Eki 17

Will Cuts Class Ch. 04

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“No time limit tonight, Torquemada,” she said, and glanced at me over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“Interesting,” I said. And took off my pants.


I had noticed a small conference table over to the side, and picturing her bent forward over it gave me several interesting ideas. The trick was going to be untying her and getting her there without getting savaged. I really wasn’t quite sure just exactly how angry I was making her, nor what the exact rules of this game were, but she wasn’t fitting in with the “submissive” profile I’d read, those few times I’d wandered into fiction that had that theme.

On the other hand, I certainly wasn’t conventionally dominant, either. But I was quite comfortable simply talking through my process, being very much myself, and oddly, that seemed to work just as well, if not better, than playing some sort of “master” character. I was pretty sure that anyone who tried to play that artificial “Sir Dom” stuff with Bijou would be shredded within moments anyway. Verbally, if not otherwise.

I moved a bit closer to her, so I could speak quietly in her ear. “I’m thinking I might untie your hands at some point. But I need to check on a couple of things first.” I began petting her gently, running my hands over her chest, her thighs, round her buttocks, tracing my fingers up her spine. It was instinctive, I realized, the way one might try to calm a skittish horse. She cooed and her body relaxed into my hands.

“You’d still really like to be able to come eventually, right?” There was quite a bit of an edge to her simple, “Oh yes. I would.”

“And the idea of sucking my cock is still sort of motivational as well, yes?” This elicited a small, desperate growl. “Oh good. Because when I untie you, I really have this instinct that you’re a little…angry… and you might want to cause some sort of trouble. I mean, I really am very new to this sort of game…”

She knew where I was headed. And she grinned, although her body was still rocking gently to the long strokes from my hands. “Oh, I promise I’ll be terribly good.” There was an affectionate sarcasm in her voice. “Did you want me to call you sir or anything?”

I laughed, trying to be quiet. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face. Bet you wouldn’t either.” She snorted. “No,” I said, “I think we’ll just stick with Will.”

“Strong Will,” she said, and sighed as my hands pressed down on her, stroking her long body, up and down.

I kept one hand moving on her and reached up to begin undoing one of the ties. One advantage to their thickness was that it was being relatively easy to pull the knot loose, although the stress she’d put on it had pulled it somewhat tighter than it had been. I managed to work it open, trying not to think about what kind of damage it had incurred, and then switched hands. This one was harder and I had to use both hands to undo it.

She had left her hands resting on the shelf, either out of some sort of tractability or simple inattention, and I pulled her arms gently down, one by one, massaging her shoulders lightly and drawing the blood down into her hands. She moaned appreciatively, flexing her fingers. I was careful to draw her arms round behind her very gently, but I kept hold of both ties behind her as I distracted her with the massage. I still didn’t entirely trust my safety.

“I’m noticing that those pens by your feet didn’t shift at all. You’re pretty strong willed yourself,” I said.

“There was a reward offered for that, as I remember,” she purred, with a bit of an edge.

“Indeed. I haven’t forgotten,” I said as I did my best to subtly knot the ties on her wrists, so that her arms were trapped behind her back. At least temporarily, that seemed like a good idea.

“In fact, if your legs are a bit tired from all that standing, you could kneel for a moment, just right here in front of me,” I said. She shot me a look that was undefinable, with equal parts of amusement and suspicion and a small amount of genuine relief. She did seem a little weak from all the exertion, and I had no desire to “break my toy”, as she was fond of saying.

She sank to her knees, tugging on her hands and noticing for the first time that they were actually bound behind her. I saw a flash of annoyance, then amusement when she realized what I’d done. She was definitely a little out of it; I hadn’t been that stealthy.

I took a moment to enjoy the fact that she was truly a little limp; she did have rather an iron will but she was showing a bit of wear at the moment. I was enormously pleased at the idea that I’d managed to make an impression on her.

“You talk about this energy thing, taking yang from men, that sort of idea. And it occurs to me that you’re actually looking a little tired at the moment. Now my impression is that I would have to come to provide you with this energy, and I’m not quite ready to do that yet.”

“Not necessarily,” she said, smiling. “There’s a certain amount of energy available the whole time.”

