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You asked for it

This is a little fictional story I wrote based on a conversation I ‘overheard’ on Twitter…

I arrive at the hotel first. This pleases me as it confirms my role as the dominant person here, the gracious host.

You are a man of excellent taste and you have chosen well in this hotel. The furniture is beautiful and there is a quiet grace here. I quickly set about pulling the duvet and pillows off the bed. We’ll have no need of these – at first.

You’ve told me you need dominating and you’ve told me you want pegging. I have purchased a moderately sized strapon for this session. I chose carefully, thinking of your virgin asshole, and then I picked the next size up.

I have also brought with me a suede crop, a handmade black feather duster, lube and black latex gloves, all of which I lay out on the dark wood desk. Then, I shower and put on a satin dressing gown and sit to wait, listening to the street sounds coming in through the open balcony door.

You arrive in a bit of a fluster. Your train was delayed, there were no taxis – I shush you my pressing my fingers to your lips, ‘It’s OK now,’ I say. I shut the door and pull the curtain, put the kettle on and make you a cup of tea. I put you at your ease, which is what you need most just now.

I sit next to you on the small velvet sofa and watch you drink your tea. I know it is too hot for you, but I have made it clear that I am waiting for you and you get it down as quickly as you can.

In the end I get impatient, stand and take the cup away. You look up at me, a bit startled. As we’ve never physically met before you don’t know what to expect, but I know that you trust me.

‘Stand up,’ I say, and you do. I take your glasses off, and kneel down to untie and remove your shoes, my one submissive act of today.

You’ve worn the blue shirt I asked you to. I run my hands down your chest, over the fine cotton, ‘this is lovely,’ I say,  ‘good boy.’ Still, I can feel your heart pounding.

I untuck and unbutton the shirt. I slide it off of you and lay it carefully on the sofa.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask.

‘Yes, just a bit nervous,’ you say.

‘No need. You are with me,’ is my response.

I belong to someone else and so we have agreed that we will not kiss, that this session is something of a business arrangement, so that you can safely experience something that you need, with a trusted person.

I take you into my arms to calm you. ‘You are safe,’ I whisper to you and kiss you on the cheek.

‘Thank you,’ you say.

I tell you to take off the rest of your clothes. Trousers, pants, socks and watch join the blue shirt on the sofa.

‘Now,’ I say, ‘lie down, on your back.’

You follow this instruction. I select the feather duster from my small collection and climb onto the bed, kneeling next to you. I begin with your shoulders, tracing the feathers softly down and to your hips.

‘That feels nice,’ you whisper, visibly calming.

I continue moving the duster over your skin, down your thighs and to your feet. Shoulder to toes on one side, shoulder to toes on the other. Then, neck to cock. I slowly brush the feathers over your stiffening cock and your balls. ‘Mmmm,’ you moan softly.

Another part of our arrangement is that other than for the agreed upon tasks, I am not to touch you. You are not to fuck me, and I cannot give you head. This very specific protocol creates a safe environment for the both of us, albeit one crackling with sexual tension.

‘Wank for me.’

You do this while I watch. I untie and open my dressing gown to reveal my tits so that you can see me pull at and play with my nipples for your benefit. The fact that you cannot touch them is agonising for us both.

‘Tell me when you are about to cum,’ I say.

You pump yourself hard; I can see your body tense as you get close.

‘I’m going to cum.’

‘Stop now, and turn over,’ I say, and you do. Your back, arse and legs get the feather duster treatment until I can see you are very relaxed.

‘On all fours, please,’ I command and while you assume this position I bring the rest of my toys to the bed. I stand behind you and admire your arse, crop in hand.

‘Are you a good boy?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you are here with me. That’s not very good is it?’

‘No, no it’s not.’

I land the first blow and you cry out. I run my hand over where the crop has bitten you, and then hit you again, in the same place but on the opposite arse cheek. You flinch. This process repeats: alternating strike, flinch, soothe.

‘Enough?’ I ask.

‘Yes. Yes.’ Your arse is burning red. I spend some time soothing the skin with my hands.

I take off the dressing gown and step into the strapon harness. I climb onto the bed and adjust the straps.

‘Are you sure you are ready for this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Put your head down on the bed.’ You do.

I slip on the gloves, and pump lube down onto your asshole. This I gently spread down and over your balls. You groan. More lube is pumped into my hand and I move it round my gloved fingers.

I place the tip of an index finger against your asshole and apply the merest pressure.

‘I need you to take deep, slow breaths, OK?’

‘Yes. OK.’

The index finger slides into your asshole to the first knuckle. I leave it there.

‘When you are ready, push back,’ I tell you.

Slowly, slowly, you do this, moving your body backward towards me, driving my finger deep inside you. I rock my hand against you, your muscles tight and hot round my finger. I pull out slowly and curl the tip of my finger against your prostate, rubbing long enough to get the reaction I want. We repeat the process with two and then three fingers, relubing with each new insertion.

The intense intimacy of this act bonds us. We are connected and moving together.

I slide my fingers out and remove the gloves. The time has come for the headline act.

More lube is pumped over your asshole and I liberally lube up my flexible, silicone cock. This gives me a sense of power over, but also respect for you.

As with my fingers I press the tip of the cock against your asshole. I gently pulse, pushing forward and the cock slowly slides into you until the full seven inches is inside you.

You cry out, but I hear more pleasure than pain in the sound.

I fuck you slowly, eyes closed, my hands on your hips, pulling you back to me.

‘Wank for me,’ I say again. You reach down to your cock and begin to jerk yourself off.

I’m fucking you harder and faster now, your moans of pleasure spurring me on. I want this to be amazing for you, and I seem to be succeeding. I can see your arm thrusting fast despite the awkward angle.

‘Are you ready to cum?’ I ask.

‘Yes!’

I slowly pull out. ‘Turn over and cum for me,’ I say.

You roll over and wank while I watch and stroke my own cock.

‘Cum for me, come on,’ I urge, and you pick up the pace.

You cum hard, with a groan, spurting over your belly, and lie panting.

I stand and take off the strapon and put the dressing gown back on. I go into the bathroom and wet a facecloth with warm water and then clean you gently with it.

I lift your head to ease a pillow under it. We make eye contact and smile at each other. I get the duvet and wrap you in it, tucking it round your body and then I make you another cup of tea.

I sit on the edge of the bed and ask, ‘was that OK?’ (Though I absolutely know the answer already, I want to hear it from you.)

‘Oh Christ, yes! That was incredible. Thank you.’

I lean over and kiss you on the forehead. ‘You are very welcome, lovely man.’

I clean myself and my gear off and get dressed, pack things away.

You’ve fallen asleep. I set a glass of water next to the bed for you and let myself out of the room.

Job done.

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