She Subdued Me with Sweaters Pt. 03

I liked it. My very perceptions were being altered. She was taking me on a ride. After a few minutes, she directed me to take off the nipple vacuums.

"Pick up a nipple clamp with your right hand," she directed. "Grab the skin around your left nipple with your left hand, so that the nipple is pushed forward," she went on. "Good."

"Now open the clamp and hold it over your nipple, but don't close it yet, honey," she instructed.

I was feeling light headed, but I could understand everything she was telling me. I was totally aware of what I was doing, but I had no control.

"This is going to hurt a little, honey," she warned, "but refocus the pain," she said. "That which is eternal can withstand all things." She said. "Feel it in every part of you. Now release the clamp onto your swollen, aching nipple," she directed.

I acted. I winced.

"Mmmm," she growled.

"Your nipples look so sore honey," she said in a caring voice. "Mmmmm, I love that you do these things for me," she said. "Clamp your other swollen, sore, achy nipple now," she said. "Do it fast, slut."

Oh, my fucking god. Oh, my fucking god.

"Do you see the little set screw on the side of the clamp, honey?" She asked.

"I do," I told her.

"That adjusts the tightness of the clamp around those tender titties of yours, honey," she informed me. "They will be very important when you take them off," she said. "You want to do that slowly so the blood flow will recover easily."

"Now," she sounded a little less nurse-like, "give each one a little crank, sweetheart, for me," she flirted.

I turned each one. It was excruciating. I visibly shuddered.

"Mmmm, yeah, honey, you fucking make me so hot," she said. "I love it. I love you. Feel it through your body, honey, focus, control the pain, in your mind, and in your soul, in the part that is eternal," she said. "Enjoy it, love it, for me, honey. Can you feel me?" She asked. She was visibly aroused, from head to toe. "Efforia."

Some of the things she says clearly affect my perception, whether I understand them, or not.

It felt like a violent lightning storm was raging through my body. Oh My God! I was struggling, but I was bearing up against as best as I could. She knew that inside I was suffering and it aroused her all the more.

"Touch them," she insisted. "How to they feel, all hard, and achy?" she taunted.

"You may respond if I ask you a direct question, honey," she said.

"Thank you," I responded, "and yes, they are hard and achy."

She giggled a little. "Now put on the really rough woolly sweater."

I complied. It was very tight.

"I'll bet that feels good, that tight, extra scratchy woolly sweaters on your tender body and neck, and tearing across those sweet, erect, very sensitive nipples," she said in the midst of an orgasm. "I understand your discomfort," she told me. "That's kinda the point." "I know it probably hurts," she went on, "but you must accept it," she said. "You must focus. You are giving me great pleasure to know that you are doing the things I tell you," she said. "I am very proud of you, honey. You're going to be such a disciplined man for me." "It will be worth it, honey. I promise, she said." "That which is mortal is dissolvable," she said. Hm.

She said that I should feel the pain as satisfying for the effect that it was having on her. She told me it was making me a sexier, stronger, more disciplined man, and she needs me to be strong and disciplined and sexy and focused. She told me that I must not cry out, but to follow her directions, remain calm and accepting, and focus.

"Feel the pain, the discomfort, as emanations of love and arousal through each part of you," she said comfortingly.

"It's all for good purpose," she assured me. "All will be revealed," she said, "in time."

I was becoming concerned but I was unable to express the words, even the thoughts. When I tried to form the thoughts that would make sense of this all, I became confused and started to sweat, even though I was freezing-cold with the heat off. My vision became blurry. My mouth went dry, and the index finger on my right hand started to twitch.

"Do not try to resist me, sweetheart," she said, like she caught me doing something bad.

She knew what I was thinking. I was starting to form a theory, but my mind shut down again, and she knew, again, from my physical reaction, the thoughts that I was having.

"I love you, honey. I will keep you safe. I won't let any harm come to you," she said, reassuringly. "You know what you mean to me," she gushed. "You know that it's important to me to help you learn to focus," she said, somewhat clinically. She went on, "and you know how happy you make me when I watch you do these things. You could choose to focus, honey," she said. "Sometimes, when we reach beyond our comfort level, we find good things, honey," she soothed. "If you really wanted, honey, you know you could choose to not do this. You want to keep doing this though, honey," she told me. "I know you by now, honey, and I know you do." "Ypomoni," she said it again.

