Winter Warm-up

by D. Katarina

It was the blur and the doom of long winter evenings that brought you in to me. The ocean rocked the ships and the fog horn went on all night in half-hour intervals.

You buzzed in. Although I knew you’d be coming your presence struck me as surprising, and I reacted accordingly. Right away, I thought you’re condemned. I pressed you against the wall in to the corner by the entrance door with my eyes. You didn’t retract, but you also didn’t move an inch, perhaps afraid of my glance turning you into a stone. Suddenly, the space that separated us, the gap of cold embers filled with glitter and sparkles, became significant to maintain.

Being in control I restarted the scene put on hold, un-paused the time and pulled you in. I held your belt, your arms hung defenceless, desirous. The half-light’s decoy led you on in, where your dick’s throbbing and my heart’s pounding finally clashed. I knocked you over onto a red bed, pulled up my short leather skirt, revealed my stockinged thighs and climbed on top of you. Pretending to want to kiss your lips and suck tongue I began to tie your wrists behind your head: you gave in so easily. Once I got to learn your button – press and hold. Your pants concealed your erection only vaguely. I wanted to assure myself of it, so letting you look upon my tank top, nipples studded, I slowly took it off.

At that moment whatever I prepared well ahead of time before your arrival just made absolute sense, because your desire, now evidently accentuated, needed to be controlled, tamed, played with, manipulated and taken advantage of…..

I recall you wanted to say something, your mouth showed teeth in hopeful smile, but I had my hands on your dick and you forgot. So instead I gave you words to say, which you repeated like a pathetic little puppet, multiple times, one after another, convincing me: “I want you!”

That was the last thing you said that night; from under the cushion I took out the ball gag and gagged your mouth with it. Then finally I pulled down your pants. I lubed my latex-ed palm, played with a smooth texture in between my fingers, your eyes wide open, your cock pulsating.
You probably thought your confidence would make me passive and I’d be hypnotized by you. You must have been thinking that your sex-appeal is going to melt me like an ice cube on your tongue. I did not allow your tongue to express itself and realize your fantasy. Although disguised in a heat of sexual mood I remained cool and devious.

The fog horn signalled that another 30 minutes had passed. It was time to see how well you can handle my shiny black slippery latex glove. Observing your body’s reactions I avoided going all the way and when I felt your cock increasingly hardening with nearing edge I stopped. Your rapid breathing, and the wave of sweat that covered your skin showed your obvious arousal. I mockingly and promptly wiped the drops of precum onto your face saying that there is only one way for you to have what you want: “When the right time comes I will allow you to shoot it into your mouth and swallow it all for me!” You looked like you were enjoying yourself too much. To make sure it wasn’t the pleasure itself you were receiving from me, the pinwheel I kept in close proximity now became my tease-torture tool. I rolled it up and down the shaft of your ready-to-explode cock, had your balls tightly in my palm’s grip. Soon enough they got their dose of nippy sensation, too. While the pins traced the skin of your full blue balls I gave a very slight reward to your erect member: the slow gliding of my hand contradicted any pain you could have been feeling. The alternate pattern of some pleasure with intense sensation caused by pinwheel seemed to work the best. Another 30 minutes into the night and I was still, without mercy, weaving my plot. There is no nicer method of punishing a man, than leaving him sexually frustrated.

But was I really punishing him? Wasn’t it I who indulged in darkest, bizarre games one only dreams of? Wasn’t it I who initiated it? He was guilty of mixing lust with the desire to act upon it, and that needed to be corrected. I wanted to keep him in suspense for as long as possible, to let the desire, not me, continue to torture him in order to maintain that flickering fire between us. After a while I just sat comfortably by his side playing with and watching his reactions, cautiously preventing the end of the game, prolonging the night. He was condemned to having no release, furthermore – he was not to act upon his lust. The desire to act upon it was strictly my dominion and prerogative.