We were having dinner with friends, meeting at the restaurant because of work schedules. I had dressed with exquisite care – choosing things I knew he liked, from my panties to my heels.

Right before we walked in, he grabbed my arm and swung me into the shelter of his body. He leaned in close and kissed me, shoving his tongue in my mouth. He tasted of mint and whiskey and that something that was uniquely him, the same as the first time he’d kissed me. The memories went down the length of my spine and settled in between my legs before he pulled back. But as brief as the kiss was, it reignited the slow burn of arousal that had been simmering all day thanks to his texts. I could feel myself softening, heating, a slow pressure beginning to build in my pussy.

From the way he watched me walk past him and through the door he held open, he knew exactly his effect. As I settled into the seat he pulled back for me, his lips grazed my ear and he murmured “I want you to grind your hot little cunt between your thighs while we’re eating.” I sat down flushed and turned on, trying to appear neither to our friends.

As the evening progressed I could feel myself getting wetter with each grind. While he interacted with everyone his eyes rarely left me, his hands finding ways to touch me often, the inside of my knee under the table, the inside of my wrist. I was spiraling slowly out of control, the pressure and ache of my arousal becoming all I could focus on until even sitting in the chair was too much.

I excused myself to find the restroom, hoping for some cooler air and a respite from the heat of his gaze, which made me wanton and needy. Having spent a couple of minutes running my wrists under the cold water and trying to bring the color in my cheeks down, I stepped back out only to find him lounging against the wall, waiting for me. A bolt of pure lust shot through me, shortening my breath, tightening my nipples, and making my cunt release a gush of wetness into the delicate cream lace of my panties.

Without a word he took my hand and lead me further down the darkened corridor. I followed blindly until he suddenly stopped and spun me around, pulling me into him as he leaned against the wall. The heat coming off him sensitized every nerve ending. I made some noise – a whimper of surprise and arousal – that he immediately captured with his hot mouth. His hands gripped my upper arms before sliding down to tug my dress up over my soft thighs and round ass. We kissed like we were starved for each other, like it had been months instead of hours since we’d last touched. As he gripped my ass firmly and ground his hardening cock against me, I licked inside his mouth before drawing back just enough to set my teeth into his bottom lip.

I felt the fingers of his right hand explore further, pushing into me from behind, playing with me, teasing out my wetness with one long finger sliding into my cunt. I let go of his lip to gasp as the sensations flooded me. I felt more than heard his answering groan. “Baby, you keep looking at me with those fuck me eyes. I’m tempted to make you kneel right here and suck me off before I let you rejoin our friends….of course you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Look how wet you are for me already. Such a dirty girl.”

He pulled his hand out of me and brought it to my lips. I sucked hungrily, loving the taste of me on him. I knew my face showed how much I liked the idea of dropping to my knees right there. He chuckled. “Oh I know you want to Princess, but dirty knees might be hard to explain and I want you right on the edge when I get you alone. So no, not this time. We’re going to go back out there and you’re going to talk to your friends and laugh and smile and think about how good it’s going to feel when I finally let you come tonight. How much I’m going to make you beg for it and how empty your greedy, needy little cunt feels in the meantime.”

With that he tugged my dress back down, dropped a light kiss on my nose and indicated that I should walk ahead ahead of him back to the table.

The Invisible String

submissive-seeking:

submissive-seeking:

pleasurewhore:

Submission is often likened to a leash, the submissive tethered to the will of the Dominant. I frequently use the analogy myself, and often it’s very effective. However, lately my mind has been wandering to a different picture of submission. When I close my eyes I see submission, not as a lash around my neck, but as a string. A tiny, delicate string wrapped around both Dominant and submissive. Either side capable of breaking the string by pulling too hard, each choosing to allow it’s presence, not just once, but constantly. A leash would need to be willfully removed, and it easily tugs the wearer about, but it takes more mindfulness to follow a string’s gentle insistence.

I imagine that string around my wrist when I reach to touch myself and relieve the desire building between my legs. It reminds me of what pulls against the other end as it tugs against me. It’s all too easy to break. Pull just a bit too hard and the string snaps. If I disobey, or he tugs too tight, the string breaks. Too much slack on the other side and I fail to feel it’s pull as I move. Easily repaired, but tugged a bit tighter each time the torn strands are knotted together, the slack lessened with each snag.

There’s beauty and comfort in that mental string. In knowing it’s not really the rules that bind me to him, but our desire to be bound that connects us.

Strung together ….

art-of-domination:

She enjoyed dressing up. Not only for him, but herself. She loved silk nightgowns and lacy underwear. She would wear them every night after her bath, enjoying the way the soft silky material would cling to her body. She liked how sexy they made her feel and how her body reacted to them, a subtle low dose of arousal when she was alone.

When he was there, the nightgown just served as foreplay. His hands running gently over the smooth fabric, teasing her as he made his way down her body.

Eventually, he would open it from the front, allowing his fingers to explore her bare soft skin for the first time. Each time taking his time, his methodical, cool style, seducing her all over again.

