It is the Mistress… waking early. Rising slowly. Realizing she cannot return to slumber. And her hand is upon her mons, rubbing, then upon her clit, focused. Slave, roused, is exhorted to lick a nipple. Then to tug on one. Then both.
She picks up her pace. Quickened, she breaths deeply. Her legs rise, the slave assumes the most comfortable sex position in the world. She moans. He gently and slowly fills her, she rubs. A big, slow, gradual orgasm awaits Mistress as she walks down this sleepy path. She finally comes out from the wood into a field of sunshine, she smiles, gasps, runs wonderfully through the field and enjoys the orgasm that brings her here.
The slave, having been used is pushed aside as she rises for the day. He sleeps, scattered on the bed like one of the pillows or sheets, perhaps like a woman might toss aside a favorite vibrator. He lays there as she putters in the morning.
I feel so soft and squishy and so beautifully used. I’ve not felt more slave-like in some time and while it makes me quiet, I hope it stays with me for some time, in the background, washing over me. I have been well used as her toy, her slave and not word one or concern one was made of me having orgasm. It was all her, all the time, and she stopped when she was done. If I could talk about perfect sex, it would (some of the time) be like this.
Awake now, I have to drive hours from her, then back again, but it was a beautiful ride, nonetheless. I am so filled with love and service and joy in my heart right now. I feel like I’m glowing from the joy that’s within me.