He thought of her as Diana the Huntress. He had looked up Diana online and had found this: “Diana was the goddess of the hunt… associated with wild animals and woodland… having the power to talk to and control animals.” He had smiled at that. “Diana is worshiped at a festival on August 13th. Oak groves are especially sacred to her.” He smiled more broadly yet.
He was thinking of places other than oak groves. He was wondering if she looked at him as a wild animal – to be tamed. Probably.
Last night had been a turning point. After stalking him, she had closed in, artfully maneuvering him into a corner. He had fallen into her traps. He was prey and he knew it. What he hadn't fully realized was that this Diana carried no bow and arrow (she subbed that job out to Cupid). She simply set snares, watching as her dazzled prey – staring– became caught. She had smiled last night. That was one of the three images engraved in his mind. Another was her form, beckoning. The last were her simple sentences which started, “I want….”
“I want you to pull my skirt up.” He had and had been a bit surprised to see she wore nothing underneath.
“I want you to pleasure me.” At that she had tugged on the leash, pulling him forward. “Now!” Her voice had become firmer – more insistent – more certain and demanding. He had simply said, “Yes!”
He did his job well, licking and probing, nuzzling and nibbling – gently. It was as he did this that he felt a sharp pain across his buttocks. He did not need to stop or slow to know it was fine. He accepted her whims. She hadn't been kidding (he realized now) when she’d said, “I’ll keep a yardstick handy. As a motivator.” He decided it wasn't the right moment to explain that he did not need to be motivated. He kept going.
She bucked. He hung in. She pushed against his face; he provided her a place against which to press. She moaned. He could barely hear her as her legs clamped his head, both ears muffled. Everything was distant except obligation. His job was to pleasure her.
Finally she released him. His face was damp. No, truth to be told it was wet. She tugged on the leash.
“Not bad for a first time,” she said. She was chuckling. He felt uncomfortable; was she saying it had been good for her, or that it had simply been adequate? She peered into his face, and then added, “You show promise. I definitely plan many repeat performances.” His cock twitched at the word ‘performances’. She was objectifying him, telling him he was a trick pony. He liked the idea – a lot. Her trick pony! She planned to use and train and teach and make him more and more her toy. He didn't want the words to come into his mind – but they did. “Human equivalent of a Hitachi Magic Wand – but programmable!” She hadn't said that. He wasn't sure if he should ever admit to having put those words in her mouth. His fantasies and turn-ons were most likely not hers. “We are two universes,” he thought. Then she spoke.
“I want … [again those words!]. I want you to cum for me.” He knew that she knew what would do the trick – when she was ready – so he just nodded and said, “You know me, Miss.”
She grinned and replied, “Yes, I do!” She pulled the leash harder, now yanking him atop her as she lay back. “Lube up and then – inside.” She wasn't discussing anything. He was being told what to do.
“Do you want me on top now, Miss?” He asked fully knowing it might be the last time he should be so direct.
“Yes… for now. Later on I will roll you over and be on top. As you should know, I like control.” He nodded. He knew that. It was the reason he’d asked. She added, “For now, I want you doing the work and as for me… ‘ she tugged the leash, “I’ll let you know when and if you can cum. Or not.” She giggled.
“Or not?” he echoed.
“Or not!” I want you to know that if I let you cum it’s all my choice. I might feel you need it. I might decide I really don’t care if you need it. You won’t know in advance – that much I can guarantee you!” She laughed. “Now, please, shut the fuck up and start humping, boy. You have 20 minutes.”
He began slowly (as always) but as his cock got harder, she began to use what he’d told her about himself weeks before. (She remembered?!) Her fingernails pinched his male nipples and he felt his member suddenly harden quite a bit more. He wondered if she had noticed.
She said, “Yes, pinching these babies *does* improve your performance.” He thrust again and again into her. His pace was quickening. She teased him, saying “Yes, I definitely am going to have you buy some nipple clamps. I can see how using them on you will benefit me – a lot.” He had no idea if she was very excited or only somewhat so. He knew he should care more but he was focusing on his own pleasure now – and she seemed intent on building it. “Fuck me, boy-toy! Fuck me!” Her words were deliberate and manipulative and hot. She was playing with his mind. She knew exactly what she was doing.
The world began to melt away. He was looking down at her breasts, noting the erect nipples. A passing thought: ‘Look up her; my face is up here’. He tossed that silly mantra aside. She wanted him to look at her naked form. She didn't give a damn if he looked at her face or her boobs or her crotch. He wanted him excited. She wanted him hot. She wanted what she wanted and what she wanted now was a male getting off on her – both literally and figuratively.
He came. It was a pulsing, long series of feelings emanating from the very root of his cock and exploding upwards. He felt the rush of blood filling his lips and his palms and the soles of his feet. He felt his ears reddening. He heard the pounding of his heart. He inhaled and the simple breathing was another kind of pleasure atop all the others. He collapsed and then gently rolled off of her. He realized that she had never insisted on mounting and riding him. That was a passing thought.
He spoke. “That was awesome.” It was the best he could muster from his fuzzy mind.
She smiled (again). “Well, you certainly did enjoy yourself!”
He nodded.
Her face then took on a slightly serious aspect. “Do you know why I let you fuck me today?” Weakly, he shook his head. The truth was that he never understood what women said or did. It was all a mystery to him.
She stared into his eyes and said, “I am capturing you and this was a good first start to putting you into my cage.” He didn't know if she meant that literally or metaphorically. At this point he didn't care.
As he lay there, his eyes wandered beyond her naked form, all curvy and sweaty and nice. It rested on a bookshelf on the other side of the room. On it was a statue. It was a woman carrying a bow. For a brief second he wondered. Then he knew. It was a statue of the goddess Diana. She was hunting.
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