Dungeon in My Mind
No, dear readers, I did not tie my partner to the towel bar in the hostel bathroom. No, I was not told to kneel before him in the tiny shower stall and worship his dripping cock.
There were four other people with us, sillies. We didn't have a chance.
But we made up for it when we got back to our disparate homes and our comforting computers, and the power of text and imagination.
I've got a dungeon in my mind, and I love it. Cybersex is just a grown-up way to play pretend. It's close your eyes and imagine time, and I find it fabulous. Even if we had the stability, the money, the time to create an actual dungeon, it wouldn't be as good as the one I can call up in his thoughts. In this dungeon I can wear true dominatrix gear and not feel silly. I can clothe myself in leather from bustier to boots, and I can be truly all powerful. Because when I started the dungeon was empty except for the hook that my naked, collared partner was attached too, wrists together in suspension cuffs (we don't have a real set yet) above his head, the chain ending just above comfortable standing hight, so that he had to be up on the balls of his feet, half dangling.
As the scene went on, though, I added a fire place, and I conjured a pillory, and in my minds eye I saw them growing from the floor as I described them. The pillory was a low one so that he was bent over, so that I could use my fingers and a miraculous strapon to fuck him senseless, and then remove him from the pillory, flip him onto a leather upholstered bench, tie his thighs to his ankles and his arms to the legs and fuck him from the front (because my bench is just at standing hight for me when I'm wearing boots, which I am). And all of this without any awkwardness, without pauses, without fumbling. In the dungeon of my mind I can conjure what I need and it is there, I can move between positions seemlessly. As long as I keep typing, he keeps needing.
And none of this is the best part.
The best part is that I am still mistress, and my partner is hundreds of miles away, sitting in his room wearing nothing but a ring around his cock, and one around his balls, and his collar to remind him not to do anything amiss.
He reads what I say to him, but he cannot touch himself unless I let him. He earned lashes, and in place I had him squeeze hard on his balls.
(Remember, Pet, you only worked out 10 of the 30 you earned. You have 20 more coming to you next time we talk. And you've 10 real lashes when we play in person again.)
I miss actual touch, and I miss very much taking off the collar and curling up together for a bit when the scene is over. G'night and signing offline doesn't have quite the same feel. Still, this system has it's advantages. I can do things to him in his mind I couldn't bring myself, yet, to do to him in person (or even if I could, we lack the supplies.)
Ah, cybersex. I never thought I'd enjoy it quite this much.
There were four other people with us, sillies. We didn't have a chance.
But we made up for it when we got back to our disparate homes and our comforting computers, and the power of text and imagination.
I've got a dungeon in my mind, and I love it. Cybersex is just a grown-up way to play pretend. It's close your eyes and imagine time, and I find it fabulous. Even if we had the stability, the money, the time to create an actual dungeon, it wouldn't be as good as the one I can call up in his thoughts. In this dungeon I can wear true dominatrix gear and not feel silly. I can clothe myself in leather from bustier to boots, and I can be truly all powerful. Because when I started the dungeon was empty except for the hook that my naked, collared partner was attached too, wrists together in suspension cuffs (we don't have a real set yet) above his head, the chain ending just above comfortable standing hight, so that he had to be up on the balls of his feet, half dangling.
As the scene went on, though, I added a fire place, and I conjured a pillory, and in my minds eye I saw them growing from the floor as I described them. The pillory was a low one so that he was bent over, so that I could use my fingers and a miraculous strapon to fuck him senseless, and then remove him from the pillory, flip him onto a leather upholstered bench, tie his thighs to his ankles and his arms to the legs and fuck him from the front (because my bench is just at standing hight for me when I'm wearing boots, which I am). And all of this without any awkwardness, without pauses, without fumbling. In the dungeon of my mind I can conjure what I need and it is there, I can move between positions seemlessly. As long as I keep typing, he keeps needing.
And none of this is the best part.
The best part is that I am still mistress, and my partner is hundreds of miles away, sitting in his room wearing nothing but a ring around his cock, and one around his balls, and his collar to remind him not to do anything amiss.
He reads what I say to him, but he cannot touch himself unless I let him. He earned lashes, and in place I had him squeeze hard on his balls.
(Remember, Pet, you only worked out 10 of the 30 you earned. You have 20 more coming to you next time we talk. And you've 10 real lashes when we play in person again.)
I miss actual touch, and I miss very much taking off the collar and curling up together for a bit when the scene is over. G'night and signing offline doesn't have quite the same feel. Still, this system has it's advantages. I can do things to him in his mind I couldn't bring myself, yet, to do to him in person (or even if I could, we lack the supplies.)
Ah, cybersex. I never thought I'd enjoy it quite this much.
posted by Switch at 5:03 PM
2 Comments:
pretending is fun. spotty wireless is less fun. and i added a gag midway through.
mmm.... 10 real lashes and 20 more... we're getting a little more sadistic, and i like the change.
There are times when Eileen and I are spooning in bed getting ready to fall asleep for the night that she has started talking to me of scenes not unlike this one that you describe, and I am always impressed at the incredible power those words have over me.
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