Sam I Am Ch. 04

"What do I put inside you instead, Sam? What do I fill you with since I'm a woman?"

"Um, I don't know... You don't put anything inside me."

"Oh, but I do. I put thoughts inside you. Isn't that right?"

"Well, yes."

"And what happens to those ideas that I plant inside your head?"

"They... grow?"

"Yesssss, very good," she hissed in his ear, causing him to visibly tremble. "My words and my ideas are the seed I plant in you. And your brain is a fertile ground for them to grow. I said you were deep because you are so very suggestive... Everything I say, you remember and believe without hesitating or questioning. Every word I say stays deep, deep inside you and stays there forever, because you couldn't get it out even if you wanted to. But you don't want to get my words out of your head, do you, Sam?"

"No, I don't" he said quietly, his voice shaking desperately. "I want to keep every word you say inside me."

"And not only my words, but the ideas too... You vividly remember every idea I tell you, and you think about them constantly."

"That's true," he agreed.

"Then remember this," she said, grabbing onto his hair and pulling his head down until it was in front of her crotch. "You see this pussy, Sam?"

"Yes... It's beautiful," he breathed sincerely.

"I'm going to cum directly into your brain," she announced. "Let every moment of this experience penetrate deep into your memories and consciousness." And with that, she pushed his head down onto the bed and planted her vagina onto his face.

A woman sitting on a person's face has the ability to dominate all of that person's five senses. Whereas before she had rubbed herself against his face relatively gently and slowly, now she put her full weight on his face and pulled his hair with enough force that it hurt. She ground herself against his face with the same sort of deliberate sadism with which she had previously wiped her panties on his face. As he lay underneath her during this process, his eyes were often covered, and when they weren't, all he could see was her. His ears, likewise, were mostly covered by her legs, but the only things he could hear were her movements and moans. His senses of smell and taste were completely flooded with her still-flowing vagina, and as for touch, all he could feel was her presence on his face, her pulling of his hair, and the urgency of his erection within his own underwear.

How long they remained in this state, he did not know. He lost track of time. Perhaps this was intentional. Her movements became hypnotic in such a way that he zoned out again, and was aware only of her presence. Somewhere in his subconscious, between other thoughts which he never knew, nestled vivid memories of these senses: the sights, sounds, feels, tastes, and smells of her arousal and her triumphant use of him as an instrument in heightening and satisfying that arousal. Long after she was finished and they curled up and went to sleep, this same set of sensations and awarenesses played continuously in his mind like a video on replay. He was never quite sure after that when-or indeed if-this mental cinema finished.

She allowed him an orgasm as well, at the end, after her own desires had been completely fulfilled, but it was so brief and inconsequential that it seemed more like an afterthought than anything else. It impressed upon him the idea that whatever happened between them, her pleasure came first and foremost, and his primary pleasure came from giving pleasure to her. His own sexual release was something frantic, transient, and pathetic, a thin spew of liquid into the ether, a feeble display compared to the explosion of fireworks that had been the chain of orgasms she'd experienced. She was a woman capable of nearly infinite pleasure. He, by comparison, was not particularly good at receiving pleasure; his role was to give it.

When they were done, he passed out on the bed in exhaustion and fell asleep. She curled up next to him and took a photo to commemorate the occasion, a dual selfie of her smiling triumphantly up at the camera while his peacefully sleeping visage lay next to hers. They couldn't have known it at the time, of course, but that photo became important as a remembrance of one of the happiest moments of their lives, perhaps the moment at which both of them experienced the purest joy they had ever felt.

* * *

The rest of the trip was a blur to him. When they awoke in the morning, it seemed, outwardly, that nothing had changed, but Sam was a changed man. What made it especially hard for him to get his thoughts in order was that he didn't even know, at the time, what had changed or how. It even seemed to him, because of the intensity of their sexual encounters, that sometimes their relationship was mainly a sexual one, that they were together for the sex and that it wasn't a relationship built on mutual respect or the joy of sharing life's little moments with each other. It wasn't until much later that he would come to understand how happy he'd been in those days, how his time together with her stood out as among the happiest times of his life, the way she made his whole world brighter. As they went out together, as they talked and shared and laughed together, they were both full of the joy of young love. But as the trip drew to a close and it came time for him to pack up not only his physical luggage but also his emotions, they both would have to come to some decisions about how they felt about each other and where the road went from here. Even as the trip was ending, their story was just beginning.