Candice is the one "riding him like a rodeo bronco," even more
enthusiastically than Janet did. Although he's obeying the
command to "clean up" after himself to a satisfactory degree, it
doesn't appear to be the primary factor driving Candice toward
her orgasm. It seems simply a background facilitation, not unlike
a dentist's vacuum, to her using his face for her pleasure. She
doesn't care about his facial expressions, the limited resistance
he does put up, or whatever's going on in his thoughts or
feelings. All she cares about is her own grinding, twisting,
humping pleasure as she renders Alex's nose, lips, chin, mouth,
and tongue nothing more than her own personal sex toy. When she
entangles her hands in his hair (for one unpleasant but
thankfully fleeting moment reminding me of when he did so to me)
to get a good grip with which to press his head even closer to
her lips and clit, I can't even see his face to know whether his
delightfully revolted expression increases.
After she comes her knees collapse a little, allowing almost her full weight to rest upon his face and head. She then does a little shimmying movement down his neck and torso before swinging off of him and standing back up on the floor. "Well ladies, I'm done for now. Boy I really needed that!"
Although we all thought Chelsea would logically go next, my friends take one look at my expression and immediately know what's going through my head. This is the connection between good friends that someone of Alexander's ilk will never know; we can understand one another with few or no words. I'd told them this might happen, but also said the likelihood was low. Now, however, seeing this ugly-souled but undeniably physically gorgeous man completely bound and helpless for our use is causing a new kind of exhilaration to pump through my veins. He might enjoy some of what's coming next, but not too much because I also exchange understanding looks with Janet, whose face is reflecting the same lust as my own.
Candice's primal exploitation of this guy's body parts has gotten our juices flowing -- both literally and figuratively. His orgasm in the very midst of his continued intense revulsion decided me. I now realize that, for myself, the only way I can completely heal from his prolonged and thorough violation of my body is to do the same to him. If someone told me a week, a day, or hell, even an hour ago that I'd feel this way I'd have dismissed it as male-centered pornographic mentality. But now . . . now I FEEL and not merely comprehend intellectually the meaning of the term "empowerment."
By using his dick as an essentially inanimate dildo, I will regain the last piece of power he wrenched so savagely from me. I'm even going to come before he does, leaving him additionally frustrated. This time I will be the one on top (I've noticed the uncreative bastard almost always has sex in the missionary position, which is rare for the guys I've been with; I guess it's a power thing for him). This time I will be fucking him, in every sense of the word. This time I will be the one in control.
After a brief speaking look between Chelsea and me, she sashays up to his head and removes his BDSM goggles. I almost burst into hysterical giggles from his look of blinking surprise, like a newborn hatchling, once he accustoms himself to the light. (I'm loving how frequently laughter is coming to me during this experience. Bubbly, cathartic, liberating laughter. I've had far too little of it these past months, and now it seems I'm making up for it in one day.)
Janet has remained naked, so Chelsea and I are the only ones who are still clothed. I kick off my black flats. Alex's eyes seem to widen to the size of saucers as I cross my arms and pull my black top up and over my head, followed by taking the waist of my black slacks and pushing them down over my hips and legs. My top had a built-in bra, and I managed to include my panties in the second action. As I step completely naked -- except for my leather gloves, which for some reason feel erotic to keep on while otherwise not wearing a stitch -- from the pool of clothes at my feet, the pleasantly cool air caresses my skin and I realize my nudity is necessary for this closure fuck. I need to be almost as naked as I was on the night he repeatedly took what I was never willing to voluntarily give him in a thousand years; only after this can I reclaim full ownership of my entire body and self.
I am more than happy, however, to share. With Janet on his face and I on his penis, we're going to simultaneously ride him like a tandem bicycle, but I don't want him to know this yet. Maybe we'll trade places at some point after I come, who knows. The only thing I know for sure is that I need my own orgasm -- under my own terms -- from the very same cock (and perhaps also mouth) that terrorized me for hours, thus transforming it from the weapon it was to a device of purely self-centered pleasure and empowerment.
I have every faith in Elizabeth's management of the buttons back in the control room at my place such that they focus only on him at this point. I am out of sight, and even when parts of me flow onto the screen, they will later be blurred out the same way my friends' faces and certain body parts will be.
Standing naked at the foot of his bed, I know that the footage of him will be heavily edited for the resulting video we'll later post on the internet. I also know it's not pure arousal that has now resurrected his hard-on. He must be confused as hell, along with all the other mixed feelings going through that worthless brain. Nonetheless, I know the effect I have on most men when I strip naked for them, and he is no different. "Well," I ask, using a seductive voice with him for the first time today, "What do you think?" He opens his mouth to speak, but then a thought suddenly occurs to me that I should have realized before and which will require extra editing. "Before you answer, there's something else Alexander. You asked me earlier, and I'm answering you now. Hearing my name on your lips is like acid pouring into my ears. Hearing you call me anything, actually, feels like fingernails on a chalkboard, but I'm making a temporary exception for the next several minutes. You can call me 'baby' or 'darling' or any other respectful term of endearment, but the moment you utter my name, accidentally or otherwise in any context and with any one of my friends, that loop will be tightened around your balls before you can say the second syllable."
I wish I could be a fly on the wall the moment he learns that whatever he says now is going to be spliced into parts of the video with my other friends, especially when Chelsea finally drops her own clothing to display her full frontal nudity to him. Stepping closer to the side of his bed I say, "Enough scolding for now. I ask you again, what do you think of what you see?"
Come visit me at 64ShadesofGrey.net