It is a cold winter Sunday. The world outside is peacefully muffled under a layer of freshly fallen snow.
Indoors, hot steam clouds the windows and delicate bubbles envelope our naked bodies as we lower ourselves into the warm bath facing each other.
Naturally, my feet find their way into your lap, then higher, onto your chest and finally into your mouth. It is like a gravitational pull, an attraction we can neither rationalise nor fight. And why would we, when my soles fit onto your face so beautifully, when my foot fits into your mouth so neatly.
A tender kiss on my toes, that is how it usually starts. Playful sucking on my toe ring. Passionate licking of my soles from heel to toes again and again, before, eventually and inevitably, my foot pushes between your lips. It doesn’t stop there, for I push harder, deeper into your mouth, the other foot hooked behind your neck, pulling you closer, inescapably wedged between my feet. Your eyes are wide open, your breath is laboured, choking. My voice coaxing “Can you feel my toes in your throat?” you nod. “Gag for me, because I won’t stop!”
When I eventually let go, my feet are wet not from the bath but instead dripping with your saliva that you immediately clean off with your tongue before we both sink back into the warm water, our eyes locked. For a while, we enjoy the comfort our bath offers in silence, my feet now resting in your lap.
But of course neither of us can help ourselves. Not long, and you start gently rolling your hips against my feet while I shift my weight onto them, and thus into you, squashing the hardness of your arousal. Rather than avoiding the pressure, you lean into it, desperately rocking against me, caught in limbo between pleasure and pain while sliding lower into the water.
Before we know it, I sit on your legs, one foot on your windpipe, the other on your face. And yet, it’s not enough, for I am so intoxicated by the power I have over you, all I want is more of it.
“Do you trust me?” I ask. Your eyes speak volumes even before the words “Yes, my Queen, yes, I trust You” reach my ears.
You did not expect what happens next.
You did not expect my toes to cover your nose, water tight, air tight.
You did not expect to be submerged and held under water for longer than a few seconds.
And least of all you expected the experience to send you spinning into subspace through wave after wave of arousal.
I can see your inner fight, your conflict.
I can see how you clench your fists and tense your body before consciously deciding to give in.
I know you cannot make out the words I’m saying, but I tell you you are safe with me regardless.
You relax. You lean back into the water, into me. You surrender. And boy, do I love my control over you!
I watch your every reaction and when you start tensing again, I whisper, more for my own benefit “Just a while longer”, slowly counting to five before releasing my grip on you. You emerge, heaving, and yet the first words you utter are “Thank You”.
I know enough about the laws of physics to understand water and electricity don’t go together, and yet the air is so charged I would not be surprised to see sparks fly.
“Again!” I manage to say and you immediately take a deep breath before we repeat, me still sitting on your legs, my feet pushing your head under water. Only this time, our fingers entwine and I catch myself rolling my hips against you.
This is not a game of how long you can hold your breath. This is you trusting me to take care of you. This is our intimacy of me controlling even the most basic of your physical needs. This is our division of power: my total control, your total surrender.
A third time follows, before I shift position and lift your head out of the water, my face mere inches from yours.
“Who owns the air you breathe?” I whisper.
“You do, my Queen” you reply, panting.
Tenderly yet seriously I continue “And who decides whether or not you get to breathe?”
