“Yes, Odessa.”
“Pardon me?”
“Yes, goddess.”
I do love to hear that in my calls. A certain kind of call, in any case, with a lovely, sweet man, or man/girl. Sometimes it’s someone who wishes they were a slave. Or less extreme, a submissive. Or even a simple kinkster, who finds delight and pleasure in becoming partners in the nurturing of their unusual tastes.
Tom – that’s not the name on his birth certificate, of course, though I’m not quite sure. We haven’t gotten to the stage where he begs me to let him send such things. Anyway,Tom was sitting at his table, in front of his computer, looking at images of me. he gets a little unfocused by my eyes and lips, knowing how it would feel if I were to lightly brush my lips across his cheek, or even his own mouth. Unfocused? Yes. I can tell by his breathing and his voice. It wavers. Trails off sometimes.
It’s not his fault. As we talk, I have him rub his crotch as I slip my words into his ear and his mind. His body is flooded with pleasure as we talk about his need to be possessed by the eternal feminine, the embodiment of what led him to exist in the first place. At times, he imagines my toes dancing across his crotch or, if I’m feeling kind, his exposed cock. Or me, standing over him, looking down as he rubs himself, his eyes pleading for direction and guidance. It’s a beautiful sight. His desire growing stronger, his cock stiffening, his eyes imploring.
“That must feel good, pet.”
“Yes, oh, yes.”
“Pardon me?”
“I’m sorry – yes, goddess.”
“Good boy, Tom. Your worship pleases me.”
You might not be able to imagine it, but making him honor our respective positions is very, very difficult for him in that vulnerable, exposed, and nearly pre-verbal state. It seems to take all the strength in his body to form words as he rubs himself and drifts through the landscapes I have created in his mind, of my strength and compassion as I bring him to the realization that his life – not to mention his throbbing, engorged cock – is much more fulfilling when he’s in my presence.
“Time to go lay down in bed,” I tell him. I delight in hearing his first faltering steps as he reacquaints himself with gravity. As he lays down, he exhales a long deep breath. I can hear his anticipation, his desire, his need to please, his need to release.
The only question at that moment, with his arousal at a pre-orgasm peak, is how long he will need to remain teetering on that edge, between the sublime, ongoing sensation of pleasure and powerlessness and the release that will set him free and rejoin his daily routines.
One thing that I do know – he will be back for the pleasure that he describes as “otherworldly.”