Posted by Lilly | 7 Comments

Power—give.take.

This is a powerful image for me.

It made me just literally stare in awe for quite some time.

All I can think is “Give me this….please…”

{sexandsubmission.com – not for the faint of heart}

Yes, she’s beautiful and it adds a little to it but that’s not really the point here.

Powerful.
It’s that big, strong male hand wrapped firmly at her throat that’s making me weak in the knees. I have written about some explorations with R regarding this. Honestly, before he brought it to light in the perfect perfect way that he did, it was not something that I ever would have pondered. I would have immediately said “no thanks”. So it goes with numerous things with him; he does have such a talent for pulling me deeper into submission and filthy glorious kink.

Powerless.
It’s that look in her eyes. Arousal? Fear? Begging? I suspect all three. I know that it would be for me. It’s beautiful agony….heavy with trust and instinctual fear and being rocked to the core of your submission. I want to give this to him. I want him to take this from me.I have nothing but complete and utter trust in him or I would not crave this or allow this. As I sit here now I know he would balance safety and the edge of danger – and at the last moment pull me back to safety. I know that in the heat of the moment I will feel as she appears to be feeling; scared and aroused and rushing with the confliction and brain chemistry that is all in a whirl. Followed by a rush of endorphins and different kinds of relief tangled up in each other.

It’s her lips, her tongue. See how they are parted? See the tongue lifted up to the roof of her mouth? I know she’s trying to get air. I know he’s not going to give it to her quite yet.

I have seen only this photo, nothing more from the scene. Just this one image and I am shaken. Aching and wet and in need. My, how I have changed in a year’s time.

Power—give. take.

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Posted by Lilly | 9 Comments

Lilly’s Turn – Part 2: Wherein One Good Turn Deserves Another

Over the next two weeks, I slowly divulged to Sarah more and more tidbits of my kinks and my personal exposure to them. Gauging her reaction via text was difficult but manageable. Her only exposure to “my world” was the occasional blindfold for a bit of  teasing sensual foreplay. About as vanilla as a blindfold can get.

The day came when I knew I could accelerate things – there were no subtle signs, no, she opened the door and it was loud and clear. I had just fulfilled a picture request for R. I told her about it and she teasingly asked if she could see it. It was just my tits so I texted it to her phone. I didn’t hear back from her right away, in fact 10 minutes went by.

And then….

Her response is a photo of her own tits. A mimic of the picture I sent to R. Taken just then, just for me. The accompanying text read:

Your pic made my head spin and my mouth water. I hope I have returned the favor, even if in a small way.

Oh hell. It had, perhaps, a greater effect than she imagined. I knew she’d look this good but I did not anticipate the immediate carnal reaction I would have. Creamy pale and lightly freckled skin, full C-cup size, pale pink and slightly puffy areola and a little darker pink nipple. Tiny pink peaks. My clit throbbed and I subconsciously touched a finger to my lips and then slipped the finger inside my mouth a bit; my need to lick and suck her was immediate and visceral. I actually sat there for a minute and pondered if there was a way, a place, somewhere somehow I could get her naked breast and my mouth to meet pronto. Sadly nothing came to mind except my need to sate my pent-up lust – my own hand would have to do. I quickly texted a response, a casual statement of her beauty, and then I made a beeline for my favorite jerk-off restroom. I smiled at her on my way past her desk. She texted back, asking where I was going, but I didn’t answer her. Not yet.

I propped my phone up in the stall, hoping it would not fall, so that I could stare at her hands-free. Leaving both hands free for masturbating to a relatively quick orgasm in 5 minutes.

As I walked back by her desk she looked at me quizzically. Again, a near-immediate text.

Where did you go? And why are your cheeks so flushed?

And so I told her, via email. I told her that I ran off to masturbate in the restroom and all because of one little pic from her. I told her all the dirty things I wanted to do to her, all the kinky things. Things I would do with my lips and tongue and teeth; with my fingers and the palm of my hand and my fist. I told her that I wanted to claim her, make her mine if only for brief glimpses. Have her under my control.

