sybariticthrall

[sybariticthrall]

An honest conversation.

CW : CNC, hints of sadism.

"I used to think I could be more."

It was uncharacteristic of me to speak out, especially now, especially in this moment with her senses so completely satisfied. Normally she drifted out the door on a soft cloud of bliss and I never dared interrupt that.

I think I was more surprised than she was. For a second I wondered who it was that spoke. After all, there were only the two of us in the room and it wasn't her.

Some part of me had bent, maybe broken. I didn't know, I didn't even know it which direction it had broken, giving in, or having enough. The words just bubbled out of me.

I heard her stop. I thought she was going to be angry. I felt an urge to preemptively apologize but before I could…

"And you don't, anymore?" She asked, softly, kindness competing with curiosity in her tone.

"I don't know," I answered, "I…"

She walked around to face me. She bent her knees as she sat down on the couch that sat across from me. It was always surreal to me, the way she sat down. It was as though she was a space ship landing, slow, controlled, her shoulders always perfectly level. She put her elbow on her knee and leaned forward, her fingers stroking her chin thoughtfully.

"What did you think you could be 'more' than?" She asked.

I thought for a moment, "This… I guess," I said gesturing as best I could at my circumstances given… well, my circumstances.

"And what would 'more' be?" She asked, "what roads would have led you to other than what you are now?"

"I'm not sure." I said, my mind searching backwards in time looking for a moment I could change, undo. When I found one I'd try to casting it forward into some future point where I was some different, preferable, me. Learning to play the guitar could lead to being a rockstar, staying in college leading to becoming a doctor, dropping out of high school leading to becoming a world traveler.

But in each of them I felt the pull of her. I found myself wondering what songs the rockstar version would write for her. I wondered how doctor me would come to be laying beside her on that cold fateful winter night. How would I, as world traveler me, world-travel to her? I needed to find a time, a moment, before wanting her, and that was finding a time before wanting.

Through all of that undoing and redoing of my life I expected her to grow impatient, it was minutes of silence. I kept glancing up expecting a scowl or scorn, but she was steadfast, patient, unhurried. She never glanced at her watch nor looked toward the door, not once.

Part of me wanted to say, "oh, never mind" but I knew that certainly would irritate her. She'd think, "you've got me here listening, don't waste my time."

Finally I said, "I think it is dumb to say. It sounds so stupid."

"No, it is not dumb. Nothing you are feeling is dumb. Nothing you think is stupid." She reassured, "Please, go on."

"I wondered," I said hesitantly, "if I could be other than who I am. Hell, maybe even other than what I am. A different person, or even. Could I have been be a mouse, or a lion, or… a phoenix."

She thought for a moment, and then started to speak but stopped herself. It was several moments before she found the words to express what she had instantly wanted to say.

"No," she said flatly, "you could not have been anything but who, what you are."

"I don't just mean here… this," I tried to gesture again but the motion hurt.

"I understand, but… There was no you before you. There will be no you after you. There was nothing to become something different, until you were, you."

I felt so conspicuous, like I was a college freshman smoking pot in a dorm room talking about being a mosquito or that there was a universe in my fingertip, and yet. And yet, she was treating it with respect, or at least compassion.

She continued, "It's like looking at a glass of wine spilling across a table and thinking, 'could that spill could have been a dragonfly or an iceberg.' Nonsense, it was a spill from the moment it was anything, and after you've mopped it up, placed the glass shards in the bin and tossed it out, the spill is no more, it will never be anything again. You could have made different choices, but you'd still be you."

"So you think I could never have been anything but this?"

She smiled, a warm smile, a smile I'd seen a dozen times with her friends comforting them in times of crisis, "could you have done other things than this, different things? You are strong, you are capable, you are smart, you are clever. You could do anything, but we aren't what we could do, we aren't even what do, we are what we desire. It is your desire that makes you this."

I thought for a long time, "But you shape my desires, you direct them…"

"Of course I do! As you do mine! As does anyone who cares about their relationships, whatever form they take. And besides, why should I grow a plant in my garden to want other than me?" She made a gesture like a shrug, "But yes,", she continued, "I put you in the sun, I place you in the shade, I feed you and I starve you. And when necessary I prune you. Am I more deliberate, more methodical, more devious, than most? Perhaps, but I am no different."

I was quiet.

She sighed. "I know you hate this."

"I…", I wanted to protest, not because she was wrong but because I wanted to assure her.

She shook her head, "I KNOW you hate this", she leaned forward and ran her hand along my back. I winced at the touch but I pressed into it all the same. "It is why I desire you. It is why I cultivate your wants, to grow them so that they just barely outpace your suffering. My personal Sisyphus on an endless hill."

I looked at her. She pressed her hand into my back, digging her nails into it, it seared, her fingertips were fire.

"I will not, I will never be someone's briar patch," she said contemptuously, "if you didn't hate this, dread it, if it didn't truly sting…" Well, she shrugged.

I looked down, my thighs finally gave out and my arms took the fullness of my weight. Whatever part of me had broken, had infact shattered.

