Squirting

I can’t be there, in his bed, wrapped in his arms. I can’t be there, so I close my eyes and just imagine it. Remember it, more correctly.

His hands are beneath my shirt as we spoon, lazy together in bed, fingers grazing my nipples occasionally. Before long, he’s tugging my shirt over my head, wanting to feel closer to me. The layer of fabric so defiantly between his skin and mine is too much to handle any longer. He cups my breasts and I sink into him, snuggling closer and closer as he buries his face in my hair, breathing in deeply like he can’t believe that I’m actually there.

I can believe I’m there, but what I can’t believe is how perfect it feels. He’s growing hard against me, I can feel it, but there’s no rush. I call him a tease and he laughs, telling me that he’s not being a tease, he’s just taking his time, enjoying it. That’s how I know that, for the first time in my life maybe, I’m with a man. A wonderfully sexy man who is getting harder and harder but doesn’t need to fuck me.

I never thought I could feel this sexy with a man who didn’t completely need me. To me, it’s always been the ego boost I need, to know that whatever guy I’m with needs me. With him, I feel so much sexier, knowing that he can wait. He doesn’t need me. He wants me. And god damn is that sexy.

His hands wander farther south, loving every inch of me as he whispers sweet nothings into my ears. I’m melting into the moment, not wanting it to end. I feel like I’m turning into a woman that not, like I’ve been a little girl my entire life and didn’t even know it.

He’s dominant in the purest way. He doesn’t tie me up or force me on my back or make demands. He just takes what is his. He moves from behind me and move me to my back, slipping a finger in me. And then, I realize how crazily I want him, how wet I am, how close I am to orgasming already. He got me to that point before even touching my pussy, before even thinking about touching my pussy.

Gently and with authority at the same time, like you’d drive a high-end car, he brings me to the edge. I’m not envisioning anything, not concentrating, not thinking of anything. It’s just him, just this moment.

And then it happens. For the first time in my life, I’m squirting. Gushing is more like it. I didn’t squirt like you see in pornos, like a squirt gun. It was more like a waterfall, gushing and wet and wonderful. My legs were trembling and I felt like I couldn’t move, but I didn’t have to. He took me in his arms, kissing me deeply and stroking my hair.

Submission and domination doesn’t always come the same way for every pair. This wasn’t a fast-burning, bright domination with whips and chains. This was a slow-burning ember, one that is still burning. It wasn’t about me being his slut. It was about me being his. We didn’t even have to talk about it. I was just his, his to protect, his to cherish, his to enjoy, his to love in his own way. It might have been only for the night, but for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I felt like I was with someone who felt lucky to be there with me, who wanted to keep me like one keeps a prized possession.

And god, it felt good. Being dominated has always made me feel good, but being dominated by him made me feel good about myself.

About Rori

Rori is the founder of Between My Sheets. She works full time as a writer, reviewer, and online educator and can be reached at rori-at-betweenmysheets.com

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