Hypnodomme: Memoirs of a Professional Hypnotic Dominatrix – Hypnosis Goddess
Autobiography of one of the world’s leading hypnodommes, granting a never before seen look at the reality behind the fantasy. This punctures many a myth of the rich, pampered princess tended to by her minions, and instead shows the creativity, hard work, and business acumen that was invested into the venture. It also gives some induction examples, which are always a pleasant read.
Sex, Lies & Sinful Wives – C.A. Bell
Smart, sassy tales, rich in charm, humour and irony. And how they sizzle and smoulder! The second story is one of the most erotic I have ever read, only to be surpassed immediately by the next one, which caused a sudden bathroom emergency in my lunch break at work!
Yes, Mistress – N.J. Cole
This has some absolutely exhilarating femdom early on, enough to cause another sprint to the office bathroom. It’s mostly lesdom from that point, which is not just (extremely) sexy but also depicts the sub/domme relationship convincingly and lovingly, conveying the vulnerability and generosity of the top and offering empowerment and a measure of equality for the submissive. This is great as both a compelling story, and as a sexy read.
Serving Mistress Quinn – N.J. Cole
N.J. Cole again, with a bonus novelette after Yes Master. A fearsome paranormal dominatrix and a painslut submissive combining to erotically electrifying effect. But as with so much of this author’s work, it has a heart of gold as well, and I don’t mind a bit of sweetness with the kink.
Mistress Comes First – Ava Sterling
Lovely, gentle seduction and domination, almost hypnotic in approach. Both characters are likeable and the dynamic is presented sympathetically, showing it to be mutually beneficial with neither partner being disadvantaged, so that readers on either side of the power play would want to be there with them.
Kim looked down at her hands, filthy dirty and rubbed raw. Her once manicured and painted nails were broken, bloodied, and crusted with grime. The unforgiving sun had scorched her to punishing levels. She could feel the angry redness cloying at the back of her neck. She was on the edge of dehydration, with only the last dregs of her water left. Her face was dry with salty deposits where the sweat had settled and dried on her sunburnt cheekbones. But she would not stop. She would never stop.
“Is that all you have girl?” Master Roku said slamming his staff on the ground. “Because if it is we are not gonna win this fight. And your family and its honor will be lost!”
She turned to him, anger flashing in her eyes. But within a split second, she had bitten down her rage. Master Roku knew that her family was the one thing she would gladly fight and die for, and Kim knew that he was just testing her with this goading, to see how she would react to the mind games. So she merely gave him a curt, respectful nod, and continued.
Master Roku waved his hand making a small army of skeleton pop up from the ground around her like they were spring daisies!
“Attack!” He commanded them using his magic to give them weapons.
Kim launched into a forward roll, underneath the swing of the first skeleton’s mace. She picked up the broadsword as she got up and launched a spinning lunge into the creature’s chest … and it passed harmlessly between its empty ribs. She paused for the briefest moment, shocked and dismayed, and it was almost fatal as the skeleton moved to attack again. But she skipped athletically aside to evade the blow, and countered with one of her own. This time she swung for the creature’s head, and its skull shattered on impact, and there was a clattering noise as one by one each bone fell to the ground. But she had no time to admire her work because the others were almost upon her.
Master Roku watch Kim take on her enemies one by one. She moved in a fluid motion, but he wasn’t convinced she could handle going up against Kia The Trouble. Kia had already burn most of Japan to the ground and his magic was growing stronger everyday. They didn’t have to really train. What Master Roku needed was a warrior not a princess.
“Enough!” yelled Master Roku. “Save your strength now girl, there are bigger challenges ahead.”
He was not convinced that she was ready to face Kia The Trouble, but she was the best chance they had. He himself was too old now to fight such a fierce warrior, and he’d lost his best men on the battlefields of Kiyagi-Shan. Kim was the best of the rest; she was destined to be a fine leader and a fearsome warrior one day. If she lived long enough. His scouts had told him that Kia and his forces were marching towards them and would arrive the very next day.
His scouts were wrong. The searing heat and the billow of the smoke revealed that they were already here.
Kim bent forward trying to get hair into her lungs. Her heart was slamming into her rib cage. She couldn’t let her family down. Her friends teased her calling her Mulan, because her training. This was no fucking Disney movie and no man was going to come help save her family and her country. This was life or death.
