Control brings with it a supreme kind of calm.
It sits in your lap. Through the front of your shirt you can feel its naked back. Your own back resting against a pillow, though you can feel the wooden headboard through it. Beneath the entangled two of you lay a mess of blankets. Ten minutes ago they were neatly tucked in, but your toy's been a bit too excited. In your right hand, your fingers gently hold its leash, with much of its length wrapped up further. Your left hand runs free along its body.
Control. To order, limit, or rule something, or someone's actions or behavior. For you, control is the essence of power. Control is with one hand limiting and restricting the motion of your toy's body to the point where it can't even escape your lap. Control is the way it shivers at your touch and the way it speaks at your whim. Control is found in the marks of ownership you've left on its mind and body for all who behold it to see and know you by.
Your fingers idly twist and pull around its leash. The back of your thumb clicks along the grooves in the nylon webbing. You never fully erase the slack, but you've kept the length shifting. Partially it's just stimming. Enjoying the feel of the smooth polymer cord against the calluses of your hand. But even more it's to keep an awareness of the leash in your toy's mind. You can see how the leash affects its movement. Even when it's shuddering in pain or pleasure at your touch, it never strays too far, never fights it, never tries to escape.
At this high point of control, you feel relaxed. Every inch of your toy's body belongs to you. Not in a loose sense of possession, but in a real sense of knowledge. You know how it will respond to your fingers wherever they may land, and you adjust your touch accordingly. That epistemic claim is held in the forefront of your brain, and fits like a gemstone set in a crown. Each moment further polishing your claim through observation, and verifying it through action.
The fingers of your left hand dance across the dimples, grooves, and bends of its body. Where your toy expects you to touch it, it writhes. Shifting away or toward your left hand as its body demands more pleasure or less pain. Your hand approaches the right place and it shies away. Red and purple marks out spots you've already gone to work enough to cause a flinch. But, it shifts back as well, knowing what you expect and knowing that the choice to continue is yours, not its. On occasion it moans, when the lightest touch is still enough.
Today's exercise of control has been one of marking. Further trial and error with your toy's body, exploring the kinds of marks that may be left and how to best leave them. It's a slow and methodical process, and your toy sometimes grows bored of such exercises, so between targets you take the time to keep your toy's mind engaged. Pressing down on bruises, groping sensitive spaces, biting when it doesn't expect you to, or simply whispering the right words at the right time.
The moment shifts and a decision is made. Left hand snakes up back of neck while right hand pulls it back from fighting. Flat hand reaches into hair before making a fist. A squeal of shock with a hint of moaning underneath. Twist to the side, revealing the neck, and bite down. Enjoy the moan. Listen to its volume and depth, keep it from getting too loud and press harder when it gets too steady.
This goal lies in keeping your toy's mind from ever moving too far from shivering in pain or pleasure, from panicked anticipation of your next action, from desperation and expression of desire. On some level, this is your primary task and your primary skill. Everything else supports it, from the trappings and the signifiers to the expressions and the substance.
It writhes and shakes against you. Hips press up and down and bone hits bone but clothing dampens it. The pain makes you giggle. Its naked flesh lightly bounces in front of you. The rhythm of the writhing enough to cause such motions. The pain reaches another high point and it starts breathing out swears before you pinch it through its hair and the sounds become apologies.
You'll keep this going for another minute or two, until the pleasure dies out and it just becomes pain, then a few seconds to rest before moving on to another body part. Keep it from ever fully relaxing, so it can never quite collect itself. It's truly so lovely to be the one in control.
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