I had a dream. One I’ve more or less fantasized consciously too many times to count, but this time it was bliss. I was asleep and therefore, free. I was submitting to MCF. He used rope and had me suspended from the ceiling in more ways than I would’ve thought I could imagine. There was never any sexual contact in the dream, and yet somehow it was the most sexually intense experience I’ve ever not had!
He spoke very little, but when he did it was to give me exactly what I wanted most at that moment; to reassure me when I felt nervous, to take me down deeper into subspace, to light my blood on fire! I was tied and gagged, placed exactly as he wanted when he wanted. His domination was unquestionable in spite of the fact that there was no pain or punishment of any kind. He was calm, putting off waves of quiet confidence; he was not in a hurry. He knew I would give him exactly what he wanted, anything he wanted. He did not have to ask for we both knew I offered my unquestioning submission to him without reserve, the very picture of obedience.
He moved comfortably as an expert craftsman, no doubt in his mind as to his complete control. He looked incredible as always, turning fantasy into reality for me with his bare hands. Moving me from one form to another he was never rushed, never concerned. He reveled in our wholehearted power exchange, trusting in my submission. The connection itself is difficult to describe, even though I know exactly how it felt. I gave him everything I am, knowing he would take me to the greatest heights of pleasure and the deepest depths of our complementary desires. I wanted him so badly, and I was able to express this simply by relaxing my body, being pliant but still, going wherever he placed me full of gratefulness for him choosing to turn his focus on me.
I sensed this exercise in suspension was coming to an end; I was physically tired though elated, burning with desire for this man. I knew instinctively that this was the last form in which I would be suspended and fought to remain submissive as my desire peaked. I could feel him taking a long, last look to burn into his memory the sight he’d created; trying to drink deeply enough to slake his thirst long enough to release me. I was loosing my fight to remain still and pliant, so needful and nervous about what was to come. I’m naked and so wet he can surely smell my sex even though he is a ways away from me (to better take in the sights I’m sure). He remains fully clothed and I know within minutes I will be before him, no longer bound by rope but instead only by my devotion to Him.
Will he touch me? Will he reward my patience? Or will my desire go unfulfilled? Does he want me only as a plaything to enjoy the view but no more? It is as if there is a timer counting down in the room; as I feel the seconds tick by, I know I am that much closer to learning the answers to my questions. Then, nothing. A long moment of confusion before I understand what I’m hearing is my alarm. My heart sinks; I got more sensation than from any fantasy, but am left feeling so empty and unfulfilled. I spent more than a week haunted by the memory of finally submitting to him and feeling lost and alone in spite of the fact that nothing had changed. And yet, so much did change. What now?