So precious are the moments we hold. Fleeting, too, these moments of understanding and joy. It takes work and hunger to sustain. Why are some glass angels more fragile then others?
***
The second parts are the feelings. How intensified everything feels after I am under: my own long hair down my back or falling across my breasts…or the desire to dig my nails into the palm of my hand while he is rubbing my nipple with one hand and holding my neck with the other (I am blushing intensely thinking of it). Waiting for it, when I let go, so that I start to shutter and shake with need. Everything turns a different color and a different speed. It is so luscious.
This is one set of feelings. The other kind of feeling is hard. I am released from everything to become free. I want to do whatever he wants, so I respond to everything that we do. Everything turns me on and I become a woman in the most primal sense of the word. A sexual being. It’s all I want to please him and be pleased by him. The word that comes to mind is “slut”, but what does that really mean? It means that I want to spread my legs for him and show him how wet he makes me…not a woman who just goes through the actions of doing it to turn someone else on, but being highly aroused by those actions. Not only being aroused by doing each thing, but watching his reaction, knowing that I am fucking pleasing him, hearing it in his voice if I am lucky enough to get praise.
What I find strange about the entire thing is that I never know what will trigger me to go all of the way down now. I would before know, OK, when he puts his hand on my neck, I am done. It’s different now. When will it start fully when we are playing? He decides. I know that and I fucking love it.
Not to share too much, but I was with him the other night. We were fooling around. He knew that I wanted to be under him, but he wouldn’t fully put me there…he had his reasons for letting it progress slowly. I know this, so I don’t fight the little things anymore; I do what he says whether I am 100% out of the driver’s seat or not. He had me down laying on my back, with him overtop of me talking next to my ear. I was not under all the way, but I wanted to be there so fucking badly, I was going to go mad. (Just to make it clear, most of the time, I do not make a choice to go down or not consciously.) He moved away from me after my answering a question, and I was sure that he was going to stop. I was terrified that he would leave me on the cusp of being right there. I began begging and begging for him not to stop. I didn’t care how loud or desperate I was, and in fact, that thought didn’t even cross my mind. I couldn’t stop begging and breathing and panting. I don’t remember everything after that, and as you can guess, I was gone. I spent the end of the evening curled up in his lap while he caressed and played with me. It was heaven…my own personal definition of a very devilish heaven.
NE