It is too much, and you fall backwards, arms open, into a pool of warm glowing water as the muscles tighten, knotting up, and then release, over and over and over again, pulsing with orgasms so strong that you cannot help crying muffled into my hand. You whole body shakes as you close your eyes tightly against the blinding sensation. For a moment you know only pleasure, pleasure so intense it sears you, it strikes a line of fire from between your legs up through the center of your body and to the tips of your toes.

When you open your eyes it is an eternity later and you are struggling to regain your breath.

 
The terror that floods you also sends a pulse of moisture to your vagina. With one hand still on your mouth, I take the vibrator with the other, shutting it off and restoring it to the nightstand.  You instinctively spread your legs. I strike your vulva with my hand in quick successive strokes. You whimper and struggle against me.

And then you undo my pants, freeing my erection, and the lines between fantasy and reality blur deliciously.

"Now it's your turn," you say.

I one swift motion I fill you and take your breath away.

You are so right for me.

You feel all the muscles inside of you tighten and rise, and you arch your back to receive it better, squeezing your legs together. Your whole body is alive with light and you reach for its burning center, your breath quick, your body hot, the perspiration forming on your forehead.

Do you pretend you cannot hear the key turn in the front door? Is it your imagination? Are you that deep in your fantasy? Are you willfully ignoring reality? Or are you hopeful....

Do you hear soft footsteps in the bedroom? Do you hear someone or is it your imagination? Do you feel the heat of another human body?

A hand comes quickly over your mouth to muffle your startled cry. You open your eyes wide and to your wildest dreams come true, you are confronted with my eyes, which are bright and intense. Fire instantly surges between your legs, your vagina contracts as the orgasm rises inside of you like a tidal wave, a tsunami of pleasure about to wreck your entire body. The fulfillment of your greatest fantasy pushes you to an edge you never knew you could achieve and m your body threatens to betray you.

"Don't do it," I say, and your eyes widen with a panic you have secretly longed for. You gesture to remove the vibrator, but I force your hand to stay, pressing the vibrator harder against your clitoris. I lean in and whisper, "My princess deserves to have all her dreams come true."

You can taste me, you can taste the wetness on my erection, the drop of arousal pearled on the head of my penis. You imagine me whispering to you, touching your hair, and it sends you spiraling into a pool of light as you press the vibrator harder against your clitoris, pulling back its hood so that the bundle of nerves receives the sensations fully and completely.

As you press one finger into your vagina, and then another, you imagine the crush of my muscle penetrating you deeply, you know it becomes slick and sticky.

You press as deeply as you can and then remove your fingers, putting them to your mouth so you can taste yourself, and you imagine me tasting you as I put my face between your legs and instead of a vibrator, you imagine it's my tongue against your clitoris.

Or you imagine that I have come home, that I have come upon you as you are right now in bed, that I am now watching to see if you will do it, if you will disobey me and give yourself a forbidden orgasm. And then what? Would the sight drive me so mad with tension that I would take you right away?

In your fantasy I do just that.

Sometimes I quietly step close to you and stroke your face, and as you are startled, I whisper how you shall be punished for your transgression.

Sometimes I simply take you, descending upon you, pinning your arms to the mattress as I free my erection from my fly, and, without undressing, thrust my throbbing member into you. You cry out but I put a hand over your mouth, and I take you mercilessly as you plead your apologies. They go unanswered.

You know my body so well, you know my skin so intimately, you have admired my face so deeply that you can see it clearly now, that you can imagine my eyes upon you. You can smell my skin, you can smell the heat between my legs, you can hear my breathing, you can hear the way I cry out when I orgasm deep inside of you.

You open the nightstand drawer to retrieve your vibrator, your desire driving you out of submission. How would he know? And, you muse, so what if he does know? You adore the punishment just as much as you adore the praise, and sometimes you misbehave intentionally. You turn the vibrator on and press it to your clitoris as you imagine me striking your buttocks with a flat, firm palm.