Master Roku summoned up all of his magical power. He couldn’t fight anymore, but he could at least nullify Kia’s magic, for a short time and at the cost of his own life, to turn it into a straight fight. He yelled to Kim “This is your chance now. It’s just you against him!”
Just me against him, Kim thought with a wry smile, looking at the man-beast before her, at least double her size and with the dried hearts of his enemies hanging from his belt. She swallowed hard, then moved in to face her destiny.
Kia laughed as him and Kim appeared in stadium that had been abandoned for years.
“This is what you found to defeat me? A little girl? Roku I knew you were going senile, but her. Please give me someone worthy to kill! She isn’t much other than my shoes.”
His laughter made Kim’s eyes flare with rage.
She closed her eyes and put her hands together summoning all her energy she started moving her hands in a circle motion moving the air around her. A red spark of light came forming a fire ball so large it made Kia step back.
Ignited by rage and sudden fear, all of Kia’s magical power came surging to the fore. And that’s when he realized that, even as the old man’s life force ebbed away, Master Roku’s ancient magic was holding his own in check. He was defenseless.
The fireball struck him full in the chest, and the last thought to go through his dying mind was the poetic justice that the fire warrior had been defeated in such a way.
Stunned by the loss of their leader, Kia’s forces retreated in disarray. Kim savoured her moment of triumph, but was yet to learn of its heartbreaking cost: the loss of her beloved mentor.
She vowed to honor him, and make his spirit proud, forever.
Real men scrub floors
Naked on all fours
Then stay in position to receive their reward.
A moment of anticipation
Then inhalation, intoxication
To make me more receptive, as if I weren’t before.
At first no penetration
A very welcome visitor pushing at my door.
Gently, this occasion
Persuasion, not invasion
So gentle every push until I have to beg for more.
Then deeper the sensation
The feeling of elation
Producing an effect that can no longer be ignored.
The harder thrusting motion
Deepens my devotion
Building up to something that I’ve never done before.
The miracle of erupting
Without anybody touching
And there’s another mess, so once again I scrub the floor.
We soar through the stars, boldly going forward; the glamor and glory of galactic travel. Yeah, for those up front, maybe. Floating around in zero gravity, singing songs and smiling for the cameras. The handsome hunky golden boys from the recruitment films, who will return home to a hero’s welcome, and the chat show circuit, and the superabundant astronaut groupies. That’s the lifestyle I thought I was signing up for. Not this. Encased in a metal tube. It’s a narrow prison. It’s a long tomb. It’s the most obviously phallic symbol anybody could have designed.
There is a clear and palpable hierarchy, or a fronterarchy more like. The officers, the ‘real’ astronauts, are based at the head of the rocket, the more experienced crewmen in the middle, and a collection of green rookies, reviled renegades and tired has-beens after them, the men getting more pathetic and less respected the closer they are to the back. And finally, last of all, the laughing stock of the entire vessel, come me and Jon Rose. The rear dwellers. We have zero gravity too, but because there’s a barely an inch of spare space in any direction, we’re pretty much held fast where we are. The few possessions we’re allowed are held magnetically against the walls. It’s a cliché I know, but I have a poster of that Marilyn Monroe picture from a hundred years ago. You know the one.
Neither of us have seen the officers since embarkation. Orders drift down to us like Chinese whispers, filtered along the chained of command, simplified at every stage because we fucktards at the back need it dumbing down. Our tasks never change anyway; we’re not here to think, only to graft, and sweat, and wait. Mostly the latter, but often we can achieve two of these at once. Yes, we work that hard.
We haven’t seen the officers since embarkation. Did I already say that? Things tend to get a bit repetitive back here. And it’s not just the officers; we hardly ever see anyone, except for meal times when we get to drag ourselves towards the middle and sit at the filthy table. Presumably it isn’t always filthy, but it is by the time we sit down, because we get served last and the table is full of smears and stains and pools of gravy – if we’re lucky. If we’re not, the crumbs, leftovers and spit backs of our superiors float around our faces, splatting into our eyes, noses and mouths, or settling on our heads and knotting into our hair.
