I return to my spot behind him, lubing up my fingers and pressing one into his ass, then two, using my other hand to squeeze and pinch his hip. He is making the most wonderful, breathy noises, jerking forwards slightly every time my fingers move inside him, searching, feeling the plush press of warm flesh. His entire body quakes. I am kneeling between his spread legs. One of his hands inches towards my left knee, he finds and squeezes the flesh just above the joint, squeezes every time I push in, hard enough to make me gasp. Every pump of my fingers equals one jolt of pain for me. He has told me that being penetrated is intense, so intense that he has to hold my body in his hands, take handfuls of me and crush me as hard as he can.

Eventually I lube up the plug and slide it in. I ask him to turn over, and he maneuvers himself so that he's on his back. His skin is pale and his lips, nipples and cock are a soft pink. I suck on his cock for a moment before rolling on a condom and unfastening the cuffs so that his hands are free. He doesn't miss a beat. His hands find my hips as I slide him into me, both of us gasping.

I want to fuck him quickly and erratically, like two teenagers in the back of a car whose orgasms are clumsily reached, and over way too suddenly. I want to move on his cock until I come, but he's making me go slow, tantalizingly, letting himself be very nearly engulfed before distancing himself again. He is subtle in all the ways that I am crude.

Sometimes, while I'm above him and making him feel, he does things that completely derail me and make me want to go limp. Things like: put his hand on my neck, bite me, push his fingernails into my skin. He does this now: he digs his fingers into my waist, and pulls me down hard on his cock before lifting me up again. I feel my face contorting into this strange combination of wincing, being about to cry, and desperation. It hurts. It hurts and I feel controlled and the two sensations transform into pleasure almost instantaneously. A switch goes off in my head. Just a while ago he was restrained and I was in control, but it takes only one gesture to make me need him to control me, instead.

We switch positions so that I'm on my back. He tells me to spread my legs, and I hold them open for him. He enters me again, fucking me slowly and exquisitely. I want to watch his face, but at the moment I need to keep my eyes closed. The feeling of being possessed and fucked is too much. I need to focus fully on the tactile and let it sink in.

"I want you to imagine," he says, "that there's a person standing to your right, watching us. Every so often I want you to imagine yourself catching his eye."

As he thrusts into me, I do: "I'm thinking of them touching themselves..."

"Yes; getting so turned on by watching us..."

The person watching is dark and has serious eyes. I sigh and let my head roll back, and I let myself fall into that comfortable space deep in my mind that rocks and lulls me into a calm containment. The space that he has taken me to. I want to ask him to slap me, but I'm losing my ability to speak. All I can do is feel him fuck me, feel him close his fingers around my throat. All I can do is savor.

"I want you to look at me when I come," he says.

I open my eyes. He's fucking me harder, now, more earnestly. As the urgency of his actions builds, then releases, I feel him tense as it rolls over him, his eyes wide almost in shock. His cock twitches in my cunt.

For the next ten minutes after he pulls out of me, I lay there. I want to open my eyes. I can feel him hovering over me, watching my face and the pulse in my jugular that's fluttering like a bird. I want to see him, speak to him, but all I can do is lay limply, sprawled out and utterly useless. I understand why they call it flying. I am soaring. I am no longer a person, but a rag doll, a thing that does not speak or move or take, but is used purely for the sake of my loved one's pleasure.

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Today's task:

Carry a small notebook with you. Keep notes of the following:

- times you crave contact
- times you see someone and want them
- times you think of pain
- drinks you take

For each instance of the above, you will paddle yourself once as follows:

- sit in a straight-backed chair with legs bare
- keep your legs apart
- slap your inner thigh with your wooden hair brush. This should be hard enough to just sting, but not bruise
- strike the same spot every time.
- make sure each slap follows in quick succession
- if there were less than 20 items, give yourself 20 more slaps.

Drinks I've had today: 3
People I've seen and wanted to fuck: 1
Times I craved sexual contact: 10
Times I craved pain: 12
Total number of whacks: 26

Guess how many of the instances I wanted sex coincided with the instances I wanted pain?