“You almanbahis yeni giriş know I’d do anything for you,” I said, attempting to sound terribly sincere. She snorted.

I was pretty concerned that her mouth could take me over the edge within a very short time, and I wanted to wait for that. I had some ideas as to where I’d like to be when I finally let myself go. And any number of things I wanted to see between now and that moment.

“Here’s what I’m seeing. You’ve talked about the concept of holding completely still as a sort of… thing.”

“Stillness practices,” she offered.

That’s it,” I said. “Now I wonder if you’re actually capable of holding still, keeping your mouth completely receptive and inactive. Completely.”

I thought about the various times I’d tried to get her to stop for a moment, when I was close to the edge. Sure, her head would stop moving, but she’d do something else equally maddening instead. She’d set up a steady, unmoving suction, some crazy throat muscle thing, or else she’d ripple her tongue on the underside, just flexing it in a steady wave without really moving. It was cheating, I’d argue with her. She knew perfectly well what I meant by “holding still,” and she’d always get off, as it were, on some technicality. Her only real answer had been that she’d paid more attention in linguistics classes than the normal student.

“Still. I mean it. None of that muscle twitching and stuff. Are you even capable?” Her face had melted into a grin that was not at all mischievous. It was genuinely evil. And very self-satisfied. She attempted to look hurt, but failed.

“I can only promise that I will truly, actually try. But if you keep getting tangible sensations from energy work that has nothing to do with the physical, how can I help that? I’m NOT moving. You just THINK I am.”

“I suppose I’ll have to try to be fair about that, although I think you’re full of shit. Tangible means that something is happening. Something REAL.”

“In that sense, we agree,” she said thoughtfully, and I realized that the sort of conversation they were having was generally had over lattes in trendy coffee shops, not tied up and buck naked in utility closets. I liked that about Bijou. “But one cannot prove a negative. How can I prove to you that I’m not moving anything physical, when you trust only the evidence of your senses, and your senses interpret sensations as physical, whether or not they are conventionally caused by actual movement or not?”

“For there to be a sensation, there must be a physical cause,” I said.

“What about heartbreak? That’s quite tangible, quite literal. Actual sensations of pain in the heart area. And no physical cause.”

“Well now we’re talking about two different things, though…” I said, completely involved.

“Not in this case. One can feel a physical sensation caused purely by an emotional state, or by an action of the will. Or the Will,” she grinned. “That’s what we’re talking about in this case too. Those sensations can be transmitted just like touch can be transmitted, from one person to another. Ideas can in fact be tangible to the senses, at least as much as something like heartbreak can be. I mean, you’ve HAD that sensation.”

I couldn’t argue with her on the heartbreak thing. I’d definitely felt that and it was a genuine, tangible pain. But that was a whole different thing from the fact that at those moments I’d been able to actually feel her doing something with her throat, or something with her tongue, or something… Whatever it was, though I could never quite locate the sensation specifically, I could actually FEEL that. That was different. She was cheating, moving something.

“I have, in fact, cheated,” she admitted, smiling, as if she had heard my thoughts. “For the sake of this argument, there have indeed been times when I was rolling my tongue on you, or something, when you told me to hold still. I just don’t always do things I’m told to do… But I always admitted it. I’ve never lied when I said I was actually not moving. That’s the difference.”

“Personally, I don’t think you could actually hold your mouth still for thirty seconds, let alone while my cock was in it for a while,” I said. “I’ve seen what you do to pens. And lighters. And water bottles. And cigars.” Bijou tended to unconsciously fellate her entire environment, especially when she was bored.

“I could,” she argued, “but I’m not sure how to prove that I’m doing so.”

“This bears some thought, indeed,” I said, noticing for the first time in a few minutes that I was standing naked in front of a kneeling woman who was bound with my best silk ties. We had completely forgotten to be quiet, but it was a bit later and the traffic outside in the hall had died out.

“Okay, how about this,” she said, actually preoccupied with the mechanics now. “Try rolling your eyes up in your head, and check the sensation you have, if any, sorta down behind your throat.” I did so, and actually could feel an almanbahis odd movement, somewhat muscular, deep in my throat, behind the soft palate.