I started to think more thoughts about how weird this was getting. Choice requires being able to assess a situation and to make a decision. When I tried to assess the situation, I was not able to focus on that. All of a sudden, my nipples felt like they were burning. I couldn't move, and I started to feel tears in my eyes.

"Honey," she whined. "Please focus on what I tell you to focus on, and love how it feels, even if it hurts," she sighed." It's important, honey. I promise, if you accept what is happening to you, you will feel really good," she said. "You want to focus, honey," she said, "and I give you permission to let go and accept what is happening to you. Please?"

"This is hotter than I expected it would be," she said." You're the man who you are, and you're probably thinking that this is getting a little freaky," she said, almost accusingly. "You try to resist," she said, "but you can't." "I have you in my power and that is fucking hot, honey. You are mine and there is nothing you can do about it," she said with a hint of satisfaction. "You should be aroused by that, too, honey. You're an important part of all this."

She went on, "You know what, honey, I want you to be the last man in my life. I really love you, you know, and everything about you," she said sweetly. "I've found you after all this time and I want you. If I didn't have you, I would be very unhappy, honey," she whined a little. "I just know that, emotionally, you would have a very hard time handling being without me, too," she assured me. "You know that I have invaded your mind and you belong to me on many levels, sweetheart. Accept," she stated. "You are mine and we belong together, sweetheart. That's all you need to know right now." "Et confortavit me, ut per illam fiduciam in fide," she said.

If this is a trance, I just went deeper.

She began, what I would say, was like a guided meditation.

"Take a long, deep breath, sweetheart," she instructed. "Just hold it a second, honey, that's it, now let it out slowly," she directed. "Now again, long and slow, honey. Good," she hushed. "Now one more, feel all the world and all your troubles fade away. Just listen to my voice. That's all you need right now, honey," she went on. "Vox eius est ibi," she said.

I was transfixed.

"Keep breathing, long, and slow, and relaxed," she gently directed.

She took me through a scenario of love and sweaters, and the benefits of being her property, benefits for her and me. She described beautiful scenes of her and me, in sweaters, in love. She talked about how I should feel honored and proud to have someone love me as much as she does. She talked about how she had fostered a love of sweaters just for me, and how she knows that I appreciate that and love her all the more for it, I appreciate that and reciprocate by doing what she loves me to do. She created intoxicating images with her words, talked about a warm glow that I create in her and that she knows she creates inside me, soothing us, easing all our pains and burdens. She went over my body, head to toe, and described how good each part should feel, in the midst of our love, and wrapped it in sweatery imagery, and sexual suggestions. She was moving her body and her hair and her clothing constantly and looking right at me the whole while.

"Ast okkar er eilif," she said.

She also added messages about how important it is to understand my role in the relationship, and how powerless I am to resist her directions. She reminded me that I was nearly naked in a cold room, enduring extreme discomfort, because she told me to.

She directed me to feel a wave of euphoria wash over me, and it did. I couldn't believe it. This was feeling less game-like and more like some sort of initiation or something.

This is otherworldly. I can't deny that the feeling of euphoria was addicting. Just like she said she wanted. I was addicted to her. I was addicted to the feeling, the erotic nature, the odd freedom. No one else was looking. I could explore this if I chose. I was feeling that choice was a function for which I was showing declining ability or availability.

I did find her attractive, and whether or not the effects of whatever she was doing to my mind was making me think it, I did like her and enjoyed her company. Maybe I even loved her. I did feel a warm connection, and acceptance. It was hard to be sure. I was under her spell. Of that, I was sure.

"Do you feel better, sweetheart?" She asked, sweetly. "You may answer," she said.

"I do," I stuttered. "Thank you."

And I did. I was beginning to accept. It was like a science fiction movie from the Cold War Era. I should just give in, because I had no choice.

I do admit that I like feeling dirty, and slutty for her, and all the sweatery things, I have longed for some real sweatery play all my life. It's here, right here. In some ways, to a hard-core sweater fetishist, this is a dream come true. Am I willing to go along with this all because of the sweaters? I wasn't sure. ...a need for sex? I didn't know anything at that moment.

