"I can't carry on, you've just blown my mind."
It's a cruel trick to play, but it works really, really well. I love a good head fuck. I call this one "the submissive boy on top". I flip him over so he's fucking in the way that a vanilla boy might, hands on my shoulders, hips between my legs, gazing down and me then I watch as he realises that he is not in the driving seat. The short-circuit happens when the submissive feelings clash with the muscle memory of other women, other situations. His desire to please me is a physical, visceral thing, I can read it in the hardness of his cock, the twitch in his lower back. The confusion between his understanding of "traditional" desire and the way he feels right now is a wonderful thing to behold. His eyes widen and he stops dead, staring at me as if I'd just performed some impossible magic trick.
"Oh sweetheart, it's got nothing to do with the angles."
I flip him over again, and he tumbles as if made of paper and string. Resting my head on his shoulder, we talk into the night about dominance and desire. I let him lick my clit and bring me to orgasm, accepting his grateful thanks alongside his tongue.
In a moment of inspired madness, spurred by my mother enquiring over the course of many, many weeks whether perhaps I had a "friend" who I would like to bring home for the holidays I invited Ten to come and spend Christmas with my family. In the wake of my confessions of bisexuality which so upset my Mum this provided me with excellent heterosexual normal credentials as well as a spot of submissive company in my childhood bedroom. It is also a lovely side note to the fact that around eleven years ago he was supposed to come home for Christmas but then we broke up.
In less cynical terms, and I'm afraid I am becoming a little cynical, it also gave both of us some time to explore the nascent yet ongoing D/s relationship we have been, more or less, pursuing for many, many years.
We spent a few relaxing days amidst my family (who have since phoned to say that they thought he was a very nice young man, I agreed). We spent a few nights where I let him indulge his favourite activity of lavishing worshipful attentions on me as I re instructed him in the precise methods of orgasm. The ease of our power exchange would be frightening if it weren't for the way it feels so right. As with all well-matched partners the D/s is simple because each of us is giving and taking precisely as much as we want. The fact that, for him, a lot of this is still new, only really adds to my satisfaction. I enjoy being the first one to take him to these places, and to be the first, perhaps the sole person, who inspires these reactions.
It's a strange mental space to be in, now, back home and many miles away. Now we are separated once more, for however long. I left him, a little wobbly-legged but well-fucked, on the train platform. We spoke briefly about future plans, though we've spoken about those before and I know him well enough to not hold him to account. I'm curiously calm, at other times I would be building castles in the air, imaginary futures. That doesn't mean I wouldn't like for things to continue. I've been conducting aftercare via text message whilst really wishing he was resting his head in my lap.
I remain, ultimately, pragmatic about this. We live far apart, he travels a lot, I hate leaving London. We both love each other, but I don't feel in love and that's an important distinction. I enjoyed our time together, as I always enjoy our time together, and the little gifts, cards and messages I sporadically receive from wherever he is in the world. The question of whether he could ever be anything other than the icing on the cake is unanswered. I've left it in his court. As fond of him as I am, and I am very fond of him, I have no intention of turning my life upside down for anything less than wholehearted commitment, and that's a "C" word which goes alongside "C for cynicism".
Separating the Christmas present from future.