Backside of Love: The Intimacy of Authority: Adoring Discipline (like spanking, punishment, ageplay [or age-play], paddling, OTK, D/s, BDSM, infantilism)

The TV was turned nearly all the way down in favour of the surf soundsÂ whispering up and down a wet, salty beach, which filled the room from the soothing-sounds-machine, but I heard the muted cheers of the crowd grow louder.

So, while I hate to let my focus wander even a little bit at a moment just like that, I opened my eyes and looked up over her belly, between her breasts, which were settled a bit to each side in that wonderful, natural, real-woman perch that I love so much when she's on her back this way, and past her clench-eyed face to the television across the room.

As the gaudy white ball began to slide downward, finally, I pressed my slightly-pointed tongue smoothly, nudgingly, into her, and was rewarded with the perfect sensory accompaniment to those oceans sounds, as her own smooth little inland sea rose up slightly with her hips, and kissed my mouth back.

Watching the slowly-dropping ball with just a bit of my attentiveness, and plumbing as deeply into her as I was able, my lips being pressed back finally by hers as I could go no deeper, and swirled it there for a couple of seconds, before flattening my tongue out, and drawing it upward from deep inside her, pressing it across the top of her cleft, and onto her now very-exposed clitoris, and began sliding it in slow, intentional swaths back and forth, holding it flattened and firm for just the sort of friction I knew she needed now.

The timing here is tricky, but there is something about the combination of mathematical, astrophysical accuracy -- the perfection of a meticulously-calculated moment in time, demonstrably both a true ending, and beginning -- with the sublime and gorgeous art of accomplishing my exquisite, girlish goal here, which pleases me on every level, and so I tried very hard to ring in all new years with perfect timing like this.

I played her instrument with all of the virtuosity with which I was able, letting her my ears, and the rhythm of spasm-ripples through her belly, be my conductor's baton, and admired the juxtaposition of the visuals before me.

Her pretty face was whipping back and forth just above her spread breasts, all framed just gorgeously by the rich, brown leather of the wrist-cuffs which held her arms stretched out to either side -- a symmetrical combination of absolutely perfect icons for so much that we were sharing right now, and how this particular sort of connection moved us.

A particularly firm humping spasm accompanied a rough, rasped exhalation, and she pushed my head up, holding desperately to her with the suction of my adoring attentions like Ahab clinging to Moby, on powerful hips empowered by even more powerful things!

Perfect, I recall thinking, with a glance at the big, Waterford glass ball's decent, and let my ears hear the sound of the crowd, despite the greater appeal of the nearly symphonic music coming from her.

"Six!" The frozen sardines in Times Square cheered me on so generously, their appreciation for the goal in my mind and mouth just now evident in their faces on the screen.

I lifted my flattened, firm tongue from the side-to-side swathing which is perfect for the slower, more languorous climb up the top of the Mount for her, and grazed the edges of my teeth across the flesh just over her clitoris, back and forth once in each direction.

"Five!"

The juxtaposed, momentary harshness of teeth replacing momentarily my tongue had the desired effect, and her head thrashed over from the leftward, where her clenched eyes had underlined the helplessness of her will in the pursuit of my symbolic accomplishment here, to the right, only to thrash back, having apparently found no solace from the intensity over there.

She let out a low, guttural grown, and I felt the mini-humping from her hips joggling me, the sign of her building distress, as I knew.

"You're going to come for me, Caro-mia," I spoke around where my tongue remained pressed, my low voice in the room surprising her eyes into opening, that frantic, "oh-my-god" glaze into them, which pleased me instantly, and I felt the hardness pressed into the mattress under me twitch as the taste of her changed slightly, the pre-explosion increase in tanginess which ever fascinates me.

"Three!" The New York celebrati called out as one, driving me on with their enthusiasm for my success.

At that I pressed my right finger slightly in between her puffiness, twisting to gather her moisture, and dragged it down lower, between her cheeks, pressing the nail enough for her to feel where it was going.

"Now," I said without urgency, but with even force, as the tone of calm confidence, that they simply unavoidably will obey, can be so much more powerful in their heads than any emphatic tones, and most especially for this one, as I knew.

