A dominant administrator finds the perfect young playmate.

As a university administrator who works in career counseling, my job ranges from busy to boring to useless. I work for a law school, though, so I seldom have to deal with annoying entitled undergrads — just future entitled lawyers. Still, it’s not so bad.

I I’m in my mid-forties, divorced, and as of this year, my only child is thriving on her own away at college, too, so it’s been fun having actual free time outside of work and/or not having to worry when work is busier.

The first-year students arrive in late August, so once the drama of orientation is settled, I can devote my full energy to helping rising students find placements at externships, firms, etc. I love seeing hot younger guys in my office, especially when they’re all dressed up in suits. However, I’ve never done anything that remotely borders on flirtation.

At least, that was the truth until I met Patrick — and at that point, even though we ended up throwing the “rules” out the window, it was clear I’d have to toughen up.

Being a dominant woman is not smooth sailing most of the time, at least in relationships. There are very few men willing to surrender all aspects of control, and the ones who might get there need to be consciously cultivated. Most of the “cuck” stuff you see out there in the press today is not the true, joyous expression of male surrender, but rather the man-hating invention of idiots with political agendas. I won’t go there — but I will say that just like emotions are fluid, so is sexual expression, and that sometimes means unexpected changes all around.

Case in point: I spent most of my twenties as a victim without realizing it. I let men walk on me, use me — yet somehow, I still craved their attention. My ex picked up on my vulnerability as he watched me from afar back then — so when he stepped in, he was adamant that I ditch the self-deprecation and daddy issues and embrace the chance to be cherished as a naturally submissive woman.

And even though I had let men control me my whole life, often in unhealthy ways, I struggled against my loving Damien until it finally hit me that in my surrender, I experienced the ultimate feeling of safety. Specifically, I loved it when he would “take me in hand” and administer a firm but loving spanking when he was frustrated with something I did or if I made him jealous. I used to get so wet — and then we’d have crazy sex. (I know, I can hear the feminists howling in the hills, too, and I’m ignoring them.)

We had a wonderful marriage for almost a decade — but toward the end, we were both sexually restless. He wanted to swing, I didn’t; I wanted to experiment with switching our “roles,” and he wasn’t comfortable. We tried to negotiate but amiably reached the conclusion to part ways so as not to ruin what we had with any unnecessary acrimony and to keep things easy for our daughter. To this day, we remain close friends, and he’s the one who nudged me forward and said, “Eliza, I don’t want you to ever hold back on my account. I think you should pick up the paddle — and I mean that literally — and see for yourself what it’s like to take charge.” He kissed me on the forehead and I thanked him. Don’t worry: I won’t flood you with sentimentality, but the last “permission” my “ex master” gave me was to become the person that I was meant to be, and that’s priceless.

Post-divorce, I dated around but found myself frustrated by endless broken beta males and man-children who had no hope of growing up. I didn’t want to be a mommy all over again. And then I got busy with my daughter and wanting to enjoy her senior year, so romantic pursuits fell by the wayside. But with her gone as of this fall, I found myself checking out a few dating apps — namely, that one with the beehive logo where women have to say “hi” first.

I loved sitting at my desk swiping and browsing a seemingly endless parade of good-looking guys. I was never worried about matching with students, since most of them are either paired off or dating women in their 20s or 30s.

One Monday morning, I was swiping away and enjoying my coffee when someone knocked at my door.

“Come in!”

The door opened to reveal an absolute hunk — my Patrick. He has bright blue eyes which maintain a perpetual look of mischief about them, and back then, he had tousled, shoulder-length blonde hair. He was wearing board shorts and a T-shirt, so it looked like he was more of an aspiring surfer or swimsuit model instead of a law student hoping to impress our firm.

I pursed my lips and looked at him skeptically: “Can I help you?”

“Yes, hi — I know I don’t have an appointment, but I just thought I’d drop by and ask a question.”

“Yes, of course, what can I help you with?”

“Um, I wasn’t sure if I needed to turn in a separate form to get credit on my summer externship. There’s nothing on the website — ”

“Oh, yes, sorry for the confusion. The webmaster quit last week before he updated the policy page. Here, this won’t take a second.” I stood up, stepped over to my file cabinet, and opened a drawer.

When I looked up, I saw that Patrick had turned around and was watching me intently.

I gave him a demure smile, and that’s when he looked me up and down and said: “You have great legs.”

I could feel my face turning beet-red: “Oh… well, thank you.”

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but, yeah, thought I’d point it out.”

I handed him the form. “Don’t worry, I won’t sue you — not this time.” I smiled. “Just return it once you get your supervisor’s signature.”

