I have mentioned before the different D/s dynamic in my relationship with W and my relationship with Ad. With W, it is about control, whether that is through the more subtle emotional control that runs like a current beneath and through all our interactions, or the more direct physical control–the subjugation–that comes with ropes and restraint and physical domination; with Ad it is not about control but about pleasure. Sometimes that pleasure comes in the form of BDSM activities, sometimes he hurts me or uses me in rough ways, but it is still and always about pleasuring me. It’s all good–I need both in my life. I need a man that will force me down, bind my wrists, grab a handful of hair and fuck me in the ass; I also need a man that I can turn to and ask to fuck me in the ass for the express purpose of getting me off. Although I may love the ass fucking in the end in the first instance, it isn’t so much as the physical act of it that I crave but an emotional release. In the second it is all about the acute pleasure of the act itself, and of knowing that it turns him on to turn me on that way.
Occasionally, however, Ad crosses that line into outright dominance. Into controlling me physically in a way that has nothing to do with my pleasure. Into ferocity.
Today was one such day.
It’s been a rough few months with the rings healing. I’ve had sex with them a couple times, but mostly the guys have been careful and circumspect in their use of me (rightly so: as W says, it’s an investment.) But I am a pouty girl, and I want to be fucked, and I am tired of being good. (Yeah, so what’s new?)
“Please,” I say this afternoon, “please fuck my ass? Gently…I just…I just want you in me, I want to feel full of you, stretched and opened by you. Please?”
He obliged me, and of course, though he wanted to be gentle, I was soon pulling him into me, begging him to fuck me harder, to ignore the rings–pleas he largely ignored, giving me enough to make me come, howling like a banshee, but not enough to hurt the rings.
I was a satisfied girl, and curled into his side when I was done. I was snoozy, warm, sated. I knew he wouldn’t come doing what we had, and since he’d come that morning I assumed he would let me go to sleep and maybe nap with me.
It was not to be. As my eyes drifted closed I felt his hand in my hair. Not an unusual occurrence, but…there was a difference to him this time. I’d felt the tightly-held control he exerted over himself as he’d pushed slowly into and out of my ass, and I’d felt him swell with excitement inside me as I’d lost my own control. I’d seen the strain in his face not to do what he wanted most: to slam into me, over and over, until he exploded into me. A leashed aggression, barely contained.
He seldom fucks my mouth. In the years we have been together, I know what it takes to get him off with my mouth. I know his body’s responses almost as well as I know my own, and he appreciates that, and allows me to service him, to pleasure him, knowing it pleases me to do so. Today, though, he wanted nothing of me pleasuring him–he wanted to take his pleasure from me.
His hands were hard, implacable, on the back of my head. His cock, so long and thick anyway, was impossibly engorged with his excitement. He lay on his back, but he fucked my mouth, forcing me up and down his shaft as I gagged and choked, with a ferocity he seldom displays. And when he came, it was with his own howl of pleasure, a sound that was torn from deep in his chest and spilled forth into our bedroom, echoing off the walls. Ferocious. Triumphant.