I heard her voice, "You know if you ever want out, I won't stop you. It might take a few days, a week or so to make the arrangements. But you know if you ever find yourself wanting something else… more than just needing to 'want' something else… I won't stop you."

"No," I said my voice a rasp.

She reached her hand out to my face, caressing it tenderly. Her thumb pulling down across my lip, some drool transferred to her finger. I pressed my head into her hand like a cat.

"The girls are coming tonight." She reminded, continuing to stroke my face kindly, "They will be expecting you in your full regalia."

I nodded.

"Do you want me to cancel? I can tell them not to come tonight. Today was a hard… step, for you."

"No," I heard myself say.

"Some of them can be crueler than I," she cautioned.

I shook my head. I flexed my chest and arms pulling myself up to gain a little more air, "no." The idea of her cancelling was too dreadful for me to imagine.

"Stephanie… Steph has asked to end her night with some private time with you. She'll be delighted with my work on your… backside."

I nodded vacantly. Speaking had gotten difficult but I managed a perfunctory, "ok."

She rose in the same spaceship like fashion that she sat down continuing to caress the side of my face. And with the caresses she held my gaze upward and looked gently down into it.

She lingered a moment watching me, watching my eyes for recognition, acceptance. Giving me all the time in the world to lodge protest, to change my mind.

At last she said, "I am going to go have my glass of wine and reflect on the moment we've had here. Then I am going to go clean myself up. I'll fetch you in an hour or so and you can start preparing for their arrival."

She walked past me, letting her finger tips drag faintly across me on her way.

I watched the light on the opposite wall disappear in an arc as she closed door behind her. But just as it was about to disappear completely it stopped.

"You know," she said her voice almost omnipresent, "I'm happy that you need me." And then she was gone, the door still cracked open, a faint ray of light glittered across the wall. I was grateful for the light.

[sybariticthrall]

Boxes

Content-Warning: CNC, smoking, asymmetric non-monogamy.

The below is an absurd little kinky story. I'm not sure what to make of it myself... If you read it, I hope you find it enjoyable, sexy and strange.

I awoke suddenly, there was no good reason for this, there was no loud sound or bright light, no nightmare to startle me awake. I wasn't being chased by killer clowns, I wasn't dangling from a skyscraper.

I was just viscously thrust into consciousness by the realization that I was awake. Some culmination of sensations, each dull and distant in their own right somehow conspired to form a sharp violent awareness.

Turning my head slightly I squinted my eyes. Katie was sitting in the chair beside the bed. Her wavy black hair falling carelessly just above her shoulders. I gave her a little smile and blinked my eyes to bring them into focus… it worked, a little. She was wearing one of my t-shirts, some punk rock concert memento, and from the looks of it no pants. It was her standard morning attire, she had her own t-shirts, but she prefers mine.

I blinked a few more times and my vision improved slightly. Getting a better view of her I noticed the pensive expression on her face, not exactly worried, not concerned, but not relaxed either. Her vape pen was clutched in her hand as it rested across her lap, her other hand laying across it making a criss-cross.

I remembered the sweet strawberry scent fluttering into my dreams. Something was on her mind, she almost never "smoked" in the house, much less the bedroom. But… then again this, was the guest room. Why was I in the guest room?

"Hey," I said, she was still blurry. My voice echoed in a muted flat tone. I reached up to rub my eyes but my hands were stopped with a sharp crack. Something was on my hands, something was on my face! I extended my fingers to try to shake it off but I couldn't feel anything.

Panicked I started to sit up but Katie moved swiftly from the chair to the bed.

"Babe, babe," she said in soothing tones, "babe, shh… it's ok." She placed her hand on my chest. "Shhh." She repeated, "it's o.k." She stroked my chest gently.

My breathing was too fast, I could hear it faintly in that same dull echo I'd heard earlier which only made me breathe faster. Feeling her fingers in my chest hair I tried to steady my panic. I let my head rest backwards into the pillow. But, it didn't reach it.

Instead my head came against some hard flat material, plastic? Glass? I couldn't guess. My rapid breath formed a fog against a wall, a wall inches from my face.

I wondered about air. Could I breathe? I'd had been breathing? My hands pressed down into the bed to try to force myself to sit up, but my fingers didn't reach the mattress. And pressing down tweaked my wrists against some fulcrum. It hurt. I pulled back.

"Shhh, babe, shhh, it's ok. You are ok. Lay back down." She whispered soothingly.

I tried to pull my hands up to look at them but I couldn't. Katie had sat on the edge of the bed. She was leaning over me, her left hand still pressed into my chest, the other holding my right arm down. Her leg sandwiched my right hand, or whatever contained my hand, between her thigh and my leg. Her fingers continuing to make soft clawing motions through my chest hair.

"Babe, shhh, shhh, you are ok." And then more forcefully, "Babe! Look at me!" I looked at her and stopped moving. She continued, "You are OK, alright? Shh. Shh. Everything is fine." And then a moment later, "calm, be calm."

