Self-control

No cuffs, no rope, no chain. ‘Where’s the fun in that?!’ I would have asked, if you’d told me a year ago about my current favourite kink. I’d have frowned in confusion; bondage without bonds? What?

I still love to be physically restrained, especially when I’m being fucked. But right now, I’ve discovered something even better, something more intimate, more powerful an expression of my submissive sexuality.

Obedience. Or, as I’ve recently learned is the correct term; honour bondage.

Docility; never a strong skill of mine, despite my need to be controlled. I walk a narrow tightrope between compliance and resentment, questioning and challenging, bratting and pouting. Submitting when it feels easy, unconsciously taking charge with my responses, subverting and directing. Never quite allowing myself to hand over the reins – out of fear or distrust, laziness or habit. So, if you’d told me that passivity would be my major kink in 2019, I’d have said you must have me confused with someone else.

“Absolute silence now” he breathes into my ear, emphasising his point with a finger against my lips. I nod. As he runs his fingers lightly across my naked body, I barely stifle a moan of excitement. “Hush” he says in barely-audible but stern whisper. “Control your breathing.”

He waits until I am taking long slow breaths, before starting his exploration again. As he flicks at one nipple, I gasp.

“Shhh” he orders. “Slow down. Don’t move.”

His eyes are locked on mine, pupils dilated to blackness in the pre-dawn gloom. He strokes, pinches, flicks. Every time I show a visible reaction, he snatches his hand away and reminds me not to move, not to make a sound. His intent, resolute expression lights a fire within me. He’s watching me closely, alert for any sign of reaction, any betrayal of my lust-soaked response. I lie still, consciously relaxing my muscles, controlling my breathing. Concentrating on suppressing every twitch of arousal and every moan of desire. He sees how much effort this is for me and tells me I’m a good girl. I whimper at this escalation, smother the sound quickly with my hand. He nods in approval, reaches for my swollen, slicked cleft. Slow circles around my clit; he grins with devilish glee as I fight to maintain my stillness and silence. Through eye contact alone I communicate my urgent, desperate need for him; my arousal announces itself in the slippery heat coating his fingers.

“Keep quiet” he commands, covering my body with his. I can’t help it; I buck and writhe as he pins me down, testing his strength. “Stop that” he says, and I do. Only when I have coaxed my body back into total passivity will he make his next move. Relax. I visualise my muscles, willing the tension to melt out of them. From physical tranquility comes heightened sensitivity. My heart is pounding, I want to pant and gasp and heave huge breaths; forcing myself to take slow, measured ones instead is achingly, desperately erotic, breath control by submissive self-control. Look, I say with only my eyes, look how much I want to please you. See the power I have given you to wield.

I hold my breath when he guides his cock slowly inside me, a precaution against the sharply indrawn hitch of delight that usually accompanies his ingress. I’ve lost my focus, allowed my limbs to tense. He frowns, stills.

“Relax”. It’s an order delivered in a whisper, a stern devotion scything through our cathedral silence.

He groans softly as I loosen my grip, feeling my cunt turn to liquid around him. I have to fight not to show him the searing heat licking at my nerve endings, and the effort only intensifies my arousal. I hold myself utterly still, totally limp, a puppet with its strings cut, as he swells and twitches within me.

Then he’s fucking me with hard, deep strokes, holding my outwardly-unresponsive form tight and close as he covers my mouth with his and winds his hands into my hair. He tells me I’m a good girl, I’m doing so well, I feel so good. His words filter through me, lighting fires as they speed towards the hot core in which he works himself back and forth; critical mass.

I orgasm in silent, involuntary spasms beneath him; mouth stretched wide, my breath locked in my throat, teeth digging into his shoulder. Sweat-slicked and soundless, we writhe together in mutual ecstasy until my shuddering ceases and my heartbeat slows.

He rolls me over, locks his legs around mine. One arm reaching down to my clit, the other wrapped around my throat, and he drives himself into me with relentless metronomic precision until control slips away from him, washed aside by a tide of sensation, power, control. Finally, I rise to meet him, clenching around his twitching cock until I have milked him dry and he collapses, panting and nuzzling at my neck.

“Let’s do that again sometime”, I grin at him in the pale yellow dawn light.

I’m looking forward to it.