“Sweetheart, you know it’s improper to chew like that.”
touch
“What’s that, love? Want to keep pretending you don’t like being the center of attention?”
“People who are harder to love pose a challenge, and the challenge makes them easier to love. You’re driven to love them. People who want their love easy don’t really want love.” – Rachel Kushner, The Flamethrowers.
Cam Damage and BC
“I knew it like destiny, and at the same time, I knew it as choice.” – Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping.
Full Service, Part Eight
We were curled up together in bed afterwards. Craftsmate had untied me and my head was kind of spinning. I had kind of fallen back into subspace during sex once more, especially when he pulled out and made me cum by grinding his thumb really hard into my g-spot. He knows I like the tension between things hurting and feeling pleasurable, such as getting overstimulated by a vibrator or getting spanked on my cunt.
But, anyway, I was a little hazy. The inside of my mouth tasted like condom and cum and I wanted to close my eyes for a bit.
Craftsmate reached over and pinched my nipples between his fingers. “You know, if I ever collar you and own you,” he said, pinching a little harder, “I would pierce these with little rings.”
“We’ll talk about it, Sir,” I replied.
He nodded and kissed my forehead. “Of course. I’d never make you. But maybe one day.” He released my nipples. “Anyway, you were a very good girl today.”
Swelling with pride, I let my eyes close and curled up in his arms.
Full Service, Part Three
Soon, we went up to my bedroom and I took out the items of our mutual sex toy collection that wound up at my place: two separate lengths of rope, a pair of tweezer-style nipple clamps, a pair of clover clamps, a flogger and my knockoff hitachi (whose power apparently pales in comparison to the real thing.)
He ordered me to remove my clothes and pointed for me to kneel in front of him. I obeyed, wanting to be good for him.
“Bring me the rope,” Craftsmate said. I obeyed as he moved to stand by my bed. “In your mouth.“
"Yes, Sir,” I replied, taking the rope into my mouth carefully and crawling over to him. I set it down at his feet and gazed up at him eagerly. As he reached down to muss my hair, I felt this really overwhelming urge to be good for him. I wanted so badly to just be a good girl.
So, I set to kissing his cock through his slacks, nuzzling it and staring up at him with my best pleading eyes until he removed his pants. “If you want me to let you go deep,“ he said, holding a fistful of my hair, “you’ll be a very good girl and treat my cock well.”
The only issue was that worshipping his cock made me subspaced anyway. It got to the point where I would deep throat him, pull back to breathe and feel so spacey and dizzy that I would slump forward. He would grab me back the hair and put me back onto his cock, letting me go deeper as he took charge.
“I’m deep already,” I murmured. My voice had gotten small. “I’m really deep.“
He smiled and settled down onto the floor beside me, holding me close. When he kissed my forehead and my cheeks, I felt myself swell in the warm way I do when he’s sweet while I’m starting to get really subspaced.
"You want me to tie you up?” he asked, stroking my hair. I nodded, moaning softly. He reached down and picked up my panties. After balling them up, he held them out to me. “In your mouth. Now.“
Without objection, I accepted them and pressed the wad of lace past my teeth.
Full Service, Part Two
I should begin by saying I hate reading the things I write. Even if I think it’s well-done, I try to avoid hearing my words read aloud, either in my voice or someone else’s. It makes me feel too transparent. I can’t really explain it.
Except, I’ve never had anything dirty I’ve written about someone else read aloud. I’ve had dirty little notes I’ve written to people read back to me, and sometimes I’ve even been forced to read them aloud myself. But, it was always in my voice and about me and what I wanted.
All that said, I really, really enjoyed Bright’s reading of my story. Not only because it was removed from me and about a fictional couple, but because Bright did it damn well. It was sexy and adorable and sweet.
So, Craftsmate decided to see for himself how much I enjoyed it. He ordered me to pull it up on my phone and he plugged in a pair of headphones. After I put them in my ears, he hit play and watched with a smirk as I listened to the story.
Somewhere in the middle, I can’t tell when, I closed my eyes. And, somehow, Craftsmate wound up holding my face in his hand while pushing the thumb of his other in my mouth. And, yes, I wound up sucking it.
“Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant.” – Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
“You’re doing a good job being used like a filthy whore, sweetheart.”
When he reassures me like this, even the filthiest stuff somehow becomes sweet and intimate. I feel safe and cared for and brave and loved. Maybe that’s kind of weird, but it makes me happy.
Definitely a bad case of the squirmies. No doubt.