She was doing a fine job conditioning my mind. She knew it. She freaking knew that sweaters were the gateway to owning me. She lured me like a carrot and a stick, and now she has me. I can't say I hate it. Am I compromising for the sake of indulging my sweater fetish? This is more than that. Am I compromised because of the control that she has somehow, and I'm not sure how, has managed to wrest from me?

"Good," she said. "Now, let's continue."

I was bound to comply, and suddenly, grateful.

The tight, coarse wool of the sweater against my clamped, erect, and achy nipples was sending pulses of pain shooting through me.

"Now shimmy, sweetheart," she said a little luridly.

I hesitated a second.

"Do it, honey," she said softly. "Don't you want to?"

"Yes," I said. "I want to."

I did it. I shimmied my shoulders back and forth. I tried to make it a little sexy for her. It hurt so much. I winced. It felt like my nipples were going to tear right off my body.

"Oh, that's so sweet," she said moonily. "I love you so much, honey, look at you being hot and sexy for me. Does it hurt a lot?" she asked with concern.

"Yes," I said.

"Yes, what, honey?" She wanted to know.

"Yes, my nipples hurt very much," I replied.

"Good," she sighed. "Brush you hands up and down over those achy nipples through that itchy sweater," she nearly hissed. "Gra an phian," she said.

When she made these mysterious statements, my perception became altered. In this instance, I knew I was feeling excruciating pain, but some part of my mind was telling me that it was waves of pleasure coursing through me, courtesy of her. I felt grateful for the pain.

"I am inside you everywhere, soul of my soul, property of mine. Feel me. Love me. Accept my love. Love this feeling," she chanted. "It's good, honey."

"Direct those pain sensations all through your body," she instructed me. "Feel it shooting through your cock, and around your ass, that opening in your body that was the first thing I took from you." She licked her lips at that direction, "and up your spine," she went on, "and around your ears that you love me to fuck with woolly fingers, and through you lips and tongue and throat, and all through your mind," she continued. "Feel like your whole body is an organism that I control. I will treasure you for this, sweetheart. Love every bit of it, honey. This is forever. Estiasi," she said.

She was masturbating all the while. She told me to feel the pain as waves of love, like it was her hands and fingers and sweatery body on my body, and inside my body and mind and soul, binding us together.

"Our lives together are endless. Our life together is endless," she chanted.

I was concerned. Suddenly, I was accepting and loving the pain, and I was feeling protected. I was also feeling almost unnaturally aroused.

"And you like to follow my directions because you love me and you want to please me?" she asked. "You need love. You need connection." "Accept."

"Yes," I told her.

"Good," she said. "I love it, dirty boy," she seethed. "I fucking love it." She finger-fucked herself while she watched me.

"Your cock is so hard, honey, good," she said. "You're getting it. You're doing what I told you," she said with a bit of surprise

"I can't stop cumming because of you, honey," she moaned. "And I don't ever want to stop."

"Listen carefully, honey, and breath slowly and evenly," she said.

"Close your eyes," she said. "Do remember the first time I stayed over your house, honey?" She asked. She told me I could answer.

"Yes, I do," I responded.

"Good," she said. "You were so sweet, so loving, so open to letting me take control. Do you remember that honey?" she asked.

"I do," I responded.

"Good. Can you remember how you felt in your mind and in your body that night?" She asked.

"I do," I responded.

"Good, honey. Bring those memories to the front of your mind," she directed. "Did you like it?"

"I did. I liked it," I told her.

"Good, honey, now can you, with your eyes still closed, remember all that you did and that I did to you, you naked and excepts for a sexy, erotic sweater, you on your knees, pleasuring me, while I cummed all over your face. Can you conjure up how that felt, honey?" She asked.

"I can," I responded.

"Good," she said. "Feel how soft my pussy was that night, and how wet it was, my cum flooding all over you, feel my hands on your head and my legs around you, holding you in your place.

Can you conjure up those feelings and images in your mind, honey?" She asked.

"I can," I responded.

"Good," she said. "Do it. Do you feel our connection we made that night, the energy between us, the power I held over you, sweetheart, when I took your body, mind, and soul as my own?" She soothed. "Remember how I asked and you so willing gave it all to me, said that you were willingly giving yourself over as my property?"

"I did," I told her.

