A Submissive for the Tormenting

We met at after work yesterday. I stood in her office, looking amusedly at her coworkers, who have no idea that she is a submissive, or that I have ejaculated in two of the three available orifices (mouth and cunt). After I finished dealing with an errand I needed to do, I left, and she (correctly) took that as her cue to leave also. I stopped in another office for a few minutes, and then proceeded to meet her, and we walked to the train together.

Although we had planned this evening for several days, the destination was unknown to her. Before we got on the train I revealed to her that we were to see a series of short films that are ‘right up her alley’. She understood what this meant, and we made our way to the theater. We watched the shorts. Some were interesting, some were amusing, and some were not. Even though it was a full theater, the entire audience was offered free beer and pizza after the shows. We went to check out the room where that was happening, but it turned out to be very crowded; I didn’t want to stay, preferring a slightly more intimate dinner. So we went to the pizzeria, and had a couple of slices where we discussed various things about what we’d seen. We were both very much amused by a short film which was a music video where the artist(s) asked their desired ones if they were into anal intercourse. The lyrics and visuals were quite entertaining.

It’s at this point that I started to realize how deep her river of submission runs. Even in this fairly non-sexual ‘date’ situation, her reactions show a desire for guidance and leadership, which caught me slightly off-guard. Things like, which table should we sit at; which side of the table should she sit? Then I connected things which had happened earlier, such as picking which train carriage to ride in, or telling her when and where to sit during the ride. Over the weekend, I had established two rules: first, her pussy must be shaved or closely trimmed at all times. Second, walk on the inside.

Walking on the inside means when we are walking, she is to position herself so that I am between her and the roadway; she is between me and the buildings. If on a train platform, I am the one closest to the edge. When I was younger, I was taught that this was appropriate for a gentleman to do; while I’m not sure I consider myself a gentleman in the classic sense of the word (let’s face it – I enjoy beating a woman who wants to be beaten), I do believe in a little chivalry. I have other chivalrous notions, too, like opening and holding doors for her. I am aware that many (but certainly not all) dominants require their submissive to be the chivalrous ones; I don’t see the need for her to demonstrate her submission to me in that way. The knowledge that I can order her to open any door for me at any time, and she will do it without question, is plenty.

Several times, as we crossed intersections or turned up a different street, she forgot to walk on the inside, and needed to be gently reminded. When I say gently, I don’t mean with a light slap of my hand on her backside, either. In the early part of the evening, a look, or comment sufficed.

After we ate pizza, we headed back into the movie theater, this time to see a non-lifestyle oriented film. I stopped outside to give her a kiss (I very much enjoy kissing her) and realized that she wasn’t wearing her little collar, which I had previously given instructions about. I should have been more attentive and noticed it earlier. For the first time I slapped her face, not hard enough to bruise or bleed – just enough to shock, and ordered her to immediately put it on. She complied immediately, squatting down in the middle of the sidewalk to find it in her bag and secure it around her neck. She apologized for keeping me waiting as she returned to stand upright; I resumed the kiss, but not before whispering to her that next time she doesn’t follow an instruction like that, my reaction will be more severe.

This interaction triggered my hormones, though. I was slightly hard and hoping it isn’t showing through my jeans. I was also wondering what it had done for her? Was she wet with desire after such a demonstration? Or just mentally satisfied to be put in her place? We went into the movie theater, bought the tickets and settled down for the show. This time the place was almost completely empty, and as the lights went down, my hands wandered. About ten minutes after the show started, I was driving her crazy with just my fingers tracing across her skin – her shoulders, her earlobes, across the tops of her breasts, and even slipping under her bra to make her sweet nipples nice and firm. I gave her an instruction, whispered into one ear: “Make sure you are paying attention to what’s going on this movie; I am going to quiz you on it later.” She nodded acquiescence, and for the next hour I deliberately tortured her by running my fingers almost everywhere. I even physically checked that she was complying with the rule about having a shaved cunt – she was. She knew without me telling her that she shouldn’t make any noise.

The faint scent of her perfume combined with her skin was intoxicating. Some of the torture I gave her was by kissing her shoulder, neck, and ear. I repeatedly enjoyed watching her tits rise suddenly, inhaling sharply as I found a sensitive spot somewhere to give some attention. Her body was visibly shaking from the stimulation, but she knew she wasn’t allowed to give into it. As we moved into the second hour of the film, I eased off, thinking to myself that I didn’t want her to be so over-stimulated that she temporarily stopped responding to my touch. It seemed like it couldn’t happen, given her responsiveness; I have known it to happen with other people, though.

After the movie, we discussed it in broad terms while walking to the train station. I held back from asking detailed questions about the film; had she given me an incorrect answer, I probably would not have known as I hadn’t been playing close attention. Of course, that was also the reason why she was instructed to; so I could concentrate on what I wanted to do to her. I told her that I was pleased with her obedience to my shaving rule; her response was not what I expected, but rather a simple declaration that of course she had – because I had told her to. Then again, I’m not sure what response I expected - perhaps appreciation for my telling her I was pleased.