“Okay, feel that?” she asked. I nodded, surprised. “That’s a motion, a muscular motion you’re making, and that’s what I’m doing. I do have to roll my eyes back like that for it to be effective, and that connection you’re feeling at the back of your throat is the reason. That’s where it goes in.”

It didn’t particularly matter to me that I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. I’d learned just enough to know that she wasn’t completely delusional, or at least that she was learning this stuff from published works and established sources, not just hearing it from her Rice Krispies. Delusional remained to be seen, but at least I had to admit that it was a mass delusion, not hers alone. And it was true, I had felt a sensation in my throat, but that was probably attendant musculature, involuntary movements related to the action of rolling my eyes back.

Again, she was reading my mind. “There is musculature involved in that movement, of course, but not enough to actually be tangible to you, not in the way you’re describing it to me, anyway. Not all the way to the tongue, or anything. Those muscles don’t even connect down to the throat. So where’s the sensation coming from?”

I shook my head to clear it. I was still occupied with the sensation of rolling my eyes back. “And you have to roll your eyes back like that to do that thing you’re doing?”

“Pretty much,” she said. “It opens some stuff. You can feel it yourself. There’s a connection there, and it helps you be able to feel where your pineal and pituitary are actually located, to notice that spot.”

You are one freaky chick, I thought. I loved how serious and preoccupied she got when she was off on these crazy riffs. Completely scholastic. Her body was sweaty, naked, bound and sticky with her own juice, but her mind was all professor at that moment. She may as well have been in a lecture hall.

“You don’t want to hear about any of this stuff,” she grinned, coming back. “You’re a rationalist. You should know better than to get me started.”

“You’re right, I should,” I agreed. “But this bears an experiment. The thing is, we’ll need you in a position in which your mouth and jaw can be completely relaxed.” She giggled as I looked around the room for ideas.

My mind clicked through the technicalities of positions in which she could legitimately say she was completely relaxed. Clearly she’d have to be laying back, probably on the floor, and I would need to be in some position I could hold comfortably enough not to move for a while.

I realized, amused, that I was being terribly scientific about what amounted to a basic blow job. Okay, a blow job from someone who considered fellatio an actual religious practice, but a blow job nonetheless.

I heard her voice from below me . I’d gotten so involved with scanning the room for ideas that once again I’d forgotten the basic situation. A woman knelt bound before me , her face at the level of my cock. My best silk ties were involved, and most likely doomed.

She said, “May I offer a suggestion?”

“If you have one, and you’re not batting your eyelashes suspiciously, I might take you up on it,” I said, feeling overwhelmingly the urge to just give up on the whole project and shove my cock into that incredibly tempting mouth then and there.

“Hang my head down over a table top. Use those work towels over there as cushions. I’ll be able to completely relax, in that position.”

I saw the picture. She lay on her back on the conference table, her head hanging down over the edge of the shelf. Just the right height to…

“Are you sure you’d be comfortable that way?” I asked. Upside down. Interesting.

“Quite,” she said. “And verifiably relaxed.”

I spotted the stack of work towels she meant, over on a shelf. I picked up a couple and laid them on the edge of the table as a sort of pillow. “Show me,” I said.

“You’ll have to untie me,” she said, looking up at me with a suspiciously pleased expression. “Can’t have my hands underneath me.”

“Do I dare?” I asked, remembering the murderous rage I’d seen on her face not so many minutes ago.

“It’s for science,” she smiled. “You need some evidence for your senses.”

I helped her stand. All her shakiness had disappeared; she seemed enervated all of a sudden.

I untied the knot I’d made in the ties on her wrists but left them on. Esthetically, it was stunning, the contrast of the dark silk bound thickly around her long, pale limbs. I was discovering that I didn’t care so much about the ties. For one thing, if any of them survived, I’d be wearing them with an entirely different attitude, knowing where they’d been. And if they got ruined, they’d be kept in That Drawer with the other odd objects I’d ended up with since meeting Bijou, and they would undoubtedly get used again. And again.

I shook my head, trying to focus almanbahis adres on the moment. She had positioned herself on the table. She lay on her back, her neck cushioned by the towels and her head hanging upside down over the edge. I noticed that her legs were crossed, and her hands rested on her thighs, positioned in one of the “mudras” she had enthused about, whose names I could never keep track of.

