by Bob Neils
I thought about it for a moment. I could see she approved. “First off, I would take your coat and your purse and put them aside. I would then help you to remove whatever it is you were wearing.”
“Why?” She leaned into the interruption.
“To make you comfortable,” was my automatic response.
“Explain.”
I licked my lips, suddenly having trouble reading her. “Well, I would unzip your dress if you were wearing something tight and clingy, or step behind you to unlace your corset, if that’s what you were wearing.” I started, aware of how that might sound. “Not to get you naked,” I protested, “and not to fulfill any sort of fantasy, but to make you comfortable.”
“Good.” She nodded. “Continue.”
“I would then follow you into the house. I imagine you would head for the bedroom first. There I would wait until you sat on the bed. Then I would help to remove your boots, unroll your stockings, and massage your feet.”
“Why?” There was a glint in her eyes. “You’ve never expressed a foot fetish before.”
“Not for me, Mistress. For you. I imagine your feet must ache from wearing those heels all day, so I would want to relax your feet and your legs.”
“And then?” She licked her lips, teasing me with her tongue. “Would you allow those hands to wander up to stroke my cock? Would you offer my breasts a massage as well?”
“Not unless we had become accustomed to such a welcoming, and I knew that was what you wanted.” I didn’t even have to think about what came next. “After finishing with your legs, I would move behind you, release your hair, and help loosen it about your shoulders. I would then set about massaging the tension from your shoulders and your neck.”
She not only smiled, but she also clapped her hands. “That’s what I’m talking about. A mere scene sub would have knelt before me in the hallway and waited for instruction, completely oblivious to how tired or uncomfortable I might be. Not you. You are a natural. You don’t submit to a scene, you submit to a role, and you understand your role to be one of service, comfort, and pleasure.”
It clicked for me at that point, and that excited me. For the first time, I saw the possibilities within this house.
Mistress pulled open a drawer in the table between us – an octopus of polished oak, standing on its tentacles – and withdrew three boxes. Her plum-colored nails traced shapes in the dust that covered each box. “These three items have been waiting a long time for the right person. I honestly believe that might be you.”
She handed me the first, a black box about an inch high, and roughly four inches on each side. When she nodded, I lifted the lid to find a pair of slender black leather collars inside. The first was a tanned sort of brown leather with a metal snap with which to close it, while the other was glossy black PVC, with no snaps, no buckles, no holes at all. No way to close it around a throat.
“Should you choose to wear that one,” she said, taking the shiny collar from my hand, “I will one day seal it around your neck myself. I will have you wear other collars, now and then, as I so desire. Big, heavy, thick collars that choke you, restrain you, and force your posture into shapes I find pleasing. That,” she pointed to the simple leather collar, “is what you will wear, for now. It’s slender and discreet, easily dismissed as a piece of jewelry, but we will always know better.”
It made sense. It was thoughtful and deliberate, the mark of a woman who had given great thought to taking the power exchange from the dungeon to her home.
“I have never before placed such a permanent mark of ownership on someone,” she whispered, her fingers trailing along the black PVC, “but …”
When she trailed off, I impulsively leaned in and kissed her hand. “I am honored. I will wear both proudly and strive to worthy of them.”
The second box was more cube-shaped, heavier, and it made a noise when I took it from her hand. Again, I waited for her sign, and only then did I lift the lid. Inside was a pair of chastity cages, one of clear plastic and the other stainless steel. I’d heard of them, of course, but had never seen one up close. They looked both smaller and more significant than I had imaged, but the steel one was a surprisingly heavy and complex bit of metal.
“Should you choose to wear that,” she said, pointing to the steel cage, “I will place it around your cock and your balls and secure it with that pin you see at its base. Once secured, nothing short of an industrial tool will remove it.”
“Full-time chastity, Mistress?” I was taken aback. “Permanent chastity?” The cage felt even heavier in my hands. “I have to be honest, that scares me.”
“Tom, think back to all our sessions. Have I ever touched your cock?”
I had to smile at that. “Other than to hit it with your crop? No.”
“And in all your relations with Tricia, has she ever touched it?”
“Well, no,” I admitted. “I was her cuckold. Our relationship wasn’t about my pleasure, but about worshipping hers.”
“Tell me, Tom, when was the last time you penetrated a woman?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but realized I had no idea. “Um, years, Mistress. Three, maybe four.”
“I thought as much.” She uncurled one leg, stretched it across the gap, and traced a line down the bulge in my pants with her toe. “You should have no trouble getting accustomed to the plastic trainer,” she told me.
“No.” I smiled. “I guess now, Mistress.”
She offered me the last box. “Open this, and then I will explain what was so wrong with your last relationship, and how ours will be different.”
Inside the last box was a silicone butt plug, larger than anything I’d ever played with myself, and oddly shaped with ridges and ripples leading to its rounded peak.
“Should you choose to submit to me, Tom, you will be surrendering control of yourself and your orgasms to me. That is not to say you won’t have them. Not at all. A true power exchange contains a pleasure exchange as well.” She slid her foot from my crotch, then took my free hand, drew me forward, and laid it on the bulge beneath her dress. “Chastity is not about denial, Tom, but about focus. Your penis is no longer a thing of pleasure.” I felt her cock twitch beneath my hand. “Mine is.” She closed my fingers about her shaft and guided me in stroking it. “You will give my cock pleasure, and it will do the same for you.”
