ask for what you want

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I want you to only address me as Sir.

I want you to start playing with your clit ten minutes before I arrive, but under no circumstances are you allowed to come.

I want you wearing high heels and a short skirt with nothing underneath.

I want your safeword to be carnation, which means, you can yell no all you like, but I will not stop.

I want you ready to bend over my lap struggling as I spank you. Lift your dress up and turn your ass-cheeks red until my hand hurts. And then you’ll kiss it, suck my fingers, make it better. I’ll scold you for making me all hard and wanting, and you’ll straddle me and ride.

I want your explicit consent. I want your permission and submission.

I want you to know how to draw it from me. I am afraid of my own power. I want you to pull these cruelties from me, to beg for them. I want to take your energy and mine into one huge fireball that I will weild and you will receive. I want your surrender. I want you to make me feel like the biggest, baddest top in the room, even if I’m not.

Can you do that for me?

the therapy session

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The Saturday that Miss DD was visiting me in New York City, we attempted to go out to a queer dance that boasted swing, salsa, and tango music, but when we arrived it was near empty, awkward, unsexy, and unwelcoming. We did not stay.

The failed dance, really, is irrelevant, aside from that we had dressed up for it. We’d been to the Shanghai Mermaid the night before, which, we didn’t realize, would’ve been a perfect venue for our swing outfits: her short-short black twirly dress, small jacket with leopard-print accents, seamed stockings (there’s a word for those yes? “cuban heel”?), and she carried her red “ruby slippers” dancing heels in a bag - can’t have the soles getting all messed up - which she’d found when we’d been out shopping in the Village. I wore the outfit my stylist and I had picked out especially for this, including a black velvet jacket (which I’ve always wanted) and a fedora.

“I love that you understand costuming,” Miss DD said to me.

So we should’ve worn those fabulous swing outfits to Shanghai Mermaid, but we thought this dance was going to be great. Instead we were let down. We left the dance almost immediately, and went to Therapy.

“Therapy has the most fuckable bathrooms I’ve ever been in,” I remembered, opening the thick, heavy wooden door at the gayboy bar for DD. Fucking her in the bathroom honestly hadn’t been part of the plan - I was just desperate for a queer-ish venue where we could have some drinks, make out, possibly dance. It was the only bar around Midtown I could think of.
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tip of my tongue

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On Sunday - after a lovely date with Penny on Saturday night where we watched the Sex and the City film, had dinner, drinks, dessert after, went to my place and kept each other up until 3am - we were lounging, satiated from a morning of breakfast and sex, talking about her plans to move to San Francisco.

Penny was lying tucked under my arm on the couch, and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Going down on you,” I said. I felt her body pulse in response.

We talked. Safer sex, my history, hers, why I don’t go down, that I wanted to with her. This conversation, inevitably, led to kissing, my mouth on her neck, clavicle, nipples, which was suddenly such a heightened sensation because we were both so aware of the idea of her clit in my mouth.

Pushing her into the bedroom, I stripped her bare swiftly, laid her out on the bed. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me to her in the sweetest gesture of vulnerability and desire; it was one of the strongest moments of the weekend.

“I want to taste you,” I murmured into the skin of her neck and cheek. “I want your clit in my mouth. I want to get you all wet, then fuck you, get my cock out and slide it in deep …”

Her back arched in response, pressing against me. Mouth opened, breath thick.
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you’re going to come for me

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“Harder,” she whispered. “Fuck me harder, please, please.”

In a dingy bathroom in the downstairs of a Tibetan restaurant. Her cheek against the peeling greasy paint, legs kicked apart, stockings pulled down just to below her ass, dress shoved up around her waist, in front of the filmy bathroom mirror where she could see my arm flexing as my fingers - two, three - thrust inside her. Photos of the Dalai Lama on the wall. Penny joked about her being a bad Buddhist.

But I couldn’t resist.
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weekend, part two: dancing

Filed Under pushing the edges | Leave a Comment

I slid my cock inside her swiftly and she took it easily. Let out a little cry, lifted her ankles around my hips. I was hungry. I could feel her opening, could feel how she could be filled.

“Get up,” I said after a while. I lifted myself off the bed and began switching to my other cock, the bigger one. “Turn over.”