On the train to her house, we conversed about a few things, but also sat in silence for some time. Her head rested on my shoulder, her arm locked in mine. I felt that such a level of casual intimacy at such an early stage was unusual, but it did seem natural, too. Don’t ask why I would say something like that after discussing in the previous post the degrees of intimacy already achieved; I don’t have a good reason for it. Feelings don’t always work at an intellectual level, anyway. In particular, we discussed the creation of a blog for her to write entries in. I wanted this for several reasons. First, it’s a very new situation, and it has been in the back of my mind that I could push past her boundaries at any time. I have concerns about this because I am not sure how she will act if that happens (how will I know ‘stop’ really means ‘stop’?). I believe (along with other methods of communication) that it will be a good mechanism to help establish trust between us. Second, I am very interested in having a place to document the evolution of things - which is also the reason why I am writing this blog in parallel. I haven’t told her yet that it exists, though I imagine I will tell her as a surprise in the not-too-distant future. Third, aside from her entries concerning our activities together, I wanted a place where we can put all the rules and other miscellaneous things (perhaps such as training) so we don’t lose track.

As we were walking to her house from the train, she forgot to walk on the inside, and this time I had no patience for gentle correction. I grabbed her by the hair and physically dragged her across in front of me to stand on the inside, while making comments about her apparent inability to remember. I slapped her face again while continuing to chastise her, but unfortunately we weren’t alone on the sidewalk, so I had to curtail my discipline. As we continued to walk, I couldn’t tell whether her statement as to why she hadn’t followed the rule was for humor or just a thinly-veiled excuse (or both); I replied that it was a load of bullshit. She didn’t disagree.

As we arrived at her house, we discussed how it had been a nice evening, and we kissed some more. I pulled her in close, secretly wanting to drag her back to my house and have my evil ways with her. I am still wondering how much resistance there would have been to that; probably not as much as I imagine. But it was a “school night”, and her job demands her to be there much earlier in the morning than mine does, so I controlled my lust. I walked to the bus with the taste of her tongue in my mouth, her scent in my nose, and the shape of her ass as it felt in my hands stuck in my mind. Standing at the bus stop, I realized that I’m on the edge of falling in love. At the very least, I am infatuated.

During the course of the evening, I also invited her to meet me in Miami for a weekend later this month; I already had plans to be there. She is due to confirm tomorrow whether or not she can take the necessary Friday and Monday off.

On the occasions we have spent time together, the issue of her paying for things has come up. She has always volunteered to put in money, and I have almost always declined, saying that when I want her to pay for something, I will let her know very clearly. Perhaps this is more chivalry kicking in. If she is does come to Florida to meet me, I have the idea to instruct her to take me out to dinner. I like the idea of paying for everything, but once in a while, simply ordering her to pay. The question in my mind at the moment is whether or not this policy I have qualifies as a rule?

Breaking the First Boundaries

We talked for hours. It was well past midnight by the time we left the bar, lurching slightly as I searched for a way to get alongside the river. By then I was holding her hand, partly to break that first boundary of physical contact, partly to lead her in the direction I wanted to walk. We sat alongside the water for a time, conversing; as a tugboat pushing a barge out towards the bay passed us, silence descended for a moment. And then I kissed her.

She keeps her eyes closed most of the time. I don't. It lasted for a long time... hands, fingers, noses, lips, and tongues exploring. I found it very difficult to break off and resume our walk. Her pheromones and faint scent of perfume were driving me insane with lust, but perhaps something more than that, too. Tenderness? What seemed like centuries later (although really only an hour or two), we did resume walking and talking. Tired, slightly drunk, and exhilarated, I guided her to a train station for an early-morning ride home. I left her at her front door with a final kiss, giddy with thoughts of potential. I wanted to see her again, and soon. As it turned out, 'soon' meant 13 hours later.

My suspicions of her deviant nature had been haunting the back of my mind all the previous night; subtle things in our conversation, body language, and even the way she kissed me back all conspired against her hiding it from me. Perhaps I have been interested (and to some extent, involved) in the natures of dominance and submission for long enough that I can now more easily read subtext.

When we met the next night, my eyes started at her feet and travelled up her body, taking in every curve, every detail. The blue jeans. The grey babydoll top. The coat. Her glasses. Her flowing, straight brown and blonde hair. Her blue eyes. The choker. A narrow, jeweled band sitting tightly around her neck, the gems winking at me with suggestion. Her sexuality symbolized in a way which not everyone would understand. At that moment, I knew it would be all she was wearing when the evening would wrap around into morning and limbs would untangle. At some point very shortly after that thought, I said it aloud.

