Back, With a Vengence

Out Of Control.

I am. At least, my thoughts are. My fantasies have turned down roads I previously could not have fathomed, turned dark and somewhat frightening. Terrifying, actually, if a whisper of them were to find their way to the real world. Desires so overwhelming I cannot contain them, I barely restrain my fingers from grazing against my cunt with the longing - these are bad enough. But the object of desire - now that is something of which to be terrified.

The Beloved, he tries. He tries to sate the fever, tries to break its possession of me, but it is as grains of sand in a whirlpool. He touches me, fingers lingering over my breasts, teasing my nipples, pinching them into painful, aching points. Long kisses, his tongue taking his rightful ownership, drawing the breath from my lungs. Firmly now, owning me now, his hands move lower, directing the dance as our bodies undulate. The scent of my pussy is strong as he slips his fingers into my wetness. Claiming ownership, he fucks me. First, sweetly with love and tenderness. Then again savagely, spanking my nipples, my ass, my pussy. Hard. Twisting my nipples, calling me his slut, making me come several times in gasping, blinding explosions before he allows his release. Sobbing, I bury my face in his chest, holding so tightly, repeating "I love you so" over and over.

For the moment, I am content.

Asleep in my chair, I feel his arms move over the back of my chair, sliding gently past my face, down my neck, going further, to cup my breasts, tease the nipples, brush the sides oh, so gently. Eyes closed, my back arches into the soft caress of his hand. Again, his fingers travel languidly over my curves, tempting, forcing those deep shudders I call shivergasms. His fingers now replaced by his cock, so hard and soft, damp. He places the tip barely at my lips. I smell the fragrance of clean, aroused male and inhale deeply. My tongue flirts with the head of his cock, teasing in it's own right. I open my mouth to take him deeper and he whispers "Not yet..."

My eyes snap open.

It is not the Beloved.

And the shock, the mind splitting realization of who it is, wakes me quite effectively, to discover I remain enclosed in the arms of the Beloved.

Heart pounding, I fly through all the thoughts and feelings I can separate in my head. What the fuck did that mean?

In all our years together, I have never had a sex dream about another man. Women, sure. Plenty, as a matter of fact. And daytime fantasies; harmless passing,drifting "what-ifs." Dreaming? Well, that means something, doesn't it?

Worse yet is this betrayal. The Son of the Beloved. My stepson, so close to me in age I could be an older sister. The fact that we are not blood relation does not comfort.

Faster the thoughts come now. More frightening, more shameful. Fear and fantasy play through my mind. I think of the Beloved as Master, and remember how often he has wanted to see my mouth full with another man's cock. Fantasy or reality? What would I do should he ever demand such, for real? If he knew of my dream, would it please him? Disgust him? Would he command such a performance?

What would I do?

All this complicated by the fact that this man, this younger version of the man I love so dearly, is at this moment only yards away in the guest bedroom. Close enough, perhaps, to have heard my orgasms earlier, not to mention the spanking... I want to melt into the earth.

In the morning, I make coffee. I can look neither man in the eye. Suddenly shy, uncertain, I finish my tasks and flee the room, certain that they both read easily the guilt and shame, and yes, excitement, in my face.

I am again betrayed by my body. The storm is upon me and even my skin has a direct line to my clitoris. The briefest brush against me is pure torture, and I have to fight not to gasp aloud. I wonder if the dream is merely a product of my raging hormones, his face simply the most convenient target. Often in hormone storm, I cannot look anyone in the face, afraid that my desire is broadcast in my eyes, afraid they'll do something about it; afraid they won't. And even now, I cannot give up the dream that continues, the dream of both men inside me, thrusting, filled, being wrapped in so much virility and love, surrounded, drowning in the Charybdian pools, sucked down, not breathing, reclaiming my Self from the Void.

It's been a while

I haven't been feeling well for some time, and it's left a mark on my libido. There are stirrings, however, that foretell an improvement in that area. The vibration is back. The longing is back. My mind is leaning towards the dark side. I'm hoping there will be writing tomorrow to remember tonight's experience.

