[BDSM] 2nd person utter weirdness

View previous topic View next topic Go down

[BDSM] 2nd person utter weirdness

Post by sinistra_blache on Fri Mar 07, 2014 1:10 pm

You don’t really know what’s come over you. It started as a fleeting thought on your way past the bedroom to the bathroom. It grew into an idea while you flushed the toilet and washed your hands meticulously.

It had blossomed into a full-blown obsession by the time he makes it back home.

It’s different, being the one waiting for him to come home and not the other way around. Usually you’re bone-tired and happy to be home at this time of the evening. Usually he’s kneeling in the hallway, waiting for you - or already setting the table for dinner. He’s good like that. He’s good in a lot of ways.

Which is probably why this is happening in your brain. Usually when you do something you never thought you would do it has something to do with Being In Love. Which, hilariously, is something you never thought you were capable of.

This and all your recent stumbles into sentiment, it’s all his fault and yours. And you feel like you should be angry but you can’t arrive at that emotion without a serious amount of effort.

He opens the door and drops his shoulder bag to the floor and you’re still looking in the other direction, towards the kitchen, having decided moments before the door opened that you’ll get take-out. You’re just trying to figure out what. You’ll make the call - or, rather, he’ll make the call.

You’ve been silent too long. “Sir?” he says, worried because he thinks you’re worried. You turn and smile at him. It doesn’t seem to reassure him. It never does, before he knows for sure what’s going to happen.

You tell him that you know he’s tired, trying to be as accommodating as possible. You know it puts him on edge, when you’re pleasant, and you know that he likes being on that edge. You tell him that you want him to get undressed and wait for you in the bedroom. To get a plug, pick which one he likes the look of for tonight, and get ready. You reassure him that you’ll be right behind him.

He pauses. You tilt your head and wait. “Yes, sir,” he says dutifully if slowly. You want to rush to him and pull his hair and kiss him and hit him just so that he makes those noises he makes because you love him so much. But you don’t move. You just watch him while he walks by you and goes into the bedroom. He’s unbuttoning his shirt when you walk in the opposite direction.

If you have this planned correctly, everything should be okay. But you’ve never done this before. And it’s throwing you off balance. It’s not unpleasant, however, stepping into new territory. It’s just what it is; new.

You’re half-undressed, with a shirt on and pants off, when you’ve finished what you needed to do. When you get into the bedroom you find him, as ordered, naked and waiting and nearly ready. He’s on his hands and knees. In different circumstances, it would be perfect.

You place a hand on his ass. He jumps. You laugh, once. You tell him to lie down. Like everything else in your life, ever, you spent too long picturing what you expect to happen. You know what you want. You will make it happen. You tell him to spread his arms and keep his legs relaxed.

He moves slowly because he thought he was being a good boy when he picked out one of the bigger plugs, but he does what you say. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The last time you Knew What You Wanted, you made him think you were going to kill him. It’s only natural that he be a little wary. With the history that you share with him, with that wariness, the face that he still does as you ask - well. You’re unsure of what exactly you did to earn this reward in life.

You have to straddle him to cuff him. One handed, you do this. You barely look at what you’re doing because with your other hand you have to make sure he’s more than just nearly ready. A drop of slick lands on his stomach and he looks up at you with shock and surprise and utter silence and he knows, he knows, but he’s just as intrigued as you are. You can tell. He pulses and thickens in your hand, proving it.

You wonder if he’s ever fucked a man before.

You wonder if he’s ever taken anyone’s virginity before.

It’s a little ridiculous, you think, to feel nervous. You’ve talked enough people through their first time to know what to do. Yet here you are. Ignoring it entirely, if only because if you seem nervous then he’ll get more and more nervous, you take a deep breath and sit back while you line him up.

“Sir,” he whispers, actually whispers. “If I could have my hands, then I could help with that.”

“Shut up,” your voice comes out different, strained, because you’re already starting to sit down onto him. You’re expecting a stretch, you’re expecting pain, you prepared for that. You’re not prepared for the look on his face - that reluctant way he closes his eyes when he loves the way something hurts. He knows better than to look away from you but you adore that reluctance.

Panting and shaky, you reach your other hand to hold his face. His eyes snap open. “Sorry, sir,” he gasps and swallows hard. You watch the muscles in his neck move and work and before you know it you’re wrapping your fingers around it. You don’t squeeze. Not yet.

You don’t answer him, either. You think about it. You think about laying down rules and admonishing him for looking away. You think about how you want to tell him not to come until you say it’s time. You think about all kinds of things. But you’re too preoccupied with breathing and pushing down further and deeper to say anything out loud.

Under your hand, he swallows again. “Sir,” he moans. It’s beautiful. You dig your fingernails into his neck. He moans again, wordlessly.