Patrick grinned and stood up so he was standing right next to me — and “WOW!” was all I could think! His physique placed him somewhere between surfer dude and Viking prince. He offered me his hand. “Will do. Thanks again for this.”

I shook his hand, and from the warmth of his touch, I felt familiar tingles of arousal pinging my nipples. “Y-you’re welcome.” I cleared my throat.

Still clearly checking me out, Patrick reached in his pocket and handed me a business card. “In case you decide to sue me after all.”

And with that, he left. I felt so flushed — I needed a walk, an iced coffee, and an emergency trip to the single-occupancy ladies’ room with my pocket rocket. When I got home that night, I went wild with my toys.

I started in the bathtub with my waterproof wand, thinking of Patrick’s stare on my body as I teased my clit. Still wet and horny after I toweled off, I got out my dual-action toy in bed and fantasized about how much I wanted to wrap my legs around his great body. It had been a while — not only since the last time I had sex, but also far too long since anyone I met had such an effect on me. Yet at that point, I wasn’t certain if I wanted to call him after hours — but I kept his card on my dresser all the same.

The next day at work, I found myself once more swiping on the app while things lulled between morning appointments and my lunch hour. And just as I was about to keep swiping left, I recognized the face of my absolute hunk. Except, in his dating profile photos, he was mostly shirtless and wearing a distinctive plain leather collar around his neck — but without an “O” ring attached, it did not seem like a collar of “ownership,” as I understood from years of living in the BDSM scene with my ex.

I pursed my lips and swiped right — and what a surprise, Patrick matched with me.

Who’d have thought a hunk like that would be on the prowl for an older woman — maybe even a dominant older woman? I felt butterflies in my stomach at the thought and fired off a quick message: Where was your collar yesterday?

I spent the rest of the day looking at my phone, but no dice. Around 4:30, I started to gather my things, thinking maybe I’d slip out a little early and treat myself to a mani-pedi. In case he wasn’t going to respond, I figured feeling beautiful would make me feel a little less awkward.

But sometimes life is funny in a good way. At 4:45 when I was powering off my computer, there was a single knock, and then Patrick let himself in my office.

I looked up from my screen and could not conceal my shock.

Patrick smiled at me and stepped over to my desk. “The only reason I didn’t have my collar on yesterday was because I went to the beach, and the salt water will ruin it.”

I giggled. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I don’t have my form signed. So I guess the only other possibility is my desire to serve you — if you’d have me?”

He got on his knees, reached over the desk, and pulled my foot to his mouth, offering a kiss to my nude leather pumps.

“I love seeing hot younger guys in my office, especially when they’re all dressed up in suits.”

I laughed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Patrick took off my shoe and began kissing my toes.

“Hey, now — ” I tried to stop laughing and be serious. “We need to set up some ground rules. You can’t be coming in here like this.”

“Oh?” Patrick looked up at me with those wide-open, puppy-dog eyes of his. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

It was so tempting just to say yes — I certainly wanted him. But I knew that playing at the level I wanted to play means playing the long game. I pursed my lips at him and said, “I already have plans. You’re going to have to wait.”

“How long?” He reached for my foot again and tenderly placed it back inside my shoe.

“Tomorrow,” I paused. “And no old collars allowed. Make reservations.”

“Shall I pick you up here?”

“I don’t think you’ve earned that yet. But you can send a car for me.”

Patrick smiled again. “I will do my best to please you.” He went to reach for my hand and then stopped short. “May I?”

“Yes.” I smiled, letting him kiss my hand. And with that, Patrick went on his way and I went to the salon — wetter than ever. With an important date ahead, now I really needed that mani-pedi.

The next evening, just as we planned, I received a text telling me that a black car was outside waiting to pick me up from work. I stepped out of the law school and saw the car idling near the parking garage. For my day-to-evening look, I’d chosen a black sheath dress that showed off my toned figure (thank you, genetics and Pilates) and long legs. I wore my red hair in a loose chignon during the day, but before I left the office, I let it tumble free and wild.

When I got to the car, I was surprised (although I should not have been) to see Patrick waiting in the back seat. As we pulled away from the law school and dispensed with the pleasantries, my voice turned critical. “I thought you were going to be at the restaurant? Didn’t I tell you no picking me up?”

Patrick smiled. “Well, technically, I’m not doing the picking-up part.”

“You like to test limits, don’t you?” I crossed my legs, fully aware of how my dress would ride up my thighs.

“Yes, I do.”

I smiled back. “I think we’ll get along fine, then.”

From there, we had a “normal” dinner, even if you factor in me playing some footsie with him under the table. Patrick loved my new pedicure — even more so as it grazed his inner thighs and got dangerously close to his cock. We talked about the usual things: family, hobbies, and what we’re looking for. I was surprised to hear how driven and motivated my “surfer guy” actually was and how much we ended up having in common, even with a ten-year age difference.

