But the worst of the dreams are the ones that end with Dominus catching me, but when he reveals himself, when he rips off that mask…
He’s wearing the face of none other than Max Cruz.
Those are the dreams that have me waking with my heart pounding against my ribs, my skin slicked with sweat, and my hand…
Between my legs.
Becauseof coursemy work life would cross over into my dream state.
Thus is the life of a workaholic, I guess. I have nothing else for my imagination to feed off of, so it just takes whatever tidbits it’s given and uses them against me.
Apparently, Max is the tidbit du jour.
And every time I wake up, the throbbing between my legs leaves little confusion as to how Ireallyfeel about Max.
Even now, my mouth waters at the idea of Dominus ripping off his mask to reveal Max, then chasing me through the house until he catches me and has his way with me.
I groan, dropping a hand over my eyes even as desire swells low in my belly.
I can’t possibly masturbate to thoughts of Max Cruz.
Actually, I’m not supposed to masturbate at all, am I? Under normal circumstances, this would be easy.Normally, I’m not some horny teenager with raging hormones making me unable to think clearly.
I’m in my thirties, for Pete’s sake. I have self-control.Plentyof it.
I can avoid getting off until I see Dominus again.
But it’s not like he’d know, right? How could he?
And if hedidfind out, what would happen then?
My groin muscles flex, a throb building low in my belly, that demanding ache returning with a vengeance. I squeeze mythighs together, searching for friction, then grunt in frustration and guide my hand down my body. Maybe I can come without touching myself…
After all, Dominus nearly brought me to my knees last night by applying pressure to my belly, whispering dirty things into my ear…
It's not impossible…
It certainly couldn’t hurt to try.
Splaying one hand over my lower belly, mimicking the touch of my masked man last night, I slink my other hand down beneath the waist band of my pajama shorts and settle it over my thigh, fingertips resting in the crease of my leg, just inches away from my pussy. A tease, nothing more. If I inched a bit closer, I could brush against the sensitive skin of my labia; slightly farther, and I’d reach my clit.
A shiver of anticipation rips through me. I swallow as my mouth waters. My throat grows thick.
With my other hand, I press down against my lower stomach, flexing the muscles within to recreate the sensations from last night.
There’s a hint of something, a twinge of an arousing response, but even with that demanding ache, as I flex and tighten, clenching the inner walls of my pussy, breaths quickening as I tighten around nothing, I can’t get to that precipice again without his help. Without my masked man.
“Dominus,” I whisper into my empty bedroom, sharing my secret with the books on the shelves, the plants hanging in the corner.
Squeezing my thighs together, I seek out that friction, then throw obedience to the wind and shove my hand lower to massage my aching center. I circle my opening with gentle fingers, then dip a finger inside myself slowly as I imagine the thick fingers of my masked man in place of my own. Iwonder what it might feel like with his hands between my legs, imagining his firm touch and rubbing harder as I pretend it's him. His fingers wouldn’t be hesitant or gentle; they’d be rough and demanding.
So I switch things up and shove two fingers inside, pushing and pulling forcefully as I press down with my other hand the way Dominus did last night.
I gasp, moaning as I touch myself, imagining Dominus leaning over me, whispering filthy, dirty things into my ear. My back arches and I fuck myself harder, grinding my hips, pressing my palm against my clit as I curl my fingers internally.
My thighs clench, my pussy swelling, thickening with arousal and need as pressure builds in my core. It burns at the base of my spine, that tingling sensation remaining just out of reach.
I imagine what else Dominus might do to me, where his hands might wander if given the freedom to touch me however he pleases. I roll onto my side, then onto my belly, rocking my hips so I can drag my clit against my palm while my other hand grips my throat, desperate for his touch instead of my own.
