Here’s the intriguing bit about sex: not only is it pure sensory indulgence and animalistic urges released, it also tends to bring up just about every potential for vulnerability, insecurity, and general life philosophy differences in a very distinctive setting. (It could also just be me…and my apparent aptitude for turning hook-ups into self improvement lectures for boys who are too scared of themselves/who can’t keep it up. See also: Bad Idea for that but reversed.)
As much as I’d like it to be as baggage free and hedonistic as possible at all times, it’s rarely that simple. For instance, Angry Eagle Man (it’s kind of a long, bizarre story, so accept the name for now and let’s move on). A self proclaimed “love addict” with a life view unlike anyone else I’ve ever encountered. A life view that is not only drastically different, but one that I can hardly listen to for much time before I burst out laughing and/or wanting to punch him in the face…one that emphasizes spirituality as, essentially, the answer for everything. And countless New Age bullshit ideas that he appears to take seriously. A life style that consists of spending too much time in a public park, meeting new strangers to turn into “students” of his philosophy, and well, pursuing new love affairs and not much else.
In other words, the antithesis of everything I believe in and aspire toward. So, after a few highly strange and unusual incidents over the summer and not having seen him for ages, why accept his offer to come over and bring me hot chocolate? Well, I wanted a little fun before I flew home and since Bad Idea had already gone home for the holidays, I figured my options were limited. I had nothing better to do that night…thought something different might do me some good, and, well, I really wanted hot chocolate.
Minutes after we exchanged the preliminary catching up talk, he warned me that he was feeling amorous tonight and might grab me at any moment. He blamed it on the cold and winter, I blamed it on basic desire, and my skin tight sweater and jeans set probably helped.
Contrary to what his name might suggest, Angry Eagle Man is quite a fan of affection, and his grabbing consisted much more of gentle caresses and cuddling than the force and roughness the word might suggested. Because he was having so much fun explaining his love addiction and the intricacies of each stage, I thought it be a good idea to show him trailers of my favorite porn. Which, evidently, was okay, until I suggested we watch a full length one that I’d recently downloaded. “Yeah, but I feel like if we watch a whole film I’ll want to fuck.”
Hand on my hip, I turned around to glare at him. “Would that be a problem?”
“A problem?” He laughed and turned his attention to his laptop screen. Pause. “Do you have condoms?”
Do I ?
***
I guess I should have noticed the signs earlier, when he kept bringing up the fact that I thrived on power. And while I kept protesting—it’s not about power at all! It’s about fun! He kept bringing it back to that point. “You’d have all the cocks of every man you’ve fucked in this room, if you could. All of them, lined up on the walls, for you to use and abuse.”
I laughed and shook my head. After reconfirming my evident skill at blowjobs (by the way, boys everywhere, take note, girls like it when you moan. And he was doing a good job of that), I suggested we flip places. Not that I’ve got anything against being on top, but especially to start, I do so adore being pushed against the bed with my wrists pinned at my sides. But Angry Eagle Man wasn’t having it. In fact, he seemed irritated that I would not play it his way. “Everyone wants to be held down, slapped and spanked. Why doesn’t anyone want to be in charge?”
I blinked. Something in my mind clicked. “Wait. So, are you like, a secret sub or something?”
“Well…I mean, it’s not that secret. Or rather, I don’t want it to be that secret.”
Ah.
Lucky for him, I’d been curious about topping for quite a while, and my prior scenes with a few more than capable doms, plus all this BDSM related reading I do as late night procrastination could serve me well, with the situation reversed. I smiled.
“Put your arms behind your head.”
He was half laughing as he did it. “And wipe that stupid grin off your face.”
That one took a few moments longer. But I wasn’t worried. I stood back and watched him, this older man, so proud of his game and macho abilities, stripped, naked on my bed. I could really enjoy this. I thought back on what my doms taught me before. Basic lessons, to start. “You are going to keep that smile off your face and your hands behind your head. Do you understand?”
He gave a mumbled response, something about how he was glad I took to this so well.
