us gasping.
I want to fuck him quickly and erratically, like two teenagers in the back of a car whose orgasms are clumsily reached, and over way too suddenly. I want to move on his cock until I come, but he’s making me go slow, tantalizingly, letting himself be very nearly engulfed before distancing himself again. He is subtle in all the ways that I am crude.
Sometimes, while I’m above him and making him feel, he does things that completely derail me and make me want to go limp. Things like: put his hand on my neck, bite me, push his fingernails into my skin. He does this now: he digs his fingers into my waist, and pulls me down hard on his cock before lifting me up again. I feel my face contorting into this strange combination of wincing, being about to cry, and desperation. It hurts. It hurts and I feel controlled and the two sensations transform into pleasure almost instantaneously. A switch goes off in my head. Just a while ago he was restrained and I was in control, but it takes only one gesture to make me need him to control me, instead.
We switch positions so that I’m on my back. He tells me to spread my legs, and I hold them open for him. He enters me again, fucking me slowly and exquisitely. I want to watch his face, but at the moment I need to keep my eyes closed. The feeling of being possessed and fucked is too much. I need to focus fully on the tactile and let it sink in.
“I want you to imagine,” he says, “that there’s a person standing to your right, watching us. Every so often I want you to imagine yourself catching his eye.”
As he thrusts into me, I do: “I’m thinking of them touching themselves…”
“Yes; getting so turned on by watching us…”
The person watching is dark and has serious eyes. I sigh and let my head roll back, and I let myself fall into that comfortable space deep in my mind that rocks and lulls me into a calm containment. The space that he has taken me to. I want to ask him to slap me, but I’m losing my ability to speak. All I can do is feel him fuck me, feel him close his fingers around my throat. All I can do is savor.
“I want you to look at me when I come,” he says.
I open my eyes. He’s fucking me harder, now, more earnestly. As the urgency of his actions builds, then releases, I feel him tense as it rolls over him, his eyes wide almost in shock. His cock twitches in my cunt.
For the next ten minutes after he pulls out of me, I lay there. I want to open my eyes. I can feel him hovering over me, watching my face and the pulse in my jugular that’s fluttering like a bird. I want to see him, speak to him, but all I can do is lay limply, sprawled out and utterly useless. I understand why they call it flying. I am soaring. I am no longer a person, but a rag doll, a thing that does not speak or move or take, but is used purely for the sake of my loved one’s pleasure.
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This was really delicious to read. I love feeling like I am being “used for sake of my loved one’s pleasure”. I love giving pleasure in this way to another person, even though the end goal is to ultimately satisfy my own desires.
I think it’s one of the reasons why I love being fucked from behind. I can pretend that he’s not thinking about fucking me, but someone else he wants.
The psychology of when I have sex in front of a mirror is something I should take some time to dissect. Hee hee!
Ai´s last [type] ..Gender & Discussion
Totally, totally hot. One of the highest compliments I can receive from my lover is when she tells me, afterward, that I had put her in subspace.
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