Reconstituted who knows what is on the menu today. That’s the forgotten leftovers of the lowliest Earth dweller, mulched into a quasi-pig swill, freeze dried and desiccated, then sealed into airtight foil so some dude can call himself a chef for adding hot water to it. No better or worse than yesterday, or the day before that. There’s probably proper food for the officers, all hot and fresh instead of the tepid, congealing mess that we are given. But meal time is still the most bearable time of the day, because after that it’s back to the cramped quarters and the photon torpedo which sits directly above us. It’s a good job that it’s not primed to detonate on impact, because I bang my head on the bastard every time I sit up too quickly.
I bang my head on pretty much everything back here, to be honest. On Earth, I never thought five foot eight was too tall for anything, but now I have to duck everywhere I go or I’d have a lumpier cranium than the Elephant Man, and I sleep in two pairs of socks because my feet stick out beyond the end of the bunk.
THUNK! Ungghh …
That was a bad one. My head throbs and the world seems to spin around me. I’m dimly aware of the taste of blood, and I think I might have bitten my tongue. What shocked me so much that I should sit up so suddenly?
Rose’s face comes into view, one finger to his lips, “Shh.”
Where’s his other hand? … What’s it doing there?
I don’t want this, at least I’m not sure if I do, but I’m too dazed to stop it and my body reacts as if it’s the most right and natural thing in the world. So I let it happen.
I briefly meet Rose’s gaze. He shakes his head and whispers, “Don’t look at me; look at Marilyn.”
Ah, Marilyn, the gust of the vent sending her white dress billowing, lifting high, showing so much that I’m not allowed to see. But she wants me to see it all. I can tell by the way she looks at me, that coquettish smile, that gleam of invitation in her eyes. This was no accident: she wanted me to see; to provoke me, to entice me. Oh, naughty Marilyn! Naughty! Naughty! Naughty!
As if reading my mind, Rose’s motion quickens with the intensity of my fantasy, bubbling me up until the sweet moment of release. I clamp my eyes shut then, not wanting to see what happens to it all. I can feel it cascading like a fountain, into an enclosed area with no gravity, but in my blissed out semi-conscious state, how and where he gets rid of it all is of no concern to me. I just drift back off into my most peaceful and contented sleep of the voyage.
I wake to wonder if we might get into trouble for doing this, but soon put it out of my head. No one gives a fuck what we get up to; I doubt many of them even know that we’re here. As far as they’re concerned, the only relevance of the hindmost section is that it contains the boat’s supply of alcohol; all of the beer and bourbon housed in an empty torpedo chute, which I know the crew would rescue before us if there is ever a fire here.
I run my fingers through the thick mat of dark hair. It’s softer than it looks, glossy and surprisingly pleasant to the touch. I still want it gone; there’s no way I’m doing this with all that there.
Every sensation is pleasurable now: the warmth of the water – which isn’t exactly in limitless supply around here – the soft creamy texture and light yet manly smell of the soapy foam, and most of all the firm, muscular shoulders of my bunkmate as I slather it on. And the bubbly globules of foam that drift up to float around, eddying and swirling all about us, make me think of the old Ibiza rave parties that my grandfather once told me about. I wonder if I will ever dance with Rose, in public, or if this is all we’ll ever have. If it is, I’ll make the most of it.
I use a brand new razor blade. Practically brand new at least, having shaved myself with it – my face – just a few moments ago. Rose voices no concern about me using the same one; that would be churlish given what we are about to do.
My hand is shaking, whether through excitement, anticipation or nerves I know not; probably a mixture of all these. My first stroke is therefore faltering and ineffectual, stopping and starting and jarring. As soon as a channel of foam is removed and I see some smooth bare skin, a cluster of little red dots appear in the area I’ve just gone over. They gently rise up in front of my face. Rose is wincing.
“Oh no, Rose, I’m sorry!”
“Shh…,” he says, “It’s okay, carry on.”
I kiss the wounded area better, and lick away the droplets of blood. Rose shudders. In pain? He moans, a happy moan. Not pain. I do it again. The excitement rises in both us; this could escalate right now. But no, not while he’s still so hirsute.
My insides are flip-flopping but my hands are steady. I relax and complete the job with confidence and composure, and a succession of sweeping yet gentle strokes leaves Rose’s back as smooth and hairless as that of any woman. Almost.
