My life is like mosaic stained glass. There are many fragments in it, and they are all different in color, size, shape, location in my life ...

He was one of such fragments - Doctor of Technical Sciences (he has many other titles), he is now alive and well and quite plump, which I wish him for many years. I will write about him in the past tense, because he WAS in my life.

From the moment I got out of the car to meet him, it was clear that he was already “at my feet”, that I was his mistress, that he was my slave. I teased him, jerked, scoffed, stroked the hair and against, joked sometimes quite abruptly ... And he endured everything, smiled and called me "his mistress", wrote romantic letters that encouraged me, looked at me with adoring eyes and I was ready to carry me on my hands (if only I would allow it)

I snapped my fingers in front of his nose, pressed her to him, stamped her foot, kissed her nose, was capricious, said that he was the very same, sent him a text message asking him to come (a small digression: he lived in another city, before me by car he is 4 hours), and when he came she turned away and left ...

But the next similar sms-ku, he replied: "I'm going." After 4 hours he was with me. I got into his car and we drove to the nearest hotel. As soon as the door of the room closed behind us, it changed. In his eyes, I saw the hunter's sparkle, my lips stretched in a smug smile, absolutely everything: gestures, facial expressions, voice, movements — everything spoke of his superiority. From time to time I could not even get away from my place, because his change was so striking! He pressed me under him and it was useless to plop (he is 3 times bigger than me), and I didn’t want to. Tied in a degrading posture and watched, receiving from this contemplation incredible pleasure - this was the first act of action.

And then, I was left without clothes. All my clothes were ropes ... He put on a blindfold over his eyes, tied me in different poses, tied to furniture, swaddled in blankets, made candy in a wrapper from film and tape, leaving only the right places free and caressed ... Caressing for a long time, painfully, sweetly, admiring how my body twists, responding to his caresses, how my nails scratch everything that comes across, how my breath gets lost, my voice disappears and I bend to my fingers and tongue to try to break the bonds that connect me with reality. He took short rest breaks, changed the fixing position, and stroked again. At the same time, he himself enjoyed physical pleasure quite rarely, enjoying only what he saw ... He drank my juices, calling me "fresh morning"; I checked all my holes with my fingers, tongue and "improvised" means, carefully prepared in advance by him; he put a stick in my teeth and smiled happily, seeing a trickle of saliva flowing from his mouth; brought me to the strongest orgasm, and then sarcastically laughed at a wet spot below me ...

When I was completely exhausted, he wrapped me in blankets, firmly fixing it on top with ropes, and we fell asleep nearby. Then they went into the shower (I was again not free). He soaped a washcloth and washed me himself. And then again and again he tied and caressed, caressed, caressed ... Pulling me out: “I am yours! Have mercy! ”

Only after that I saw that he was pleased. His eyes were filled with satiety, his movements became relaxed, the very thing that was forgotten during the session, an expression of adoration of “his lady” on his face appeared. He slowly untied the knots, stroking and kissing every scar on the skin, spoke pleasant words, gently, like a fragile vase, turned over from side to side to release, rubbed his stiff limbs, warming his breath or the warmth of his body ... And then he wrote letters to me, romantic, all in ruffles and pink snot, but so pleasant to my vanity ... I read, and again and again I wanted to be under it. This desire was so strong that I forgot about caution! And again she wrote: “Come”, and received in response: “I am going”.

Now, looking back, I understand that this was the ideal version of thematic relations for me.

Someday the element breaks the stained glass, the fragments scatter on the ground, and nothing remains. In the meantime, the memories of the sharp edge of a splinter hurt the skin, but instead of blood there are droplets of frustration of lost thematic happiness ...

Author's e-mail: tolkotam. mail. ru