beauty, love, lust, sex, Sir, women

Sir 2.0 Toys And Objects

Since you have been apart, he messages you once a day. Sometimes you torture yourself in waiting to check it, but you have to practice a kind of discipline different from what you share with Daddy. Still, the urgency makes the sudden, soaring delight as you read his words all the more intense.

You read them in his voice, sat on the John and hoping no one peers over the cubicle door. Your legs shake with the repressed nerves, all of it building to the moment where you would be His again.

You cannot get enough of it.

The phone lies hidden under your pillow. You go to the shower room and find a red and black nightgown on a hanger with red hold ups. There is makeup, a pair of earrings set on a black velvet pillow and a small bottle of scent. You apply it behind your ears and at the back of your knees as per the typewritten set of instructions. You shudder with excitement and anticipation at the thought of it. Of Him.

Daddy.

You follow the lights, but if it were not for the change in location, you would make your way there by the slow yet acute pull of desire you have for him. You ask yourself if any of this is real, and it makes you ache for him all the more.

You stand at the door, press your palm against the lock and the door opens inwards.

2.

He strides over to you, and his hands are on you, his arms around you with enough force you cannot breathe. You grin beneath the kiss he plants on your lips and you reach to run your fingers around his waist. You are little in his embrace. His strength holds you in place as your mouths explore one another.

Hi Daddy.’

He grins and touches your cheek. His eyes are lit from within at the sight, the touch, the smell of you.

‘I’ve missed you.’
A bright warmth arises in your cheeks, and you press against his hand where it rests against your face.

‘I’ve missed you too.’

A flicker of dark yearning crosses his eyes, like the shimmer of moonlight on water for a moment.

‘And you’ve been good with the phone.’

You smile and his fingers glide over the back of your hair. He stares into you with such feeling it takes your breath away.

‘I love hearing from you, Daddy. I know I’m not supposed to.’

He cocked his head to one side and smiled at me. A doting smile as he strokes your hair away from your face.

‘I made that decision, baby girl. It’s what a Daddy does.’

You glance around and he shakes his head.

‘No one listens. I insist upon discretion when I am with you.’

You grin and move towards him. He takes a firm grip of your hair and you stop, as he straightens up and takes a deep, hungry breath.

‘When I have you, baby girl.’

He swallows, his chest rising with some elemental depth of emotion inside him.

‘I want you so fucking much I could crush you with it.’

He turns you around with his hand on your hair. He brings his mouth to your ear and the warmth of his breath makes you shiver. Amidst the everyday, it was the promise of moments, of a man like this. He offered glimpses of his sweetness, but it was not without depth.

There is a couch in the corner of the room. He lets go of your hair and tells you to lie down. His eyes blaze with feeling, a midnight fire in a forest at autumn.

‘I will tear you apart with pleasure, baby girl.’

Your heart pounds in your chest and your skin tingles with anticipation.
These are vehicles for a nurturing that resists the cage of words and thoughts. Purest, the darkest feeling that sings you awake sometimes. Those nights are when you sneak the phone into the bathroom and read his messages. They all feed into these times with him.

He walks towards the set of drawers, finds three lengths of velvet rope and comes over to you. He tells you to lift your arms above your head and he sighs with pleasure. This is a glorious play within a ritual. It resists lassitude in its power and his approval reflects your arousal into you. He tells you to open your legs and rest them either side of the couch. He moves a small pillow under your ass and comes around to bind your wrists.

‘You’re such a good girl.’ he says.

You tingle with approval. He makes you feel light and free, contained and devoted in the same moment.

The leather of the couch is warm beneath your back. You test your bonds and he shakes his head.

‘You’re not getting away from me, baby girl.’

You giggle and raise your eyebrows.

‘I could get out anytime I wanted, Daddy.’

He comes and touches your face.

‘You don’t want to do that.’

His voice has lowered, the muscles in his face taut with a regal delight.

‘This is where you belong. With me.’