I take a moment to survey my handiwork with a strange little mixture of pride and lust, as I feel myself getting ready. I kiss again, I lick again, Rose shudders again, but this time I don’t stop or pull away. I nuzzle my smooth face into that smooth back, smooth like a woman. I embrace from behind, spooning in, my hairy chest becoming one with that hairless back, and I push. Gently at first, timidly, but then with ever greater vigour and reckless abandon, I push. I push.
Even way out here at the ass end of the ship, we feel the buzz of excitement, the muted jibber-jabber from up front carrying the length of this narrow metal tube. We have a sighting, more; a close encounter. We are engaging the cold enemy for the very first time.
We stalk up to them from behind an asteroid, and they have no idea. Our crew, all except me and Rose, are presented with a clear and unobstructed view of the flank and underside of the Alpha Centaurian ship. We shoot, repeatedly, a succession of direct hits, but the cold enemy vessel does not explode, nor show any damage whatsoever, other than the damage to their captain’s reputation. The only shots are with a camera, and our mission is accomplished. Our captain will get yet another medal for this victory; taking photographs of a spaceship that looks pretty much like every other one we’ve seen. This is it. This is the culmination of years of training, billions of dollars, and months in deep space. This is it. A look at a tube of metal not dissimilar to the one we reside in, and rear dwellers like Rose and myself are denied even that glory. This is it.
I feel cheated. Where is the chaos? Where is the fight? I signed up to fight. Oh, do not mistake me for an effeminate man because of what I’ve done; there is no gentleness in me! I am a creature of wrath and rage and I crave the chaos and the fight. You can’t train a man – I am a man! – you can’t train a man to stalk the enemy with a view to kill and then make him ask them to say ‘cheese!’ when he finds them. You can’t keep a fucking tiger – I’m a fucking tiger! – you can’t keep a fucking tiger in a metal cage for months, showing it pictures of a bison every day, and then let it out and expect it not to the rip that fucking bison to fucking shreds! I want to rip that alien ship to shreds, I want to punch a big fucking hole in it and watch it explode!
I imagine the chaos on the photon torpedoed craft as the damage overwhelms them. I see those little green men wounded by the blast, sucked out into cold space and waiting for death. I hear their sobs and them crying out for whatever creatures they call their mothers. I imagine that there is a primed weapon in the launching chute and not just the crew’s supply of booze. I crave the chaos. I have an uncontrollable compulsion to rebel. So I take two cans of beer out of the chute, one for me and one for Rose, a small act of defiance as pathetic and pitiable as anything I’ve ever done.
“Captain won’t be happy if he sees us with these,” says Rose.
I wink, and take a languid, luxurious swig. “Fuck him.”
“He wishes,” says Rose with that coquettish grin of his.
I down the rest of my can in one, a proper frat boy chug a lug, and after that macho gesture my craving for chaos is sated, my masculinity restored. I no longer feel any obligation to act in a manly way, so I lie down on my front on Rose’s bunk and pout as I look over my shoulder at him. “I’m ready to let you be the boy this time.”
We soon learn that both Rose and I like it even better this way. For him that’s to be expected; he has a wife and two children that he’ll return to after we get back to Earth. It’s more of a surprise to me, and makes me re-evaluate just who and what I am. I am still a man. I am still a tiger. But I am so grateful to Rose for assuaging my anger, for chasing my hatred out of me. I l-. I l-. I like him very much for doing that. I like him very much indeed.
Rose is writing a letter. Such a quaint and endearingly old-fashioned form of communication, when everyone else contacts their loved ones by video link. Except me; I don’t have any.
I’m too nosey not to look over Rose’s shoulder when he writes. It’s a letter to his wife. I can’t expect him not to write it, but it still sends me into a jealous rage. I snatch it away and tear it up, and Rose is livid. He takes a swing to slap me – slap me! – but I’m bigger and stronger than he is. I grab his arm and twist it behind his back, then push him down on to the bunk, where I punish him with short-arm digs in the ribs. But he takes it without a whimper, and despite being the aggressor, it’s me who is crying. I step away and Rose sees that I’m in need of comforting, which he then provides, in the usual way.
