So I’m back! I tried a number of times to finish the Florist’s Assistant series, but I just got away from it for too long. Hope you all enjoy this next piece – it’s a sort stream-of-consciousness essay on domination fansies and other things that turn me on. I’m writing the whole thing in one sitting… because I’ve had these thoughts chasing through my mind all day, and I can’t go to sleep Without getting them out…
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if people could hear my thoughts. Today I saw a woman who was every bit of 50 – old enough to be my mother – and still I felt quivers of excitement as she walked in the door. She’s a regular customer at my work… she has thick, dark hair, confident eyes – and her hips! I can imagine my hands on those wide-spread hips as she settlements down against my face, my tongue licking her. Taking off her office clothes to reveal the feminine curves beneath. That’s where I want to be… under her, feeling her weight and warmth. EvenThough her looks aren’t more than “average” to a fashion photog’s eye… to me, she has that magic sensitivity that makes me want to surrender.
What would she feel if she could hear my thoughts? Would she be disgusted? Annoyed? Or aroused? I fantasize about the secret getting out some how… one of her girlfriends telling her over lunch, “Do you know that the guy who works at _______ wishes he was your sex slave?” Would she laugh? Or would plans start to form in her mind, beginning with temptations – imagine: what could I make him do?
The idea of D/s play came to me rather late, I suppose. I always liked strong, bossy women, even before I was old enough to understand what I would want to do with them eventually. When other boys began to take an interest in our Suddenly-softer classesmates, I wanted the aggressive tomboy. Now here I am, nearly 30, still wanting to hear those pushy voices telling me what to do. That purposeful stare in your eyes that says “Get ready.”? Pure poison. I’m licking my lips as I write, getting hard as I write, thinking about my secret crush from work this morning and how I wish she would ask for “extra service.” Oh, I’d give it to her… however she wanted. Massaging her feet and shoulders, even kissing and licking her feet – your feet – I suppose I’ll address you now, because maybe you’re reading this, out there, somewhere, on another business trip, relaxing with a glass of wine and gently brushing your fingers against your panties.
In my fantasy you would have me worship your whole body, starting with soft kisses up and down your neck and shoulders. I’d move down your arms, take your hands, kiss the palms… I lick your fingers and you slap me playfully, warning me not to move too quickly… I imagine dutifully sucking your nipples and kneeing your breasts. A thought floats to the surface of my mind, remembering reading somewhere that the ancient Egyptians depicted pharoahs nursed at the breasts of a goddess… that’s whatere I am now, at the breast of a goddess, noblesed by my servitude. Moving lower, my mouth and tongue trailing over your soft, feminine belly, finally finding my way to the earthy moodness between your legs… to lick your pussy! Pussy, vag, cunt – none of the slang words are good enough for your womanhood. Going down on a woman, to me, is the purest expression of my own submission. Here I am, serving your female-ness, my face and mouth nearly covered. I can’t speak, I breathe only the air that passes through your hair and over your skin, and my mouth, the instrument of my self-expression, is totally devoted to your pleasure. So much fem-dom seems to center around pegging and men’s asses getting fucked by dommes in various ways… but to me, that’s a silly intrusion of male-ness. I want to give myself to a woman. Cover my face with your hungry cunt. Feed me to it.
Are you liking this, Mistress of my dreams? I hope you’re playing with yourself. I want to please you. Next time you see a man who waits on you regularly, will you wonder if he’s me? I hope the thought makes you blush inwardly, and that you have to sneak away to some private place and make yourself cum.
Cum! Another thing. So much chatity in femdom… when to my mind, what could be more subservient than spilling your very life-force for someone? Force me, please… make me do it over and over, make me shoot white ropes onto your breasts and belly or on to myself, and then make me lick it up. That’s why I exist, to cum for you, over and over. Stimulate me until it hurts.
One of the dirty images I have ever seen has no nudity. It simply shows a woman’s legs from the knees down, clad in stockings, crossed as though she’s sitting on a couch. White trails of semen dribble down her calves.
The caption says “Good boy.”
Filthy! I like to imagine myself on my knees, jerking for you, at your command. Make me start and stop as you please. Drag it out, torque me. I love to be teased, I want to be teased. Wet your fingers in your mouth and then cares the tip of my head. Make me beg… Is that what happened to the absent man in the picture? Did he masturbate? Or did he thrust against her legs? I can imagine that, cumming merely from the softness of your thighs. Let me spill my seed in your honor.
I want to be your pussy-slave, I want to please you, I want to worship and please your soft tits and lips, and I want to spill my cum for you, over and over.
Somewhere, I imagine you sipping again from a glass of wine, dipping your fingertips into yourself and smiling contentedly…
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