On the surface, it seemed like a lot to ask. The idea of giving up that much power was scary, and yet it was also exciting.
“Tell me what you’re thinking, Tom. You’ll soon come to understand that your thoughts belong to me as much as your body.” She winked. “Something else to get used to.”
I nodded. “I’m nervous, Mistress.” I knew better than to hide anything. “This seems like so much, to be collared and caged and plugged all the time. I wonder what that will do to me, how that will change me, but then I realize I’m not giving up that much. You were right. My pleasure has always come through others. Knowing Tricia got fucked hard and deep, and cleaning the evidence of it from between her legs, that was more than just my role as a cuckold, it was my purpose as a submissive.”
She smiled. Her hand held mine in place, but she began thrusting into our combined grip.
“It is the same with you. A bit more selfish perhaps, because I genuinely love worshipping your she-cock, but feeling your cum flood my mouth has always been better than feeling my own leak out. I came to your dungeon because I like being dominated, and love being restrained, but it was always your pleasure and your satisfaction that mattered most to me.”
“Whatever you want, Mistress. Whatever you like, Mistress. Whatever you desire, Mistress.” She shook her head. “Do you know how many submissives have said those words to me? When what they really wanted was to be free of the need to decide. Giving me control was never about submitting to my needs, my desires, but about absolving themselves of responsibility for their own. It’s what we call topping from below, and I despise it.”
I blanched
. I had told her the same thing. Often. Every time in fact.
If I had expected her to pull away, however, she did the exact opposite. She began fucking our hands with long, hard strokes, her breath coming shorter with each.
“You, Tom, have always been the exception. It took me a while to see it, to hear it, to accept it, but you are the only person to have ever genuinely meant those words. Yes, you share the submissive tendency to avoid choices, but you were always more interested in serving my needs and fulfilling my pleasure than in claiming your own. You genuinely wanted what I wanted. You always took more enjoyment from my pleasure than your own.”
I nodded, but I was having trouble concentrating with the way she was writhing beneath my hand.
“Collar?” Her question was a single word, but it carried so much meaning.
“Yes, Mistress.” I squeezed her cock, feeling it leap against my hand. “I am honored.”
She bared her teeth and bit her bottom lip. “Cage?” she managed to gasp.
It occurred to me at that moment that she had not said I must accept these things, or that they were conditions of our relationship.
No, she had offered me choices.
We were still negotiating.
And, wonder of all wonders, I was choosing to surrender it all.
“Yes, Mistress.” The answer surprised me. I felt her dress grow damp with precum and knew my answer was the right one. “I am humbled.”
With a growl, she stood from the chair. I saw her dress tent before her and started to kneel, but she stopped me with a finger beneath my chin. “Plug?”
“Yes, Mistress.” I smiled, feeling cheeky. “I am delighted.”
“Hold.”
Instead of allowing me to take her into my mouth and coax her to orgasm, she lifted her dress and continued stroking herself. My eyes roamed back and forth from her breasts to her cock, taking in the familiar darkness beneath her pendulous breasts, the jewel dangling from her belly button, the trio of stretch marks that framed her waist, the exaggerated flair of her well-rounded waist, and the perfect triangle thatch of hair that pointed to the base of her cock. I watched as its head glistened with the precum her hand squeezed from the tip.
It was magnificent. It was mesmerizing.
When she came, it was with a controlled eruption. She gasped and moaned, but kept her hand clenched tight around her cock, carefully directing the spurts of cum toward me. The first took me in the chin. I started to lower my head, to put my mouth within range, but she used her other hand to shove my forehead back. Instead, the next spurt of cum landed squarely on my throat, her hand moving the shaft left and then right, leaving me with a line of warm, sticky cum.
Mistress stepped closer and used the head of her softening cock to spread the cum further around my throat. “Consider yourself collared,” she gasped.
I shuddered at the implication. “Nothing else will ever lay so heavy or so warm.” I smiled. I was happy. Happy like I had not been in years. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” With that, Mistress leaned down and kissed me, something she had never done before. Her lips felt soft, yet firm, fuller than any I had ever kissed before. They dominated my own, taking control of the kiss. “I’m going to get cleaned up,” she whispered. “You can let that dry.”
I just nodded, at a total loss for words.
“Meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes, and I’ll show you how I like my dinner prepared.”
Dating a Dominatrix
I awoke the next morning, half certain it had all been a dream. Mistress and I had lain in bed all night, talking, while I worshipped her body with my hands. We talked about many things, about our separate pasts and our shared future, ensuring that this was the right move for us both. She had told me, quite bluntly, that she expected there would be days ahead where I would lose my nerve, second guess myself, and beg to be released. She also told me that, were I to ask three times, she would grant that release.
After which we would never see one another again.