We ate dinner, and talked again - but this time the words were distracted by other desires. We discussed favorite movies, Hollywood denizens we would sleep with. Asian culture. Three hours later, at my apartment, the credits of the second episode of Firefly passing by, there was a moment of intellectual conversation about the TV show (she likes it) followed by a practical explosion of lust into which the rest of the world evaporated.

Her upper body bare before me, pert breasts and perfect nipples eager for the taking, I found myself torn between a desire to be tender and violent. Lips and tongue slowly gave way to teeth and her breathing, the sensual rising and falling of her chest told me that I was free to make my choice at any time between the tenderness and violence; either one will be accepted and even craved. Instead I instructed her to lay still and spilled/poured wine into her bellybutton and surrounding flat stomach. I licked it up, the taste of her skin blending perfectly with the four-year-old aged Napa Valley cabernet sauvignon.

Boots unzipped, jeans slid down. Her pale, smooth legs running from delicate feet up to soft thighs; her most intimate of places still hidden seductively from me. I was not in a rush; I wanted to kiss and lick that sensitive skin; tickle it with my goatee. As I nibbled closely along her upper inner thighs, the scent of her arousal told me that I would like the way she tastes. Panties gone. I did like the way she tasted, which is unusual.

One climax later, the relaxed smile on her face and slightly lost look in her eyes is a reward for a hopefully skillful tongue. "You certainly know your way around a woman's body," she whimpered at me. Had I stripped and shoved my cock into her pussy right at that moment, I would have encountered no resistance; we both knew it. But I chose to take pleasure in some psychological torture by telling her that I am not going to fuck her tonight. I didn't.

My jeans, off. Her hand on my cock, through my boxers. She wasted no time in extricating my raging hard-on, but spent a moment complimenting its size and commenting on how I am not circumcised. I consider myself average, so I appreciated the praise, but am then distracted entirely from that line of thought by her tongue swirling, lips wrapping, head bobbing, and hands massaging. She was unsure of the best position to please me - I wanted her on her knees on the floor between my legs - but I let her make the choice. It was too soon yet for me to impose my will, even though I know she wanted that.

She asked me to tit-fuck her, and eventually I did, but not before face-fucking her as she lay underneath me. She quietly gagged on my cock once or twice and I decided I'd better stop forcing myself so deep into her mouth for fear it'll ruin her from ever wanting to suck my cock again. I slid between her tits as she pushed them together from either side... two fingers on the base of my cock, pushing it down through the valley she has created. Her tongue circled and flicked at the head on each stroke. The sweat started to bead on my back and chest, and the wonderful, intense pressure began to build in my groin. I was less in control then, my focus on bringing that orgasm up from deep in my balls. When it arrived, along with the deep-rooted feeling of ultimate masculinity, there was cum everywhere. Her hair, face, and tits were covered in streams of white juice sprayed by me. She squealed like a little girl with glee, a broad smile on her face - and that was the final signal to me of her submission.

She licked some of it off her fingers which traced wet paths around on the skin of her tits, telling me I taste good. She didn't know I've always been self-conscious about that. Watching her lick her fingers some more, dehumanized images of her licking my spilled cum off the floor or drinking it from a shot glass flashed through my mind.

More kissing, caressing, exploring. A mild spanking, enough to make her sweet ass pink and hot to the touch. I knew I was in trouble - wondering if perhaps I have met my match. My head swam as we lay together on the couch again. I wanted to see her climax again, but this time at the mercy of her own fingers. She complied without question, her body damp with sweat and curled up into a ball as the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. It was time to sleep, and I have still not yet fucked her, although I know she was lusting for it as much as I.

I never could fall asleep while wrapped around someone else, but this time I did and it is not until morning that I broke my hold of her to turn over and sleep some more. I was really surprised by this.

Later in the morning, I woke up; the excitement which fills my mind at seeing her had clearly already taken hold down below. I rolled her over with some effort of foreplay, but I no longer wished to play the game of being more reserved than she is. Within minutes I filled her wet pussy with my rock-hard shaft, grinding against her; I was more making love to her than giving her the pounding I knew she craved - all good things in time! We rested, and then again I was inside her; this time lowering her body onto mine as I laid on my back. But there was no mistaking the control I had at that point. She may be on top but every plunge onto my cock was controlled by me. This time, she was wracked with a powerful orgasm which shortly afterwards drew the cum from me. Collapsed against me, she was shaking. I was not at full-strength either, but I held her closely for a time.

Conversation ensued, and ended a while later with the start of another spanking. I held her down, changing positions several times to get varying angles of attack on her beautiful ass. I found myself challenged with not knowing how much she could take (and not wanting to dish out more than she could handle), so I changed the dynamic by pausing periodically and making her tell me if she wanted more. It was a long time before she said, "maybe a break for a little while"; my hand was nearly stinging, but her ass and upper thighs were furiously red, and I could again smell how aroused she was. But this time, there was no sexual satisfaction for either of us - I sent her home on the bus, taking great pleasure in knowing she would be sore for at least a day - and somehow knowing she'll love that too.