In the temple

I’m wiping down the counter top last night and Belle tells me the combination of the smell of the stuff I’m using and the visual of me actually doing it in front of her of gets her motor running. That wasn’t her term – “gets her motor running” – but it’s my interpretation. And, of course, hearing that gave me the familiar tubal pressure. Not that I needed the extra stimulation. I’m really fucking horny now and bobbing around nicely in my pool of sub energy (if you want to imagine me in water wings and goggles, feel free). I’m no longer pushing myself to serve her and now find that need pushing me. This was evidenced by my attitude later that night in bed.

At some point, and for a reason I can’t recall, she suggested, as we lay there, that I was disappointed about something related to what we were doing (or were about to do). Quite the contrary, I said, I was not disappointed. Not at all. Yes, I badly wanted to feel her pleasure at the end of my fingers or tongue – my sexual arousal having achieved its cruising altitude sometime that day – but I reiterated that sex is for her, not me. Whatever she wants, she gets. What I want should be immaterial. Honesty, there’s no other way for me to operate when I’m this horny. That’s the one huge lesson I’ve learned in the past few months. If you’re going to be denied, you’re fucking well denied and cannot attempt to make it otherwise. To do so is to work counter to the entire paradigm of her control. In any event, I assured her I wasn’t at all disappointed. I actually felt very calm inside and was prepared for whatever she decided she wanted to do.

Happily, she wanted to come. We groped and kissed for a little bit (that is, I groped – she had her arms around me, but that’s about it) before she made the motion I’ve grown to love. She simply lays back, spreading her arms and legs, in a position that says quite clearly, “Pleasure me.” Fucking hell, unleash the hounds! After a few minutes of nipple sucking and clit fingering, she started talking. That’s somewhat unusual in itself, but even more so in that she was describing a fantasy scene in which she was a goddess laying in her pillared temple and I was a warrior chosen from many as the only one worthy and able to bring her to climax. In a remarkable parallel to how it actually feels to me when she allows me that kind of access, she said the orgasm I was bringing into being was how she wanted to be worshiped. I found the whole scenario to be pretty fucking hot so, when she asked, “Are you hard?” I could barely squeak out a muffled, “Uh-hurmph!” through my mouthful of nipple. Hell yeah, I was hard. The CB6K was biting with unforgiving ferocity.

It became clear, though, that my fingers weren’t going to be sufficient to the job at hand. I realized she wasn’t really climbing the mountain, regardless of how I fingered her. She brought out Pink to finish the job, but didn’t hand it to me (as I thought she would), instead going to work on herself with it. Now I was disappointed, but I didn’t say anything and instead redoubled my work on her tits. I could hear the little vibe go in and out of her wet pussy and the fact that it wasn’t me using it caused my desire to ache in its confinement. She brought herself to climax and roughly pushed me off her breast immediately afterward. She was done and didn’t need my mouth on her anymore. All I could do was gather her in my arms and hold her as she basked in the afterglow, my own arousal feeding-back and eating itself. That’s the moment of the unorgasm, the cresting and washing back of unfulfilled and unneeded desire that, regardless, leaves the tide of arousal just a little bit higher after it passes than before.

The night that followed was restless for me. I wanted to have contact with her and repeatedly put my arms around her, but then found myself aroused to such an extent that the straining meat between my legs hurt and I couldn’t fall asleep. Turning over in the other direction, all I could do was think about how badly I wanted her. These weren’t random sexual thoughts. They were about her. I wanted her pussy again, either under my fingers, in my mouth, or surrounding the cock. Unsurprisingly, it never happened.

2 Replies to “In the temple”

  1. I feel your pain.

    Or, rather, I would love to feel your pain. The pain you describe makes a man happy to submit to a deserving woman.

    You also write well.

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