It’s nearly over. No matter how big and strong you are, or how many times you’ve been into space, this part is always terrifying and deeply uncomfortable. The heat within our spaceship rises to unbearable levels as we scorch through into the Earth’s atmosphere. Rose and I have stripped down to our underwear, not for lustful reasons this time, but because we feel like we are melting, burning alive. The only physical contact between us is to hold one another’s hands for reassurance.
A little bit of light permeates the vessel. “Sky!” someone shouts, but can’t elaborate. All dialogue is quickly curtailed, G-force ramming any further speech back down his throat. My stomach lurches as the feeling of heat is superseded by the sense of incredible speed. The rocket is in free fall, hurtling towards the surface at terminal velocity, and despite all the calculations and promises, it feels like we must surely die.
I squeeze Rose’s hand, and he squeezes back. I turn to him and our eyes meet. There are tears in his, and I realize, mine too. And then the impact: massive, jarring, violent, but not fatal. The rocket plunges into the Pacific Ocean, the only target big enough to entrust our navigator to hit. Our space rocket turns into a submarine as we sink into the depths beneath the waves, and the disorientation of the sudden change is made tolerable only by the presence of my soul mate. And as my equilibrium gradually restores, I become more aware of my and his near nakedness, and the fact that these could be our last moments together. It will be hours before we arrive at the coast.
We rise to the surface, and I don’t know if it’s the motion that makes me feel sick, or the thought of this tour of duty coming to an end. Those at the front whoop with joy that they can see the sky, and the shore, and that big fucking tower, and endless crowds of thousands of people. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to get off. I think I might be crying, but Rose says nothing. Ever the gent, he also tries not to look too happy and excited about our homecoming, but I can tell he is. He will go back to his Earthbound family and his Earthbound life, and if we are deployed on different star ships for our next tour, he will find another me. But I do not know if I will ever find another Rose.
Was my house always this big? How did it get so huge and imposing? It looms over me like a colossal brick behemoth, somehow furious and not in the least bit welcoming. I scuttle through the door, aware that it looks and feels like the edifice is an insatiable predator, and that I am being ingested through the creature’s mouth. Inside, all the fixtures and furnishing are in the same place but somehow different. There is no sense whatsoever that I own anything here, they are merely objects occupying space, much like myself, only everything else, even under a layer of dust, seems more at home than I do.
The night-time is okay, I never was afraid of the dark, but the ghosts and monsters haunt me with the rising of the sun, the daylight scorching my retinas and exposing vast swathes of emptiness all around me. I cannot face it. I will not face it.
Snug now. Comfortable. Safe and warm, down the stairs, losing myself in the inky blackness, finding solace in the pressure of walls, doors, and the underside of the stairs always touching me. They will never abandon me, they hold me tight, squeezed into this tiny little alcove where nothing bad can ever happen because there isn’t the space for it to do so. I think I’ll just stay here. Yes. I think I’ll just stay here. Down in my basement, like the back of the rocket. It’s the only way I can feel safe and secure.
I usually ignore the door, preferring to stay in my subterranean airtight haven, but something compels me to respond to the bell this time. Nevertheless, I prepare myself for a religious fanatic or an unscrupulous salesperson, trying to decide whether to greet them with veiled sarcasm or outright hostility. Instead, what I see when I open the door turns my world upside down. It’s the man I love, my Rose, with a single suitcase and that smile I could never resist. Before I know it, he is in my arms, my mouth meeting his, and all my isolation and agoraphobia lifted away. Finally, we are home.
Be a good girl and get on the bed. Lie nice and flat for me pet. I’m going to tie you down now.
Ohhh, I see you like the thought of that. And you like the thought of obeying me even more, don’t you? Even before I start, the acts of submission and obedience bring you such pleasure, don’t they? You probably even think that’s the greater part of the pleasure. But by the time I have finished with you sweet pet, you will know what pleasure really is.
I shouldn’t really need to tie you down at all, if I simply tell you to keep still, you will try. You will try so very hard to keep still, sweet pet, but these restraints are to keep you in place if you lose control of your body, and buck and writhe in unendurable pleasure. And you WILL buck and writhe in unendurable pleasure, sweet pet, when I have a treat for you.
Ah, there you are, all strapped in, arms and legs splayed, completely at my mercy. You look so heavenly when you are completely at my mercy, sweet pet. I think I shall enjoy this almost as much as you do.