Laying there, on a Sunday morning, with the first rays of sunlight illuminating her sleeping curves, there was no place else on Earth that I would rather be. A week from now? My cock sore from straining against its cage? My ass cheeks chafed from the butt plug wiggling between them? My neck sweaty and red, feeling more weight from the collar than was really there? I liked to think I could deal with them all, but I knew it would be the questions – from friends, family, and coworkers – that would place the greatest strain on my commitment.
As I rolled into my stomach and slipped further beneath the sheets, however, I vowed that no matter how I might bend, I would never break.
This was not something we had discussed, and I feared that I was taking a liberty that was not permitted, but I could think of no better way for Mistress to start the day than with an orgasm. I gently kissed my way down her stomach. I wanted to dip my tongue into her belly button and tug on her piercing with my teeth, but I didn’t want to wake her.
Not yet.
I continued down, my lips sliding across her pubic triangle. I kissed the head of her cock and was surprised to find it already sticky with precum. Apparently, her sleep had been as erotically charged as mine. I know some people say it has very little taste, but there’s a hint of sweetness to Mistress’ precum. It was thicker than my own, and I could feel it coating my tongue. I paused there for a moment and lapped at her slit, but a slight twitch of her thigh told me she’d be waking soon.
Even soft and only half-erect, her cock was impressive. It wasn’t ridiculously huge. It wasn’t porn-star fantasy extreme, but it was more than enough to leave you with a sore throat when she was done. In terms of length, her cock was comparable to mine, perhaps on the long side of average, but it had an upward curve to it that I suspected would hit all the right spots should I ever be so lucky to feel it inside me. Its width, though? Its girth? As I took the whole thing into my mouth and began tickling the underside with my tongue, I was reminded that was where she put average to shame.
She grew quickly inside my mouth, but before she started poking at my throat, I opened even wider and invited her balls inside. With my mouth full, I just held her there, taking note of how warm and heavy she felt, how sweaty and not-quite-sour she tasted. With a twitch below and a moan from above, she started growing, forcing those balls out of my mouth. It wasn’t long before I was practicing my swallowing and my breathing, surrendering the depths of my throat to her unconscious penetration.
Moments later I felt the sheets lifted away from us. I felt her hand come down to cup the back of my head, her fingers sliding into my mess of morning bedhead. She tickled me for a moment, and then pulled me tight against her.
“I like this,” she cooed. “I think I’ll have you wake me up like this every morning.”
I couldn’t speak, so I settled for looking up at her, my eyes broadcasting my smile.
Mistress began arching her back, thrusting into my mouth, while her hand held my head in place. She fucked my throat in short, quick strokes while I frantically tried to suck, lick, and swallow all at the same time. It hurt, and I was becoming lightheaded from the lack of air, but nothing had ever felt so good.
She didn’t make a word as she came, but I knew it was coming. I felt her balls tense against my chin, and I felt her back arch a little higher. It was only a few spurts, and all of them deposited directly down my throat, but it was incredible. I had done that. I had awaked her with my mouth, and her first load of the day was mine.
Without a word, she rolled over and slipped off the bed. I watched her ample, well-rounded ass bounced as she strolled purposely into the bathroom, the dimpled scar on her right cheek keeping time with her steps. I feared I had done something wrong, overstepped a boundary, but I knew I couldn’t start having doubts now.
She said she liked it. She said she wanted me to wake her like that every morning.
I had to believe in that. In her. In us.
Forty minutes later, w
e sat down to breakfast. Mistress was dressed in a simple pair of black tights and a grey oversized t-shirt. Her hair was loose and bouncy with curls once again, and her face was exquisitely made up, her lips, cheeks, and eyes as perfect as always.
As for me, I was naked. I had thought it was the right choice, since she had not given me permission to dress, but as she grabbed a slice of toast and dipped it into her eggs, I began to feel a little awkward.
Silly even.
“Tom.” She finished her bite of toast. As she swallowed, she reached across the table, her palm open, facing up. She smiled when I immediately placed my hand into hers. “I apologize for my abruptness this morning.”
I was taken aback. I had not expected an apology. It had never occurred to me that one might be needed.
“Having you as a live-in submissive is already paying huge dividends, and we haven’t even formally entered you into my service. That blowjob was lovely, and this breakfast is delightful, although we will have to talk calorie counts later.” She squeezed my hand. “As much thought as I had given all this, there were things I had not considered. Mornings being one of them.”
As much as I wanted to ask what she meant, to prompt her for more, I knew to wait.
“In the dungeon,” she told me, “life is all about the fantasy. We are the roles we play, with no past, and with no baggage to weight us down. There, you are the submissive cock-hungry cuckold, and I am the merciless shemale bitch.” She paused, and I could see that she was uncomfortable. “Here, in my home, we exist outside that fantasy. And that means seeing me at my worst, at my most natural.”
She squeezed my hand again. I slipped my other hand beneath the pair and squeezed back.
“Let me be blunt. You know that shemales are made, not born. We have already discussed my surgeries and my hormones, and you saw some of my costuming tricks last night as you undressed me. I guess I was just concerned that seeing me without makeup, with bags under my eyes, you might catch a glimpse of . . . well, of the before. That was why I hurried from the bed.”