Fantasy: to remember I'm still alive this way
Life shit has been hard. And, we've been doing good work on the basic practices of our dynamic, rebuilding the foundations. But I'm writing you this to remind myself I have whole worlds of desire lurking within me.
I take you out one night. Maybe to a party, or an event like the latex show that's happening tomorrow. Somewhere we'll be seen.
I want to show you off.
You dress for me. Your bright pink pushup bra. Black thong underwear. Fishnets, perhaps, I haven't decided. Your new, black, ridiculously high heels. I'll let you wear a coat, on the way. You do full makeup for me, including fake eyelashes -- but no lipstick -- and wear a high pony tail with a long extension I get just for this purpose. For the sake of making this dream of mine come true. Perfume of course, too.
Before we leave, I tape your mouth closed with duct tape. You are to look at. You are not to speak.
We've trained for how you'll walk for me tonight, and you do it beautifully. Showing off your ass, your body, confident without being gratuitous. You know how beautiful you are to me, and your own feelings don't matter right now. I parade you. I relish the anticipation of the looks we're about to get.
I attach your leash to your collar, and we enter the melee, a hundred or more people milling and mingling. You tower above me, in your fuck-me heels. I parade you around, aloof and occasionally friendly. You, bending near to my face or catching my eye, point out people you find beautiful, freaky, intriguing, and I approach them, you trailing just beside behind me at my right. After a quick moment whispering in their ear, with their consent, I let you loose on them. You sniff, poke, tickle, nuzzle, playfully head butt or body-check; you choose your strategy of engagement entirely intuitively, based on the target of your interest. I watch their reactions, and yours. I read your eyes. You can not speak, taste, lick or bite, though you might want to. You're forced to express in other ways, compelled to get creative in how you show response. Arousal.
I read you. Perhaps we have a code worked out, or maybe I'm just very good. In either case, I invite them to do things to you. And you like it. Or in the rare instance you don't, you wrinkle your nose like an offended animal; I thank them, and move you away.
People tell me, all evening, how splendid you are. Your gorgeous tits. Your fine posture. Your compelling eyes. The way your hips sway slightly as you walk. Your strange yet elegant, otherworldly, behavior. People wonder about your mouth, want your lips on them, your tongue trailing tender flesh -- but tonight, your mouth is just for me.
When we're tired, or full, of our game, I take you home. Take off the tape. And press your lips into my cunt, your eyes meeting mine so sweetly -- your reward for the night's work of looking pretty. My reward for training you, dressing you, and working you up to this.