Waking Up

Your moans stir me from sleep. I look up, half awake, and over at you. Your eyes are closed; your mouth slightly open and you have the loveliest distant look on your face, trying to deal with the pain. I smile and snuggle closer; using your chest as a pillow and hearing you moan again, stroking whatever parts of you I touch as I shift position.

Still surrounded by the lovely warmth of sleep, I know instantly what it is, why you’re hurting. Hurting for me. The power and satisfaction wash over me, somehow gentle and complimenting the warm sleepy feelings. Half conscious and without thinking I reach up, take hold of your neck, cupping your head and tugging slightly on your hair. Knowing my display of dominance only makes it worse. Mine. Suffering for me. In the dark depths of the morning, this isn’t sadism, not really. It’s ownership, possession that fills me. Knowing you belong to me, suffer because of me and all you can do is moan quietly, filling me with completeness. I am in my place, here against your chest, listening to your quiet whimpers. I whisper something to you about how hot you are, about how amazing it makes me feel. I don’t know whether you even hear. It doesn’t matter. We’re connected by something greater, more primal and powerful.

Snuggling closer just to feel you against me, to enhance that connection on every level, I play with your nipple absentmindedly while my other hand snakes down to the source of your pain. My property, all locked away, straining and suffering for trying to get hard, the points punishing your unconscious action. I stroke gently around it, and you moan some more. So hot. I want this so much. Your moans fill me and I want more. I murmur something half-sympathetic.

“Aww…poor baby…”

I continue to stroke, scratching a little, moving all over your body. My body. It doesn’t matter what I touch, I just want to feel you. Feeling soft and gentle from sleep, I cuddle close and drift off to the lovely murmur of your moans.

I wake up again, drifting in and out of sleep, feeling calm and at peace. Your moans get louder, longer and I feel hot, wet and horny even while being dazed from sleep. I rub against you and moan too, my pleasure contrasting beautifully with your pain. I want more. I want to make it hurt more. I say things…I can’t remember what…teasing you, telling you how hot I felt, what this did to me, how you were owned and controlled and had no choice but to lie there moaning in pain, because it pleased me. I scratch and stroke, pinch, play with your nipples. Sensitive and sore from my love. You moan more, whimper and give me what I want. I look up and revel in the look on your face. Opening your eyes, you look at me, half asking, looking for mercy on my face. I laugh lightly, smile, and pat your cheek. Sweet boy. But I’m not giving up this pleasure. It makes me horny, though, that look in your eyes. I want more. I get up, rustle through our toy bag and find some nice panties to gag you with, using a scarf to tie them in place. It doesn’t quieten the moans, just adds a lovely muffled element to them. And you look hot, helpless and at my mercy. I moan more, and cuddle against you again, rubbing up against you. I pull your hand against me for a time, have you pleasure me, but it’s not what I want, not what I’m looking for. I’m still, somehow, in a sleep haze and find more pleasure in letting the horniness throb through my body. I feel warm and gentle and soft, lost in sleep and pleasure and dominance and ownership. I don’t remember feeling this before, softly dominant, not sharp or powerful and intense, just happy and warm, complete and where I belong.

Turning over, I pull you against my back, have you hold me and feel your warmth tightly against me. I close my eyes and sigh softly. All this has done nothing to help you, however, and I feel you move slightly against me with the pain, moaning softly and beautifully into my ear. I relax, feeling safe, secure, and completely in control as sleep takes me once again.