My First Trip To Deep subspace
Mrs. AP was feeling particularly playful. She was pouncing me, kissing me, tickling me, holding me, and caressing me in all the right places every chance she got. We were smiling, we were laughing, and sometimes when we brushed against each other in just the right ways we were trembling with pleasure as well. We’d been doing this all day, or at least all evening, and as it slowly progressed the evil, delightful, wonderful twinkle in her eye increased in brilliance. I knew she had something in mind, but as if often the case with the mind of a sadist, I was certain I could never guess. Goodness, was I ever right on that one.
Upon the suggestion that we should lock the door to take our playful exchanges to a more intimate level, Mrs. AP hopped up and danced over to the door, throwing the lock with a deft flick of the wrist that voiced louder than any statement just how focused her intentions were. She turned back to me, grinning, that twinkle in her eye so bright it could drown out stars, and very deliberately sauntered back to the bed. As a question toward her intentions formed on my tongue she grabbed my feet and pulled me to the edge of the bed; the question died on my lips as she lunged forward and merged her lips with mine, her tongue seeking entrance not only into my mouth but into the very recesses of my soul. With no words at all, she declared me to be wholly and unequivocally hers. The kiss broke quickly, just as firmly, and suddenly her hands were pulling my shirt up my chest and over my head. She paused halfway, my vision full of cotton threads as her hand began tracing the contours of my chest, my side, the underside of my arms and back again, meandering with no apparent intent other than to touch me. Fingertips faded to nails and back again, gentle to firm to nearly cutting, and my nerves responded by dancing into higher states. My skin became an instrument, Mrs. AP the musician, and she played me until my nerves danced and spun with more fervor than any bolero could ever inspire. My body betrayed me, breaking control, and I wiggled and writhed under her touch as the sensations reached that point where pain and pleasure began to meld. I craved every touch while shying away, hoping the overwhelming touch would end while wishing it would be ever present. A moan escaped my lips as my back arched, pulling away from her, and in that moment my shirt was flying across the room and she was pushing me back onto the bed, leaving my chest and stomach aflame with the lingering memories of her fingers. I gasped for breath, reaching for something to help me ride the sensations, as she slid my pants down.
Suddenly those nails, those heavenly, wickedly, delightful nails were sliding up my legs. I thrashed. Despite of, or perhaps even because of, my dozen years of playing soccer (football for you non-Americans) my shins are incredibly sensitive. Mrs. AP chuckled with delight as the lightest touch brought me to new spasms. My breath caught in my throat as she scratched from knee to ankle and back again. Moans fought for release as she swirled fingers and nails around my kneecaps. Relentless and persistent, Mrs. AP never slowed, never stopped, just trailed her fiery fingertips up and down my shins, my quads, and around behind my knees and down my calves. My mind fought for purchase, to make sense of the warring sensations of overwhelming pleasure and undeniable pain, but the miasma created by her ministrations denied me logical thought. All that existed was the network of power/pleasure/pain moving up from my legs and capturing me. I was bound, rendered helpless by the constant sensory explosions radiating up from my legs.
At some point every movement of her fingers became all movements. A touch on the shin was a touch on the knee was a grip on my thigh was a caress in the cleft of my groin. My body was everywhere and nowhere. My mind was flying, spinning, dancing, glowing. Muscles, nerves, veins, arteries all became secondary. Everything was energy and movement and power/pleasure/pain. In that moment I understood every religious epiphany, drug-induced nirvana, and lunatic fringe muttering ever proclaimed. The universe was mine to behold, unwrap, and dissect. I had ultimate clarity. For that moment only though, because as soon as I had my hand around it I was gone again, tumbling into magnified pleasure hitherto unknown.
The trembling started in my arms. Then my legs. My eyes rolled back. My hips rolled and bucked. My cock was hard, or soft, or both, or neither as it was dripping, pouring, an endless flow of preparation for release. My chest bucked, my back arched, and just like the TARDIS I was off flying through space and time again. While orgasms washed over my body Mrs. AP continued her assault on my legs. Somewhere I could hear her chuckling, but it was distant and encapsulated within the moans and groans and grasps emanating from my lips. No ejaculate rose forth from my balls, no cum rocketed from my cock, but the orgasms rolled me and shook me and sent me tumbling all the same. For seconds, hours, minutes, and no time at all I rode the climaxes and the climaxes rode me down into the deep, warm, comforting abyss.
Slowly I rose up through the dark, my mind and body reuniting, my world coalescing around me. I was nude under the sheet, Mrs. AP equally nude and snuggled tight against me. Her serene smile as she slept burnt itself into my mind, like the afterimage from a flash in the dark, as I drifted back down into the deep. She’d rolled me, she’d unlocked me, and kicked me into far off places I’d never known existed and was pleased by it all. Pleased by my reactions, pleased by her skills, pleased by me finding whole body orgasms; I didn’t know if it was one, some, or all, but she was happy and I was still floating and I knew, beyond the reach of doubt or mistrust, that nobody else could ever come close to sending me off to new horizons as she did.
Mrs. AP introduced me to deep subspace, and with nothing more than fingertips and smiles.