I love to make her come. It’s one of my greatest pleasures: But last night it occurred to me that it is really like my other great pleasure: making her cry (not through mental anguish, shame or hurt, but just through physical unpleasantness, with maybe a little added fear and trepidation).
I lay her beside me and put an arm under her neck and then begin to play her with my other hand, waiting for her lips to redden, her legs to stretch and her clitty to unhood itself and decide whether it will be a raisin, a peanut or a grain of rice. I take rosin from inside her or wet her from her own lips. This is the way it happens most of the time. I play the instrument (her), the same way, but rarely do I play the same tune.
I feel utterly selfish about this – just as I do when I hurt her. I can choose if she comes or not. I can take her orgasm as soon as she’s ready – or I can keep her hanging on…
… She knows it’s for me. She knows it’s her gift to me and that she only ever comes, with me, when I want it and, if it happens in her other place, that she will pay.
At the moment the little death strikes she knows she is mine and that I have done this. We both feel a surge of elation. And, I feel power. I did this. She will not get it without me. Her release is in my hand. She feels possessed by me. Only through me can she experience this.
And, I feel almost exactly the same as when I flog her, cut her, pierce her, wax her, spank her, choke her and I see her finally leave me for her own special place or, not reaching that, dissolve into tears. I do this. She has given me the power to do this. She does this only because it pleases me.
Pain or pleasure: It’s only love.
- My orgasms are his (belasarius.com)
- Project Cliteracy (theinnerwildkat.wordpress.com)
- International Clitoris Awareness Week: How Aware Are You? (blogher.com)