I laid back down and tried to steady my breathing. The echo of my breath remained unsettling. I closed my eyes. My fingers strained to reach fabric, the bed, anything, but there was only empty space or hard plastic. I could feel the force of her leg pressing against me. I reached for that but it was no use.

"Shhh…", she said, "shhh… thats right… just breathe. You are ok. You are ok."

Opening my eyes I turned to look at her. Her face was smiling down at me, a bright smile, an accomplished smile. Her eyes wide and welcoming. "There you go", she said. She reached her hand up to stroke my face but, realizing she couldn't, she stopped herself. Not wanting the aborted gesture to cause me more panic she attempted disguise it with another drag. Strawberry scent again fluttered down on me.

Weirdly this was calming. If I could smell it there was air. Air was important, right? If I could breath I was, well not ok, but closer.

"There ya go," she said again rubbing my chest with her fingernails. "There you go… shhh."

"Katie? What is…", I started to ask, but she shook her head.

"No, not yet," she said cutting me off, "When you've calmed yourself. I'll explain everything but I need you to stop shaking."

She was right, I was shaking. My legs mainly. I took a deep breath. The deepest I could while still hearing the dull echo of the air.

"Shhh." She said a little more absentmindedly this time, it trailed off into another drag. Still concerned, still patient, but also, a little bored.

I focused on breathing, deep breathing, finally I felt the shaking subside. Something about that bored distant tone was centering. If she was bored it couldn't be too bad, and I hated boring her. I took one last deep breath and opened my eyes. I turned back to her.

"There you are!" She said as her smile turned up at the edges. "Hi! That wasn't so bad was it? We got through it, didn't we?"

She leaned back into a more upright sitting position, releasing the pressure on my left hand. I felt her t-shirt slide across my chest. More reality was grounding. I searched for others, the candy vape, her t-shirt, and I could feel the bed and the covers, everywhere but my hands.

With my left hand now free I held it up. A rectangular clear box encased it, sealed at the wrist. It looked like I'd gotten my hand stuck in a remarkably clear cubist peanut butter jar.

I stretched my fingers out as far as I could but I couldn't reach the end. I couldn't tell if was open or closed. I could, however reach the sides of the box. They were cold, smooth, empty, lifeless, perfunctory.

Turning my head back to face her I could see I was looking through a similar box. My head was in an aquarium. She was still wearing that same bright expression. She stared back at me waiting.

"Ok," I said as calmly as I could, "what is…"

"First," she said not letting me finish, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't talk to you about this before I did it. I, if I thought you'd agree I would have… but, I knew you wouldn't, so… so I didn't ask."

There was no reaction. I had no reaction. It explained nothing, so she continued.

"You know, I'm getting together with a lover next weekend. I'm really excited about it. Well, they asked me… they said that they wanted me to 'save myself' for them for a whole week beforehand."

"Save yourself?" I asked, I was really starting to hate the way sound reverberated. Like a ghost saying everything you say as you say it, but into a pillow.

"basically…", she looked out into the room focusing on a spot of nothing, "basically no sex with you. For just a week though, well… ten days really, at this point. They only asked for a week but the way it worked out, it's going to be ten days."

"Ok, and…?"

"Well, 'saving' myself, means nothing. No sex obviously, but no oral, no fingers, nothing. I think massages are ok, but they're problematic."

"Problematic?"

"How do I stop myself from letting you from finger me but still let you give me a back rub?"

"So you restrained me in … plastic cubbies?"

"Oh no… no, babe! I restrained myself. ME! These are MY restraints, I'm restrained."

I thought for a moment, the absurdity of the statement was matched only by its absolute sincerity, "I seem to be the one in boxes", I replied.

"I understand how it looks, how it feels." She said, patient, "I am restrained from you giving me head, I'm restrained from you playing with me while we make out. I just put the restraints in the most convenient and practical place," a pause, a drag, "you."

"But…"

I started to lodge a protest against this line of reasoning but anticipating it she cut me off. "BABE!" she said, "you know how I am with impulse control. Look at how many times I've 'quit' smoking", scare quotes with vape pen for emphasis. "I promised I'd save myself and there you are with your beautiful mouth, your tongue, and your strong gentle hands… you know I can't resist you when I'm horny, and I'm soooo fucking horny."

She leaned forward and sank her teeth into my shoulder. The bite was long, it was hard. She usually bites when aroused but this went beyond that, it was longer and harder. Part of me wanted to cry out but at this point I was craving practically any physical sensation so I endured.

She leaned back, wiped her mouth, and placed her hand on the edge of the box as though she was stroking my face, she took a deep sigh. "I needed to restrain myself. I knew you wouldn't understand, but I KNEW you'd HAVE to support me. You always do, you always support me, and you always come around. So I had to take the chance."

"So," I said slowly, "you've put my head, and my hands in plexiglass boxes to stop yourself from getting off, all to make your date night more intense… a week from now?"

"Ten days," she corrected, "and yeah. Yes, that is correct. That is what this is. I mean, I'd say more 'meaningful' than 'intense', but yeah, the general idea."