This is another instance of me getting a task from Sir and thinking: "omg, how evil!" as well as "omg, how ingenious." After reading over his instructions for the day, I felt like I was playing "the game"... you know, "you only lose at the game by thinking about the game", etc. After knowing what was in store for me, I kept thinking about it. And I'd also remind myself that I had to do it, which made me think about how much I wanted it.

Quite clever.

The whacks stung more than I expected, but clearly weren't that painful since they only left a hint of red, which has now faded.

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Sir has been on a bit of a choking kick lately.

He's never really mentioned choking before, but since I started subbing to him he's brought it up quite a bit.

Today, Sir granted me two jack-off sessions. The first was while I was videochatting with him. After telling me to strip off each piece of my clothing until I was naked, he gave me a choice: to come on camera, or off camera. After some initial nervousness, I felt comfortable enough with myself to choose to come on camera. I lay back, adjusted the computer so he could see, closed my eyes, and went at it. I knew Sir was naked, jerking off at the same time, and I wish I wasn't so self-conscious so I could look into the camera, and watch him.

Maybe next time.

Afterwards, Sir told me how much he enjoyed seeing me. He's trying to make it so that I'm comfortable enough to perform for him. I'm surprised at how quickly I felt at ease with being naked, and then getting myself off, in front of him.

My second session came with a condition:

Since you did so well with your performance art - you are due for a reward. We will focus on your traditional pleasure points. Toys are permitted. but you are required to do this in a way that pleases me. you will be fully naked, lying on your back. There is one key - you need to loop a belt around your neck, and pull it just slightly tight as you do this. Cut off no oxygen, just make it slightly harder to breathe. I wnat you to be able to come through this sensation... and hopefully love it.

Initially, I was at pains to figure out a way to keep the belt around my neck hands-free and without hurting myself. Finally, I looped the belt around my neck, used a rubber band to mark the point where I'd want to add a new hole, and made a new hole in the belt with a craft knife thing I'd drunken-kleptomaniacally taken from Zeta Mu one night (I should probably return it). The belt itself, interestingly enough, is from my first boyfriend. He left it behind, and I kept it, but it actually doesn't fit me. I used it to belt Christopher once, and hopefully will use it again.

Anyway, the belt made it more laborious for me to breathe, but didn't actually deprive me of air or make me feel lightheaded or anything, which I assume was the point. Feeling the leather and metal tight around my neck, and having to alter my breathing, added to my arousal almost immediately.

I used my trusty Lelo Ina and came ridiculously quickly.

I'm looking forward to the day that Sir will be the one wielding the belt.

---

Note: I only had the belt around my neck for a 10-15 minutes, but I wonder if doing this multiple times would damage my neck. I feel like it's the same as wearing a collar tight around your neck, but maybe I'm wrong. If anyone has any advice about this, please let me know. Also, ideally I would have wanted to do this with somebody else, maybe one of my roommates, knowing what I was doing so they could come check on me, just in case.

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A few days ago, I was venting to an online friend (who I will refer to from now as the Inventor) about the breakup. He consoled me, and after a while the conversation somehow segued to the topic of BDSM.

He asked if I wanted to submit to him.

I said yes.

For the past few days, he has given me numerous tasks to do. Some highlights: go without underwear for the entire day, expose myself and take a picture (he gave me permission to post it ^ ), & wear a plug for at least an hour.

He requests that I call him Sir, and wear my amethyst & silver bracelet (the one I used last time I was subbing for someone) when serving him. He let me choose my own title. I find most submissive titles somewhat obnoxious. I couldn't really settle on one I loved, but I went with one that sounded less obnoxious than the others - pet. The more he addresses me with it, the more I grow to like it.

He knows I'm inexperienced, and so is doing his best to build me up without causing me (too much) discomfort. So far, I've given up quite a lot of control to him already. I cannot touch myself or orgasm without his permission (excluding sex with other people), and starting from tomorrow he will be picking out clothes for me. (I sent him a list of most of the clothes and shoes I own. God, that was a long list.) Interestingly, I think the clothing rule will be more difficult than the orgasm rule, because clothes are such a big part of my self-expression. But, then, that's also part of the reason why I like that rule so much. Having someone control my behavior, even though it may be in seemingly inconsequential terms, is such an exciting act to me.