"Good," she said. "Did you feel like you belonged to me at that moment, safe, doing what you should be doing in this world," she asked, "and that I was invading your mind and your body, and filling you with overpowering love?" She asked.

"I did," I said. "I do," I went on.

"Oh, honey," she sighed, "well, Good. Can you feel that now, honey?" She asked sweetly.

"Yes, I can," I responded.

"Good," she said. "I can feel every beautiful nasty, sweet, dirty moment, too", she said further. "It felt so fucking good," she growled.

She started me on a journey of remembering how she started riding my body, grinding into my back while I laid on my stomach, grinding into me, cumming, taunting me, saying dirty things.

I was feeling all the things she said, like she said it - love, safety, powerlessness, but was it a memory of that night, or something that she has been cultivating in my mind. It didn't matter. The results are the same. I was powerless, feeling loved and loving, free, dirty, slutty, and I liked it. The feelings were affecting my body and mind, and maybe even my very soul, my essence.

"I could feel my pussy right against your hole," she moaned. "Do you remember that, honey? I was cumming so hard all over your ass. I could feel my energy and yours as one, sweetheart," she cooed. "It was the most wonderful feeling. Do you remember? Do you remember feeling my cum pouring out of my pussy, and all down the crack of your ass as I stroked your tight little hole with mine?"

"I do," I told her.

My heart was beating faster. She was making me more and more aroused and more deeply enwrapped in what was going on. It was a roller coaster, emotions and sensations rising and falling. It was like whip lash.

"Good," she said. "Do you remember the first time I went inside your body, taking you in every way, opening you, fucking you? Do you remember that?" she went on.

"I do," I responded.

"Good," she said. "Did you feel shock and a little shame, honey?" She asked. "Shame because I was just taking you and fucking your asshole? ...stretching it, going inside you, knowing I didn't even need to ask, I could just open it and fuck it?" "Shame because you liked it. You wanted me to do the dirtiest things to you that you have ever experienced," she analyzed me. "You wanted it and you liked it. Mmmmm. Imagine if anyone knew what you thought and what you liked?"

"Yes," I told her. "I felt like a dirty, shameful slut. Most would be surprised."

"Good," she said. "Did you love it? Did you feel like you loved me?"

I hesitated, but I couldn't say no. I did, I told her, a little surprise in my voice. I could feel waves of arousal wash over me as she made me remember, and made me admit to liking being her slut, and admit to feel ashamed, and that that made it even more arousing.

"Oh, honey, good," she gushed a little. "And Were you surprised that I knew what you wanted, what you have been wanting for years, a sexy woman driving you, controlling you and pushing thick, soft sweater deeper and deeper inside your ass, fucking you with sweater while you groaned and growled like a whore, begging for more, begging me, telling me you'll do anything, are willing to do anything, loving me, me loving you, making you cum by letting you fuck my sweatery hand. Feel it now, property of mine. Feel it now, whore. Everything you ever wanted, taking your cum in your mouth when I kissed you, did you love it? I know you loved it, you little whore, you made me fall even deeper in love with you at that moment. Can you feel all the dirty, nasty feelings you felt at that minute, when you were first falling in love with me? Can you feel it all? Picture it, honey. Feel it, in every part of your body. Can you feel every inch of me fucking you, honey, taking your hole, not once, but many times? Giving you sweater in the dirtiest way? I'm the only one who has ever given you sweater the way you want it, huh, honey. You are everything I want, a submissive, obedient, slutty whore to please me and love me and obey me and worship me, and I give you sweatery love in return. Powerful man out in that world. Look at you in my world, our world." She was ranting and masturbating, almost out of control, just like that first night in my apartment.

She talked so fast, and with so much imagery, and so many ideas, I was dizzy. Whatever she said, it must be. There was no split second during which I could process her words.

"I could feel it all through me," I told her.

"Good, honey," she breathed. "And you want more of these feelings, am I right?" She asked.

"I do," I responded, a little breathless, a little surprised.

I was very aroused. There was no other reality but our world. I was tingling from my head to my toes. I couldn't believe it. Oh, my fucking god. My cock was very hard. She's talking about taking me and abusing me and dominating me, in the midst of love and connection and sweetness, and she is causing me to be wildly aroused. She had complete control and could manipulate me in any way she wanted. I was a little shocked. She had instructed me to remain calm and accepting. This was very hard. She kept going.