A First for Everything

It’s not about being violated.. It’s not about humiliation, either. Although I’m sure there are people who get off on being mistreated, I’m certainly not one of them.

Someone once said that the brain is the most sexual of all organs. He had not been lying.

Talk to me, make me trust you enough to let go, to beg, to plead, to suck, to fuck, to come as many times as you’d let me. Stimulation – set each sensory neuron on fire, until I’m just a writhing mass of lust. The cuffs, the restraints.. These are just accessories. At the end of the day, what should turn me on is the meager sight or thought of you. It’s not what you did to me that I will recall but what you said while you had me spread open, exposed, only for you.

My very first. I certainly wasn’t a virgin but, hell, I could have passed off for one when seated beside him. I trusted him long before I even knew his name. Perhaps that’s why I was more open to him than I’ve ever been with anyone else before and after the maelstrom of his arrival into and departure from my life. He’d say my name in the most casual manner and I’d just about moan in anticipation. I loved every moment of knowing he could control me. And I reveled even more in the fact that outside of the sexual experience, I had him wrapped around my fingers as he had me wrapped around his. We were all over each other.

I was addicted to his voice, his command.

Don’t you dare touch yourself, he’d say, and my fingers would clench into the sheets, much to the delight of my filth-drenched mind and the frustration of my dripping sex. Shuddering. Begging when told to do so, and groaning in relieved gratitude when finally allowed to sink long, slender fingers into my own heat. He laid beside me, one hand propping his head up with an elbow wedged in his pillow, while the other cupped my breast, flicking a pebble-hard nipple in the most casual manner.

How many?, he’d ask. The blanket, crumpled and disarrayed, covered us from the waist down, shielding my fingers as they toyed with my own flesh, glimmering and wet with the evidence of my heightening arousal.

“Just one,” I’d answer.

Push another one in. Silent hesitation. The temptation to lie, to fake it for fear of actual pain at being stretched wider than I’m accustomed to. Do it! Acquiescence. Total surrender.

Yes, go slow, baby. He knew precisely how tight the fit was. He loved knowing he would be wrapped in that moist grip after he was done playing with me like a musician did to his favorite instrument. Hurts, doesn’t it? I bet it hurts so good, though. Tell me how much you’re loving it.

I’d obey. I always obey. He makes me alternate between fucking myself and strumming my clit. Never at the same time. Tug on your nipple. Pinch it. That’s what the other hand was for.

I’m thrusting my hips into my own hand, begging for god only knows what. The blanket had been discarded. He’d be gripping my thighs by then, lips on my skin, marking me as he held me open so he could devour my quivering cunt with his eyes. Come for me, whore. I could not get enough of his fury. You’re such a fucking bitch for making me wait this long. Come! Over and over, he’d say it, amidst orders for me to keep begging. He knew precisely what pushed me over the edge. It was never physical sensation.

It was the lewdness that poured forth from his lips, and the faraway recognition that each time I said his name, he moaned without reserve, reaffirming my effect on him, reassuring me of my ability to control our experience if I suddenly decided to.

Just come so I can fuck you already. That’s what you want, isn’t it, whore? You want my cock inside you. Say it! Lightning. An explosion behind tightly shut eyelids. A loud crash. Endless ‘I’m coming’s and ‘Fuck, I love you’s, senseless, mindless.. Until he had me pinned against the bed all of a sudden and, with a single stroke, had himself buried within me, pounding relentlessly, moaning into my lips, my neck, biting, kissing..

Yes, yes. Keep coming, bitch. Keep coming. God, you feel so good, baby, mm. One leg drapes around his waist, pushing him deeper, wanting him, needing him, as my walls stretched impossibly around his invading length, testing the limit of my endurance. Nothing more that resembles anything coherent comes from me. Ceaseless moans of his name, over and over and over, until he grows larger than I would have thought possible and spurts into my trembling pussy.

It’s all about cradling each other afterwards, as you try to grasp the depth of what you had just shared. It’s about being satiated and satisfied. No matter what the outer appearances look at times, know that, in the end, it’s about mutual ownership.