High-minded pursuits in the bedroom

It is a long conversation. At the end, I merely say "It's like you're all pure and high-minded and I'm running around pursuing earthly pleasures."

He gets his kicks from math and programming. I can do too but I also want to go out, go hiking, see a show, be with friends - and I've always preferred sex to math.

He scoffs. "There's nothing high-minded about it. My earthly pleasures are just different from yours," he says.

I am quiet. Well, he said it at least, and that's all right. The world didn't explode. I feel ridiculous, dressed in a flimsy bit of lace lying in bed with him. I want to go put on something more substantial but my ruined foot would make that far more of a production than I would intend it to be.

I suppose I am quiet for too long. "What are you thinking, my girl?" he asks softly.

No reason not to be honest. "That I want to put on more clothes, but I can't walk."

"I like you naked," he says, and he too is honest. The words coil around my heart, around my stomach, and squeeze warmly. I feel my pulse speed up. "I think you should have on less clothes," he continues, his hand running under the bit of lace I'm wearing, across my skin. He makes my breath catch, my skin raise into goosebumps. I moan softly. I don't move, though.

His hand presses against my face and I moan again. He covers my whole face with his hand and presses, his lips settling against my ear. "You're mine, and you like to do what I tell you," he says. "I'm telling you to take off your clothes."


I whimper, because he's right, and because his voice is sending tingles all the way down my spine and across my ass.

He pinches my nipple as I turn to do what he tells me.

I arch and moan as I divest myself of the lacy garment.  "Good girl. I like to touch you, to make you react to me," he whispers. "You're much more vulnerable now, aren't you?" he asks as his hand wanders my newly naked flesh.

"Yes sir," I whisper as he pinches my nipple again. I groan, pressing my chest further into his hand.

"Funny how such a tiny little scrap of clothing can make you feel so much more protected than bare skin," he ponders, slapping my nipple, making me squeal with surprise. His voice is still targeted right on my ear and the combination of his hand and the tingles he's sending down me are my undoing. I undulate, and as I do I feel his cock hardening against the back of my hand.

"Look at you," he says. "Isn't it funny how making you react to me makes me react to you?"

I just groan. His fingers slide between my legs, tease my inner labia apart, find the wetness beneath. I groan louder as he discovers the moisture he has caused me to make. "Oh yesss," he says into my ear, and the sibilant makes short work of my brain circuitry, "it's so funny, I know you're laughing." His fingers circle my clit, over and over, a fingertip drawing across it now, and his voice, oh, his voice in my ear is making me crazy. So wet now, so, so wet and I can't process everything he's saying but my head, my head is swimming with want and my body is moving to the pace he has set.

"Are you my puppet, slave?" he asks - no, growls, into my ear.

"Oh...oh... oh, yes, yes, M-master," I manage to stutter despite the intense pleasure he is sending through my body.

"Oh, fuck," he groans as he makes me dance on his fingertips. "Don't you know, girl, that you're just supposed to enjoy yourself with your brain?"

I whimper.

"Don't you wish you were worthy of me?" he asks, sarcasm dripping from him so heavily that it burns. He presses the hardness of his cock into the back of my hand. That burns, too.

"Yes sir," I answer honestly, though his fingers are making me buck and moan and the words come out shakily.

"Maybe I enjoy some carnal pleasures myself," he says, his voice continually travelling that special path down my ear canal to do unspeakable things in my head. His finger, his voice, oh.

"I think I'm about to suggest we do something together, Conina," he growls into my ear. I tremble. His hand, smelling of my arousal, presses against my face in the way I so love, covering my nose, my mouth, my eyes. He holds my head still for his words to sink into me fully.

"Hey Conina, how about we fuck?" he asks, my name drawn out across his tongue like honey. Holy shit, he keeps saying my name and it's doing something to me. Oh my God, what is that? My insides are melting and every time he growls my name it's like a little explosion of impropriety. A whimper escapes me past his hand.

"Hey Conina, how about I hold your head and fuck your face?"

I can't do anything but whimper. It's too intimate, too much, and I can't bear it.

"You like the sound of that, don't you?" His fingers go back to my clit, circling there, dragging across it, making my body dance again for him. I arch up, I'm trembling.

"I think," he says, and pauses while my body shakes harder in response to his low growl in my ear, "I think your reactions right now aren't just because of my fingers."

I groan and press my ear closer against his lips. "Oh my God," I manage to answer.

"I think I'm in your head. Am I in your head, Conina?" he asks, and I groan my answer as I arch into his touch, my whole body shaking. Shit, he said my name again. "Oooh you're going to come for me," he says, excitement clear in his tone. "Go on, then, come for your master, slave," he growls, and I do, trembling helplessly in his embrace, his lips pressed against my ear.

He is on fire as he makes me come again and again. "I should try getting you to the edge of an orgasm and taking my finger away," he growls. "I should see if you can come from just my words."

I shake my head wildly, "nnnn," I grunt even as I arch into him and spasm in orgasm again.

"Good thing for you I'm not that kind of master," he says.

"Please," I beg.

"Please what, slave?" he asks, his finger still making me buck and jerk and sweat.

"Oh God, please fuck me with your cock," I moan.

"Mmm," he says, "you think you want the cock to fuck you? I think you just want to think about the cock fucking you. I think you just want to think about the cock stretching you open, filling you up. Do you like to be full, slave? You like my cock to fuck you in your pussy. You like my cock to fuck you in your ass. And you like any extra fingers you can get, stretching you open for me. Isn't that right?"

His whole speech is punctuated by my moans, my grunts, my begging. His finger keeps applying sensation to my clit and by the time he finishes talking I am arching up into him and trembling again. Answering isn't necessary. Orgasm is answer enough.

"See, slave? You're coming right now just from thinking about it."

"Oh, please," I whisper once I can. "All... all my holes are ready for you to fuck them."

"Oh, I know," he says soothingly.

He draws it out like sweet, sweet torture.

Eventually, he will give me what I want.

Eventually, I will rise up over him, take his cock, absolutely slippery with my wetness, and suck it down my throat greedily until he comes.

Eventually, I will lie panting in his arms, looking up at him adoringly, and he will call me beautiful.

I think, perhaps, maybe some of our earthly pleasures are the same.