You do not have permission to speak. But you do have permission to make noises, to emit gasps, and sighs, and moans, and screams of pleasure. And you WILL emit gasps, and sighs, and moans, and screams of pleasure, sweet pet, when I have a treat for you. Even though I’m not even going to touch you at first.
I bring my face close to yours, so that our lips are so nearly touching. But not quite. Instead, the delicious electric spark of mutual desire crackles between us. I look into your eyes, fall into them, drown in them, and see my own adoration reflected back. But I do not touch you. Not yet.
My hands circle millimetres above your heaving breasts, massaging the aura of your arousal. Your nipples harden so thoroughly, grow so big, that they seem to be stretching up to try and reach my hand. But instead they are gone, replaced by my face, which excites you further. I breathe in your scent, that intoxicating cocktail of perfume and arousal, and breathe out onto the bullet-like buds of your nipples. Your reaction makes me furiously hard, but I pull away. One of us has to have some self-control.
I continue to blow on your divine body, pursed lips distributing cooling air all the way down to your belly button. I linger there for a few tantalising moments, before I move further down and find myself gazing enraptured into the inviting paradise of your pussy, so close I can already taste you. The tiniest flick of my tongue would drive it into you. But instead I penetrate you with air, blowing firmly and evenly into you. And I penetrate you with tone and vibration, humming and growling at your entrance, and your pussy twitches and gurgles with every low, deep rumble.
You moan again, with frustration, as I move away. I did not give you permission to moan with frustration, only pleasure, so that transgression will require a spanking. Had I access to your backside I would put a handprint on it right now. Instead your punishment will be deferred, but rest assured sweet pet, you WILL be spanked for this.
But for now I settle for teasing and tormenting you still further. I hum and blow my down your gorgeous legs, tickling your skin with my breath and tantalising you with my proximity. And then I arrive at your feet. Such cute and dainty feet! I purse my lips again and blow ever so gently on your soles, almost a whistle. You curl and crunch your toes, it’s a slight movement, but it’s about as much as your restraints will allow, so I know you’re feeling it.
I feel it too pet, that urge to touch. And I can now, having gone all the way down your body without touching, I can take the hands-on approach on my way back up. Or a tongue-on approach. Oh pet, I have a treat for you.
I lick the soles of your feet, savouring the flavour as you squirm and purr to my touch. I suckle at each perfect toe as I run my fingertips up and down your shins and calves, luxuriating in the silky smooth sheen of your skin, before tickling the back of your knees, drawing a whimper that makes me grin.
I finish with your feet and look up to watch each hand scuttling up your inner thighs like two five legged spiders, leaving trails of tingles as they plot their inexorable course for where you want them to be.
I run my fingers in an arc around your eager pussy in ever decreasing circles, a hypnotic spiral of pleasure for us both to sink into, until I reach the middle, that sweet, inviting entrance. And when I get there, I have a treat for you.
I continue to circle, but now it’s just on that one sweet spot, fingertips teasing and tweaking on that sensitive clit, rubbing the nub, rubbing rubbing, teasing tweaking, over and over. I am in no hurry, sweet pet.
And finally I sink my fingers deep into that dripping pool, probing, exploring, finding every sweet spot and giving it my full attention, maximum stimulation, rubbing pinching thrusting, teasing tickling thrusting, stroking poking thrusting, thrusting thrusting thrusting, thrusting thrusting thrusting, thrusting thrusting thrusting.
I revel in the sweet joyous aria you sing to me, a symphony of ecstasy. It makes me forget myself. I bring my fingers, soaked in you, to my mouth, and suck. You taste like heaven, sweet pet, like hope, like joy, like love. And even though it’s you who lies there bound and compliant, it is me who is weakening.
I can no longer fight the urge to suckle. I need to sample this nectar straight from the source. I bring my face in close, breathe you in, and kiss. A kiss on the lips, so gentle, a mark of my devotion. And then a furtive flick of my tongue, a lightning raid into your inner sanctum, an all too brief taste of paradise. It’s not enough.
