The Feel Institute

Disdain

 

There are three of us lined up.

She is greedy.

I was greedy too when I was in charge.

She needs to be satisfied and I’m the newest recruit.

I’ve taken myself for granted. I thought I was special.

I relied on what I knew, thinking it would be enough, and, for a while it was.

She liked the way I buried my face into her breasts, cradling them in my hands, and looking deliberately into her eyes as I gorged on them.

I loved the feeling of her plump bosoms covering my eyes, pressing them against my cheeks, and the sensation of teasing her nipples with my experienced tongue.

I distinctly remember the moment it got stale for her.

The shock of her pulling away and a barely audible half tut.

She looked back at me with a glimmer of disdain.

The disdain of repetition.

The boredom of the tried and tested.

The desire for the thing I’d always done had worn off.

She quickly moved to one of the others who lapped up her attention and made sure they showed clearly how much of a privilege it was having access to her body and mind.

They watched her every expression, adjusting to the slightest look, with trained obedience.

She was getting exactly what she wanted when she wanted it.

I hated their power to please her.

I hated that I wasn’t chosen.

I hated her boredom of me.

Why didn’t I hate her?

I was jealous of them, and I wanted to be superior.

I wanted to be her favourite.

I wanted her to need me as I needed her.

I wondered how many others had knelt in a row like this, desperate to please.

I wanted her to get what she wanted from ME!

I wanted to be enough for her.

I remembered the weight of being a Dominant.

Of being the one who always must know. The one that controls and uses power.

The building pressure to keep getting a kick, to feel the thrill, and taking the reward from those who willingly give their power to you.

I have felt that responsibility exhaust me at times.

I wanted to give her more.

I wanted to give her ecstasy.

I wanted to help her lose herself in the sticky, inner waves of wet, soft, deafening being.

I wanted her to lose herself, so she could remember who I was.

 

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