Sometimes, it IS all about me

I love it when I wake up to one or the other’s hands on me, pressing, mauling, pulling, squeezing;  fingers or a cock slipping inside before I’ve fully had a chance to wake; a mouth on my neck, a hand on my throat; a whispered “cunt” in my ear.
Even better is to wake up to both their hands on me. One holding me down, the other fucking me with his hands and mouth; the feel of a hard cock pressed against my hip, another in my hand; of one of their legs pinning mine, holding them open so the other can have full access to my hole; the feel of their bodies heavy on mine…  And them making me come, first one and then the other, “tag you’re it,” over and over, till my stomach muscles hurt, till my legs tremble, till I can’t come any more and I beg them to stop.
I know they say they enjoy it too, but seriously: I can accept that it’s All About Me at that moment.  (smirk)  W even says that the things he does when he tortures me, those things are all about me too, though if I don’t like it, how that can be so I just don’t know.  Oh wait–because even when I don’t like it, I do.  Yeah, forgot that bit of twisted submissive-head mindfuck.
Anyway.  Point is, I think last night really was All About Me.  And it was fun! A lot of what I do what I do because I get off on knowing I am doing it for them, because they want me to, because it turns them on, because I like giving myself up to someone else’s control, to be used, to be tortured, teased, fucked, exhibited, hurt, played with, petted, loved…  But last night…last night I don’t know what they could have gotten out of it.  But do I care?  Not a bit.  I wasn’t pleasing either of them, I wasn’t thinking about pleasing anyone (not even myself) I was just enjoying what was happening, experiencing things.
It wasn’t a real “scene” as such.  W wanted to suspend me to see how I could take it, what I could take, what worked, what didn’t…and I got to say what worked, what didn’t, I got to enjoy it and say when I had had enough, and they just tied me up and made me fly…it was like being one of his bondage barbies, a toy to be dressed up in rope and played with.
I was scared the first time (I don’t like being off-balance) but once I realized I wasn’t going to fall, really truly wasn’t going to (there’s a difference between knowing it and believing it), it was just pure pleasure.  And surprisingly, at the end, I hit that place in my head when I stop being on, stop thinking, stop being in my head…and am just there.  It was lovely.
Hmm, thinking about it, I got to that space in the last suspension, when there was quite a bit less control in it for me, when he pulled my legs back in an uncomfortable position and I couldn’t move at all except to writhe a bit as he touched me, as he stroked me between my immobilized legs…  A theme perhaps?  I love that loss of control.  Yes, yes, even when it’s All About Me, I still need that edge to push me there.
And then this morning, A pulled my panties down and started to fuck me from behind, slowly, while I was still half-asleep.  I moaned and pushed back against him, opening myself to him.  I didn’t want to come, I didn’t want sex, I just wanted to feel him inside me.
He pulled out and pushed the tip of his cock against my ass.  I resisted.  He stroked me, coaxed me…I resisted.  He pushed farther, keeping himself just far enough inside that he wasn’t through the tightness yet, but just resting there, holding me open.  And waited.
I wiggled slightly against him.  It felt good, dammit.
He pulled me back against him, held me, held himself still.  I started to stroke myself…and felt myself opening, giving, allowing him inside me.  No pain at all, he slips in, filling me, stretching me pleasantly.  In moments he has lost the ability to stay still and is thrusting against my no-longer resisting body; with one more thrust he spends himself inside me, hot, wet, filling me another way.  I sigh as he shudders against me, loving the feel of him, loving knowing that it has been me that has caused that loss of control. But now I want more…and I can’t get there.  If he’d been able to hold back a few more minutes…
I roll onto my back.  “I want to come,” I say.  I don’t often ask for/demand it.  I either do or I don’t, and if I don’t and want to, there’s always fucking myself later.  But I don’t want later.  I want it the way I want it…
I take his hand and slip his fingers inside me, using my fingers as a guide.  He knows what I want, but it’s about me this time, it’s what I want, and I want to show him, I want to tell him.  I am still not coming though, something that happens occasionally.  But I am determined to get what I want, so I reach back for Baldy, my hitachi.  And I tell him exactly how I want him to touch me, something I almost never do: “there, yes, there…don’t stop, harder, oh yes…please, don’t stop, push, god, there…there!”  And finally, finally, I come.
Sometimes it is All About Me.

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