"What prevents you from masturbating?" I asked, I felt oddly pleased with this question. I'd found a flaw in her logic. Emotionally some part of me thought that this little triumph would cause her to realize the absurdity of the situation. She'd say "oh gosh, you're right! I hadn't thought of that!" leap up, pull some keys out her pocket from the pants she wasn't wearing and free me, and we'd go about our day, I guess? Maybe we'd get waffles.

"They're encouraging me to masturbate."

"What?" I blurted.

"They. Are. Encouraging. Me to masturbate," she repeated slowly, "they say it's like training for the weekend. Sorta like, practice, like when people visualize shooting a basketball, or swinging a golf club or whatever sporting people… sports?" She shrugged, "I don't get sports… at all."

"What?"

"I don't get sports. Any of it, you know this."

"No, I know, I know you don't get sports."

"Right, oh that. So… I can't get off with you but I can, I SHOULD, masturbate, A LOT. Which is another reason why the boxes make more sense on you than on me. Plus, I have things to do this week."

"I have things to do too!" I said offended.

"No you don't," she said with a snort, "you have the next two weeks off from work. I asked you to take time off a month ago. I even made sure you put it into your little work calendar. It was critical for my scheme."

"Your scheme?"

"YES!", she said excitedly. Her tone was I'm-so-glad-you-finally-asked-me-about-my-scheme! She lifted one leg over me so she was straddling my waist so she could stare directly into my face. Beaming like a Bond villain who couldn't wait to reveal her plot, or maybe a Scooby doo villain who had outsmarted those darned kids, and couldn't wait to tell them about it.

"So, I needed you to take one of your Ambien, right, to get these on. Otherwise you'd wake up! I mean I could have asked you to let me put them on, but you'd have so many questions. And I didn't have answers or good ones anyway, yes we have handcuffs, but I want boxes? Nonsense… so… I needed you to take an Ambien right? I needed you asleep."

"Uhm, Ok."

"But how am I going to get you to take one? I'm not a monster, so I wasn't just going to slip you one, at least not until Sunday, Sunday I'd have no choice. Anyway, the only way I could think to ensure you'd take one was to get you so horny that you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep without it. So… I teased you until you couldn't take it anymore, I pushed you to an edge. And then I put you in that cheap plastic 3d printed cage and teased you some more."

She took a long drag on her pen and exalted more than she exhaled. "And… I'm not going to lie babe," she continued, "it DID NOT suck. A little teasing and you'd go down on me like your life depended on it. I'd cum, roll over and fall asleep, and you'd wait, like a good boy. Plus, with all that energy, you kept the house spotless." She put her hand on the edge of my face-box, "such a good boy." The how-did-I-get-so-lucky tone was almost cloying.

"Anyway, I teased you until you were about to break. And then I pushed a little more and you BROKE. Remember, how you BROKE?! You were practically crying, well you were crying, but just barely. It was more sweet than pathetic. I told you I needed you to wait just one more day. You were shaking, you were on your knees, you were begging… begging."

The memory came flooding back. Her lounging lasciviously in bed, draped in lacy lingerie. Her head turned to the side regarding me on me knees, still in the position where I'd moments ago gone down on her.

"Just one more day, babe, I need one more day." She had said in a post orgasmic haze, "I need you to make it just one more day…"

"Ok," I had replied trembling… "I think I can do that."

"You think? Think? Perhaps you should sleep in the guest room, I can't have you keeping me up all night with unconscious humping."

She didn't even have to suggest the pill, there was no alternative with my mind spiraling as it was. I remembered her watching me take it.

I didn't know what to do with this information. I focused on the topic of the moment.

"I could have gotten out of that silly cage you know," I said defiantly trying to scoff or sneer the words but they came out weak and feeble.

"This?" She arched her back, reached behind her and cupped my balls in her hand, giving them a little jingle for good measure. "Oh I know. I also knew you could restrain yourself without it, the cage was just to make it feel like a game, to keep you honest. Though," gesturing at the boxes around my hands, "I'd be surprised if you could get out now, but so what? I mean, so the fuck what? You could get out, you also fuck'n didn't! So what does that say? You could but CHOSE not to. And, why does it matter anyway?"

I tried to pivot from defiant to practical, "Because… because it demonstrates… It demonstrates that I don't need these… boxes." I held up my hands, my boxes, and shook them. They were surprisingly heavy. Feeling the weight, and just seeing them started to fill me with the same panic I had earlier, so I laid them down.

"FUCKING HELL! You aren't listening to me." She said exasperated, she tried to vape again but a little light flashed red, "You don't need them. I do! I have said, repeatedly, the restraints are for me. Otherwise, I'd be sitting on your face right fucking now." She shook the pen.

"You would?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," she said, "I have never been this horny, I can barely think. Plus technically I had until the day after tomorrow until the week starts, but you broke down last night and… well a plan is a plan. If it had been perfect you'd be kneeing at the edge of this bed right now and we'd be going through this tomorrow but c'est la vie."

The suggestion of me going down on her reminded me of the week of teasing I'd endured to get to this point. It reminded me of just how aroused I still was. I read once that prisoners make demands about absurd minutiae of their situation. The color of their sheets or the shoes they can wear in an effort to exercise a degree of control… this was that.

