I’d been wanting all day to fuck The Pedant again, but I sensed that he wouldn’t have been up for it first thing when we awoke and then he got all businesslike and wanted to focus on helping me with chores.
Once he’d put the finishing touches on that dresser, The Pedant flopped back on the couch for a bit of a rest. I promptly straddled him. We were both still naked. I assumed that he would gently rebuff me any minute – I’d nuzzled and kissed him a few times during the dresser set-up process, too, and gotten no response at all so I figured he was either in a nonsexual headspace or still spent from the previous night, or both. And indeed, when I planted a kiss on the side of his abdomen he made a chagrined-sounding “hmm” that I was certain would preface him saying “I really don’t think I’m up for anything right now.” But I took a chance and kissed one of his nipples anyway…and he let out a tiny gasp with an edge of moan to it that went straight to my clit.
And then, it was the weirdest thing…I just clicked over, instantly, into a sort of trance state. Time slowed down and my mind became perfectly still and clear.* And I decided that I was going to devote myself to pleasuring The Pedant’s body, slowly and in exquisite detail, for a long, long time. This sweet man who had put himself in my service all day; this hot man with the most sensitive touch receptors I’d ever had the pleasure to stimulate. My focus narrowed to a laser point. His body seemed to unfurl luxuriantly all around me, a warm living playground spreading as far as the eye could see. Nothing else existed.
I dipped down and kissed The Pedant’s nipple again, making him gasp; I brushed my lips whisper-light over the warm, satiny surface, back and forth, back and forth; I kissed my way around the perimeter; I lapped lightly at the very, very tip with my tongue, then swirled my tongue in a delicate spiral, experimenting with inhaling and exhaling through my mouth as I did so. My inhales sent a rush of cooling air across the wetness from my tongue, making his chest hitch and his hips buck ever so slightly. He let out a whimpering noise; his hardening cock reached out and tapped me in the stomach. (My exhales, for the record, did not have such a strong effect, although The Pedant was vocalizing pretty much from the moment I began my process of body worship – his pitch and fervor rose and fell but his stream of sounds was constant.)
It seemed as though The Pedant had fallen under a sort of trance, too. He’s taken to whispering “yes” over and over when I do something in bed that he likes, lately, or to making suggestions for what to do next, but during this particular encounter he didn’t speak a single word – which is exactly what I’d been craving. Either I’d aroused him to the point of incoherence really fast or we had a full-on telepathy moment where I beamed into his head that I would be running this fuck without needing or wanting any input from him whatsoever.
I kissed my way across The Pedant’s chest to play with his other nipple. One of my hands rested on the side of his ribcage, and sometimes when he made a particularly intense pleasure-sound, that hand gripped his body reflexively – which made him vocalize even louder. When he gets in the zone, he’ll respond pleasurably to any hint of roughness – a push, a grab. But outright pain will apparently wreck his buzz. I have to straddle the line carefully.
And then I made my way up his body to run my mouth over his neck. His chest is covered in a dense mat of fur, but he uses conditioner or something; it’s always so nice and soft. The fur gives way at his collarbone and the thick column of his neck is smooth and hair-free**. I thoroughly explored the whole area with my lips and tongue, poring over his skin inch by inch. Just above his collarbone there’s a spot that, when licked, makes him moan. I found other sweet spots along the sides of his neck. When I wanted access to the front of his neck and, later, the other side, I grasped his chin and moved his head where I needed it. He pliantly let me do this.
Finally I made my way up to his face. The Pedant has a huge head; quite leonine, really, despite him having referred to himself as a werewolf. He has lovely strong cheekbones. I mouthed my way along one of them and planted a kiss on the cool, fine, delicate skin next to his eye. Then I kissed his mouth, which was closed and relaxed and remained so. I was thoroughly enjoying him being such a total object; when he didn’t kiss me back, I reined myself in a bit and made a chain of tiny, barely-there kisses across his upper lip and then his lower lip as he continued steadily whimpering and his cock pulsed against my leg. I kissed the tiny blank spot by the corner of his mouth where his beard doesn’t quite start yet. I ran the tip of my tongue lightly across his upper lip as though delicately licking an envelope – but slowly – so very slowly – his lips seeming to unspool before me like miles and miles of silk ribbon.
And then, for contrast, I seized his jaw in my hand – digging my fingers into his cheeks just enough to prompt his mouth to open – and gave him a passionate full-on kiss with tongue in it. He moaned harder and put his arms up by his head like he does when he wishes he were tied up.
I lowered my face to his ear and whispered, “I’m going to take you into the bedroom and use you however I want.”