I am stunned, speechless, and in awe of your daring. Stunned and speechless that my photo caused that reaction. Clearly I am not as brave as you, because it didn’t even occur to me to attempt that even though my reaction to your own photo was equally amazing. And even if it had been mild, the reaction caused by your words has done it. I am incredibly horny, most certainly shockingly wet and would kill for a good O right now. Everything you said, everything you want from me and to do to me, yes yes PLEASE! Just be gentle and patient, Mistress ;)

and then:

Oh god, I’m sorry, I hope I wasn’t being too cheesy and naive there. “Mistress” just flew out from my fingers and I hit ‘send” before I fully realized it.

I thought for a minute, but only a minute. I had to test her. I replied in short order:

When it is warranted, Mistress will do just fine. So you’re horny, eh? Why wait? I want you to go down to the 8th floor restroom, the one that’s in the corner of the east hallway. It is not used very often, it’s where I go. Use the handicapped stall at the very end of the row. I want you to go do what I just did. I want you to come for me. That’s an order, Sarah. No reply, just go, NOW.

After one minute, I followed her. I snuck into the restroom as quietly as possible. Practically held my breath as I slowly crept towards that last stall. I stood where I knew she couldn’t see my feet, and I listened.

I grinned and silently swooned. I heard that unmistakable sound, the wet rubbing sound, of a girl getting off.

I planted my feet where I was and leaned forward with my upper body, until one eye was looking into the crack between the door and stall wall. She had her pants down, but had only pushed her panties to the side, so my view was partially obstructed, but it was still insanely sexy. I didn’t want to break her obvious concentration so I leaned back, backed up a few feet and just waited on her. I strained my ears listening to the barely-there sounds of her fingers rubbing her swollen clit, getting faster. Then the sound of what seemed like a long exhale, probably from her holding her breath. In that exhale I swear I could hear her whisper something but I don’t know what. Despite my own recent orgasm I was aching and dying to come again.

I waited a few moments and then cleared my throat.

“Sarah, open the door, now.”

She didn’t say anything but I heard the rustle of her rearranging her clothes and then the sound of the latch opening. I pushed it open impatiently and relished the look on her face for a brief moment. It was this delicious combination of startled and embarrassed and aroused and sated and orgasm-happy yet apprehensive. I bit my lip, smirked, and in one rapid move I shoved her against the bathroom wall. I gripped the neckline of her top and pulled both it and her bra cup down in tandem and quickly, ravenously, moved my lips to her exposed nipple.

I had been wanting to do that for what felt like forever.

The moment we returned to our desks, I sent off a quick email:

From now on when I order you to masturbate in the restroom like that, you are to do it with your legs spread wide apart and panties pooled at your ankles. None of that demure crap you just pulled…..

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Posted by Lilly | 15 Comments

Lilly’s Turn – Part 1: Wherein a Power Play is Made

I had been eying her up for weeks, this enigma. Reasonably confident exterior, with a shy and easily embarrassed girl peeking out sometimes. I had witnessed the duality enough to know I could fuck with her. Sarah. Thin, pretty in a different sort of way and very attractive, C-cup tits, long straight light brown hair. A little younger than me but not by much.

After more than a month of laying the groundwork and getting things to a flirtatious and covertly dirty stage, I taught her how to communicate via email without risk of our naughty words being read.

I confessed a few things to her, one of them being my relationship with R and what we did. Her response was positive and then I laid out one more bombshell – that he wanted me to find a submissive girl to play with in the same manner. What a delicious and dangerous twist it would be to do this with a girl in my office….

I asked her, outright, if she considered herself submissive. She answered that she didn’t really know, as she had no experience in it – but the erotic stories she’s read online gave her a taste and at least knew that she wasn’t dominant.