"Can you, can you at least take this cage off then?" I asked, "If the restraints are for you, then you don't need that one anymore. You got what you wanted from it, already." Once again I reached for logic.

"No." She said flatly shaking her head as she stared at the now dead vape. The battery or juice had run out, so she arched across the bed to her purse and just got a cigarette. She is sufficiently bad at impulse control that she prepares for her lapses.

"Why not?" I asked, frustrated. "You want these boxes, give me something…"

"OH MY GOD!" A jet of smoke, "Babe, could you imagine how insufferable you'd be in this situation if you weren't holding back a metric ton of horny? It's not practical." She gave a little horrified little shudder, "If I was going to let you cum I may as well chain you to the radiator in the basement and turn the music up for a week. Besides, what would you do, hump the arm of the couch? You want me to watch that, to remember that?" She snorted.

I just stared helplessly, pleadingly.

"Besides, I don't want too." She sort of muttered with a distant shrug. "AND!", as though just remembering, "it doesn't matter anyway, I don't have the keys."

"The keys, the keys to the… dick… cage?"

"Any of them. The cage, the boxes…" She said, "I mailed them… off…"

"Mailed them… off?"

"Yes."

"To them?"

Silence, "Yes." More silence, "They're bringing them to our little tryst."

I paused, horrified. Mortified. I knew how her brain works. Her need for absolute perfection. She was a merciless perfectionist. "Katie, how do they know you put these on at all? You could have mailed them a box of random keys."

"We…", she leaned forward and looked down, "we FaceTimed, after you passed out. They watched me put them on."

"Katie!"

"Don't worry!" She said, "They thought you looked cute."

I sputtered, "I, I…", a wave of resignation hit me, "What am I supposed to do for the next 10 days?" I asked.

"Hmm? 10 days?"

"What am I supposed to do for the next 10 days? I can't type, use a phone, hold a game controller, I can't even do chores… anything?" I asked plaintively.

"You'll manage…" With a shrug, "but full disclosure, technically it's ten days until the start of the weekend, you won't be free until sometime after that."

"Two weeks?"

"At least, in truth, we've sort of left it open ended."

"I'm sorry, Katie," I said mustering all the sincerity I could, "I can't, I just can't. This is too far, this is too much. I need you to let me out NOW."

She laughed, at first a derisive snort and then a boisterous laugh, "I can't! You don't get it, YOU WON'T LISTEN. I AM restraining MYSELF! If I had the keys in a drawer somewhere I'd be doing a shitty job. You know me. Do I do a shitty job at anything? ANYTHING? EVER?"

"No." I said, the full consequences of that statement dropping on me like an anvil.

"JESUS CHRIST." She continued, "I spent a month planning this, designing this. How am I going to prevent myself from gaining access to you? At first I was like, I'll lock you in a hood, or a fencing mask, but, I could cut through that. So I thought maybe a steel box, but then I couldn't see your face? I want to look at you, talk to you." She placed her hand on the edge of the box again thoughtfully before continuing.

"So I looked into plexiglass but you can just cut through that with a little saw. But military grade Lexan? Its clear, 250 time stronger than the strongest glass.. So I found a place that would fabricate the boxes for me… but then I was like the 'oh shit, the locks.' I could just pick the lock, or cut it. So I designed these internal clasps so the locks are on the inside. I need special tongs to reach the keyhole at all! I did EVERYTHING I could to make sure I couldn't get them open. Fuck, it takes me over an hour to unlock one of them WITH the keys, and I… don't… have… the keys."

I looked at my hands, the locks were indeed inside the boxes. I could see the tiny holes. The slit to drop the key in from one side. Unlocking them would be was like building a ship in a bottle.

I reached again for the ends hoping my fingers had grown. I don't know why but I really needed to reach the end of the boxes, I needed to, but I couldn't. I wondered if she'd measured that as well.

"Could you drill to them?" I asked, my brain was grasping for anyway out. It was an honest practical question. I got an honest practical answer.

"Not with a drill I can afford." She shrugged, "or one that wouldn't set you on fire."

I looked up at her, helpless. She sighed, almost but not quite, apologetically. Her sympathy for me was matched, out-matched by the pride of her accomplishment.

"You see, you keep trying to reason with me, to bargain with me. But as I have said, and I KEEP saying, you aren't the one restrained, I am. I've restrained myself from you as best I could, what you are experiencing is just the side effect."

And then I understood. She'd said it as bluntly and repeatedly as she could, but the reality was too incongruous for me to accept, but reality is like gravity, it doesn't care. She'd placed me beyond her reach, and she could do, she could reach… anything.

And she'd placed me into the hands of someone I didn't know. Her trysts were always her secrets, the participants, their names, genders even were never my business. It was that way from the beginning, before even. Being with her meant accepting that, it meant celebrating it. And I needed to be with her, still, more than ever. I needed it more than my hands, more than I needed my head. I wanted to touch her…

"You can't free me?" I said looking at my hands.

"No."

"And you've given the keys to someone else."