He also wants to make a point to get me to get over my aversion to verbalizing my thoughts and wants. If I'm IMing with someone, or writing, the dirty talk will just come pouring out - I've even started narrating sex in my head sometimes - but when it comes to saying it out loud, I freeze up. He knows this about me. He also wants to get me to be more comfortable with "performing" on cam for him. (And he knows me well enough to explicitly forbid any form of "liquid courage" while I'm camming with him. Damn.)

Yesterday, we were camming and he was telling me how hard he was at the thought of fucking me. Seeing his face and being able to put his facial expression to the words was exciting enough - I mostly just IM with him, and have spoken to him on the phone a couple of times, but never cam with him. Then he panned the camera down to show me the unmistakable bulge in his jeans. I bit down on my lip; on the tips of my fingers.

He said I might get to see more if I did something else for him. He wanted me to say, out loud, how much I wanted to fuck him. And to call him Sir. Nicely.

Part of me hates calling people "Sir" out loud. The word just sounds out of place; like I shouldn't be using it.

But I did it. I fumbled around awkwardly in my seat for a minute, and then I did it.

He rewarded me by letting me watch him take his cock out and stroke himself, slowly. I stared. I wanted so much to take him in my mouth...

After I got over some of the initial nervousness and shyness, I began wondering how I could make things even more interesting. Like a child with a new schoolteacher, I started thinking about loopholes, margins that I could play with. D/s is interesting because it's basically mutual manipulation, except both parties know exactly what's going on. I wouldn't want to do enough to anger or disrespect him, but I'm curious about what a little struggle could do.

I got an answer today. Last night, I got drunk at Zeta Mu and couldn't find this one person I'd been looking to hook up with (again). I went to bed drunk and sexually frustrated, and ended up putting my hands into my boxers and touching myself for a few minutes before drifting off to sleep.

I confessed this to him today, while I was at work, actually. He told me to find a private place, expose my ass, and spank myself hard enough to leave a red mark. I very self-consciously went to the restroom and did so. I knew that my hand would not be enough, so I ended up using a letter opener. Talk about creative use of office supplies.

I came back to my desk feeling embarrassed and obedient, with the sting of the letter opener slowly fading away as I sat.

I've been brought to such a heightened state of sexual tension that it feels like my entire body is thrumming. I think about fucking him while I'm at work, and while I'm doing my daily errands. I picture him taking me bent over desks, surreptitiously in darkened hallways, and on sumptuous bedsheets. I picture him biting me, fucking me hard and kissing the breath out of me until I'm too spent to move or speak after he's done.

Naturally, I hadn't done anything sexual for about a week beforehand. He has only granted me one orgasm so far, so I savored it. I made myself come like I hadn't in a long time: only with my fingers, slowly circling my clit and exploring my folds, while imagining him throwing me over his lap, spanking me and making me whimper, before brushing his fingers, oh so softly, over my wetness.

He has wonderfully large hands. I know that much.

This is re-opening parts of me that had been temporarily closed off. I'm writing erotica again; feeling my sexual energy again. I didn't realize what a big part of my sexuality kink was. I don't need it all the time, but it was definitely difficult being with a purely vanilla partner. I love vanilla sex as much as anyone, but so often my mind would naturally edge towards biting, scratching, slapping, serving and kneeling. Not being able to express my sexuality that way made me kind of boring.

I'm grateful for what he has done for/with me so far. And I'm looking forward for what is to come.

hhnt~

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Read part 1, part 2 and part 3, if you want.

[a scene from the movie Secretary]

I believe that if you have an interest in D/s, power probably has some sort meaning in your life.

Of course, power effects everyone in some shape or form. It underlies every area of life. But if you're into D/s, it's different.

Power means something special to you.

Well, at least, it means something special to me. I'm fascinated by it. I write about it, both in erotica and regular fiction. And sometimes I crave it. Crave to at least pretend that I have it, that I have power over something or someone else. Crave for it to be taken away from me and given to someone else.

Power says something about me - about my personality. About my background. About the experiences that formed the person I am today.

I'm not saying I'm some kind of rape or assault survivor. Nothing as severely damaging as that. Much less harmful. Some things, that I don't even understand enough to talk about here, aren't harmful at all.