Her face looked totally relaxed, inverted like that. And her lips were parted. God, those lips. Already swollen with arousal, a mouth that could make me come within moments when she wanted to make it happen, no matter how I tried to resist. Lips that had been close enough to my cock for me to feel the breath along its length, lips that I’d managed to resist so far for the sheer sake of torturing her.

I couldn’t resist any longer. I moved to the table, and my cock, which had gone partially soft during all the philosophical debate and technical consideration, jumped and swelled, reacting to the proximity of that luscious, welcoming mouth. It was right there, and the perfect height. I stayed a foot or two away.

“You’ll hold PERFECTLY still?” I asked, “except for that eye thing?”

“Nnnngg,” she hummed. She seemed completely relaxed, almost in a trance. She was clearly trying to prove that every part of her was receptive and still. I remained skeptical. As always.

I couldn’t resist the rest of her, at least for a moment. I deliberately moved to the side, and leaned over her calm body, running my hands over her breasts, smoothing the curves of her waist, reaching down to stroke her pussy, which was still amazingly juicy. Her body remained relaxed, which interested me. Only her voice responded, with a low, pleased moan, and when I laid my other hand on her belly I felt the muscles, and discovered they were completely relaxed, even as I stroked her slick little button and pinched her nipples. Her voice rose; the rest of her body remained still. She was good at going into this state, obviously.

Science be damned, I didn’t particularly care whether we established any truth to this proposition that what I sensed when my cock was in her mouth was from one source or another. The plain fact was, there was a mouth. A lovely, incredible mouth. And my cock wanted to slide into it. Now.

I put my hands on the edge of the table, on either side of her, and my cock touched down on her lips. She didn’t move. Her mouth wasn’t open far enough for me to slide in. I looked carefully at the picture I was making, the tip of my phallus pressed delicately against her lips, purple on swollen pink. A single pearl of moisture emerged from the tip. She had referred to that as “dragon tears,” I remembered.

Slowly, deliberately, I chose to take my cock in my hand, and stroke the moisture it had generated back and forth across her lips, slicking them up. I slid a finger slowly into her mouth, feeling her tongue above, circling and probing between her teeth. Warm, wet, receptive, and completely still, her mouth yielded to me, and I couldn’t wait any longer. my fingertips pressed her mouth open, and I aimed the head of my cock at her open mouth and forced it in, gently, deliberately, widening her jaw as I worked the tip into her.

I could feel her tongue on the upper side of my shaft, a strange sensation when I was accustomed to feeling that juicy cushion underneath. I was completely absorbed in the sensation. My mind kept saying the word “receive” over and over. Just that. She received me.

I moved further in, feeling the heat, the moisture. She was incredibly wet. The thought that she was salivating at the idea of my cock in her mouth appealed to me. I wanted to move, to fuck her, to slide deep and keep sliding and sliding until I exploded, but some part of my mind told me to be still, to notice everything, to catalogue, almost methodically, the sensations I was having.

The palm of my hand on the edge of the tabletop. The hand that held my cock straight into her. My legs, planted firmly on the floor, a wide stance, primitive. my breath, deep and even in my belly. The hot gold sensations fluttering around my hips, my testicles, the base of my spine. Her white, outstretched neck, just under my gaze, culminating in the smooth parabola of her jawbone, and the deep pink of her lower lip, sliding onto the darker rose of my shaft. My thumb across the base, pale in comparison with the hard rose color of my cock, aiming me into her mouth, firm, solid. The top of my head, seemingly floating feet above me, strange and electric.

Just another centimeter. I watched as by increments, incredibly, gradually, my cock disappeared slowly into her, until my thumb holding the shaft was pressed against her lips. She surrounded me, defined me with the shape of her tongue, her palate, the edges of her teeth that I could feel pressing lightly against my skin.

My cock explored her mouth, shifting almost imperceptibly as it twitched and hardened, sliding gradually up against the back of her throat, pressing slightly from side to side as I shifted my stance to set my feet more firmly. The idea was to hold still, but I could feel even the movement of my breath creating little motions in my cock, the little jumps of my arousal moving the shaft within the warm cavern.

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