She started to, up on her hands and knees, and I reached my arm around her hips and pulled her off the side of the bed, her pussy at my cock’s height perfectly. I took a palmful of lube and fucked her, hard, deep.

Moans and cries from both of us as I pounded into her. Fucks like that I swear I can feel my cock thickening, getting harder, being restricted and pulled into her cunt by her tight rings of muscles. She’s discovered that she can lift her legs off the floor and wrap them around my waist when I fuck her bent over the edge of the bed if she has the right grip on her hands (because it’s just the right height), which gets my cock ever deeper.

I moved my right hand around to her clit and she shuddered, I took a small grip on my cock to test the lube and moved back to her clit, swollen like a berry on a vine, thick, slick, sweet. I moved my other hand to her hair, pulling and holding her body so I could fuck harder. Shifting my pace, slowing excruciatingly and she was shuddering and gasping, nearly thrashing on the bed.

Faster again, slightly tilting my pelvis to aim for her gspot, fingers working her clit and lips stretched taut as she thrust back against me. I felt her thighs shudder, once, twice, as she squeezed and gasped, then came, nearly yelling into the bed.

We disentangled, breathing hard, little sighs of pleasure. She pulled herself up lengthwise on the bed and I went to her, legs scissored around hers, hand in her hair, one by her hip, head to her breast. She rested her hand on the back of my head and kept it there, weaving through the short hairs on my neck. Her fingers began to unravel me, to pull me apart, so tender, and I let go.

“You’re so sweet to me tonight,” I said, pulling myself up so our faces were next to each other on the pillow.

“You never let me be.”

[ Is that true? Maybe. Maybe I’m doing something that she interprets as keeping her at a distance, as pushing her away. I don’t think that’s how I intend it (is it?), and sometimes I even wish she’d touch me more. I don’t wish it enough that I have asked for it (at least, not often, just once, the only time we showered together). ]

We pillow-talked for a while. “Did you like flogging me?”

“Yes. Very much.”

Let me elaborate: flogging is tangible power. Energy sparkling and crackling up and down my arms, my shoulders, all through my back. Rhythmic breathing, rhythmic swinging, and everything becomes hyper-sensual, hyper-senstive. I can detect a change in the air current, can hear a door open across the apartment building’s hallway. I feel her breathing, feel her breath, can see it visibly moving through her body. I sense the depth of the blows: that one too light, still too light, ah yes just right. Keep it there. Keep it just there. Then suddenly - too hard, and she gasps. I want to pull back but I so love the way she whimpers and squirms, just a little pain, just a little uncomfortable, then her muscles release, her voice releases when I let up, and that’s it, that’s the moment I crave, the supple giving in, the letting go, the release of what you don’t even know you’re holding on to.

Let go, let go. You don’t need it. All you need is this beautiful body, this beautiful breath.

In pillow talk, the subject shifted to dominance, to submission, to force. She knows I like it when she struggles. She’d like to play with that more, she said. I’d like her to say no, I said.

Then, I’m not sure how it started, but it did. Kissing, probably; isn’t that always how things start?

It’s a blur. Me looming over her, using the weight of my body (I must have more than 50 pounds on her) to hold her down. Force her legs apart. And she let out a string of words: “No no no no no,” whimpering, softly, turning her head side to side into the pillow as she tried to get her wrists out of my grip, “no no no no.”

“Yes,” I whispered, firmly. “Oh yes.”

She arched her back, tried to kick me and I got my calf against her knee and my hips between her thighs. Both wrists in one hand and position my cock.

“You’re going to take it. I’m going to fuck you.”

“Nooo …” Was she crying now? Gasping and her face felt wet when I took a grip on her hair and force her mouth to mine. It scared me a little, maybe I was hurting her (is she in physical pain? Are her knees okay, her shoulders?), and it scared me that I liked how much she was resisting me. How much I liked it when she won’t let me in.

I raised myself arms-length from her momentarily and paused. “You’ve got a safeword now, little girl. You remember what it is?”

She nodded a little, meeting my eyes briefly, and they were almost calm. Dancing. I felt releif.

“I’m not going to stop unless you use it. You’re gonna be mine tonight. My girl.”

