Domination's Dawn: Wet & Wild (L)

The first rays of dawn painted the bedroom in hues of pale rose and apricot, but I didn't give a damn about the sunrise. I silenced the insistent chirp of the alarm clock, a sound that always felt like a personal affront, and rolled my captive onto her back. Her movements were sluggish, the remnants of sleep clinging to her like a damp shroud, but her body was already responding, a subtle tremor rippling beneath her skin. There was no time for gentle persuasion, no room for hesitation. With swift, decisive action, I pulled her legs up, forcing them against her chest. It was a brutal start, a direct assault on her pleasure, and it worked instantly. My fingers, calloused from countless encounters, plunged deep into the folds of her labia, driving straight up against the swollen, glistening G-spot. Simultaneously, my tongue, thick and demanding, found its mark on her clitoris. She was already slick with anticipation, a silent invitation that I couldn’t refuse.

“Cum for me, Cin,” I growled, the words laced with a possessive urgency. “Drench my fucking bed.” Her resistance was minimal, a fleeting flicker of hesitation before she succumbed entirely to the primal urge. Her hips began to writhe violently, a chaotic dance of pleasure and submission. The gush erupted, a torrent of liquid gold that sprayed upwards, coating the sheets between us in a sticky, decadent film. I caught the spatter on my lips, savoring the salty taste as I licked my skin like a thirsty animal. “I don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed that fast,” she gasped, her voice breathless and ragged. “It’s a new kind of intense.”

“Breakfast in bed, baby,” I replied, my voice a low rumble of satisfaction. The heat radiating from her body was intoxicating, a tangible wave of pleasure that washed over me. I continued my assault, pushing her further into the depths of her arousal. The rhythmic contractions, the desperate gasps for air, fueled my own need, a shared experience of exquisite release. It felt primal, raw, and utterly consuming.

Later that day, while showering, I caught her from behind, wrapping my arms around her torso, one hand firmly pressed against her throat, the other nestled between her legs. The water streamed down our bodies, creating a glistening sheen of sweat and anticipation. Two fingers, cold and insistent, entered her, replicating the brutal curl that had so effectively broken her defenses. No gentle warming up, no tentative exploration. Just a direct, unyielding pressure against her sensitive pleasure point. She trembled violently, her body a taut, quivering mass of nerves. “Daddy!” she whimpered, her voice choked with a mixture of fear and desire.

“That’s it, Cin. Cum for me again,” I commanded, my voice firm and unwavering. She obeyed, her body convulsing with each surge of pleasure. The small, forceful squirt felt like a tiny victory, a testament to her growing control over her own sensations. It wasn't as explosive as her previous eruption, but it was a signal, a clear indication of her progress. I slapped her ass once afterward, a swift, decisive act of praise. It wasn’t meant as punishment, but as an acknowledgment of her efforts, a recognition of her dedication to mastering her own body.

That evening, we played while we were out to dinner, finding refuge in a quiet booth where we could indulge our desires without attracting unwanted attention. I reached under the table, my hand sliding beneath her dress, between her thighs. Her body stiffened instantly, her eyes wide with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. I didn't delve too deeply, just a light tap against her clitoris, a teasing hint of what could be. One, two, three strokes, each movement precise and deliberate. Then, I whispered, my voice low and suggestive, “You know what happens if you cum right here, baby?” Her lip trembled, and she shook her head vehemently, her blush deepening with embarrassment. Good. She wasn’t ready for public ruin, not yet. But the heat in her eyes, the silent plea for release, betrayed her restraint. She was thinking about it, yearning for the moment when she could surrender her control and succumb to the pleasure that awaited her.

After the meal, I took her back to the hotel room, where the air hung thick with unspoken desires. I fucked her slow, deliberately, savoring each moment of her response. No brutal, frantic pace, just a steady, rhythmic assault on her senses. One hand rested gently on her throat, holding her close while the other caressed her breast, molding her body to my will. I held her exactly where I wanted her, guiding her towards the peak of pleasure, but denying her the release she craved. “Fill me, daddy,” she begged, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, her voice laced with desperation. And I did, summoning every ounce of my own desire to meet her needs. The last two and a half days, spent meticulously orchestrating her arousal while feigning disinterest, had been an exercise in control, a test of my own capacity for both domination and submission. I needed release too, the same raw, unbridled pleasure she so desperately sought. The final act, the culmination of our shared experience, felt like a desperate plea for connection, a merging of our needs into a single, unified force.

As I retreated, I kissed her, swapping cum, a symbolic exchange of power and pleasure. It was a reminder to her: even when I'm gentle, even when I seem distant, she's always mine. Always. Her submission was complete, her body relaxed and limp in my arms, her breathing slow and even. The scent of her mingled with my own, a potent cocktail of arousal and exhaustion. It was a victory, a conquest, but also a surrender. A testament to the intoxicating power of desire, and the exquisite agony of restraint. The silence in the room was broken only by the sound of our ragged breathing, a shared rhythm of pleasure and pain. As I held her close, I knew that this was just the beginning, the first step on a long and passionate journey into the depths of our shared desires. And as I drifted off to sleep, cradled in her arms, I knew that she was, without a doubt, truly mine.

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