I grab at your ass, each peachy cheek gripped in one strong hand, and I lift you towards me as I press my face into you, tongue fully extended and drinking you in. I lap and lap and lap, a sinewy serpent sliding into you, reaching deep, arousing you, stimulating you, tasting you, loving you. I start to alternate between those long, loving licks, and rapid fire quick flicks on the nub, over and over, lick flick, lick flick, lick flick, until I feel you shudder and hear you moan as you squirt so hard into me, hitting the back of my throat, and I drink it down so greedily and gleefully.
I continue moving up, my tongue circling your belly button, before I lick a trail up towards your breasts and allow myself an awestruck gasp of appreciation when I get there. Forgetting myself, I bury my head in between them, and it feels like home. I lose myself in the soft warm darkness, but bring my hands up to knead and caress them, the thumbs working away at the nipples for your pleasure. And when I finally manage to pull my head away, it’s so I can take those beautiful breasts in my mouth, sucking hard, suckling hard, adding in sharp little nibbles and gentle bites, little bursts of pleasure pain for your delectation. And then I so the same up your neck, licking kissing biting, licking kissing biting, licking kissing biting, until we are face to face once more.
Oh, that face! On my tour down and up your body, I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are. That face I can’t resist. That face I fell in love with. I get caught in your gaze and want to stay there forever. Your eyes draw me in, closer, closer until our lips meet. And we kiss. Gently at first, almost incongruously sweet and shy, little rosebud pecks to ramp up the anticipation. And then with ever greater passion and energy, need rising in both of us as our tongues intertwine, and we go at one another with ravenous ferocity, deep, longing kisses, an exchange of auras, a meeting of souls.
I am desire, distilled into its purest form. I must have you. And above all, I must give myself to you completely. I have a treat for you.
I finally pull out my hungry, desperate cock. It is larger than I’ve ever seen it, pulsating and raging, the head so engorged that I can’t see how it will fit into you. I look into your eyes and see my own need reflected in them. You crave this as much as I do, don’t you pet?
I push my cock very gently at your opening and your lips eagerly clamp down on my throbbing helmet. I hold it there while my fingers play with your nipples again, and I lean in for another kiss. Our lips meet, our tongues meet, and it feels so right.
And I push my cock in. Firmly but smoothly, I push my cock all the way in. Reaching so deep, filling you so completely, wanting you so much. The time for gentleness is over, sweet pet.
My instincts take over, my self-control in tatters, and my push turns into a slam, a thrust of lust, all my power, all my energy, all my aggression, every ounce of strength I have, every muscle in my body, concentrated on propelling my cock into you with awesome force and velocity. Ram slam, ram slam, ram slam, in out, in out, in out, hitting you hard, hitting you deep, hitting you places you’ve never been hit before.
And you thrust your body back at me with equal force and voraciousness, fighting so hard against your restraints that I think you might break them. But you are held, dear pet, bound to me, and it is I who will bring you pleasure. Ram slam, ram slam, ram slam, so deep, so good, so close. Ohh god, so close!
I feel you shuddering to your own earth-shattering orgasm, and it triggers mine. Your pussy clamps round my aching cock and squeezes, squeezes, squeezes. I throw my head back and let out a feral, stentorian roar as my cock releases, oh that incredible release! A jet, a torrent, a tsunami of cum shooting into you in ecstatic waves, over and over, pumping my seed into you, filling you so completely, so deliciously, so deliriously. I hear music, I see colours, I see Heaven, and after a moment when my head clears, it’s even better. I see you.
I lean in and we kiss again, keeping it gentle this time as we both bask in the afterglow, before I pull away and catch you in my gaze.
You have permission to speak now pet, but only to thank me.
Thank me pet.
For she’s the girl that rules my world and keeps me in my place
Sits regally upon the eager throne that is my face
I lick her till my tongue goes dry, to make her; make her wetter
I would do all this and more to serve her; serve her better
To be restrained, all bound and chained for hour after hour
That urge to spill, and all free will, devoured by her power
My cock that’s locked in chastity ensures I can’t forget her
I would do all this and more to serve her; serve her better
And every day I will obey that longing to submit
She’s my queen, my dominant dream, and I’m her little bitch
So if she wants to strap it on and be the boy; I’ll let her
I would do all this and more to serve her; serve her better
This is what I’m living for: to serve her; serve her better
This poem came from the charity anthology, Coming Together: In Verse. Amazon link below, and look out for Volume 2 coming soon.