Dreams & Absinth In Seattle
I open the door and am pleased to see that he hasn't been able to move an inch. I admire my handiwork, a male slave, tightly bound, blindfolded, jaw forced open with a large ring gag. I admire the massive plug, so much larger than his cock, forced deeply into his ass. Admire the catheter that allows me to leave him for so very long without worrying about a mess. I bound him and left for a day and night with the latest in a long string of lovers, left him to think about me and my betrayal of him as I fucked another.
I move close to him, I am dressed to kill and I know that my scent is of sweat and sex, but I don't let my body sensually touch him. I much prefer to deny him all sexual touch. I remove the plug from his ass; delighting in the discomfort it must cause, and I slowly release him from bondage.
I'll work his ass again later, perhaps a plug, maybe I'll explore with a long handled dildo. For a while he can enjoy an empty ass, but I will open it again for I simply hate the idea of his fuckhole ever being closed.
I comment about the fucking I received and smile inwardly as he groans.
Eventually he is unbound, the gag and blindfold are removed. His catheter bag is quite full; I remind him that later he will be drinking it. I need him to humiliate himself for me and delight in the fact that he does so with amazing willingness. He'll drink his own piss simply because I tell him to do so, but even more importantly, he'll find joy in doing it for me.
I brought condoms home from my tryst and gave them to him for cleaning. The wetness from my body and the cum from my lover, both combine to make a perfect meal for my slave. I look into his eyes as his tongue lovingly licks my lovers cum and I know that he is truly mine.
I am a dominatrix, he my little fairy. I wonder though, is he real, or is he an absinthe-induced fairy? I do sometimes wonder if it even matters.
Comments
Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.
Posted by: s.m. | February 22, 2010 10:47 PM
sm,
Indeed, a most wonderful spirit.
M
Posted by: Milliscent | February 23, 2010 6:25 PM
this sense of capture. a full day and one-half would break me. to keep me, not kill me, a lesser time?
'to keep me', of course, would mean for the purpose you find: for control, for transformation, for reckless whim, for vain pleasure, for discipline, for money, out of boredom with life, in order to build a business, to be free of men and their social control over women.
i would not be drunk, but aware. jaw kept open. genitals in chastity. sphincter open-wided by a plug.
rubber bag with my own piss accumulated but warm tubed into my throat. because you will it and want to see me drink my waste, thus become waste.
and - ah - if the condoms you bring were tied but slippery with yourself and sucked by me as a filled balloon, then opened, some strange masculine seed coating my teeth and lingering.
you do bring out the queer in me, the pansy, the nancy who honors Woman by fearing her control over the cluster of other, weak, males whose lipstick i need to lick or whose stiffness i feel i must take deep.
For you. in response to your power. (despite my excitement, i am quite afraid.)
Posted by: kj | February 23, 2010 7:03 PM
kj,
Change you. For is that not the fundamental goal of the dominatrix when it comes to the training of her playthings? She changes them to suit her whims.
I do find the mixture of fear and passion to be the most exciting mixture of all!
M
Posted by: Milliscent | February 24, 2010 6:21 PM