But still. Doesn't have to be big to be meaningful.

---

While I was doing those things for Sir, I felt familiar emotions come over me. Familiar, but not the same as I remember. You see, I've been in a number of emotionally abusive friendships in my lifetime, in the sense that I was too giving, and they were assholes who took advantage of it. At least three of my closest friends were people who also demanded a lot of me.

Best Friend #1 would criticize me for very small things, intensely and spitefully enough that it made me terribly upset. That's when I started scratching myself. She got me to do things for her, like help her with her homework, keep her company, wait for her when she had things to do after school, but at a detriment to the things I had to/wanted to do for myself. And she would get really angry if I said I couldn't do them. I was friends with this person for four years. I think it's a large reason behind why I struggle so much with having low self-esteem now. We still actually keep in touch, although our friendship dynamic has changed: now she treats her boyfriends like shit, not me.

Best Friend #2 was very needy. He had a lot of issues to work through. For a while it was almost like I was his counselor/personal assistant. I'd wake him up and try and get him out of bed if he asked me to. I stayed up late with him when he wanted me to (I think the latest I stayed up with him was until 8am on a school night). I talked through his schoolwork with him when he was having trouble with it, and skipped social events I wanted to go to for him. This friendship was unlike the first: I really don't believe that he purposefully set out to hurt me. I think he was just going through a very bad time and really needed someone to be there. And another difference: this time I tried to struggle. Sometimes I'd try to turn my back on him, but he made me feel so bad about it and guilt-tripped me so badly that I ended up giving in anyway.

The bottom line, though, is that a large part of me very much enjoys, and needs to, help the people I care about and do things for them. They were being selfish, but in a way I was being selfish too, because I needed to be needed. I like being needed. Often, I care more about the things I'm doing for other people than the things I'm doing for myself. (Which I know is not healthy - I need to care about myself too, just as much as anyone else I love, and I am getting better and better at doing that.) But I made it too easy for people like #1 and #2 to take advantage of me. I didn't take care of myself enough. I let that be their responsibility instead of my own - and so they walked all over me.

I felt myself falling a little bit back into that mindset with Sir. Wanting intensely to do exactly what he wanted me to do, feeling anxious when I wouldn't be able to. But it wasn't exactly the same as before: it was better. It was so, so much better. Some people still mistakenly believe that BDSM is abuse - it's really not. With Sir, I didn't feel panicked or scared or sad. On the contrary, the experience made me feel happy and fulfilled. The few times that I started to panic about not being able to do something, Sir realized this and calmed me down. He took my feelings and my needs into consideration every step of the way. In many cases, it was more like Sir was doing things for me, giving me chances to indulge in the fantasies that I had, instead of the other way around.

Most importantly, I chose to submit to him. I wasn't forced to. It wasn't like he threatened to end our friendship if I didn't do this with him.

Consent and consideration. A person who says s/he's a "dominant" and ignores those two basic principles is a dick in dominant disguise, or else a really bad dominant.

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These events occurred circa. October 2009. Read part 1 and part 2.

[via Maria's Photo]

Day #2, continued.

The first thing he wanted to do was make use of me being so turned on. We had moved back to email now, and I sat there, waiting eagerly for him to tell me what he wanted me to do.

I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped when I read his next message: he wanted me to find a restroom to masturbate in, and wanted me to go pantiless after I was done.

Just picture it, will you, for a moment? Me, unassuming in my grey puffball dress, walking through the library - which was silent except for the occasional rustle of pages, filled with students intent on their work. Me, filled with so much nervousness and excitement that I was practically sizzling with emotion...

I went down the stairs, floating in a dizzy haze, and found the restroom. I entered the biggest cubicle, took off my boots, took off my leggings, finally took off my panties. I folded them nicely and set them down, then set about getting myself off.

It didn't take me very long. I was already soaking wet and had mental fodder enough... but the thing that kept playing over and over in my head was the word used. How Sir wanted to use me, how he wanted me to feel sore and exhausted and worn out and used, used, used...

This library was one of the less "popular" ones, and so the restroom was completely empty, and also silent. Every breath, every slide of my fingers inside me and back out were clearly audible, and I hoped and hoped that nobody would walk in until I finished.