"Come for me now..." Again, calmly-confident and intentionally kept near the lower, huskier end of my spectrum. I pressed my tongue suddenly back deep into her, and slathered it up again squishily, pressing open her very puffy lips, and up again to thrumb it back and forth across her tight, hardened, almost nipple-like clitoris.

"Two!!"

I pressed my finger inward to that bottom-flower which I know so well, inside and out, and easily settled the tip just into the center of that cute little asterisk.

"Come now, or I'll flip you over and strap your bottom until you scream for mercy, my love..."

I heard that extra huskiness in her throaty keeping which always tells me that my choice of words and tone has pierced to some even-deeper place in her mind, where the darker shadows of Need are found.

"Ooooooone!!!"

"Now," and I let a bit more emphasis creep in this time, as I recall. Her mind and heart and body almost always obey me without hesitation, but the split-second timing for which I was searching this time, called for a bit of punctuation in my voice.

"Zeeeeerooooo!!!" The horns and onlooker-explosion blasted up into the frozen the New York skyline, as the astronomical reality of a new year clicking over, drove us inexorably forward into the Unknown...

Upon the rise of zero-hour hue and cry, as the clock-work movement of celestial time-keeping nudged this part of our planet a significant tick into the future,I suddenly suckled hard on all of the flesh at the crest of her adorable, pouting vulva, letting suction and the sliding of her slippery flesh inside of my lips pull her hips back up off of the sheets, and began flogging the tip of her clitoris with the firmed-up tip of my tongue.

...and pressed my thick finger slowly/firmly into her bottom, her own lubricant (the very finest brand I've found for such things!) allowing me to open her just so -- just so slowly, just so firmly, just so deeply, opening her just so not-too-wide -- aiming for that feeling of no-choice penetration that's stark enough to bang the huge gong in her head which silently screams "Noooooo, not *there*!!!", so loud that it echoes out as rampant quivers into my mouth, down below.

And the breakers crashed then, foaming up and around all of my senses, swallowing me in thigh-flesh and earthy froth and that perfume that keeps me alive sometimes.Â The guttural sounds from her throat crescendoed animalistically, and as I felt her hips try to twist left and then right, inexorably trapped by my shoulders pressing into the backs of her thighs, I heard the equine creaking of the leather cuffs as her whole body convulsed, and the deep chest and throat music rose in volume and pitch, and exploded out into a full-body, husky scream.

I could only hope that the neighbors were too drunk or too busy kissing to be alarmed, although more candidly, I'm afraid that while the volume level rarely was quite this loud during more intense punishments, the impressive levels which her helpless submission to me attained, certainly were maintained for much, much longer periods of time than even the most multiple of exhortations of this sort.

I twisted her nipples a bit harder, as her sudden, uncontrollable trashing tried to tug them from my fingers, each substantial bowl of wonderfully, womanly flesh (perfect precisely because they were not, an ultimate sort of Wabi Sabi), and the added spice of pain there had the effect I wished, as her throat clenched so hard in the exhortation and explosion of a second, even harder girl-quake rippled from one end of her body to the other, that not even sound could escape, and she flew higher to that level that is performance art to me, which I can never experience enough, where sound cannot even escape, and coherence is pushed even farther away.

From whatever design it is that makes us so unique, her second climax is always the more difficult, she must be rather forced to get there against her will (not a novel concept for her in general, of course), but the third and fourth flow from her with smoother and even less-controllable ease, so as the wan chords of the unintelligible "Aulde Lang Sine" twittered in the background, the ocean sounds still cradling us in soothing gentleness, I pushed her legs up and back further with my shoulders, and lapped at her fleshiness in just that way... the left side of her clitoris most attentively as, for whatever reason, it's much more sensitive.

Some time later, perhaps four minutes, perhaps four hours, the darkness a blessing from the irritation of the TV blue, and the ocean surf still swirling around us in the air, she slipped off into those baby-snores I find so endlessly adorable from her head, pillowed on my chest.

The simple, sublime feel of my arm around her, the trust and ease and fulfillment of her head on my chest, detached completely from the world into sleep, and the taste of her still on my lips, I felt my own eyelids begin to droop, gifting myself with a last, rare bit of optimism about the year ahead filled with such a girl, and these profound things that we share.

--UB
01/01/05Â 02:44