While we waited for dessert, I excused myself and went to the ladies’ room. I slipped off my soaked panties and balled them up in my hand. I returned to the table and slipped them into Patrick’s lap: “I expect you to hold on to these for me.”

Patrick sat up straight. “You better believe I will. Shall we Uber home now?”

I laughed and shook my head. “No,” I said, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I want you to suffer through dessert, thinking about my bare cunt just across from you.”

Patrick licked his lips in response. “Will you please sit on my face later?”

I raised my eyebrows, looking as coy and cold as possible. “I’ll think about it. But we need to address your behavior.”

“What about my behavior?”

“You did push the limits earlier, picking me up and all. I want to be clear: I’m very strict — and there will be consequences.”

“Good.”

“He got on his knees, reached over the desk, and pulled my foot to his mouth.”

I footsied him again, and our desserts arrived. After we shared spoonfuls of delicious crème brûlée and some flourless chocolate torte, I felt ready for another kind of decadence.

We took a taxi back to my place, barely able to keep our hands off each other. When we got in the door, Patrick grabbed me and kissed me passionately — and I let him.

He exhaled. “Eliza — I — ”

“Shhh,” I said, caressing Patrick’s face and smiling. “Let’s go upstairs.”

I took him by the hand into my master suite, where we stripped down. I had carefully chosen my favorite black satin bustier for the evening. I left it on while stripping Patrick fully nude.

In my “goodie drawer” (i.e., nightstand), I kept various implements of fun that I’ve collected over the years — some I use regularly, and some I buy with the spirit of “maybe someday.”

Since I wanted Patrick — and wanted him to last — I decided we first needed to have him wear the silicone cock ring. I was perfunctory about how I slipped it on — careful not to give him any pleasure whatsoever.

Patrick squirmed nonetheless. He tried to touch my pussy.

“Careful,” I warned him. “You’re already going to be punished as it is.”

I retrieved the small riding crop from my goodie drawer and gave my bare thigh a playful slap. “This has a way of… tickling and stinging… ”

“Two of my favorite sensations combined,” Patrick smirked.

In response, I administered a few on-point blows to his engorged shaft and balls. “I also have some leather tails. You know, those can wrap all around you… ”

“Indeed, I am familiar… ” He smiled at me.

“And you remember our safe word?” I reiterated.

“Yes. Vanilla.”

“Good.” I walloped his cock again with the crop. “Now, get on the bed — I’m going to sit on your face.”

Patrick’s face lit up and he hurried into position. I decided to sit, so I faced him, squeezing the sides of his perfect face with my thighs.

“You have the most beautiful cunt, Eliza,” he said, hoisting me on top of him.

I kissed him on the forehead. “Get to work. I want you to make me squirt tonight.”

“I decided to sit, so I faced him, squeezing the sides of his perfect face with my thighs.”

And “work” Patrick did. He had a tongue that could rival and surpass just about any of my toys. Patrick hummed and groaned so that his tongue vibrated as it struck me.

“Ah! Oh, god!” I moaned. “Yes, don’t stop!”

He quickly had me squealing in ecstasy. I felt him try to ease his fingers inside me, and I playfully swatted his hand: “Mmmm, no — just your incredible tongue for now!”

“Yes… yes Eliza… ” He loved to say my name.

Patrick alternated between tongue-fucking me and working my clit — and a little while later, I came so hard I saw stars. I collapsed next to him in a panting heap. “Oh, god… ”

Patrick smiled at me. “Did I do well?”

I giggled. “Yes.”

“May I kiss you again?”

“Yes… ” I repeated. We made out then, and I reached down and teased his cock. “Don’t worry… I haven’t forgotten about you,” I whispered.

“I wasn’t worried. I trust you,” he said.

I slipped the ring off and began to tongue the very sensitive head of Patrick’s cock. He groaned, feeling the sweet torment of arousal twist and turn.

“Do you have a nice hot load for me saved up?” I used some of my spit as lube and stroked my way slowly up his shaft.

Patrick bit his lip and exhaled. “Only… one… way to find out.”

I smirked and mounted him — and what a ride that was. I gasped as his thick girth took me by surprise and filled me in places I’d never felt before. I rode Patrick wet and dirty until we both came.

After a brief rest, we went at it again. The next morning, after we showered together and had more sex, I decided that we should buy him a proper collar — one that would denote real ownership. My new sub and lover eagerly agreed.

We also stopped for a haircut — as much as I loved those “surfer dude” locks, we both realized he needed the right look if he planned to impress some of the bigger firms.

These days, Patrick is a junior partner. And he has two collars: the leather one that hides beneath his business suits and a waterproof one for when we go to the beach.