Listening Notes
You really need to know ‘All I Want’ by Joni Mitchell to understand this story
Reading Notes
Start at Under Control Part 1
The Story
Part 5
You sit on the bed, and she looks into the mirror, laughing and bemused at the vision of her face and the front of her hair covered in the shiny white semen; you’re a little proud of yourself, if you are being honest, at the volume and tone of the load. You allow yourself another moment of self-reproach and stop; this was glorious and you are still abuzz with an undeniably smug glow from the orgasm. The pain you always feel in your cock after a hard climax subsides and you are serene. She sits beside you, with a tissue, taking off the worst of the mess you’ve just splashed across her face.
“Proud of yourself?” She asks.
“Very,” you reply. She giggles and leans into you; you can feel the wetness of your ejaculate on her face and the heat of her body seems now more complementary to your own than before. You place your arm around her and she places your hand over her breast.
“You needed that,” she says.
“I did. I couldn’t have done that with anyone else?”
“Which bit? The licking my asshole, the trying to expose me to my husband with your cock inside me or shooting your load all over my pretty face?”
She leans away and scrutinises your face.
“You give yourself so sweetly, you know that,” you ask, and you have no idea it’s coming out of your mouth before it’s said. Without a word, she kisses you on the cheek, stands up and walks to the bathroom, where she begins to run a shower.
“Get in here,” she says. You obey.
The bathroom is a bright white, almost dazzling place, with a large rain style shower, over-elaborate sinks and a toilet which appears to float in the air against the wall.
She steps straight into the falling water and luxuriates in the hot flow; you watch her naked body twist and turn in the stream and you long to join her.
“Bring more shampoo and shower stuff from the sink!” She says, and you grab them before walking in to join her in the space.
“Hello you,” she says, and she turns to you, puts her arms around your neck and kisses you deeply. Lost in the intensity of her kiss you hug your arms around her, too, and grasp her yielding curvaceous ass. She give a moan of approval and you continue to kiss. The hot water is now running down over the two of you, between you, pooling between her breasts now pressed against you, down your spines, falling to the tiled floor. You are struck by a sudden need, and now you have the nipple of her left breast in your mouth. She knows this reaction well; she strokes your hair as you suckle on her breast, and she speaks to you, just perceptibly above the sound of the falling heat.
“That’s right. Suck and enjoy, darling. Kiss my breasts and show me how much you love my body.”
In this particular moment, at this particular time, you know that you are hers to do with as she wishes; she could push you to the ground and you would obey her; she could slap your face and kick you to the other side of the room and you would be grateful for the contact. And you know she knows this.
“Suck on them, darling. I love how your tongue feels; I love how much you need them.”
You suck and you lick and you kiss, and you revel in her permission yet again, with the heat of her body and the heat of the shower.
And then, gently, carefully, she pulls away from you and hands you the shampoo.
“Do my hair?” she requests. You open the little bottle and pour a little into your hand as she turns away from you; you massage it into her hair, right down to her scalp, and, enjoying the sensation of her soapy hair in your hands, you unconsciously begin to hum the tune to “All I want” by Joni Mitchell – the only song you can remember with ‘shampoo’ iin its lyrics. She laughs out loud as she hears you, and she begins to sing out in a half bellow.
‘Applause, applause, life is our cause, when I think of your kisses, my mind see-saws,” she sings, and you dare not sing the next line; you needn’t have worried. She spins around and pushes you to the ground; a warrior’s expression in her face. As she opens her legs for you to again kiss and worship her pussy, she continues to sing.
“Do you see, do you see, do you see how you hurt me baby?”
She pulls your head onto her and you gratefully, triumphantly, joyfully, whole heartedly, suck and lap on her clit, with the shower water raining powerfully upon you.
“So I hurt you too, till we both get so blue”
You kiss and lick and do due worship to her for a long moment until she pulls you up again and kisses you on the lips; tenderly this time. If you didn’t know the shower was on you would have sworn there were tears in her eyes.
“I want to have fun,” you say.
“You want to shine like the sun?” She asks.
“I want to be the one that you want to see.”
She nods.
“Conditioner.”
You take the conditioner from the basket on the wall and run it into your hand, and in an instant, she is gone; she is in a squat on the floor with your dick in her hand, feeding it into her mouth and then bobbing on it to bring it to life. You daren’t disobey an instruction and so suddenly you find yourself massaging conditioner in the hair of your goddess as hot water streams over you, watching her sucking your cock; she looks up at you, and as your eyes meet, you know that this is the bliss of your life; you know it may be bettered in the future, you know it’s only powerful in the present, but this is your being dragged from the Students’ Union by the Dance Committee because they thought you had fainted after telling the girl from Galway you loved her. This trumps the moment the other girl stole the chip and dipped it in your mayonnaise and you knew she was the greatest ever.
It’s not the sexuality of the moment; it’s not the gauche vulgarity of your cock, her mouth. It’s not the aftershock of the orgasm you just experienced minutes ago still coursing through you. It’s not THE FUCKING SEX. It’s not the fucking sex. But holy shit, the sex.
It’s the moment in which you stand right now, with all the past in your present cast off for a moment in time, where it seems the person who’s with you now truly wants to be there with you, and you can’t imagine anything more perfect than being there with her. You massage conditioner through her hair as if it’s the most important thing you have ever done, you look into her eyes and you know she sees; she sees.
She sucks and kisses and licks along your shaft, and when she kisses your balls, you know that she is going to stay with you until you cum again; that realisation spurs it along and you take her head in your hands; she takes her hands off and grasps your ass, waiting for the inevitable; you cum strongly but without the drama of the earlier crashing orgasm into her mouth; she pulls off and opens her lips to show you the white fluid in her mouth; you haul her up by her shoulders and you try to kiss; but the transition has happened; she opens her mouth to let the sperm run down her chin and onto her right breast; you lean forward and lick every drop up; she gathers you into her arms and you are suddenly again in the stream of water; the conditioner runs off her hair. She rinses and pushes you from the shower. You pick up a towel and wrap it round yourself and then pick up another one for her.
She turns the shower off and there is silence in the room.
“You’re mine,” she says, as she takes the towel from your hands.
“No doubt about it,” you reply.
“The trouble is, until today, I wasn’t yours.”
“We fixed that.”
“There will be times when I belong to myself, or to others,” she says, as she towels off her beautiful legs. “But I need you to know that any time I think of you, I’m yours, and any time we’re together, you’re mine.”
You nod. She looks at herself in the mirror.
“I’m grateful to you,” she says.
“For what?” You ask.
“Today was going to be our last time. You were too pliant before. You were too clueless. You didn’t know what you wanted even when I was beating the shit out of you.”
You nod again.
“But you took me today. Actually took me, I don’t always allow it. Maybe it was a moment of weakness. Maybe it was a moment of abandon.”
“Maybe it was a moment of realisation,” you say. You approach her, you place your hand behind her head and you kiss her; you feel her melt.
“Maybe,” she says. She smiles and shoos you from the bathroom.
You go to lie on the bed and the next you see her she is fully made up again, with her hair exactly as it had been when you met, gathering up her clothes and dressing.
“All I want. Good tune,” she says,
She turns to leave and walks to the door, then turns to face you.
“Love isn’t a dirty word, you know,” she says,
The door closes behind her and she is gone.