Spring & Summer

“Oh my god.”

I don’t know what else to say as his thumb expertly rubs my clit. I may know myself well, I may know what I like and how to satisfy myself, but I will never strike the incredible balance of teasing and overwhelming that he has mastered.

With his index and middle finger inside of me, my g-spot becomes a piano key—his fingers rhythmic dancing across it feels like a crescendo.

All the while, the unpredictable brushing of his thumb across my clit keeps me on the edge in the best way possible.

Looking at that impish little smile of his makes my legs twitch; without warning, I feel myself clenching hard around his fingers.

But he doesn’t stop.

I barely have time to catch my breath when he brushes over my clit again, with the perfect pressure—not hard enough to be overwhelming, but not light enough to tease. He knows my body down to the millimeter.

The thought throws me back into le petite mort.

I came again.

Hard.

And still...

Those fingers continue their dance; perfectly choreographed, the timing and rhythm down to a science.

My body is on fire now; an overpowering heat beginning with his touch and spreading across my skin. I can feel the flush on my cheeks, across my chest.

He hasn’t bound me, and yet I find myself immobilized for him nonetheless. The idea of “invisible bondage” crosses my mind; I’ve always wanted to try it. For daddy to pin me down using nothing but his words, knowing I’ll obey him as far as I’m able; secretly I hope that I can’t. It’s been far too long since I’ve felt the sting of Daddy’s belt.

The next orgasm is creeping up on me fast, and the intensity of it scares me a little bit. There are moments where the intensity of my body’s reaction feels like watching a tsunami build—its spectacular, and yet I fear that it will knock me off my feet and drag me out to sea.

“Daddy, wait—“

Oh, it was hopeless and I knew it. I was already too far gone.

The explosion is triggered by that thumb again.

Sigh. I wish I could describe the feeling.

On a warm day, when the wind hits you just right and suspends you in temporary releif from the heat; the kind you crave the moment it fades.

Or in the dead of winter, when you walk in from the cold and take your first warm sip of coffee—the warm sensation on its way to your belly feels like it’s simply returning to where it belongs.

Slipping between crisp, cool, clean sheets while the heat from your shower still clings to your skin.

Or filling your lungs with the fresh air of springtime after a long and lonely winter.

He touches my body the way that summer touches spring.

Gently at first, then gradually more urgently, until it completely overpowers and the place where they separate is unclear.

Every muscle in my body seems to be tugged at this time. The space between my hips is like a black hole that my whole body is collapsing in on, and I don’t mind one tiny bit.

I came so hard that I swear I felt my soul leave my body.

When I come back to earth, my breath heavy and my face still flushed, I pull myself away from his touch before he decides that the temptation of seeing me squirm with overstimulation as orgasm after orgasm overpowers me is too much to pass up.

Looking up at him from the pillow, my clit throbbing in time with my heartbeat, I can’t stop staring at that smile. He owns me. And he knows it.

As a musician, my voice is by no means timid or meek.

So it catches me off guard, the fragility of my voice, the desperation and surrender in my tone as I look into those beautiful, smiling eyes, and in a voice barely above a whisper, whimper

“I want you inside me.”