Apologies for a hair trigger

She loves to tease, to edge and to control. It’s not as much about denial, but about the control of the thing that she loves. The randomness (to me) of it all, and the “never knowing when/if” are things she is masterful at, and things she relishes.

But…

As we get comfy and she lets me know that she’ll be teasing/playing tonight, I know I’m a bit off. I don’t know how or why, but I do know I feel a tad different for whatever reason. I let that sit though, because she gives me not a “come hither” look, but rather a “get your ass over here” look …

I know better than to object.

My body is trying to be stubborn. This never ends well. I literally feel myself fighting back and forth between “holy crap that feels amazing” and that other voice… “control, control, control, control…” and then I look at her too, and she just has this look on her face like “you’re mine.”

It’s damn amazing, and sends waves of goodness through me.

But it’s on just one such wave of goodness that things get out of hand. I feel it rock my knees first, then shoot up both legs to her hand on me. I feel her moving up and down me, it’s like the world slows to slow motion on the one hand, but on the other, my insides are screaming and at the same time laughing this maniacal laugh about how I’ve lost this battle.

I feel it screech through my groin, my stomach, up through my chest and with a whoosh my head and even my ears hum with the feelings.

I know this feeling. I know what’s going on. I know, too, that I’m in deep trouble here.

It passes through my brain to ask permission. To beg to cum. To make sure it’s what she wants. But all of this happens in about 1.5 seconds. After a good time and several edges, suddenly, all of this in just a couple of seconds. I don’t see it coming, but I sure know it’s going to.

I feel myself tighten, I feel the blood rush from my head to where her hand is gripping me. I feel my body twitch and know that it’s too late. It’s almost overwhelming, I’m completely committed now, I feel my juices screaming out of me, fighting.

She stops as soon as she senses it, but the hair trigger that is my body today is just too far along. A gut wrenching mix between a ruined orgasm and full-on orgasm without that final “ooomph” rocks through me as my head swings back and forth, reacting, out of control, growling.

I settle back a bit, working to pull my sense back to front and center, trying to get control again.

I peek out and see her looking at me. Frozen.

“What. Was. That?” Is all I hear.

She isn’t smiling.

I screwed up. I apologize. Profusely. I let her know I didn’t see it coming, that I lost the control on it. She reminds me that I’m always, ALWAYS to ask permission with her. Always.

She has that “that was not OK” look on her face.

“On the list, please. We’ll deal with that mistake, I promise,” she says.