Reading My Mind
/
A part of me hated that he could read my mind, but another, much larger part, loved it. Like how he knew when to put his hands around my neck and the exact amount of strength that he should squeeze. Or when I wanted him to throw me onto the bed and tell me in no uncertain terms exactly how I was going to pleasure him. And that I was going enjoy every minute of doing so.
He was right, and it was infuriating.
Before we got together, my sex life was lacklustre at best. A sting of young, inexperienced lovers, barely able to last long enough to get me wet, let alone get me off. They were too nervous. Too cautious. Too selfish. They acted all confident in the club, letting me know exactly how they would make my toes curl, but when it came down to it, they spectacularly failed to deliver. Mind you, it wasn’t all their fault. I didn’t know what I wanted either. I knew I was attracted to confidence, but I didn’t realise how far that attraction extended. Not until the first night we slept together that is.
With an experienced hand, he explored my body, and moved my hands onto his. He moved me where he wanted and told me what to do. My God what a turn on. I was surprised at how receptive my body was to his. Until he came along, I always viewed myself as confident and in control. I was proud of my independence and liked to be in charge.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
He simply took control, but not in a selfish way. Despite telling me in no uncertain terms what I would do with him, he was always checking in to ensure that I was enjoying it. With his words, but mainly with his eyes. I could feel him mindfully watching me respond, and making small adjustments. Giving me exactly what I wanted, even before I consciously became aware of it. Unlike the others who would rush to the finish, this man took his time. He would make me beg for it. And to my chagrin, the begging made it even hotter.
Very quickly he became my go to fuck. After a stressful day at work, we would play. I surrendered all control to him, and he took me however he liked. Every time he told me I was a ‘good girl’, I could have melted. Afterward, he would hold me, asking me about our session, and probing me for what I liked and what I wanted more of.
I know he couldn’t really read my mind, but in bed, it felt like he could.
He knew when to push, and when to pull back. He knew my hard limits, and when my ‘No’ really meant, “Do it, but I want it to be your idea”.
He gave me the space to explore a deeper side of my sexuality. He opened me up to what I really desired. He showed me aspects of myself that until then, I hadn’t dared to give more than a passing thought to. He helped me to find other men who were like him. Men who knew what they wanted and were not afraid to take it. Men who could walk that fine line between dominance and desire. But despite my sex life improving, he was still the best. He could get inside my mind like no other man could.
I still get hot remembering the night we went for a walk in the park. He had told me to wear a long skirt with nothing underneath and to meet him by the entrance gate.
Of course, I acquiesced.
It was a clear moonless night. The stars gave me just enough light to see the focus in his eyes as he looked me all over. As we walked we talked, about everything and nothing. He would randomly pull me in close and feel me up, then just as quickly he would let me go. He teased me this way for what felt like an eternity. I tried begging him to take me, I tried teasing him by lifting my dress, and I tried feeling him up. But he was having none of it.
I was so wet I could have screamed.
By this time, we had almost done a circuit of the park and I was getting frustrated. It would be just like him to tease me so and leave me hanging.
He’d done it before.
Got me super horny, and just left. Not before telling me to film myself playing with myself and then to send it to him. He told me I would find it hot.
And of course, I did.
But that night, I wanted him. Inside me. Then and there. At that moment, he grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into a clearing, pushed me to the ground and lifted my skirt. He was rock hard and instantly inside me. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t escape. Not that I wanted to. I didn’t take long. We were quick and I was loud.
That was the first time I had been fucked in public. A part of me hated that he had unlocked a new kink, but another much larger part loved it.
Read more:
How It Started
BRAT
Read another short story from Kink: Volume 1
Out now: eBook, Paperback & Audible
