My conversations with Sir provided me with some interesting masturbation fodder. And there’s one that’s morphed into a total fantasy in my head; it ticks all my boxes and is fast becoming my “go to,” in all its various forms. Of course, the perpetrator is anonymous, but it’s still more intimate than some of my other fantasies.
I’m naked on the bed, on all fours. Watching as he dons black nitrile gloves, and then darkness descends as he positions a blindfold on me, followed by noise-cancelling headphones. I’m reduced to an object for his gratification.
I have to slow my breathing, hold in the panic that could burst out; I trust him, I’m safe. I might not want or like what he’s about to do, but I know I’ll be looked after.
I wait for his hands on me. Pushing, pulling, pinching, probing.
Time slows. All I can do it breathe, or feel. Or not…
Fingers pushing into my mouth, a temporary gag.
Breasts dangling, an easy target.
Digits exploring my cunt, my arse. Helpless to resist.
Pain, a brief burst of pleasure.
I stay in position, trying not to writhe against his ministrations. Or pull away when he is close to my limits.
He gets me at my most raw, most vulnerable, most intimate. Without sight and sound, I process differently. He gets to hear my instinctive, unfiltered reactions.
I’m not allowed to come.
But back in reality I do come, in loud, clenching gasps. The aftershocks keeping going until I’m spent.