tagBDSMThe Top

The Top

byRichard Crawford©

Exploring the tantalizing limits of teasing would fire up both of our libidos in a game of one upmanship neither of us would ever forget. Richard had carefully taught me all of his buttons and now I could press each one, orchestrating the succession of taunts until he could endure the suspense. At the right moment, the right phrase or look could utterly break him, making me smile.

We knew each other primarily through email, but also through phone calls and photos. We had met twice in torrid hours of sex without rules, love without boundaries.

Richard’s need for sensual torment was contagious and the game evolved from unsaid sensations born of dark places inside us. How slowly could we advance the progression of our lust? In control of this tempo, I saw my hands winding a toy top with twine. My fingers wrapped it slowly, steadily, knowing that each twist would add power later. The careful layers of string could later be pulled with manicured fingers, releasing a torrent of emotion and desire that might still be under my direction, if I played Richard just right.

A delicious game, one that made me wonderfully wet in the middle of the night , thinking of him writhing in bed, alone, desperate for my choice me because of a choice tidbit whispered in his ear. We both ached during the night for each other. The difference was that I would gladly ease my tension while Richard held it for many days, hoping for my permission, my seductive guidance, before at last seeking his own orgasm. In these purely sexual moments, I wonder if there is not a twist on our relationship. It can be seen as a friendship with tendrils of love and desire, but it can also be seen as an incredibly pure dominant submissive relationship so intoxicating it has extended into friendship. I let no person so deeply inside my psyche. I also wound his string as tightly and perfectly as the fine copper coil of a motor, until nothing mattered but making that motor purr for me.

The tension between us grew palpable with time, and I chose a set of photos carefully designed to drive him mad. I salted the set with simple shots of my daily living, but created a core based on Richard’s greatest fantasies of me. As the camera captured me, I felt electric-hot, imagining his response. My mind knew that these poses were not simply Richard’s fantasies, but his fantasies of me, based on his never ending desire to see more of me.

The morning that I sent him these photos, I commented merely, “as you wish.” The implications of this phrase from our favorite movie were of love, devotion, and control. Richard responded with an email that almost quivered as I opened it. He began with a vain attempt at an objective opinion of the photos, but soon digressed until I could hear his panting, smell his uncontrolled pheromones, taste his skin. Many men complimented me, but few with the depth of honesty and desire of my Richard. Yes, MY Richard...and I was enjoying his conversion deeply.

The photos? Just me in colors, really, emphasizing the aspects Richard watched most closely. The overall set included three colors of lips and nails, always matching and either matching or contrasting with the color of my clothing. Before the shoot, I masturbated to the brink of orgasm over his stories so that during the shoot I could share all my moods and expressions through my eyes, lips, and face. I thought of him each time, but chose not to share that detail. I could use it one day when I wanted to draw him in tighter. I gave him bold stares with dark lipstick, gentle smiles with pink, and openly lustful looks with red. I rested my face in my palms, knowing he would think of fingers and lips all night. I parted my lips, let him see my tongue inside, then bit my lower lip, then licked my lips until the thought of him moaning my name forced me to stop and bring myself off.

The post-orgasmic series revealed languid shots of breasts and legs and feet, always partially clad. I grinned at him over a bare shoulder, lifted my thick hair over my head, wet down my hair so he could not avoid my face, and knew this would be my best set ever. I felt light, like on the wings of a warm wind, and free to be whoever I wanted. I sighed slowly as i read his appreciative hungry email. This was going exactly where i wanted it to go.

The next day he signed on as I was answering email. Messages poured in that I did return, but he stayed online. I wondered if he stayed online to surf the web, or respond to email, or because he saw me online and hoped I might message him if he waited like a good boy. Might he enjoy the anticipation that much? I smiled, watching his name on my buddy list. My breath came a touch faster as I thought of him watching my name on his list, feeling his body respond and hope for my message. it’s true I did not have time to converse with him properly, but it also true that I like keeping him hot and frustrated.

The next night I only made him wait ten minutes, then messaged him. He messaged me back in seconds and again the fantasy of him waiting and wanting made me wet. I guided the conversation from chat to teasing and back, several times, keeping him off balance. I intentionally controlled our conversation, and him. I kissed him at the end as i always did and he melted as he always did. Sweet, and very, very sexy.

On the phone it was even easier. Richard’s verbal and intellectual nature weakened him, and I could manipulate him with my tone of voice or a slight breath to punctuate my thoughts. Sometimes I did this while my words remained casual or even business-like, loving the easy control that he did not even suspect. The line between his desperate ache and my conscious control blurred and I removed his control, making his mind softer and more open to suggestion.

I wound us both tighter and tighter, making it hard to breathe when around the other. He eventually broke down, begging for a pair of my panties. I wore them all day, made sure they were ripe with my sex and my perfume, and sent them with a personal note. His voice shook hard the next time we spoke on the phone and when I laughed, he moaned. I could make him want anything, and the rich dominance filled me with fear and lust.

I began to email him directions, little things i wanted him to do. I knew he succumbed to each one. I requested nasty things, feeling his control diminish each day and allowing the sexual demon inside me to enjoy the power. I questioned my motives and my abuse of power, but the power overloaded me and he begged me for more each day. More and more I gave him, testing his mettle.

Teasing him on the phone became exquisitely pleasurable. I used my words and voice to drive him into quietude, into that silence that begs for more. I would listen, amused, until his voice broke as he moaned for more words. He adored me; I owned him. I called him my Pet, called him my slut, called him for five wrenchingly hot minutes then left him. I began to silently masturbate as we talked, as I used him. I knew he could hear something, but I was discreet and he was now too submissive to ask what i was doing. I often came right after we hung up. He did too, when I let him.

Would you like to know more about us? About our subsequent meetings and the erosion of his will? Most of the stories posted here are ours. The Power Drive is in my car. Meeting in May was his first story, all about the beginning. And the Demon Unleashed is in me, and claiming me even as I write this. Next the demon will claim Richard, again and again.

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