He’d watch her try and stay still, try and maintain her composure while he played, each time eventually giving in, her body so understood by him, so eager for his hands and mouth. He would enjoy slowly watching her acquiesce, his fingers teasing and playing, his eyes often locked on hers.

Tonight his fingers gently focused on her nipples, stroking and caressing, pinching and massaging. Watching her face strain to stay collected, her mind knowing it was just a matter of time before she’d give in, words of pleading filling his ears, the small satisfied smile of his appearing, so familiar to her.

fantasies-of-a-dominant:

As she lay there panting underneath my weight, her mind clear but for the foggy ecstasy. Her body tender and exhausted. She had been consumed whole again by me. Not an inch of her flesh had been spared. She had been kissed, licked, touched, spanked and fucked. I had taken all of her.

I place my hand over hers, breathing heavily on the nape of her neck. ‘You are amazing!’, I whisper into her soft skin.

She smiles deeply. Home again.

Follow for more @fantasies-of-a-dominant

art-of-domination:

Some nights they liked to play a game. The game was to stand as close to each other as possible and see who could hold out the longest from touching the other.

As two strong willed people, they could sometime last quite some time before one would finally give in.

Tonight, they came home and he pinned her against the wall. His eyes burned into her and she smiled at him, his desire for her palpable. “C’mon”, she said, taunting him seductively, “you know you want it”.

He decided that he would let her win the game tonight. Hoisting her up, against the wall, she felt her legs wrap around him tightly as their eyes locked again. “You’re right. I do. And now I’m going to take it.”

@art-of-domination

art-of-domination:

This pussy gets so wet so easily, baby. God, I just can’t imagine how you can even focus on anything else anymore. Look at this. Just fucking look at it. I’m barely even rubbing my thumb here and you’re leaking out here like a faucet.

That’s enough for today I think. Maybe just one more minute. But honestly, anything beyond that is going to be too much for you to take. I wouldn’t want to push you over the edge. I know you’d feel so terrible orgasming without permission. That’s why I’m going to stop. Because I don’t want to get you too overwhelmed. Get your senses so heightened that you can’t even move without feeling the ache between your thighs. That wouldn’t be good. So I’m going to stop now. Well, not now. But soon. I think.

A Second Slice of Pie

25pebbles:

quickienewyork:

quickienewyork:

“Have you ever found yourself unable to say no?”

I told her it happened all the time: another beer, an hour later, a second slice of pie. She smiled and shrugged until it was clear that wasn’t quite what she meant.

“I was at the theater last week by myself,” she told me. “I like going by myself because it’s a nice break from everything else. I can drown myself in a play or the opera and the rest of my life evaporates for a while.

“This time I ended up sitting between two men. One was in a perfect grey suit and the other in jeans and a cashmere sweater that I let rub against my bare arm when he sat down. They were polite and we mostly sat in silence looking over the Playbill until the lights went down.

“I’m not sure who did what first, but by the middle of the first act, I had a hand on each knee. It must have started with our knees brushing against each other, or possibly our hands touched without us trying. Whatever it was, I simply let the progression happen until they both touched my knee right below the hem of my dress.

“We were polite during intermission but didn’t talk very much. As soon as the lights went down again the hands were back and this time they were curious. Rather than close my legs, or brush them away, I did the opposite. I opened them ever so slightly so each man could slide his fingers gently up the insides of my thighs.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? I didn’t make a decision one way or another. I simply didn’t say no. I didn’t have any huge desire to be touched by either of them, but I also had no interest in turning them down. It was as if any decision at all would exhaust me to the point of collapse.

“The theater was dark, and with my sweater held tightly in my lap no one around us seemed to notice. They grew bolder as the play went on and even when their fingers brushed one another as they finally reached my silk panties they continued. It almost felt coordinated as they took turns gently massaging my thighs and sliding fingers under the fabric.

“When the first one slide a finger inside me (I don’t even remember which one it was) I was soaking wet. I tried to watch the play, and I wondered how I had let this happen, but it never once occurred to me to stop it. Their hands were strong and gentle and they teased me over and over again for at least a half an hour. I sometimes would squeeze my thighs around one of their hands or hold their fingers in place by pushing my arms against them through my sweater and skirt.

“I came silently just before the play finished. Again, I have no idea which one pushed me over the edge. In fact, I could no longer distinguish their hands and I suppose I didn’t care. It was almost as if the men behind the hands were irrelevant.

“I’m not sure why I couldn’t say no.”

She was quiet for a while and I didn’t know what to say. Finally, she leaned back in her chair and pulled her feet up to her chest.

“Maybe it is like a second slice of pie.”

–Guy New York

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From the archives…

maybe a damned good night’s sleep will bring me back
to a gentle sanity.
but at the moment, I look about this room and, like
myself, it’s all in disarray: things fallen
out of place, cluttered, jumbled, lost, knocked
over, and I can’t put it straight, don’t
want to.

Zero, Charles Bukowski
(via ihealmywoundswithgrief)

nayyirahwaheed:

poem. from salt. by nayyirah waheed.