What if, while you close your eyes in self-indulgence, I come into the room as silent as a jaguar hunting prey and I lean against the wall and watch you? It is your greatest recurring fantasy. Sometimes you are lying outside in a gorgeous field of flowers and sometimes you are lying on the kitchen floor, but always you imagine me watching you without your knowledge. You imagine my erection pressing against my pants as I watch you flatten a hand against your abdomen, arching and writhing as the tension builds between your legs, but I do not touch myself. Instead I fold my arms across my chest, letting my own tension mount through delayed gratification.

In the throes of your own pleasure, you trace your hand from your stomach to your breasts, feeling the rope that divides your body, its touch tight and secure. You wonder, did I know that its pressure against your skin would serve as arousal just as much as it would serve as a collar? Suspended between these two acts of bondage, you cup and then pinch the nipple of one breast before moving to the other. You imagine that your hands are mine, that I have commanded you to bring yourself to orgasm and that as the vibrations bring the blood to your sex, you imagine I am touching you all over, perhaps slapping one of your breasts, perhaps putting my fingers in your mouth, perhaps pulling back your head with a firm tug of hair, your body still yours though your mind be consumed otherwise.

Your imagination as well as your need to please abounds, you continue to imagine…. He could secure a rope between your legs with it, pulling it tightly against your crotch, splitting your labia, pressing against your clitoris. You wonder, would he tie your arms behind your back? Would he bind your breasts so that they swell?

You are descending down a spiraling staircase lined with thoughts of me, and you are moved to the bed. You imagine me spreading your labia to place the rope between your lips before attaching it to the rope around your waist. You let yourself touch your lips, and closing your eyes, you part them with your fingers, stretching your vagina open.

What would I do now? Would I examine your hole, slick with arousal, and determine it deserving of my penis? Or would I decide to take another hole instead? Would I grab your legs and force them over your head, would I slap with my belt your outstretched vagina?

You pull back on your clitoral hood, exposing the tiny pink pearl inside. You tap it with your finger, and the jolt of sensation sends a twitch through your body. Your vagina grows wetter and you feel a thump of blood pump between your legs. You press a finger into yourself, smelling the organic heat of your arousal. When you remove your finger, it pulls silky strands like a spider's web. You think, if I were to put my penis inside of you right now it would feel absolutely divine, we would be operating as designed, your arousal lubricating my entry, our bodies matched like puzzle pieces.

It is later in the afternoon and you have spent the day trying to ignore the sex parts which you hunger for even more upon prohibition. You have been thinly successful, desperately distracting yourself with books and chores, the rope against your skin acting as a barrier between your desires and mine.

By now, however, you are positively humming with sexual energy. You stretch in front of the mirror, going up on your toes as if you were a dancer. You admire the way your muscles flex, the way the rope accentuates your waist, the way your body meets in a dark patch of curly hair. Holding up your arms, you admire the shape of your breasts, the shape of your face, the shape of your buttocks as you turn.

It is the regard with which I behold you that has made you so vain. Sometimes when you look into my eyes you see your own reflected back, and you are Narcissus leaning into the pool. Now you imagine me watching you, my eyes roving over your body, my penis hardening between my legs. You know the power of your mere image, you know the way I change, the way I tense when you remove a last article of clothing. You have seen me change when you move a particular way, when you use a particular voice, when you wear a particular outfit, and if we are in public, I put my hand on your neck, and you feel it - you know. You think about the way I look at you as you dance slowly to music you imagine dripping melted wax, and you indulge in the figure that moves with you in the mirror.

The rope hugs your skin deliciously, its ends dangling from a skilled knot. If I were there you imagine I could grab these ends and pull you towards me or I could tie you kneeling to the bedpost. You wonder which I will choose when I return.

Today I will be gone all day.

I left before the sky could lighten, and gently woke you to issue the commands you are to obey in my absence.

Like a parent handling a drowsy child, I removed your sparse clothing. I looped a length of silk rope around your waist and secured it snugly, whispering into your ear that it was to serve as a reminder of my ownership.