Obviously I had to tread carefully; I could deal with that. I sent her off this email:

“Hypothetically speaking – what if, right now, I told you to go to the restroom and remove your panties? Would you do it? And what if, when you exited your stall, you found me standing there waiting for you to hand them to me? Would you do that? Would it make you blush? And then… what if…..as you stood over the sink washing your hands, I slid my hand up your skirt to your bare ass and down the crack and slipped my fingers quickly into your sticky wet cunt? Would you fight me? Or would you like it?”

A hypothetical situation, a little bit of control by me and a little bit of dominance. To be honest the short paragraph made me instantly wet. But I had to ignore the throbbing. The moment I hit ‘send’ I got up and walked down my cube row, over to her aisle and then I stood there quietly as she read my words. So engrossed that she didn’t see me there right away. I watched her lips part and her face flush to pink. A good sign. As she looked up and noticed me, she blushed a furious red throughout her face and chest.

“Oh I can wait, don’t let me interrupt you, go ahead and finish off your email there” I said nonchalantly as if I were there to just ask her a silly work question. But the hard look on my face told her that she best not argue with me, she should indeed answer that email.

She typed away for a minute, casting quick sidelong glances at me as she did so. When she finished I kept up the ruse and asked her a silly work question. I walked back to my desk and went straight for the email.

“Would I do it? Yes.

Would I hand them over? I hesitantly say Yes.

Would I fight you? The shock of it would take me by surprise and the fact that someone could walk in at any second would cause me to fight it at first. Would I like it? Again, a hesitant ‘yes’. Even as you are standing over me right now trying to embarrass me, I know deep down I’d like it no matter how it appeared on the outside.”

Good.

Just the answers I wanted to hear.

{Thank you Muse Mina, you were a big help and a good bit of inspiration for this piece}

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Posted by Lilly | 10 Comments

Confessional: Breaking the Girl

It seems that my dominant side is never the most prevalent. But when it does come out to play….I feel ruthless. Bitch extraordinaire. I have not had any experience dominating a woman be it in person or virtually, but I’ve already discussed (here and with others) my desire to do so.

I also must point out that I’ve never been much of a fan of the humiliation aspect of D/s, either receiving or doling out. Something more sinister, however, has popped up inside of me lately and I am finding myself aroused by the strangest things. A few weeks ago, at a meeting at work for our new unit assignments, the group was asked to do the school-classroom bullshit of “stand up and tell us about yourself”. Let it be known that I hate this. I am not comfortable speaking in front of people, even in such a casual setting. So I felt for this girl, I really did. She appears to be younger than me; pretty in a cute and “I’m trying to look cool” way. Perhaps someone I might be friends with. From my vantage point behind her and to her right, I was able to glance at her occasionally. When she stood up to speak each time, I noticed that she blushed furiously. She did not stammer, she did not show any other outward signs of feeling awkward. But I thought that the blushing was very cute. I think, partly, because at first glance her body language, style, etc was more “I’m cooler than you and this is all so lame” – but oh, what do we have here….vulnerability. Shyness.

I have read erotica- male narrator, shy and blushing female subject – of the similar nature. The man is dominating, domineering, pushy and delighting in her awkwardness. Aware that beneath the fear and nervousness lies arousal. I did not want to be in the shoes of the female, no, I think I more wanted to be the aggressor.

In my past fantasies of dominating a woman, I was never alone. It was a threesome. Perhaps a shared toy between a dominant and I. Perhaps a shared toy between a submissive man and I. But always, he was involved. I might have had the reigns of control but he was active in it. The fantasy has changed, morphed or perhaps I just have another one. He doesn’t participate. Instead, he watches passively. An audience. Another element to heighten her embarrassment and shyness.

I’ll be ruthless, while the one who trained me watches with pride. I will show her precious size 6 little ass no fucking mercy. As she is bent in half in a standing-hogtied sort of way, her cunt is bared to me like a split peach. I can easily go from inflicting pain on her ass to her cunt.

But no….that only satisfies part of my desire. I wanna make her squirm. Blush. Cry. I want to break her.