I was lucky. Just as I felt my orgasm begin to swell, somebody loudly pushed the door open.

I gave myself a few moments to calm down before I pulled my leggings and boots back on and tucked my panties into my jacket pocket. My leggings were made of silk, and I could feel the material against my damp pussy - cool and soft.

I walked slowly and self-consciously back to my spot. I sat down and immediately sent Sir a message, telling him I had done what he asked.

His next demand was that I take a picture of my panties with my phone and send it to him. I considered walking back to the restroom and taking the picture there, after a quick look around I realized that so few people were in the library that no one would notice if I took the picture right where I was. I quickly took my panties out of my pocket, crunched them in my hand, and shoved my hand under the desk. I opened my hand, clearly displaying the panties (unfortunately, white with bright pink stars and, for some reason, Superman logos on them) and snapping a picture.

He had a few more instructions for me for the rest of the day. He wanted me to find a collar or choker of some sort that I could wear when I was doing tasks that he set me. I had a cloth choker, which he told me to use. He asked me what the rest of my day looked like. I didn't have anything to do except go to dinner with a friend. He told me that I had to excuse myself during dinner and bring myself off again.

Shortly before dinner, I went back to my room to look for the choker, that I hadn't worn at all before this. I couldn't find it in my dresser or among my clothes. I took down the storage boxes from the top shelf of my closet, and rifled through them, then grumbled loudly in frustration.

The choker wasn't there.

I checked all the drawers and boxes over again. I was so frustrated. Sir wanted me to use that choker, and I wanted to use the choker, but the choker was not there. I wanted to try my hardest to do what he wanted me to do, but I couldn't, since I guessed that I must have left it back home, halfway across the globe. (An email to my sister asking her about it later confirmed my suspicion.)

I apologetically told him about what happened. He immediately reassured me, and asked if I had anything else. I was relieved. He knew I don't like being talked down to or humiliated, and I'm glad he remembered and didn't do either of those things. He ended up choosing a simple bracelet - silver with a plain amethyst clasp - for me to wear when I was submitting to him.

Soon I had to go to dinner, so I put on the bracelet and went over to my friend's place... It soon proved that excusing myself to get myself off would be difficult. My friend wanted some advice on a problem, so I felt bad about interrupting her. Eventually our conversation wound down, so I went to do what Sir had asked.

My friend didn't live in a dorm, she lived in an off-campus house. She directed me to the bathroom... it was right next to the kitchen, and the door didn't lock. Great. I had to hold the door shut with one hand, and I could hear everyone talking and hanging out in the kitchen. Using my fingers against my clit, there was no way I was going to come, I was too distracted.

I had come twice that day already, but Sir wanted me to have come three times. He'd be making me pay for that transgression later...

To be continued...

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Day #2

Two days later, on a typically doleful Monday, I was at work when Sir emailed me. He was at work, too, and was having a stressful day. He asked me if I was up to helping him "relieve himself." I agreed at once - both excited to see what was to come and glad to escape my own humdrum day, if just for a little while.

He asked if I had done anything to warrant a spanking, and I told him a few "bad" things I had done over the past few days. Slept through class. Behind on work. The usual transgressions. He said that I should take my academics more seriously, and then asked that I "assume the position": all fours, face down. He wanted me to feel vulnerable. I was familiar with how that position felt - it made me feel exposed - but tantalizingly so - imagining the gaze of my lover wandering down my body, taking in everything.

Sir started spanking me, again: harsh swats that stung and reddened up my skin. He built up a rhythm until he was happy with the hue of my behind, then soothed my burning skin with his hands.

At the library front desk, I bit my lip and shifted, suddenly uncomfortable in my seat. My eyes were fixed on the computer screen - utterly intent on it. I hoped that the head librarian wouldn't suddenly come by to fetch something, as she sometimes did, because I didn't want to interrupt our session by having to hurriedly minimize my email in order to hide it.

He resumed spanking me, letting his fingers land between my legs, moving on to heavier blows... I let him know how turned on I was, and imagined what I'd do if this was really happening - gasp, squeal, half-attempting to escape from his blows and half-arching towards his touch; wanting and detesting the mix of pleasure and pain at the same time.

