When I was a younger man, I was fortunate enough to receive the love of a more experienced woman. We were about the same age, but she had more partners and more adventures than I had. She was a worldly woman to me, a traveled woman. This wasn't a source of envy or shame to me. I felt lucky to have her. She was always a few steps ahead of me, but she'd reach back to make sure I was on the same path. My love for her was that of a supplicant.

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I could never tell her that. It would ruin my dom-rough-fuck reputation if I admitted that to her. We had been together for a few months, making love on our frameless bed, screwing on the back porch, or skullfucking in the bathroom at a rock show. For our purposes, let's call her Ashley. She was a tall and sturdy woman, with that classic college softball player build? Or field hockey build? She was not a dainty unprotected flower, but more of a thistle? Someone who likely threw elbows in mosh pits, or had at least ONE story where she headbutted a stranger in a bar fight. Ashley was my punk Valkyrie princess. With thick muscled thighs, and a myriad of tattoos and piercings. We made a game of counting how many piercings she had in, or healed over, and she was never quite sure of the exact amount herself.

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Special occasion sex was always a bit of a trip with Ashley. She had conditioned me to get my hopes exceedingly high on anniversaries, birthdays, and holidays. We had hot, naked scrambling sex most nights (which was terrific), but I knew she was up to something when my always-nude girlfriend came out of our spare bedroom all made up and in a corset and garters. I didn't even know she owned lingerie. And this was the complicated kind that had a bunch of hooks and bows, and supports that gave her boobs a more dynamic in-your-face kind of angle? I was in trouble if she expected my horny brain to figure out how to solve the lacy Rubik's cube of what she was wearing.

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I had been laying in bed, waiting for her, touching myself, trying to contain my excitement. She looked me up and down, held her arms out and gave a couple awkward half curtsies.

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"Does it look okay?" I had never seen her look so nervous, or in need of my approval.

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"You look great, where did this even come from???" I said appraising the Victorian torso-shaping device she had donned. It certainly drew the eye to her cleavage, and plunged your view straight downward to the matching and over-designed panties framed by the garters and hosiery. "I'm severely under-dressed for this occasion".

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"Shut up!" she took this opportunity to hook a leg over the bed, and she gingerly positioned her body over mine. I ran my hands over the silky things she had put on for me, up her body and through her hair. I tried to take in this moment and really focus on her face, her self-satisfied smirk, the deep red shade of her lipstick, and the amount of work she put into her blowout and makeup.

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I was just some broke kid from the middle of nowhere, so I didn't really have anything poetic or proportionate to offer but a kiss. We were off to the races from there. Our tongues darted, our gasps harmonized in a tangled mess of petting and neck nips with Ashley grinding against my naked cock. But something was missing. I couldn't kiss everywhere I wanted. I couldn't brush my hands against my favorite places, and it slowly dawned on me

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This get up was some form of soft restraint! A power play to frustrate, delay, and deny me her body. She must have caught the realization on my face, as she rubbed her wet panties against me. She gently pinned my wrists above my head and let slip an obnoxious giggle. I had fallen into a trap spun of silk and teasing kisses down my chest. This was hell for a "control enthusiast" such as myself, and I was calculating the cost of tearing the corset and panties off to fuck her brains out, and assessing the physical strength required to pull apart all the buttresses and stitches. Which parts were decorative, and which were holding this confounding contraption together?

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I half-heartedly struggled against her pin, rolling and prodding my hips against her. I wasn't sure I'd survive this coup from my free-use sub. "Ashley..." I said grasping to reassert myself. "is there something you want from me?"

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"Maybe" she could barely contain her glee. I couldn't deny her. Not with her tits inches from my face, and her pussy sliding against me, with the thinnest and absurdest underwear between us. Not after she went to so much trouble to put this all together. I left my hands pinned in her butterfly-weight grip.

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"What do you want baby?"

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"Can I ... ride your face... you look so cute when you're mad..."

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I could feel my eyebrow twitch in irritation, but I relented. It wasn't that I didn't LOVE going down on her. I was a little obsessed with how she tasted, and making her cum... but calling me "cute" was the fucking line, and she was stepping on it. Ashley could occasionally test boundaries, but that brat-impulse would subside when my cock got deep inside her, and she would melt into a very subby and pleading state of mind. That hint of mischief, a flicker of defiance or plotting was ever-present... and this was a bonfire of shenanigans.

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"... get over here." Ashley let out an ecstatic squeak and rolled off to my side to pull her panties off. She fumbled momentarily with the straps and ribbons holding her corset together and gave up quickly. With catlike delicacy, she crawled to the top of our bed, and placed her knees around my ears. She lowered her glistening wet pussy to my lips. We didn't have another moment to waste, the anticipation had popped, and I needed to make her feel good. We practically matched with grateful moans as I slipped my tongue inside her, and her hips immediately started pumping against my face.

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I felt a little claustrophobic with her smooth thighs against my cheeks, and my prodigious nose getting mooshed against her pelvis. I felt a degree of urgency to make her cum and get a bit more breathing room, but that was a distant thought from getting her off and having her gush down my cheeks and chin. I needed her. This was how I showed her. I had to have her. Satiated. Desired. Worshiped. I tried to push my tongue deeper inside her, curling, twisting, but also sucking her clit in the frenzy. Her taste was intoxicating, and I was in a rare position to stroke myself while serving her. I couldn't miss this opportunity, so I pushed her hips into my face with one hand, and jerked off with the other.

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I didn't need to breathe. I needed Ashley to cum on my face. Her breath was getting shallow and rapid, her body was clenched and sweaty. She wrapped her hands around the back of my head and continued to grind until her legs got twitchy and she let out a long hard shuddering sigh of release. I felt her pussy quiver against my lips and the tip of my tongue, and her body collapsed in a staggered chaotic heap, not unlike a puppet with her tangled strings cut. I came moments later with the full unsupported weight of her ass on my face. My cum pooling on my hips as I struggled for air.