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| Crystal_Eyes |
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A week or so later sees us chatting late at night. Nothing specific, just various night-thoughts that play on our respective minds while the rest of the world sleeps. We share, we natter, we learn about each-other a little more. It's lovely.
It's also 1am, and he confesses that he has reached a fork in the river.
"The trick with you is for me to balance that middle way between wanting to share thoughts, abstract notions and intellectual intercourse on one hand. The other to objectify you, use, corrupt and challenge your capacity for pleasure. The danger is that both can provide a fast current and one that sweeps us into the early hours."
I smile, and tentatively ask if I get to steer the conversation. He hands me the rudder. I suddenly realise that I have no idea which fork leads to where, and that he already knows I am driving blind. I choose left. He smiles. He effortlessly reminds me of my promise.
I am silent. Not only do I not know how to respond, but I'm actually not sure whether I even have a preference. It's a strange feeling, not knowing how you feel. Strange, but exciting. Arousing, even. I notice my breathing has deepened. I like it. I remain silent while he types to me.
"Now you made me a promise, which I will hold you to and expect to be followed to the letter, but how it is to be done is negotiable. My favourite idea is that of you simply filming your face, nothing more. Imagining that I wouldn't grant you the pleasure of having my eyes over your body, just on your expression. A close-up of your hand wetly slipping and fucking yourself would be powerful, but that in a way would remove your intent and expression that I would find most pleasing of all. I would get to see the self-consciousness fade and be replaced by something new. I want to see what that is."
I whisper 'lust' under my breath, but don't type it. My breath is already ragged, my pupils dilated, my core aching. Cunt wet. Mouth slightly open. I'm hooked on his words as he tells me I will taste myself for him, taste what he has done to me, enjoy it, savour it. Need it. Want more. Jesus fuck I'm aroused. I've just realised that my hips haven't been still for since the conversation took this darker tone; they're gently gyrating, pelvis circling gently as I subconsciously try to relieve the ever-growing urgency between my legs. I am aroused, flustered, and becoming more so with every sentence this man types. He knows it, I know it, but neither of us feels the need to point it out.
"The next image I'll provoke is the one where you lose all sense of the moment, where you almost forget where you are and what you are doing. The burning glow sears through your form, leaving you suddenly spiralling back into reality looking at the lens, feeling ashamed but smiling at the release of both body and control."
I audibly whimper. I tell him that his words are making it very hard to concentrate on the conversation. He smiles. He tells me he knows. He knows that I have built up a glow - a sexual energy - that needs relieving. Expelling. Discharging.
He offers me a choice. I can complete the task any time I wish, film myself when I feel comfortable enough to give him that part of me, and then simply await his instruction to send it. The second would be to perform it, in real time, as he watches. Which leaves the decision of when I do this completely in his hands.
I think briefly, before admitting that I would rather he saw me in real time, whenever he decides he would like that from me. That is my choice, then - the second. That it be his timing. His will. His control. He gently reminds me that the longer he leaves it before asking me to show myself, the more self-conscious I will become about what it is he is going to see. I lower my head in equal levels of embarrassment and arousal, because I know that this will make me want it to happen imminently. Which means he won't be asking me any time soon. Bastard. He already knows me, knows my buttons...
"You know that I'm considering asking you to do it right now, don't you?"
Of course I do - how could he NOT be when it's all that I can think about?! - but he goes silent after I answer that yes, I know. I find myself babbling, more out of nerves and a need to fill the silence with something, even if it's my own incoherent thoughts, than because I have anything interesting to say. Still he is silent. Fuck. I can barely breathe.
"It's even worse when I let you consider that for a few minutes without typing, isn't it?"
Bastard. I breathe again, and listen carefully as he tells me we are to play a game. He will flip a coin. I will call heads or tails. If I choose correctly, I will complete my promise immediately. If not, he will surprise me with it at some point in the future, when I least expect it. I understand, and the coin is flipped. I call heads.
The suspense is killing me. He knows it, and plays on it. He says nothing. He types, then stops, then types, then stops. I surprise myself as I catch my thoughts pleading "be heads, be heads, be heads..."
"It's tails."
Bugger. Wait, no; this is good, it means I don't have to show him anything just yet. I don't have to let him see me in that state. I don't have to expose myself to him just yet. This is probably for the best. I even start to wonder whether there was even a coin in the first place... and then because I've thought it I type it to him. He should know how I feel, surely? I confess to feeling disappointed for some reason, despite the relief. I tell him about doubting the coin. He says he knows. I thank him for making me feel good. Tell him that I am relaxed and happy, and that he did that.
"That I did." he smiles. "I also lied, though: it came up heads..."
Edited Thu 18 Jun 09, 4:04 AM by Crystal_Eyes