I stood up from the couch. The Pedant, oddly, did not begin to stand, so I held out my hand to help him up and he got the hint then. I nudged him ahead of me down the hallway. His walk was kind of slow and spacey, as if he were drugged. Both cats were in the bedroom and The Pedant is not a person who tolerates animal spectators during sex, so I picked up Dickface the Kitten and tossed her out, expecting that The Pedant would automatically do likewise with Bastardcat. But he just stood by the bed, swaying slightly, arms at his sides.
Tangent: I’ve heard people use the word subspace to describe two different things: 1) the rush of brain chemicals that comes from pain play (which can make a person act kinda drunk) and 2) a sort of hypnosis-like state some subs slip into with the right person or under the right circumstances (no pain involved, necessarily) where they just…kinda lose all will of their own and automatically do what they’re told. This is not the first time I’ve suspected The Pedant was in subspace of one kind or another, but it’s perhaps the most intense and obvious example of it.
Once I’d ousted both cats from the bedroom and shut the door, I gently guided The Pedant to lie on the bed, and I straddled him again. More reverent tasting of each of his nipples in turn. More kissing of his neck, his jawline, his mouth. I was suddenly consumed with such gratefulness – for his help around the house, for his wonderful body in my bed, for the way he offered himself up to me – that I cupped his face in my hands, pressed my lips to his forehead, and just stayed like that for like thirty seconds.
And then I buckled the restraints onto his wrists and ankles and secured them to the corners of the bed. He was limp as a rag doll the entire time (but he was still hard, still making a constant stream of little sounds). If our positions were reversed I don’t think I could be that passive if I tried; I’d be constantly trying to predict where he was trying to position me, and endeavoring to beat him to it. But The Pedant was just…entirely relaxed and allowing me free rein without questioning or predicting what I was doing. He was letting me lead.
Once I’d finally just about had my fill of lavishing attention on The Pedant’s face and body with my mouth, I poured a generous amount of lube onto his cock and climbed aboard. And he was just so totally abandoned as I began to thrust. Squirming and howling and tossing his head back and forth. Opening his eyes, only for them to immediately roll back into his head. When he gets like that it’s fun to play with it by varying the rhythm of thrusts, so I did that – randomly raising myself up until only the tip of his cock was still inside me, holding still until he made a heartbroken little sound in the back of his throat, slowwwwwwly sliding back down again just to watch his face melt in ecstasy at being back inside me, throwing in a few rapid-fire thrusts to shake things up, etc.
And then I decided to see if I could trigger a big finish more-or-less on command. I fucked him with a solid, predictable rhythm until his sounds began to get even more of an edge of desperation, then pulled back for a long moment so that he was in kind of a breathless free-float…then slammed down again in one long, smooth motion and yessss he totally began to come. I put my palm on his chest and leaned my weight on it to enhance his feeling of being restrained. I thrust steadily through his initial full-body shudder. A moment later, his sounds became slightly panicked and he began feebly trying to shake his head no – I thrust through that, too. Finally I brushed the thumb of my free hand across one of his nipples, and he shuddered hard a second time and then his body language telegraphed that he was definitely not having fun anymore and so I did stop. And then some switch in my brain flipped and filled my head with endorphins and oxytocin and shit – a braingasm that made my back muscles ripple and my shoulderblades reflexively slam together, just once, and then I collapsed onto The Pedant and sobbed with my face buried in the crook of his neck.
I think The Pedant must know that these wee crying spells after or during sex are from the intensity of my happy, loving feelings. At any rate he never gets alarmed by them or asks me what’s going on.
A braingasm is nice, but it lacks a certain something that only an actual orgasm can provide, so once I’d recovered myself somewhat I undid The Pedant’s restraints, flopped down next to him, and got out my Hitachi and dildo. “Hey,” I said, nudging him, “I could use an extra pair of hands here.” I think he may have twitched and/or made a tiny noise as if trying to struggle to the surface of his blackout, but yeah…he was pretty gone. Even when I switched on the Hitachi and touched it to his nipple he barely moved, and normally something like that would make him whine, flinch, and slap my hand away. I decided that he was too out of it to assist me and it wasn’t his fault. I got myself off and then cuddled up to The Pedant and fell fast asleep, too.
*I wanted to link that one Futurama scene – the one where Fry drinks his hundredth cup of coffee and reaches a similar state – but I can’t find it, dammit!
**On the front and sides, anyway. If he didn’t shave the back of his neck I think he basically wouldn’t even have a discernible hairline.