By then, my work shift had come to an end and I had to leave to do some errands. I told Sir, and so we switched to text messages. It was so unbelievably hot to do something as mundane as stand in line to pick up some packages, but with my thumbs flying over the keypad of my cell-phone, attempting to settle my facial expression into a non-incriminating configuration that did not betray what I was doing, heat pooling at my clit...

Sir began probing me, pressing his fingers inside me as he continued landing slaps all over my behind. I was both embarrassed and intensely aroused, groaning, overwhelmed with sensations. He rocked his hand as I rocked back into him, then pulled his fingers out and rubbed my clit, using his other hand to pull my hair so my head snapped back uncomfortably.

And then he took his cock out, the cock that I had never seen but knew was thick and substantial, according to what he had told me, and that I knew would stretch and fill me wonderfully... He pulled my body towards him, sinking himself into me. I tried my muffle my moans until he asked me to stop... half-reluctantly I took my knuckles out of my mouth and let my moans and choking cries fill the room. He pounded into me until he was about to go over the edge... then pulled out just as he came, spurting his come all over my back, leaving me limp, shuddering, and sated...

The end of our tryst found me in the library again, this time getting ready to do some homework... but so wet, bothered and distracted that I could barely even focus on the readings in front of me; my mind filled with gorgeous, filthy images as a result of what had just happened between us.

But things did not end there - Sir had more in store for me: he wanted to stake a claim on me. It was early afternoon and the day still stretched on before us, and Sir gave me a list of things that he wanted me to accomplish before going to sleep.

To be continued...

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Recently, I found a hot new person to play with. Well - "new" is not entirely correct. We've known each other for quite a while, but this is the first time he has expressed desire for me. Sure, we flirted casually with each other in the past, but I never thought there was anything behind the words. (I suppose it didn't help that both of us were dating other people at the time.)

But apparently there is.

There is something so intense and exciting about interacting sexually with someone who you are emotionally connected to, but have previously only been platonic with. Typically, I do hook up with people I know, at least, and then get to know them better after hooking up with them because, well, I prefer to have some kind of relationship with the people I'm hooking up with, but I rarely have been close friends with someone and then added a sexual dimension to our friendship.

And, obviously, I've wanted him for quite a while. Which makes this even better.

But this is also a little aggravating.

Because he graduated a year ago and no longer lives here.

In fact, he lives far, far away, and I don't even know when we'll be in the same place again.

Why does this always happen!?

...Anyway, the fuzzy, good feelings definitely outweigh the bad. Knowing that someone I want, wants me as well? And actually has wanted me for a while? That is pretty damn awesome.

I ended up long-distance subbing for him for one short, but wonderful, week. Only a week because he ended up not having enough time to put into it as he wanted. He does have a job and a life, after all. I was disappointed, but glad that anything even happened between us at all...

---

Day #1

It all started when I sent him an email saying that I had had a sexy dream about him. Which wasn't really anything more risque than anything we had said to each other before. But later, we found each other on IM and he told me what an ego-stroke that email was.

I elaborated for him: I dreamt that I was naked; he pushed me over the arm of a couch, spanked and groped me, and made me get him off.

He told me that that sounded like something he would do. Except he'd probably jerk off on me instead. Or fuck me, because he has never fucked me before.

Hmm. This was a change. Sure we'd "talked dirty" a little to each other before, but it had never gone on for this long, or gotten this far.

Soon, he was reddening up my ass and scratching over my back. He shoved my head into the couch cushions, held me down, took his cock out and started touching me.

Gulp. It was at this point that I reached into my shorts. And realized that I was dripping wet.

He told me how much he loved my shapeliness - my ass and my narrow waist; how he wanted to brutalize me and leave me bruised; how he wanted to pull my hair and force me to my knees and have me worship his cock...

"If you're good," he said, "you get to put it in your mouth."

This was a change for me. It's not often that I get turned on by being talked down to. Most of the time it actually pisses me off. But this was different, this wasn't some guy, this was him, and I surprised myself by how much I wanted to please him; how much I wanted to suck his cock...

Then he pushed me over, fucking me hard from behind, not trying to get me off, but wanting to make me feel owned... If I began to come he'd interrupt it with a scratch or spank. "You need to feel used up," he told me.

