You move to pull away from me, but no, not yet. I’m not ready to let you go. My hand comes up between your shoulder blades, and I hold you against me for a few seconds longer. You need to understand that from now on, I’m the boss. For now, your choices belong to me. And it’s a gesture of ownership that no one else can see, but you can surely feel.
I take the opportunity to pose an important question. I let a breath spill into your ear, and you shudder against me. Oh, so sweet.
“Safe word?” I whisper.
A second passes, and then you give me the gift of that knowledge with your own teasing, timid breath in my ear. Uhh. Your vulnerability is disarming.
Then I let you go and step back from you, looking into your eyes. For a moment, you’re not sure where to put yourself, I can see it in your face. But you do hold my gaze. I smile at you and your smile is tentative, then warm and sunny. And just like that you’re at ease again.
“Sit down,” I say, pointing at the chair opposite mine. You move around the table and sit down. Your t-shirt pulls across your chest as you do, and I catch a tantalising glimpse of the outline of a nipple. Mmmh. You settle.
Dominance
I take a sip of my coffee, watching you over the rim of my cup. You’re looking down into your lap, demure. Waiting. Serene. And I’m alight. I didn’t expect you to surrender to me.
“Hands on the table,” I say.
You blink, caught off guard.
“Palms down. Where I can see them.”
For the tiniest second, you hesitate, and that pause does something delicious to me. And then you obey me. You place your hands on the table between us, spreading your fingers wide, as if you’ve been caught doing somehthing naughty.
“Good,” I say it softly, a caress of a word.
I watch your lips part, your breath catching just a little.
“Be still, act as if there’s nothing going on,” I say.
You nod. I lean back in my seat, taking in the view, sipping my coffee.
The waitress comes back to check on us and you look to me. I give you a nod, let you handle her. You did it so beautifully earlier. And you do, despite your hands spread before you on the table, you come across as completely normal. I’m impressed. She goes.
“Is there anything going on?” I ask.
Your fingers twitch. Ah. Lovely.
“Yes,” you say quietly.
“Yes what?” I ask, curious about how you’ll respond.
“Yes, there is,” and you blush deeply. Your hands slide a fraction closer to you, before you stop them, spreading your fingers wide again, the tension, uhh, obvious.
A Challenge
“Then we understand each other. Take your phone and go to the bathroom. Send me one picture. Not your face. Show me how this is affecting you.”
Your eyes widen.
“And then?”
“Come back to me, put your hands exactly where I told you to, and watch me open it.”
Two minutes later, you’re sitting opposite me again, back straight, your hands spread exactly where I told you to put them.
I give you one proper chance to stop this.
To stop me.
“Ready?” I ask.
You swallow hard, then, “yes.”
You’re looking half terrified and this pleases me so much. I pick up my phone and open your message. And oh my god. Fuck me. That is one hot picture. How on earth did you get that angle?
I’m keeping my expression neutral, but something in it must have given me away, you’re trying very hard not to smile.
Well then. So be it.
Placing some money between your hands on the table, I rise.
“Time to go.”
Too Many Pockets!
I take your hand in mine, and we set out. The sea glistens in the sun and the promenade is full of people enjoying the day. I slip my arm you, around your waist, pulling you against me, keeping you exactly where I want you.
Quarter of an hour later and we’re in my sitting room. My box of toys lies open on the floor and I gesture to you.
“Choose for me,” I say, “something you want me to use kindly. And something you hope I won’t.”
You select a few items and lay them on the table, lovely.
“Ready?” I ask. Your eyes pass over the implements, and your throat works. Turning to me, your lips form that open, sunlit smile. And you nod.
“Speak,” I say.
“Yes. Yes please.”
I move to the sofa and sit down, looking up at you where you stand, obedient and waiting in the middle of the room.
“Take off your clothes, all of them. Fold them and put them on the table,” I say.
Ah, I’ve been wanting to see you naked for the longest time. Can’t believe you’re actually here and you are taking your clothes off, just for me. God, it’s a fucking dream come true.
You pull your t-shirt over your head, and it’s as I suspected when I got a glimpse of the outline of your nipple earlier. You’re naked underneath. You fold it and place it on the table. And looking at you then, the significance of your cargo-pants hits me square in the face.
“Too many pockets,” I say.
With a grin on your face, you dare to give me a topless twirl to show them all off. Uhh, that chest. So inviting.
You pop the top button of your trousers and slide the zip down.
“Stop,” I say. “Come here to me.”
You step close to me and I give you one more chance to stop this.
“Okay?” I ask. This time when you nod, I do not demand that you speak. Partly it’s kindness, you look too flustered to manage. But mostly because I’m too fucking keen to explore your nipples.
A Tease
I lean back and invite you to straddle me. You take a breath, clamber onto the sofa, legs either side of mine. You’re being very careful, and I wonder if you’re afraid you’ll hurt me. Running my fingernails up from your waistband over your back to your shoulders, I lean in and gently flick my tongue over your right nipple. Glancing up, I see you’re watching what I’m doing to you. Nice. Gives me a handle.
“Close your eyes,” I say. You obey without hesitation.
“Good,” I say, and your lips part. Uhhh.
The peak hardens under my tongue’s flicking motion, and I bite it between my teeth, just enough to hear you moan. I suck at it then, my tongue still flicking. You shift your legs, you’re still not putting any of your weight on me. I suck cold air around it, give it a last flick and then I’m kissing my way over to your other nipple, still stroking my fingernails down your back. I can feel the goosebumps there, and I switch my attention to the small of your back, pulling the loosened waistband down over your hips a little so I can reach that part of you that makes your whole sex react.
Teasing your other nipple, I use my fingernails to build you up. I’m waiting for a reaction from you and you give it to me. You sigh, your breath rustling my hair, mmh.
Choose
“Stand up and strip,” I say.
And you do so. You struggle off the sofa, and then your thumbs are tugging the waistband of your trousers down over your hips. Soon you’re standing completely nude before me and I let you stand there, wondering if you’ll fidget. You don’t.
Getting up, I circle you. You look absolutely glorious. I’ve seen pictures of you of course, those little teasing images you have posted of yourself in the past for the fediverse to feast on. But the reality of you is so much more than I’d expected. You’re stunning. I circle you a second time, this time with my eyes closed. I explore you with my fingertips, taking time to touch every tiny part of your torso with warm, probing tips. Ignoring all of your little tell-tale reactions.
Again, I stand before you and we lock eyes. You do not look away, ah and that’s so fucking sweet. I gesture to the table.
“Choose how I’ll finish you.”
Your attention shifts to the things you’ve laid out on there. Then your hand lifts.
You choose pain.
You choose pleasure.