After a pause, "Yes", a moment later, "I have. I did."

"Its still early, the mail doesn't come…"

"I mailed them over a week ago. Two actually, once I knew they worked."

"What if they forget to bring them?"

A longer pause, "They can mail them back to me."

"What if they don't?"

"Well, I plan on seeing them again, and I think, I know, they plan the same."

"What if," a chill came over me, "they won't give them back?" I asked, afraid, trembling… hoping to hear the absurdity of the question in its asking.

She took a deep breath. Sliding forward she rested her bodyweight onto my chest. This was the starting point for so many times I'd gone down on her. She said she liked the "view" looking straight down.

Even now I wanted to wrap my hands around her back and pull her close. Kiss her, lick her until she rolled onto her back. Rub her legs and press my face deeply into her until she came and I fell to the floor exhausted.

Looking down at me she dug her nails into my chest, processing my question, or my asking of it. She took a drag on her cigarette and looked up at the ceiling before exhaling. Biting her lower her lip and closing her eyes she was still for a long time. Rolling her lip in her teeth, her breath slow and deliberate, restrained.

Then she tilted her head downward cocking it to one side and said, "I don't know."

I was quiet. The moment hung in the air. My breathing was so faint I didn't hear the echo of the box. In truth, in that moment, I'd forgotten the box. Her hand had drifted back to her thigh where it began making unconscious little circles against the inside of her leg.

"Worst case," she said vacantly to herself, her eyes returning to the ceiling, "I cut off that cage." Adding with a distant optimism, like the warmth from an evening star, "I could let you get off and then set you up Clockwork Orange style in front of some porn until you are tolerable for us to be around. I could make some useful attachments, tools… I left holes, attachment points in the design of the boxes." Her voice, her mind was a million miles away.

She picked up her leg and dismounted from my chest and stepped back onto the floor. Air drifting from the air conditioning across a wet spot on my chest caused me to shiver. She dropped the cigarette into a glass of water beside the bed which hissed in futile protest before dying.

"It will be ok babe, it's already ok." She rested her hand on my should and searched for some words, a transition, but finding none she shrugged, "I'd like to go masturbate now."

[sybariticthrall]

First time I felt submissive

I posted this to twitter a year or two ago. Someone had asked a question about the first time you felt truly submissive so I posted a 28 tweet thread because... uhm... I mean... so anyway. I'm just reposting it here.

A brief (well not by twitter standards), barely kinky, formative story about the first time I felt submissive. I hope you find it enjoyable or, failing that, you are at least able to scroll past it quickly.

Long ago, my first adult girlfriend and I were experimenting with some light bondage. Wearing my favorite lingerie she had tied each of my limbs to her futon and had begun touching me awkwardly (we were new at this).

She started to say something, something probably rehearsed. The words were meant to arouse, to tease, but she was self conscious and stumbled over the syllables. She felt silly.

I was about to reassure her when I was interrupted by a sudden loud knock at the door of her one bedroom apartment. We were new to being adults & sex still felt a little forbidden. Add in the "kink" and it felt illicit. We looked at each other as though we'd been caught.

Thinking quickly she grabbed a blanket from her bedroom and I was covered. Hastily she put on a robe before cracking the door open. Aware an unknown human was mere feet from me I held as still as possible. Unable to see I strained to hear.

The only words I could make out were, "My boyfriend is asleep on the couch." I held my breath wondering who it could be. Her parents, her sister? No, she'd have used my name. Perhaps the landlord needing access to some obscure panel or wiring? Mormons? A vacuum salesman?

I sighed with relief when I heard the door close only to panic as the chain lock unlatched & the door opened fully. She stepped outside & closed it. I heard muffled voices, muffled laughter. It was just a few moments before she came back inside & I relaxed.

Then to my surprise I felt her walk briskly past the futon into her bedroom. There was rustling, drawers opening & closing.  The blanket was pulled off me and I blinked in the light.

I looked at her as she hastily pulled on a pair of jeans. The stockings & tantalizing straps of the garter disappeared unceremoniously beneath them. She’d put on a white button up shirt was but it was still open.

She zipped up the jeans. It took my brain an embarrassing amount of time to arrive at the incomprehensible truth, she was getting dressed.

"That's my friend James from out of town," she said buttoning her shirt. The pseudo-corset like bra rapidly disappeared from view. "He lost my number so he stopped by. He’s leaving soon but wanted to try to grab lunch."

Her shirt now buttoned she looked at me, my arms & legs stretched out & bound. My erection flopping, directionless. The totality of me laying naked & vulnerable.

"I don't have time to untie you."

And then, as she slipped on her shoes, "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

These words weren't meant to arouse. They weren't playful, sexy, or teasing. They weren't apologetic or even sympathetic. They were just there to inform, a mere recognition of a reality. A reality beyond my ability and her desire to control.

I don't recall her waiting for a conformation or even a reaction. She just left. The flick of the light switch, the enveloping darkness, the thud of the deadbolt, all an exclamation points on a truth so unspoken it was an anvil.