As ordered, you are to remain undressed save for the rope, which is just tight enough that you cannot forget its presence.

As I tangled my fingers in your dense pubic hair, I whispered further instructions.

"You are not to cum today. That's mine to have when I return."

In the darkness you protested, begging that you cannot think of me without touching yourself, that you cannot touch yourself without coming to orgasm, and that, most of all, you cannot help thinking of me. I know your sexual appetite is vast, perhaps even totally insatiable, and that, most of all, you live to be filled by me.

"Then don't think about me." I said nothing more and left.

With one last gentle stroke across your cheek, I cease, and lean in to take your lips in a soft full kiss. The taste of you fills my mouth and it is like water falling onto my parched tongue.

"Still not breathing," I tease. You realize you've been holding your breath. You sigh gratefully and your body relaxes. You are back.

But not for long.

I untie your wrists and remove the blindfold. You stare deeply into my eyes and even without me touching you, you feel profoundly comforted, protected, and supported. But there is something else there and you know what it is. Play time is far from over.

I tell you to roll onto your stomach, and as you obey you find yourself once again entering that soft darkness where only I exist, and it is through your complete subjection to my desire that you become more whole.

Because your obedience is just a facade for power, because you know that just as you need me, I would be nothing without you.

I tell you to breathe as I trace the end of my belt over your skin, but you can no longer think as the leather licks your clitoris. Your whole body reacts and you pull your legs together. I tell you to keep them spread. You have disobeyed me. Your punishment falls in one lash across your stomach. You swallow the accompanying cry and dare not move. The leather whispers a thousand promises and as you fall deeper into your darkness, you realize you want it all. You want everything. You want me.

I let the belt fall across your body in symmetric strokes with increasing force. You struggle against your reflexes to pull in to yourself. You want to obey me. You want me to know how good you are. You want me to know that in this place you will follow me to the ends of the earth. Each lash burns, but you am better than your body. You have entered a mind free of all suffering, you are empowered, you are no longer of this world and it is I who has put you here. You adore me for it.

You are a point of burning white light focused between you legs and all your being, all your energy radiates from that place, from the life light inside of you. The belt falls across your labia, striking that soft pink head of nerves, and the flames flare up, engulfing your body, filling you with light which bursts out through the seams of your body.

There is a pause, you do not look at me. Instead you shiver to imagine me stepping away from your body, examining it as a plan forms beneath my eyes. Will I take you? Will I test you?

I tell you to get on your back on the bed and you obey, glancing once into my eyes. They are stern but you can see the light of tenderness inside. You adore me.

I gently place your arms above your head, locking them at the wrists, and tie them together. As I pull the knot through, the end of the rope brushes over your lips, over your stomach, over your breasts, a series of petal soft kisses. I raise your head and place a blindfold over your eyes. You sink further into that soft glowing darkness. Your surrender is complete.

I slide the thong down your legs and again, you feel the moisture rush to your vagina as your final gifts become exposed to me. You are electric with anticipation, your ears sharpening to every little sound. Yet all you can hear is your breath and your heartbeat...and the sound of me loosening my belt from my pants.

I systematically remove your clothing, as if undoing the wrappings from a package. I raise your arms and pull your shirt over your head, I undo your jeans and tug them down to your ankles, and tell you to step out of them as they pool on the floor. I unhook your bra and you are naked save for a dainty lace thong. I tell you to bend over on the bed. You do.

I part your legs like a honey bee seeking nectar from a flower and pull the strip of fabric to one side of your lips. You suck in a breath as I spread your lips, examining the hole which is already slick with wetness. You know you need not voice your desire for me to penetrate you. You know I can smell the hunger between your legs. Will I let you have it? Do you deserve it?

I release the thong. I tap your mound with an open palm, not quite a slap, but it sends a jolt of painful pleasure through your body, firing up your skin with electricity. You fall deeper into the velvet darkness, your mind untangles from your body, held only be a thread, a nerve that pulses in time with the blood that engorges your sex organ.