Our conversation shifted to other things then, and after a while I had to go offline because I was going to visit a friend.

But one important thing I gleaned from this was: he really wanted to fuck me. He desired me. What a good thing to know.

I had been touching myself the entire time we were talking. I thought that the conversation was a one time thing, a result of chance and mutual horniness, but it would turn out that I was wrong...

To be continued...

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I wish I had dated this when I wrote it, but think circa. August 2009...

---

via ...and Death Smiled

If you've been following my tweets at all, you'd have read about me gushing over a guy I used to call Fetlife Guy #3, who I now call the Optimist. As his name(s) suggests, I met him through Fetlife, and he is a very positive person

I haven't known him for very long, but my time with him has been nothing short of wonderful. This is the first time in a while that I've met someone who is just as smitten with/infatuated with/interested in me as I am with them, and who treats me in ways I like to be treated. This probably sounds really dramatic, but he has been a ray of hope in the pit of college douchebags I've been dolefully scrabbling in until now. Knowing that it's possible to meet someone who likes me just as much as I like them, who reciprocates my feelings, and who wants the same kind of relationship and closeness that I want, is very encouraging, because I had begun to doubt whether it was even possible.

Of course, as it always happens when I meet someone awesome, I am leaving in a week, which sorta sucks.

---

We were chatting online on the evening of Labor Day when he impulsively asked me to come over. We both had work the next day, and he had to drive for about an hour across the city to pick me up, so I had my doubts about whether or not it was a good idea. But he really wanted to see me.

"I know I'm asking a lot for you to come over now, but I'll do anything you want," he said.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

How could I say no to that?

A couple of hours later found us making out in his apartment on his bed.

"I meant what I said earlier," he told me. "I still want to try dominating you, but tonight is all yours."

We kissed some more as I tried to figure out what I wanted to do with him. Eventually I thought of something - I've said many times how I wished I had a significant other at home who would welcome me nicely when I came home from work, and offer to give me a footrub, backrub, that kind of thing.

"You know, you never really finished giving me that foot massage last night," I said.

"Is that what you want?"

"Can you do that?"

"No, no," he said, shaking his head, lying underneath me as I straddled him. "You're telling me, not asking me. Tell me what you want."

I told him. "I want you to give me a foot massage." And I laughed at him. "You know, it's pretty funny, you telling me to tell you..."

I laid back, propping myself on the pillows as he went to work. I closed my eyes. It felt lovely. He seemed to be getting into it - running his lips over my toes.

And then I ran into a problem.

I wanted to ask him to do something. I have very sensitive feet. So sensitive, in fact, that Christopher had sucked on my toes a couple of times, and each time, the sensations blew me away.

So I wanted to ask the Optimist to do that. But the words got stuck in my throat. He continued to rub my feet, and I rolled the words around in my mouth, wanting so much to say them. I must have had a funny look on my face, because eventually he noticed and asked me what the matter was.

"Do you... think you could use your mouth a bit more?" I asked bashfully. He did - kissing and licking my feet, putting my toes in his mouth. My eyes closed in pleasure.

After a while of that, I asked him to stop.

"Take off your clothes." I said. He gave me a little striptease, pulling off his T-shirt, shimmying out of his jeans and finally removing his boxers, twirling them above his head before throwing them to the other side of the room.

His little show made me laugh, and I gestured for him to come into my lap.

We kissed again, and I scratched over his back, marking up his skin. And then I asked him if he had any flat, hard implements lying around.

He didn't. Oh well. I'd have to make do with my hand.

I positioned him across my lap and told him to straighten out his legs. I felt up his ass and the backs of his thighs for a while. And then I started spanking him.

It was so much more intimate like this, with him across my lap. I experimented more this time - slapping his thighs, each cheek, both, varying my pace, asking myself what would happen if I did this? Or that?

It felt good to spank him; to hear him ask breathlessly "are you enjoying this?" and to respond "yes" in a voice husky with pleasure; to check if he was OK and to realize that he was so incoherent that he could barely even answer me. Finally, I had him count off the last few spanks up to 5.

When I heard his voice, I regretted not asking him to do that from the very beginning...