If you'd asked me before I can't honestly say if this situation would have excited me or not. I knew I was kinky, it was why we were "experimenting" in the first place. But my fantasies up until this point had been well, sexual fantasies. People usually stayed in the room.

But I was given no option so it became right that I was given no option. Being treated as a thing, I became a thing. The more I tried to fight the truth of my situation the more I succumbed to it.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't frustrated, both in an aroused unfulfilled sense and a "I had shit I wanted to do today" sense. But as my anger grew I felt it instantly sublimate into lust and then ultimately into desire, a desire to please.

The more I replayed her blithe departure the more I felt my will weaken. The more imagined her casually ordering another drink the more I felt my soul acquiescing. I became fixated on her pleasure.

I was consumed by the vision of her reclined at some table, at some random bar, laughing. Her stocking peeking out from torn jeans as she didn't even glance at the clock before nonchalantly assuring her companion that: no, she didn't need to get back.

Then I imagined myself giving her head until she was satisfied and her going about her day. In a shock I'd recall where I was, feel my bonds, become frustrated and the cycle would repeat. My mind was a kaleidoscope of frustration and lust.

I longed for her return. I kept checking the time which I could only see at by craning my neck to catch a glimpse of a dim blinking VCR. Then I had to do math because that clock was wrong.

But I couldn't recall what time she left or even tell how much time passed between glances at the clock. My head couldn't keep anything straight. What does "a couple hours" even mean? Two? Three?

Beyond all of this though I remember my mind slotting into a groove. All frustration, any anger, it all channelled into submission. Every clock tick increased the need for me to hear her, to feel her cum and for her to be pleased with me.

It was two and a half hours before she finally returned. She wasn't apologetic, she didn't say she was sorry, not even in passing. She untied me promptly on the correct assumption that I had to pee.

And then the day just... went on. I got dressed, we ran some errands. I took her to dinner. We came back to her apartment and watched a movie. I cleaned the kitchen while she got ready for sleep.

It wasn't until she crawled into bed and that I finally succumbed to the desire that had consumed me all afternoon. I dropped to my knees and put my head between her legs. She came  and then wordlessly, contentedly drifted off to sleep.

I drove home.

[sybariticthrall]

The hard part

A little more quasi kinky writing.

The Hard Part -

I let my hand drift lazily back and forth across her side, occasionally down to her leg; soft squeezes and gentle caresses.

I'd gone down on her and she'd cum. I'd rubbed her legs and her lower back, reaching around her torso letting my head rest lightly on her stomach. I’d felt her chest rising and falling, violently at first, then more rhythmically and finally almost imperceptibly. All of this had been after I'd drawn her bath (sometimes she preferred a shower) and waited patiently with a warm towel. And then, with passionate kisses, I'd whisked her to bed.

But all that was done now. There would be no more words tonight. The intention, as it is every night, is to cultivate a drifting, a subtle gradual shift from the heights of orgasmic bliss to depths of the deepest sleep and in the process for me to become a ghost.

Eventually she rolls onto her side and I rise from the bed, pulling the covers over her. I'm rewarded with a contented sigh. One would think at this point I should quietly exit the room, my job done. But it would be too sudden, as though braking too quickly at a traffic light or a lurching to a stop in an elevator. So I linger, gently caressing her through the covers.

And this, this is the hard part.

Standing in silence, touching but not disturbing, waiting for a pattern of breath so faint and rhythmic that I know she is asleep. Waiting for the moment when I disappear from a place I wish, I long, to remain.

It's not a long process. A few minutes at most, sleep comes quickly to her after orgasm.

I'm always reluctant to believe the soft inhale and exhale that tell me she is sleeping though, alas they are unmistakable. I search her serene face for one more fluttering of eyes or rocking of the jaw. Any sign that sleep has not yet taken hold, any indication I can stay just a moment longer.

That she can sleep at all confounds me, that her mind, her psyche can fade away to such peace adjacent to (and unperturbed by) the profound want in my chest and the storm in my mind. "Her tempest in a teapot" she'd called me once.

There is always the temptation to rouse her from sleep, to take her back in my arms, to passionately kiss her, overwhelm her with desire, to climb on top of her and make passionate love, or really at this point just to fuck. To feel that brilliant ecstasy for myself.

At best it would amuse her. In this moment it would almost certainly anger her, but I doubt she'd show it. I recalled the last time my passions had transgressed my will at albeit a less inaaprioate time.

She'd given me a pained look, drenched with sympathy, and kissed me. She told me that this (touching my chest), this is who she loves and loves deeply. She'd wrapped me in her arms and whispered soothing sounds into my ears and when my trembling subsided and my tears slowed, she'd gently pressed me down until my mind had remembered its place and my body had remembered its purpose.

Not that it mattered right now, it would be senseless destruction to wake her, like driving a pickup truck through an art museum. She was asleep, well and deeply. Waking her would be as selfish as it was futile. Truly even just the memory of her sleeping visage binds me tighter than any her myriad devices.

I slowly removed my hand from her side.

