power play

This time when T tells me I cannot cum until he is ready, I resist.

I resist because it has been a while since we’ve interacted, and he is not enough in my mind for me to give in.

I’ve noticed anyways, and it’s manifested itself in the last couple of entries, that I’ve begun to harbor a certain animosity towards his sexual power over me.

There is a spirited stubborn Hot Bitch hidden somewhere in me. If cornered, the Hot Bitch does not know foe or friend, she kicks and claws to break free. If struggling with something, she snarls at attempts to help. If told to do something, she wants to do the exact opposite. If you want her, she wants to laugh cruelly, and dangle what you desire just out of your reach, to see how much you really do. And if you hold her in your power, she wants to fight and push the extent of that control, find out what she may gain or lose out of it.

But mostly her hostility, my hostility, is just game, so I shrug, and I play with it. He tells me not to cum and for the first time, I ignore him. Completely and consciously. I continue my self-ministrations, working myself up quickly. And he hears my cries begin to rise, dangerously close. And I am almost completely lost in it, lifting, lifting, my voice close to breaking, when his words fall like slabs into my reverie-

DON’T CUM.

I pull back so quickly, that I thrill at the pull, thrill too that I had to make him command it again, and command it so hard and cold too.

He is taking his time now. And he tells me so, that now he just wants to make me wait.

I know his cock is hard and ready. I know he does not need more time to go down this cum path with me.

I need.

But the Hot Bitch is strong in me today, and she does not plead. So I continue in quiet whimpers, touching light and slow, gulping for control. My previous headstrong rush to orgasm now has me teetering and tottering painfully closer than I would have if I had just taken my time. And the sounds he is making along with me do not help.

I tire of the struggle. I may not plead, but I can ask. Or do my Hot Bitch’s version of asking.

Let me cum now, T

I’m sorry?

Let me cum now..?

I add the question mark as an after-thought. But his answer is a swift growl, like I’ve never heard before.

NO. You’ll cum when I want you to. Only when I want you to.

And oh this just makes me breathe harder. I let him catch my broken breath after broken breath. And the fly of my fingers and the rise of my cry this time round is not voluntary at all.

Faster, he murmurs.

And we both do. And I wait and hope for his cum, so I can have mine too, and I know it is coming when his words become a rush to block out my growing moans.

Don’t cum. Don’t cum. Dontcum, dontcumdontcumdontcum. And then suddenly flipped in the second before he loses it. CUM. NOW. CUUUUUM. And then just his roar.

Underneath his roar, underneath the picture of white cum spurting out of his cock, maybe some getting on his hands, underneath my puppet fingers, underneath his command, I finally get my cum. And the Hot Bitch hers too.

I break unexpectedly long and wonderful and slow and drawn-out, fingers moving through it all, as if trying to shake out all lost cums.

And even in the pleasant gasping stupor of post-orgasm, or maybe because of it, because of this surrender of my powerful cum, the thought is still whispering there. And it is so unwarranted that I have to smile.

I hate you.