Once you’ve managed to sit down onto him completely, both of you need a break. You’ve never felt this full - at least not in this way. It hurts. You’ve never been one to enjoy any kind of pain, you prefer to think that you endure it when necessary, but this is... It’s enjoyable. There are other sensations going on that make the pain manageable and sharpen what’s enjoyable.

You breathe. He breathes.

When you ask if he’s alright, it’s not the most eloquent you’ve ever been. Panting and probably red faced. He laughs, breathy and surprised and a little manic, nodding.

He moans again, then bites it off, when you move your hips to test the proverbial waters. Without warning, you have to bow your head against the onslaught of sensation that comes from feeling him jerk and pulse inside of you. That was unexpected.

You start to tell him the rules in your head because you need to get it all out before the both of you get lost. They’re simple. They’re usual. Before you finish talking, his hips stutter and manages to accidentally hit a spot that makes you forget how to breathe.

You hit him, which makes you both gasp, because you have to. You remind him that interruptions of any kind won’t be permitted. He apologises. You accept because you have to, because there’s a shiver threatening to take over your whole body and give you away. You tell him to fuck you.

He starts slow and unsure and a part of you is so grateful for that. He doesn’t, not for a second, fuck up into you the way that you have done him in the past. It’s good. It’s not what you expected. It’s what you need. Your body isn’t accustomed to this kind of thing and, as much as you hate needing it, you do need that slowness and uncertainty.

He only looks away twice and only when his speed picks up and he throws his head back. By then you’re already matching his pace stroke for thrust with one hand. The other is still wrapped around his throat. It tightens whenever he accidentally hits certain spots and makes you more vocal than you’ve been in about fifteen years.

It’s awkward and not the best sex you’ve ever had. It’s probably not the best sex that he’s ever had. Because it is, it feels virginal. Teenage. New and bizarre and with two bodies untrained for the situation but desperately performing the task with stunted intuition.

It feels precious.

You watch his face while you both ride the approaching orgasms. He’s further along than you - somewhere, distantly, you know you must be almost painfully tight - and he’s trying so hard to keep from finishing without you saying so. You lean forward, which deepens the stretch and makes him thrust into you in staccato bursts. It makes your voice harsh and quiet as you murmur to him to come when you do. You tell him you’re close. You tell him how good he’s being, such a good boy, doing what you want to the letter. He moans and thanks you at the same time but you cut it off by finally beginning to choke him properly. His eyes water when you kiss his slack lips.

It’s funny how you didn’t need him to hit special spots or fuck fast or fuck slowly or stay quiet. It’s funny that the one thing that pushes you over the edge is the one thing that you know you wanted all along. You wanted him in your control. You’ll never talk about it, because it’s so obvious, but feeling his pulse flutter inside you and against your palm is the most thrilling high you’ll ever experience. The trust--no, the abandon. It pulls you to the edge and drops you unceremoniously, grunting and coming over his chest and stomach, moaning openly when you tighten unconsciously around him.

You can feel him come inside of you and you’re torn between finding it obscenely inappropriate and finding it to be the most arousing thing you’ve ever experienced.

Before he’s done, seconds before he finishes twitching and jerking helplessly, you let go of his throat and reach behind you to push the plug further into him. He cries out - not a scream, but not a moan and you’re smiling, showing teeth, and loving every second.

You’re still riding him and making him ride the plug by the time he finishes properly and begins whimpering. You feel like your heart is going to explode, it’s beating so fast. Before you do anything else you, slow and teasingly, pull the plug out of him and throw it to the floor. He whines. You bend again and it’s easier without the thrusts and with him very slowly softening inside you. You hold his chin.

You don’t say a word but he thanks you anyway. You tell him that he’s earned dinner in bed with you. That you’re both going to lay in bed until it’s time for a shower and then you’re going to show him how you want to fuck him in return. He shuts his eyes and whispers another thanks and you’re not even sure if he knows he’s doing it anymore and you think his obedience might be the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to you.

When you climb down from him, neither of you say a word but both of you make faces. Role reversal, or the pantomime of it that you both experienced, is bizarre for both.

He leaves the bedroom, naked and dripping, to go get the phone to order dinner and when you tell him that you love him he smiles.

“I hadn’t guessed, sir,” is what comes from his smirking mouth. He’s out of the room before you can throw anything at him, but you both know that as soon as you can stand again he’ll be paying for that remark.

You fall into an afterglow doze, smiling without realising.
avatar
sinistra_blache
RESIDENT VILLAIN SYMPATHISER
RESIDENT VILLAIN SYMPATHISER

Posts : 18300
Join date : 2012-02-21
Age : 30
Location : Earth

Character sheet
Name: Mitz Stillhaven
Age: 21
Class: Engineer

http://filibuster-vigilantly.tumblr.com

Back to top Go down

View previous topic View next topic Back to top

- Similar topics

 
Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum