She gritted her teeth. I could feel her reluctance surge like the tide coming in, her eyes afloat in her own seething. Leigh does not like to do this. At all.
Anal sex? Rimming? Being cuffed and flogged? Spanked to welts lasting a week and tears that flow like rain? Having her nipples sucked so hard she cries out to no one in particular? Being forced to orgasm so violently she teeters on the edge of consciousness, then made to do it again? And again? Having her throat used as a bridle while I viciously fuck her arched ass doggie style? My hand over her mouth and nose to the point she is gasping like a fish? Coming in her mouth like a volcano while I maintain my death grip on her hair, shoving her splayed wide lips up and down my exploding cock over…and over…and over?
She burns at my insistence of one thing. That she show a little fucking respect and appreciation and use some manners when we play. Especially in reference to me. Her “Sir”.
I will fucking guarantee her eyes are narrowing right now, digesting the above and feeling a lump in her throat as her Pride chokes her.
It’s not rocket science. We have very few rules behind closed doors, or when we discuss what may happen once they close later that evening. I respect her hard limits as far as what I am allowed to do, touch, etc. I only ask a few things in kind:
- That she refer to me as “Sir”
- Her sexuality, specifically her orgasms, are now mine. She may not have them without my creating them or knowing of them.
- Prior to coming, she must politely ask permission to do so.
- And that she thank me for each and every one of them.
That’s it. I mean, c’mon! It’s not asking a lot for the, by my rough count, well over 200 orgasms she has enjoyed since TDND™ started, is it? And the majority of them of the squirting kind, a handful of the soon to be blogged about Grand Mal Orgasm™ variety. And I damn well fucking know the most intense and varied orgasms of her life.
But yet, she still hesitates when prompted with a request or comment that insinuates propriety on her part. Her body is my own personal amusement park, but yet her Pride and all its Friends might as well have a “YOU MUST BE AS TALL AS PEDRO THE NINJA SQUIRREL TO FUCK WITH ME” sign…and I don’t measure up.
I always hated those signs as a kid. And this is no different. I want to ride that ride. Now. Fuck you and the rules you follow. I’m the kinky version of Walt Fucking Disney. My park, my rules. I will ride what I want, how I want, when I want, as often as I want.
And I want to ride your Pride, please. Now be a good girl. Go ahead, say it. You know what I want to hear if you want me to strap you in the Orgasmatron and press the START button.
She will answer me again, only this time it ends with “…Sir.”
That’s better. Much better. Hold on to the bar until the ride comes (literally) to a complete stop about 20 or so orgasms from now.
I should say that, once the ride gets rolling, she becomes a veritable Southern belle in her use of proper etiquette. I get the fuck begged out of me, as well as thanked like a child on Christmas morning unwrapping that one gift they wanted more than their next breath. Oh yeah, she gets real appreciative. And I fucking adore when she frantically asks permission to come. Most times I will let her. Sometimes not. And on a few times when she has the audacity to try to Top from the bottom it’s here that I get my erotic pound of flesh, Shylock. Only instead of flayed meat it will be in the form of Anticipation, Anxiety, Pleading and, after edging her for minutes, when I finally whisper “Yes” enough female ejaculate to warrant nude laundry detail at 1:33AM EST.
That’s the “Thankyouthankyouohthankyouthankyou” I crave. Her eyes are so wide, so sincere. I love it.
Should we start again, Leigh? Want to explode again?
Just say the magic words….