He tell me to spread my legs and grab my pussy, then he tells me to pull my nipple hard, downwards, and I do, and I know that it’s turning him on, but I also know that he looks at me from both the lover and the photographer eyes, and this distance of an artistic point of view on his behalf makes me feel more objectified and yet more seen, an object of adoration and a living breathing part of a union. And that drives me into the place in my mind when I become speechless and thoughtless and nothing exist but that burning want, need between my legs, and that burning, very similar sensation on my pinched to red nipple and the sound and intonation of his words, his existence in words his eyes, presence though unseen on my body, all washed in green glow.
I grab at the bed pole I desperately want to be tied up, restricted to follow that yellow brick mental road of cum and urine and blood and spit into that oblivion bliss of nothingness that bodily sensation that’s past the body, that pain that’s past pleasure, past pain, that total association with the body and then, not even that, nothingness and everythingness, a million stars in the skies and that laser beam precision.
But instead, he tells me to turn around, on my belly, and put the pillow between my legs, then to lift myself up and wrap my lips, my mouth around the cold metallic bed pole, it’s hard to hold myself like that my back arch as the upper part of my body raises while my ass tense to hold my body up and my pelvis, hot and bothered grind itself against the pillow, I can’t even scream my mouth being full of metal, which reminds me the taste of ice and my own blood at the same time. It’d hard to cum that way, it’s hard to make myself orgasm while I have so little control over my body and the way I rub and touch my clit, I know it’s going to take time, I close my eyes trying not to think of my body and just fell and just fall into his voice, his gaze. Knowing that he’s not seeing my face, just my body, my ass and thighs which are the parts of my body that I hate the most - that I’m exposed not able to fake it with a more flattering pose or soulful eyes, that it’s just my body, naked there in bed, open, for him to direct and look at to take pleasure in, and even though, he can’t touch me know, we both know that he can touch me he can do whatever he want with my body, for my body, to my body, and that touches way deeper then skin.