Mary Takes Control Chapter 2
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One of the few things that I knew about Mary was that she wrote fan fiction. They were mostly Potter fiction, and all of the stories had a particular bent—strong women who were sexually dominant. Romilda concocting a potion that made her sexual conquests happy to be compliant, Fleur and Nymphadora Tonks displaying and then sharing their recent boy-toys, Madame Hooch allowing the team to service her, and more. She had written dozens of these stories, and after reading them, I couldn’t look at Mary without projecting qualities of her heroines on to her. And, perhaps inevitably, I found myself fantasizing about her.
Mary was pretty, but not sexy. Whereas the women in her stories were dominating and beautiful, they were also physically Mary’s opposite. They were tall with straight hair and full figures. Mary was short with curly hair, skinny and flat-chested. She had a small nose and a ton of freckles.
Mary was also the sort of person who was always deeply passionate about something. She would discover some new hobby every month or so and let it devour her time and attention. Every time you saw her, she would tell you something new about ASMR or lucid dreaming. One night, a few of us were hanging out in a friend’s dorm room, and Mary was going on about her latest obsession, hypnosis. Before I left, I asked her, “Can it help with sleep?”
*
It was awkward at first. She had dimmed the light in her dorm room and even put up a heavy blanket over the window, but light still crept through the sides. There was a single chair in the middle of the room, her bed and desk, and not much room for anything else. She lit a candle on her desk and asked me to sit down.
“Are you comfortable?”
I lied and told her I was. She had dressed up: bright red lipstick that I had never seen on her before and a black skirt and grey, scoop neck sweater. She told me to place my hands on the armrest and to look forward, right into her green eyes. She bent over a bit, and I had to try hard not to look down; she was at the perfect angle to give me a clear view down her the open neck of her sweater. “Okay, I want you to feel the weight of your body in the chair.”
I have always been comfortable with my body. Like Mary, I would get obsessed with things, and for the last few years, my obsession had been rock climbing. This had given me a thin, strong body with powerful forearms and calloused but well cared for hands. I had an unearned but easy confidence and a slightly arrogant smile.
At first, she sounded a little unsure. She repeated herself and spoke a little too quickly, but gradually she gained confidence, and I found it easy to play along. She told me my eyes were getting heavy, and I imagined that they were and let them close. Then she had me focus my attention on each part of my body. I would notice the tension in my feet, and then she would tell me to clench as hard as I could and release. She made her way up my body—my calves and thighs—taking her time—my hands and forearms—sinking into the chair, concentrating, tensing, and releasing, until I found myself sitting there so profoundly relaxed that my head felt heavy, and I could have, if she would have let me, drift away and fallen asleep right there.
“Notice how heavy your arms feel. They want to sink deeper and deeper into the armrest. You don’t want to move them, but even if you did, you don’t know if you could.” My arms were heavy, and, no, I didn’t want to move them, but I’m sure I could; I just didn’t want to. She let me open my eyes.
“Walk me through your nightly routine. What do you do when you get ready for bed?”
I went through the list: brush my teeth, undress, turn on the fan, turn off the lights—and then, without realizing what I was doing, in the very same tone of voice, I told her that I would often read one of her stories and jerk off. She was behind me, so I didn’t see her reaction. A distant part of me felt embarrassed, but the rest of me didn’t want to resist answering her.
Something changed in her voice. “Which story?”
I told her my favorite and repeated what I could of the scene I had reread so often. I won’t type it out here so that she can remain anonymous. As I remembered it, I felt my cock stir, and as I said her words back to her, I became painfully hard.
There was a pause, but I was perfectly comfortable waiting.
“Try to lift your left arm.” I felt sure that I could, but I couldn’t make myself want to. After a few minutes of effort, I told her I couldn’t.
Another pause and dimly, I could feel the mood change in the room, but I was too comfortable to be concerned.
“That looks uncomfortable.” My erection must have been obvious. “You should make yourself comfortable.” I wanted to reach down, unbutton my pants, and pull out my cock. It was pressing so painfully against my jeans, but I felt tired and relaxed. My arms felt so heavy that I couldn’t bring myself to move. Instead, I sunk deeper into the chair. She noticed. “Good. You can ask for help.”
“Could you help me?”
“What do you want?”
“I’m so hard. Could you please pull it out for me?” My eyes were half-open, but I could still see her smile. She bent over, again teasing me with a long view of her cleavage—unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my pants, pulled down the zipper. She reached in and wrapped her hand around my cock. For a moment, she just kept it there, my cock pulsing in her hand. I was so desperate for more. If she has asked me to, I would have begged.
She didn’t let it go but ran her fingertips up and down the shaft, just enough to make my already hard cock more sensitive, but not enough to give me any satisfaction. I was young, and typically during anything sexual, I was quiet, embarrassed, I think, by my own pleasure, so I was surprised to hear myself moan, a sound of want and desperation, and barely contained aggression.
Now slick with precum, her fingers moved more smoothly over my shaft, pressing only hard enough to feel the texture of my cock. Then she stopped. I could feel my whole body tensing: down my arms, my shoulders, across my chest. My hands were clenching the armrest as hard as they could, the veins of my forearms prominent.
“Do you want more?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Not yet.” She walked around the chair and put her hands on my shoulders. As she kneaded my shoulders, she told me to relax my hands, to feel the tension leave my forearms, my biceps, always up to my shoulders. My arms were so light now, she told me in her calm, even voice, that they would float off of the armrest. And, without any effort, they did. She kept talking, and I had a hard time concentrating. I was just responding. I just watched as my hands unbuttoned my shirt. As I stood up, removed my pants time, and I was standing in front of her naked, the tension was gone from my body, but my cock still hard.