Your eyes prickle with the onset of tears.

‘What are you going to do Daddy?’

He kisses you, his soft lips grazing over yours. There is a trembling he keeps at bay. You recall these afterwards, when you replay the things he has done with you, that he will do to you. It is not a pain he holds at bay, but a depth of feeling kept under control.

He pinches your right nipple between his fingers with a slow, confident squeeze. The hurt is quick and energising. You arch your back as he pushes open your thighs with one hand then smacks your pussy. You gasp and your eyes widen with the energy of it. Your whole body becomes the feather on an angel’s wing. He does it again, and your eyes moisten with the onset of tears. The release is beginning inside you, lending a sensitivity of deep, deliberate beauty to your senses.

He walks back towards the chest of drawers. His back is to you and you hear the slide of the drawers opening. He reaches out and pulls a wheeled table to him.

‘Now what to choose, baby girl?’

You look and see him place a clear plastic bottle filled with the lubricant he has used before. There is the glint of the soft lights, almost wet against the purple rubber of the dildo. He sets it down next to the lubricant.

He retrieves a small white butt plug, flared at the base whilst looking at you.

‘I will test you today, baby.’

Your breath gains weight in your lungs as he wheels the table over to you.

He squirts lube into his hand, rubbing it into his fingers as he stares into your eyes. He smiles with a primal, controlled excitement. Your pussy is tender from his blows, and you shudder as he massages you in small circles. His eyes move between your face and your pussy as his touch deepens and blooms. Every nerve in your body hums with pleasure at the fullness he gives you, by tiny degrees, raindrops at the start of a thunderstorm.

You relax against his touch. He slips a finger inside you and with his other hand reaches down between the cheeks of your ass and draws his finger downwards in a slow stroke that lifts you off the couch. Between his hands, your first orgasm makes itself known. It is always a sharp pleasure, the relief of a cramp rather than the expansive flowing journeys that your body takes you on.

‘Please Daddy, can I come?’

He shakes his head and you groan with a rising urgency that whips within you.

‘Please.’

His smile sets a glow inside your stomach as his fingers move inside you.

You will fail. He tests you with the sweet, expert power of his touch until your will buckles and with it, the need to think anything beyond the raw, powerful call of your own desire. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sweetest, most beautiful failure you will ever know.

You cry out and jerk against your restraints as he strokes you into ecstasy. He presses a warm palm against your navel to ground you as your senses return to you.

He introduces each toy the small lubricated plug he eases into your ass, coaching you to take deep breaths and push out, understanding your body with a firm, almost indifferent ease.

The dildo he uses with the plug, sliding it in shallow stabs he angles against the places that command pleasure from you. He does not work against you, but with you, reading you the way a bird reads the air or a wolf reads the forest.

You lose track of your orgasms, recalling only his hands and his tools against you. You are sodden, tender and wracked with a pleasure that robs you of speech beyond cries and pleas, breathy and sweet in their sweeping, open joy.

He denies and grants permission. His word becomes a refuge and a test of your capacity for surrender. When he wraps you in his arms following a brutal, sustained orgasm that pushes the dildo out of you, you weep and he reaches up and unties you.

Being set free again. It is a language to him and he teaches you, by example and without words.

Actions.

He kisses you on the forehead before he walks back to the drawer and brings out a small white ovoid device that sits in the palm of his hand.

It will fit inside you. With a message from his phone, it will set up a link that will allow him to send controlled pulses and patterns of vibration. It will serve as a way for him to reach you wherever he is, whatever else he is doing and touch you with his will.

You weep with excitement. He holds you again and leads you to the shower. He undresses and joins you. Without speaking, you wash him before he washes you, looking into one another’s eyes with such depth that you are not sure if it is the series of orgasms or the titanic intimacy of the looks that you share that makes you weak with joy.

It is difficult to leave him. He touches your face. You follow the trail of lights home.

The egg hums and you smile. Only a few feet away and he has to have another taste.

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