“And you are not to speak, unless spoken to. Do you understand?” I leaned forward, and gripped his neck with my hand. “Yes or no.”
“Yes.” He said, meeting my eye.
“Yes, mistress.”
“Yes, mistress.” He repeated.
“And don’t you dare look at me without permission.”
He looked toward the ceiling.
“Good boy.”
I sighed and leaned back away from him, standing at the side of the bed, ensuring that he did follow the basic instructions. He was naked, and I was naked. This wasn’t good. But once I found the corset in my drawer and began pinning up the back, when I spoke, I sounded, (I think), like a domme, and the instructions came easier. He looked towards me, “I was just thinking about a cor—”
“What did I say about talking without permission?”
“That I’m not to speak unless you give me permission…mistress.”
“The next time you forget what I’ve told you, you’re going to be punished.”
And, soon, he was. After I savored the sight of him, finally learning to be still, I told him to turn around, and keep his hands clasped on his neck. I trailed a finger down the straight line of his back, pausing at the tip of the spine. “Do you remember all your little indiscretions, earlier? Did you think you were going to get away with that?”
I guess he wasn’t thinking.
Anyway, I’ve learned that my apparent lack of physical strength translated pretty well when it came to spanking a man’s ass, especially when I made him count off each one. There is something delightful about the flush of red skin, and knowing that it’s all your handiwork (literally. Excuse the pun. Please).
I told him to turn back around (in the proper position, of course) and gave him my best wicked smile. “So, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I don’t know why I’m not hard right now.”
I gave his penis the slightest glance and leaned in to his face, instead. “Did I say you had permission to have an erection?”
He began breathing harder, the audible struggle of air sending an unexpected thrill as he answered, “No, mistress.”
“And have we learned what happens when you do something I didn’t say you could do? It’s no wonder such an incompetent, incapable boy like you can’t do anything right. And all I wanted was for you to follow a few very. Basic. Instructions.”
I wasn’t speaking loudly, but I didn’t need to. The amount of power that tottered at the edge of my half whisper seemed enough. He was nearly hyperventilating now, and the hurried, gasping breaths seemed quite a sign. “Do I have permission to have an erection now, mistress?” He gasped, in between choked breaths.
I crossed my arms and grabbed my handy dandy alarm clock from the shelf above my bed. I played with stroking the base of his penis as I contemplated the second hand on the clock. I gave him a few seconds of cock-sucking reward, for learning his lesson, then pulled back and tapped at the clock. “Okay, you have sixty seconds to get hard. And if you’re not at the end of that sixty seconds…well. I wouldn’t want to find out, if I were you. Oh and, you can take your hand off your head…time starts now.”
I leaned back and watched as his hand rushed to his cock, and the frantic motions that he gasped to do faster as I regarded the seconds hand ticking on the clock. “I do so love watching a grown man like you try so desperately to get yourself useful to me.” And, I did. I trailed my own fingers across my collarbones that peeked above the corset, sucking my fingers in my lips as he struggled ever so hard.
Because I was a sweetheart, I gave him a few seconds over his minute limit before I stopped him. But I shouldn’t have been worried—he was hard.
***
The rest of this deviated from bdsm play and went into psychological/insecurity/bizarre life/sex issues territory. We didn’t do much fucking, since at some point he just could not restrain himself any longer and tried to turn all animalistic aggressive on me…which would normally work, but not if he’s a sub. Which he was, and rather than simply acknowledging it and giving in, he claimed that he wanted to be so in love with someone that he would willingly give up all control. And I, of course, was not the next name in his love addiction. So his erection hardly (get it!?) lasted.
He may or may not have actually gotten me off (but me being unsure probably means no, although it was quite enjoyable…finger fucking remains one of my favorite activities), and in the end he gave me potentially valuable life advice that may or may not actually be applicable while I unloaded him my concerns about Bad Idea.
But seeing as how my next night consisted of a fun deal of filthy texts with Bad Idea about further taboo debauchery when we both returned to New York, I must not take to advice well. But that’s another post for another day. For now, I’m happy to know that playing a domme isn’t as far fetched as I thought.