I don’t want a slut who’s at ease with her sexuality. I don’t want a whore who’s been around this block a time or two. I want a girl who cringes when sex words roll off her tongue. I want to make her say cunt and clit and suck and nipple and fuck and I want her to blush while she says this stuff. Tease her with these words and the pain (the bittersweet raw pain) and the begging until she’s crying.

She enjoys it though. Beneath the blushing and the cringing and the crying and the whimpering and the pink-red skin from my slapping and flogging she is dripping wet and aroused beyond belief. And that’s why I’ll love it, that’s what will fuel me to dig deeper. Before I break her, before she’ll full-on beg to come all over my hand, I’ll torture her. I’ll have to. Leave her at the edge of her orgasm…..make her watch me get fucked (and loving it) from my Dom. Taunt her with my orgasm. It’s going to be hard for her to watch, her instinct will be to turn her head but I won’t let her.

I want to watch the boiling point of her arousal and humiliation come to a head and erupt. At my command, at my hand. I want to break her…..and laugh at her misery. An evil giggle, a demeaning chuckle.

I’ve got a few things/issues/grievances/hurts of late that I need to take out on some poor girl. I just need to find a suitable one. Now accepting applications….

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Posted by Lilly | 7 Comments

Work Violation

It was not enough that I obeyed, despite my workload.

It was not enough that for 4 hours I had that fat-ended wooden dildo wedged in my cunt and a vibrating bullet intermittently buzzing against my clit. At his command.

It was not enough that my orgasm count was up to four.  Four!  We had only reached that number once before.

It didn’t matter that I had work to do.

It didn’t matter that the restrooms are not private.

It didn’t matter that my freshly-post-orgasm cunt was tighter than hell.

Nope.

Not at all.

He instructed me to go right at that very minute, as I was still recovering with a flushed chest and accelerated heart rate. Go to the restroom and fuck myself with the dildo. Not a little bit, not just farther in and tiny outward pulls.

Nope.

Not at all.

Fully out, fully in. Each movement my eyes widened and I tried so hard to be silent as the fullness violated my tender cunt. Aware of the sloppy wet sounds it was making. Aware that the first time I pulled it fully out I felt all the liquid from my previous 4 orgasms leak down my ass. I held my breath and listened for the creak of the door. Listened for footsteps. Confident that I heard nothing, no one, I grasped the short handle and channeled his rough intentions; I did it the way he would. The first minute was difficult, every inward thrust was an intrusion. It was not an easy self-fuck; every stretching-out shove into my cunt was a bit painful. It took effort. It was a good pain though as the fat wooden bulb pushed against my G-spot. Then it was somewhat easier, my cunt was opening for this unforgivably large dildo, and every firm push to my G-spot made me gasp a little, made my eyelids flutter a little.

Such depravity. Locked in a corner stall with my jeans and panties around my ankles and legs spread wide in a slutty fashion, I followed orders. Soon I made my best effort to look normal on the outside and I pulled up my jeans and panties, making sure to replace the bullet to it’s correct spot – firmly nestled between my lips, pressing against my clit.

Two hours later…..

It still was not enough that I continued to obey, despite my workload.

It still was not enough that he ripped another orgasm from my spent body. Five – a new record.

It didn’t matter that the restroom would  be even busier given the time of day.

It didn’t matter that I was sore and tired.

Nope.

Not at all.

He demanded one last fuck, one last violating act of work-time debauchery. His intent was to leave me stretched out and sore as a reminder the rest of the night; a reminder of his power and ownership.  I gasped at the pain as I slowly pulled the dildo out and flushed in embarrassment at the wet suction-y noise that followed. I walked a thin line of being as silent as possible and as rough as possible while other women were going about their business around me. When it hurt less and was less of a violation to my body I stopped. Wiped it clean and put it in its velveteen bag. Wrapped the cord of the bullet vibe around itself and tucked both toys back in my little black zippered pouch. As I walked back down the hall to my desk, my shoes clicking on the tiles and an innocent black bag tucked under my arm, I smiled serenly at a passing coworker and bid her goodnight.

And she has no idea.

Not at all.

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