She said something, and I got down on my knees, put my hands on her bare legs, and waited. Her voice again. My hands drifted up, slowly but confidently, pushing up her skirt, grabbing her panties, and pulling them down. I started by kissing her thighs. I had never taken my time like this before. Again, because I was younger, I had always been a little too eager to prove myself to my partner. Now here in front of Mary, I had no goal or pressure. I just wanted to feel her skin under my lips.
As I made my way up her thigh, the heat and smell of her sex became magnetic. I don’t know if she was talking to me or if I had been allowed to roam freely, but soon there was the sweet-tart taste of her on my tongue. I traced the lips of her pussy, and when her body responded, I paused and enjoyed the moment, only moving on when we both came back to our even breathing. At first, my hands were cupping her ass, but now one finger was teasing her pussy while softly sucked on her clit. I don’t know how long it lasted. I remember her body shook and that my lips were covered with her juices, that after a while, two of my fingers were inside of her, and she was grinding herself against my mouth. I know that for a moment, her legs went weak, and I had to support her, but even then, I didn’t stop my slow and steady exploration.
Eventually, with unsteady legs, she stepped away and sat down on the edge of the bed—her skirt still pushed up to her waist—took her time looking at me, and catching her breath. I waited.
She laid back, said something, and this time it was different. This time I wasn’t slow — this time, I devoured her. My tongue started at the bottom and licking all the way to her clit — my fingers inside her as she rolled her hips. I couldn’t get enough. I needed the taste of her—I could feel her hands in my hair, pulling. Her thighs on my shoulders, her legs crossed. Her thighs flexed, and she was suddenly quiet, holding her breath. Then her body went loose, and when my tongue touched her again, she jerked back, too sensitive, so I waited.
She took her time. Stood up and straightened her skirt. She touched my face, stroked my cheek, and said something to me. I felt warm and overwhelmed. I stood up, and she let her hands explore my body, tracing the muscles of my arms, my flat stomach down to the v of my pelvis. Her hands roamed but never touched my cock. She said something, and I wrapped my hand around it and slowly but firmly began to stroke it for her. While I did, she put her hand on my hard forearm and paced my strokes. She was talking in my ear, and it felt fantastic. I hadn’t noticed, but my breath was short and quick. Still, she never let the pacing change. Even as the precum made my cock slick, she made me keep the same slow but steady rhythm. I started to get light-headed. Her fingers firmly grasped my forearms and stopped my stroking.
She asked me if I wanted to sit. It was strange to understand her words again. I didn’t or couldn’t respond; I just sat on the edge of the bed. Hands eager to go back to my cock but unable to without her suggestion. She kneeled in front of me. My cock only inches from her mouth. When she spoke, I could feel her breath on it. “If you ask me to, I will let you come.”
I tried, but I couldn’t speak.
“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
Again, desperately, I tried.
With just two fingers, she started to stroke me. “Just ask nicely.” She tilted her head a little and licked from the base of my dick up, along the sensitive bottom all the way to the tip. Paused, then took the tip between her lips, my precum making her lips glossy. She held it there, looking up at me. “Don’t you want to come?” I moaned. “You can tell me.”
Suddenly, the words just came. “Please, Mary.” She smiled. “Please, let me come.”
“Do you want to fuck me?"
I let out a sound thick with want. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to suck your cock?” She started to rub the underside of my cock with her thumb.
“Yes, yes, please.”
She nuzzled my penis, rubbing her cheek against my thick and very hard shaft. “Want to feel my lips around it?” Then she said something that I couldn’t hear, and suddenly, again, I couldn’t respond. “Just say ‘please,’ and I’ll suck your big dick, I’ll let you cum wherever you want.”
She paused for a bit, waiting for the response I so desperately wanted to give her.
“Say please, and I’ll even let you fuck me.”
But she knew I couldn’t say anything until she permitted me again. So instead, she kept brushing my cock against her face, her cheeks now shiny. Then she grabbed my cock firmly in her hand. Her red lips were brushing the tip as she spoke, “We are going to anchor you to this feeling right here. Feel your body. Feel the tension from your feet to your legs, to your chest, and down your arms. Notice how tight your breath is and how desperately you are under my influence. Now, whenever I say—“ and I couldn’t hear her “—you will come back here, to this sensation, to exactly this state of arousal.” She kept talking, but the words were lost to the overwhelming feeling, only brief moments were clear, “you will remember,” when suddenly she was counting, my cock still in her hand, she was staring directly at me, and the room was coming into focus, her panties on the floor, my clothes scattered about, the candle she had lit almost burnt out. “Three.” My whole body was shivering, and the feeling of her hand wrapped around me was so intense that I just started to moan again. “Two.” I was flooded with feelings, but my arousal overwhelmed them all. “And one.”
Mary was clear. Her lipstick and green eyes. Her fingernail polish, the taste of her still in my mouth.
“Now,” Mary said, staring directly at me. “Tell me what you want.” I was suddenly aware that I was naked, and she was clothed.
My voice was surprisingly hoarse, “Please, Mary, let me come.”
With that, she wrapped her lips around me and pumped my cock with her hand. I didn’t last long at all; my whole body bucked as I came. I watched my cock throb over and over while she held it in her mouth. Then a chill and fatigue went through me. At the same time, I was anchored to the feeling of her warm hand wrapped around me.
She watched me get dressed and asked if I remembered everything. I told her I didn’t. That I only had a dim recollection of feeling good. But of course, I remembered everything, and I have relived it over and over again. Even the later sessions, where the stakes were higher, never affected me as much.
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