"Five." I finished spanking him and gathered him into my arms. He was sniffling a little bit. I kissed him, cuddled him, ruffled his hair, and felt him up as we talked. I loved having him naked; I loved being able to casually play with his cock as we talked and hear his words falter.

Both of us felt so much closer to each other than before. I felt this intense rush of affection and intimacy. I asked him how he liked it, and he admitted that a couple of my swats were a little too hard - but ultimately he really enjoyed it. Mostly, he said, because he knew I was really enjoying it.

"I just really want to please you," he said.

Those words were like music to my ears. Yes, this is it, I thought. This is how I want things to be. Not like before, with those bottommy men who I always felt wanted something from me; who wanted me to do specific somethings to them; who made me feel continually nervous about not meeting their expectations.

Not like the Optimist accepts everything without telling me what is too much or what is unpleasant. He does tell me. But the Optimist just wanted me, not something that I could provide. He just wanted to please me.

Can you imagine how good that feels? Do I even have enough words to describe it?

---

It was such an interesting experience - I'm pretty quiet during sex, I rarely say anything, and asking for what I want still embarrasses me considerably. I am also not a very assertive person at all, typically. I'm so timid sometimes that I'm almost invisible. And whoever heard of a bashful dominant? I also "conditionalize" what I say a lot of the time: inserting "I think", "probably", "maybe", "could you try to...", "could you help me to..." But telling the Optimist what I wanted in a situation where I didn't feel pressured really helped. I've been with people who have been all "just say what you want!" or "why are you so shy about this?" which didn't really help. I'd just feel even more embarrassed over being shy.

I also felt so... opened up, listening to my thoughts and wants, listening to his reactions. It's funny, dominating/topping someone, because I feel that when you're playing with someone you have to be very much "in the moment", but because I hadn't thought much through beforehand, I was also sort of planning out what would happen next. But I just relaxed, and listened, and let the wants come to me. It felt so good to let myself just flow like that. I wish I could do it more, well, in life. I felt like I learnt a lot about myself, both sexually and otherwise.

I'm terribly grateful to the Optimist. When you get right down to it, he is the one who gave this experience to me. And I truly value that as the gift that it is.

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As one of my friends once said to me: I seem to have no limits. Many of the BDSM-related things I don't want to do, I don't want to do because I don't know how to do them in a safe manner. Of course, I don't want to do everything, but I can comfortably say that typically I'm up for almost anything.

Which is why my aversion to rimjobs was kind of perplexing to me.

Anal sex, sure, but putting one's mouth there seemed too... intimate. Dirty. I didn't want to let someone do that to me because I was too embarrassed, and I didn't want to do it to someone else because I thought it would be... kinda gross.

Christopher had to try very hard to convince me to let him rim me. And even when I gave in - bent over, on my knees, ass in the air, head in my pillow, his tongue in and around my hole, me moaning and panting and my mind being blown - I wondered how he could possibly find that erotic.

Well... all of that changed one night, when me and the Optimist started making out.

Things quickly progressed until he was naked and I was blowing him, licking and sucking his balls and his thighs. Soon enough the same thought came to both of us at pretty much the same time:

"Can you kiss my butt?"

I blinked. I had been thinking of doing that, and more... but did I really want to?

It took me a few seconds to make up my mind before I gently turned him over. I kissed and nibbled his ass cheeks for a bit before spreading them to reveal his little pink star.

I looked. I smelt. It smelt... different, but not unpleasant. I rubbed over his hole with my finger. I enjoyed having him spread out before me like that. I imagined I was making him feel exposed... I hoped that I was.

And then I put out my tongue and took my first taste.

Again, it tasted different, but not unpleasant. He was clean, and I felt like I could have been licking any other part of his body... except this was somehow so much more erotic.

I dove in and started lapping.

He made the most amazing noises. Different. Mewling, whimpering, vulnerable. My tongue is too short, so I couldn't do more than just lap and swirl my tongue against his hole - but that was more than enough. Soon, he breathlessly asked if he could flip onto his back so he could jerk himself off more comfortably. I let him - but my mouth could no longer reach him. So I used my fingers and watched him as he came - hard, hard...

My god. How could I have ever thought that was gross?

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