Hum

Or maybe it's buzz. Like a bee, or a hummingbird.

My skin vibrates. Touch me, it telegraphs. Or perhaps it's reaching out, trying to find the stimulation it needs. I shudder, shaking out the longing.

The Beast is in his early, tentative state. He intrudes on my thoughts, but is not yet insistent. My body longs, but is not yet consumed. This is the warm bath and candles stage, the soft lights and softer touches stage. Slow, lingering, warm. The dancing stage, teasing back and forth.

It's pleasant, right now. But I know what's ahead.

Clockwork

Clocks should be this regular.

The Beast is always worse at work. The tedium of work just isn't enough to distract me from the thoughts that torture my body. My mind just wanders over every experience I want to remember, every fantasy becomes larger, more intense. Rope work is my current obsession. Not having experienced it, my mind imagines the feel of the rope being pulled across my skin, feeling it tighten and restrain me. How I would feel to be so tied, so dependent, so vulnerable. How would my body look splayed open or tied closed on the whim of the one who tied me. How would it feel to be teased, acted upon, with no means to respond physically.

The need for intimacy at this point becomes pain. I wish it were as simple as needing orgasm; that would be easy. A short trip to the restroom with my teensy bullet would result in blessed relief, and I could get my brain back on track. But that's not what I need. I need touch, to be touched and to touch, to taste and kiss and moan. Maddening.

Spoiled

A little too much wine. Justified in my mind, because the beast has not been fed. He turns nasty, he does, when he's left hungry. Petulant, and sometimes downright mean. Because he doesn't like the fear. And when he's hungry, and doesn't get fed, the fear pours in, invading, consuming. Not a pretty picture at all.

Return of the Beast

I'm sitting here at work, and I simply cannot get anything done. My head, my soul my body most especially are drowning in a cloud of sex. He's reaching his peak, the Beast is. I can tell, because my thoughts turn from mere sex to S-E-X. Savage sex. Painful sex. Obsessive sex. Brutal sex. The kind of sex that isn't shown in soft core porn, or in Playboy or Penthouse. Slamming, kinky, wild, abandoned sex. The kind that scares me a little, and probably scares P more. And just behind it, underneath, the beginning of the pain. Currently at titillating levels, but showing promise of taking over, and becoming Most Unpleasant.

I do hope P has eaten his Wheaties.

And I wonder if I will have the backbone to lead our play to what I need.

Balance

One of the things I love about you is that I don't know what to expect. Occasionally, this leads to misunderstandings and hurt feelings, but far more often it brings tremendous rewards.

I shudder when we're cuddled on the couch and you slide your hand down to brush my nipple. Part of that thrill is just the basic touch on an erogenous zone (there's a zone?) but a larger part is the anticipation. How will it be tonight? Will you be tender and loving and vanilla? Will you be Master, hard and punishing? Creative? Will you focus on my pleasure, our yours, or ours?

The answer comes as we're kissing slowly, tender, stroking, teasing. The Master enters as you grab my hair, forcing my head back. I gasp as your knee forces my legs apart and your lips attack my vulnerable throat. When your teeth snag my nipple, the bottom drops out, and I am lost. All awareness is gone. There is nothing but you. Your touch, your taste, the things you make me feel. Your hair is loose tonight, and the silky softness of it trailing my skin only heightens the roughness of your hand spanking my pussy. Already I can hear the moisture in that slap. Tonight, you don't make me wait. Pinning my hands over my head, you enter me, fucking me hard and fast. Unexpectedly, I come quickly, but you barely pause, still fucking hard with a low growl. I watch your face as you begin your ascent, and the sight and the sounds of your pleasure hit me full force again, and again I come hard, sobbing with the intensity.

This was one of the best times, when your mood matched mine so perfectly. Just the right amount of tenderness, just the right amount of control. Love. Love. Love.