I said, “I don’t know. My hands are too big. It just seems …” I shook my head. “And I definitely don’t do fisting.”
I meant that as a joke, but Sal gave me the smile you might give a child who is stupid though trying to do right. “Shhh, no, this isn’t fisting. And it’s good. Just another finger.” I recognised the tone. It was the same voice I use to reassure and direct a submissive.
So long as things are working I don’t get bothered about submissives trying to top from the bottom. I don’t let it go on for long, but I’d think it was silly to get angry about it. But I’d adopted a particular persona for our time together. Sal had wanted a super-hard dom, a mean one who didn’t know the meaning of “easy-going”. I’d guessed from her dungeon that most of the time she was a dom, at least professionally. She wanted a complete break from that, and if I let her slip back into old habits a lot of her sexual tension would leak out and dissipate.
So I said, “careful, girl”, so that she’d know why I squeezed her nipple and tightened until she yelped, and then twisted until she moaned, and held it until there was a trace of fear in her eyes and she was considering whether to beg.
And then, because hardship leads to the stars, or it should, I gave her that third finger she’d asked for. She started to say something, but before she could form anything intelligible she came. I hadn’t insisted she ask for permission first, which was lucky because she couldn’t have stopped. It’s odd how satisfying someone else’s orgasm can be. I was still soft-cocked but her orgasm had happened to me too.
I’d taken a break to stop my fingers from cramping, but she was still going. So I was back at work, with her body undulating and shuddering under me. If she’d been domming she might have been in that exact position, and she’d have thought she was being served. But she was submitting, so the meaning was that she was under my control, coming for me.
Sal was building to another release, and she said, “please. Please. Ah.” She looked at me, begging silently. She looked anxious, and she needed something. “Please.” Words were difficult.
I put my little finger inside her as well, so all my fingers worked her from inside and my thumb pressed against her clit. She gasped and sighed. So I’d guessed right. Not that it had been hard to guess.
She said, “oh.” And, a few seconds later, “Yes.”
I leaned down and kissed her brow. “That’d be right.”