It's her face I see in the dark

 Another Friday, another wonderful day with Miss. 

Usual start with breakfast and such and then back to hers for, again, common, but exquisite pleasures.

Two things that were simply superb. Miss excelled herself with the therapy session in the evening, just wonderful control, her hand barely off the poor knoblet which didn't know where to turn or twist to escape her attentions. Not that the knoblet has any chance to escape, as my body is spread across the sofa, Miss sits between my legs which stretch left in front of her and right behind her head. Miss is relentless, her hand only leaves the knoblet when she must and then rests for the briefest of times to lay heavily on my balls, before sliding back onto the knoblet again. 

She also frequently slapped the knoblet, nice firm slaps that made the knoblet tremble, but not waver. Nails often sliced over the slick glans, sharp but again not reducing my submissive desire but inflaming it. harshest of all was when we came back for the second hour (sigh) and Miss started before the chimes. I argued, briefly to go for the chime at half past but that I was in effect extending the hour she could add some polishing. Which she did. To her great delight and my wonderful discomfort. 

But most of all, beyond the endless edges, the harsh abuse and the closeness to my wonderful Miss, was her face. Tired at end of a full day, hooded sleepy eyes, but she kept her eyes on me and when she'd finished riding me to a hard edge she would take her hand away and pull a face of mock sincerity. Mocking my agonised gasps, my pained face, balls churning, knoblet throbbing. Not every time, but often and with obvious pleasure in her meanness. And when not making mock of me? Just smiling happily. 

That is the face I see when I type, Miss smiling and in complete control. 

Bliss.