This evening ritual was never dictated, or instructed. It was just the consequence of her expectations and the patterns they formed. At times I feel like a rain drop, pulled down by the immense gravity of my desire and shaped by the wind and air of her wants and whims. Falling, always falling, through an endless sky.

I wonder if I can risk remaining for just a moment longer, but my feet know the answer. They are already carrying me out of the room, extinguishing candles as I go. They pull me down the hall, down the stairs, through the kitchen and into the basement, to my little bed in my little dimly lit room.

Curling up on my side (my stomach and backside are impossible) I attempt to nestle my body into a position that navigates the discomforts she has gifted me. Each painful, tender or awkward in their own way but none sting as much as the memory of the smile in her kiss, the approving laugh through my tears, reminding me that "This, this is who she loves."

Sleep will come for me, not as gently as it did for her. Mine will be a lumbering shambolic collapse under the weight of a unrelenting kaleidoscope of images and emotions, but it will come, exhausted.

Already, my mind is untethering from the evening and turning expectantly to morning when I will return to her room, quietly place a cup coffee on her nightstand and snuggle in behind her. She'll awake a little spoon, arch her back to kiss me over her shoulder. We will remain there as long as she wishes. I hope for a lazy lingering morning.

[sybariticthrall]

A little writing.

I wanted to write something kinky and post it somewhere. I used to write all the time, but I haven't in quite a while. When I started I found it was hard to write without subconsciously trying to turn it into a series of tweets so really this was just an exercise to try to get my brain thinking in prose again.

------ A moment

It was something in passing, I think. A glint in her eye, a head nod, an upturned chin, maybe the faintest curving of the lips into the barest smile. Or maybe I just I imagined it all, she saw something in my face, an eagerness and responded.

It shouldn't matter, really, what started the moment, and I guess it doesn't. I guess it only matters to me. I want it to have been a glint in her eye, but it doesn't matter.

She was leaning against the kitchen table saying something about her day or the evening she had planned halted abruptly mid-sentence. Her head cocked to one side and whatever glimmer I'd noticed shifted into a Cheshire grin, a mouse would have trembled. I trembled.

Her lips parted and let out an exhale of whatever air had been intended to finish that sentence in a single languid breath.

I leaned in intending to kiss her but she leaned back. She had just gotten dressed, put her makeup on and I should have known better. Her eyes gave me a stern look but it softened slightly as she tilted her head exposing her neck. She pointed to just above her collar bone.

I kissed where I was directed. I had to lean forward as to not smash into her and wrinkle her clothes, I felt like a precarious drinking bird. I was shaking.

She laughed, a pleased little scoff. It is strange how even a derisive laugh can be approving, approving of me or my emotional state, or just the situation. I'll never know. I kissed again.

Carefully, I slid my head down and delivered a single kiss to her chest as she settled her weight into the table and widened her legs.

Foreplay was over.

I dropped to the ground a little too eagerly and the hardwood stung my knees but she didn't notice or care. She lifted her dress and I ducked my head underneath. The light changed to an eerie red as the fabric draped over my head.

And then… and then it was over. All too soon her legs were shaking and her breath was halting and gasping. I had been diligent, dedicated, guided by her sighs, moans and subtle shifts of her position. I had also tried to will myself to be present for each second, to remain in them, to stretch them out to eternity but I became lost in the moment time had escaped me again, had it been five minutes? Fifteen? An hour? It was over, I felt like I was falling, I almost cried.

I wrapped my arms around her legs and massaged gently, half to extend her contented pleasure and half as desperate plea to hold on a little longer. For a time it worked, her breathing sighed and slowed and she just relaxed in the moment. When I felt her legs stiffen I stopped rubbing and rested my head against her inner thigh, tears transferring from my cheek to her leg.

I tried to take long deep breaths but I couldn't steady them; they were quick and shallow. For a while I think she just listened to me breathe, softly caressing my head through her dress.

Then, wordlessly she shifted her weight away from the table and pulled the dress back up providing me an exit. As much as I wanted to hold on I pulled myself back away.

I could feel her eyes staring down on me like the sun and her words fell on me like the rain. Words that would have been envious if her tone contained even a trace of envy.

“How wonderful it must be for you… to have such clarity of purpose, your needs so aligned, your energies so… focused.” I didn't look up. "Many might long for an existence so, singular."

She reached down and with a finger under my chin lifted my head. She fixed me in her gaze and brushed away a tear with her thumb. "You have a lot to do for me tonight, you should get started."

I nodded.

"Hey," she said, "if you finish everything before I get home, bring some candles into my room and you can rub me and maybe we can cuddle for a while. If its not too late."

I imagined her back pressed into my chest, my arms wrapped hers, her hair in my face. The ache in my center pulling me like gravity. I nodded again and started to reply but she'd already gone. My knees ached against the floor, but the pain kept me tethered in the rapidly fading moment so I lingered there. I glanced around the room, but found only absence.

[sybariticthrall]

Lorem ipsum Porn.

Oh, hi. Welcome to this Tumblr. It is shaped vaguely like a place I created in a hurry. If you followed me on twitter it would mean a lot to me if you followed me here.