And I pushed my thighs up to open hers, my knees sliding under her to force her pelvis up, her legs apart. My weight was shifted forward on my forearm, holding her arms down. She resisted my attempts to kiss her and whimpered more, moaning a little, cries inciting some sort of pulsing urge in my core, my pelvis, my hands in fists, down to my toes where I pushed against the bed firmly.

I slid inside slow and she shuddered, gasped, chest heaved and sank into the pillows and she let out a moan despite herself.

“You’re my girl tonight. Mine.” I said into her neck as I closed my teeth against her tender skin to keep her there, an animal instinct and she can’t move without ripping herself.

“You’re my girl.” I said again. “Say it.”

I felt her breath on my ear, her fingers clawing at my shoulderblades as she pulled me to her as I pumped my hips against her, thrusting, pressing, circling, and she pulsed under me.

Just a whisper: “I’m your girl.”

“That’s right. That’s right, baby. Say it again.”

“I’m yours, I’m your girl.”

I brought my mouth to hers, and we slid into the fuck, rocked together. Rocked deep.

weekend, part one: flogging

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Part two will come next.

Friday night. My roommate was gone over the holiday weekend.

Penny wanted to be flogged.

I stripped her bare and shoved her against the brick wall in my bedroom. She’s smaller than me such that I can place my thigh against the bend of her hips so she can lean against me as I hit her. Not necessarily hard or solid, but subtle, so she feels supported.

I hit her with my hand a while first, bringing the skin on her ass to a nice baby pink color. I kept the flogger draped over my shoulder and let the leather brush her skin a while before taking grip on it and beginning to swing.

She’s been letting me hit her harder lately. Less afraid and more breathing into it, ever since that night of the sex party where I shoved her up against the wall, pushed her dress up, and used my bare hand.

I choked the flogger and let it fall. Left, then right. Working up a comfortable rhythm of backhand, fronthand, like a ping-pong player against a wall and a fast ball. She squirmed. Whimpered a little. Her skin darkened red.

I particularly like flogging the back, but Penny is small, and her ass has more to take the blows.

I gave a few full swings, just a couple, letting go of the choke hold and allowing my arm to swing freely. We were alone in my apartment. She started getting louder with her moans and cries.

“Just a few more,” I’d say, whisper, into her neck when I paused to run my hands over the sensitive skin of her ass and thighs. “It hurts, doesn’t it. But you can take it, just a few more for me, baby.”

She did, she took it so well. I whispered a comforting “shhhhh” when she cried out. “You’re okay, it’s okay.” She started releasing, breathing deep, muscles loosening. A few more swings on her ass, her thighs. Harder and I started grunting with the effort.

She flattened herself against the wall after a couple particularly hard strokes.

“No no no,” I said, coming up behind her and pulling her hips squarely back. “You keep your ass out. Give it to me. Yeah, that’s it.”

She pressed her cunt against the seam of my jeans where she could feel my hard cock straining, and let her lower back curve in that gentle arc.

“Good girl.”

She kept her head turned toward my sliding closet doors which are covered in large mirrors. She told me later she was watching me hit her. I could see her ass and legs reflected as she pressed her arms above her head against the brick wall, and I caught glimpses of me too, still clothed in jeans and a black tee-shirt, arms pulsing as I brought the flogger up and down, gathering the tails then bringing it up and down again.

Her knees were getting weaker, eyes shining but half-lidded as I turned her body and she took her hands from the wall, laying them around my neck as I kissed her, they were heavy, leaden, and she could barely lift them with her muscle strength.

“Darling, you were so good.” I said softly between kisses. I reached around and slid my forearm behind her knees, lifting her in a cradled embrace and carrying her to the bed, laying her slowly on the soft throw blanket I keep on top.

She sighed and kissed me as I let my hands roam her skin, soft touches down her sides, her thighs, her breasts and nipples, my mouth on her neck, her clavicle, her shoulders. When my hand found the V where her legs met she was wet, open, and spread her thighs for me. My fingers slid in easily. My dick pulsed a little. I teased her lips a moment but could barely wait.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, arms reaching up around my neck, oh I love that. “Fuck me, fuck me, oh baby fuck me please.”

I tore at my belt, the button and fly of my jeans, pulled my cock out.

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