I didn’t quite know what I liked, but I knew there was something… well, a little untraditional about me sexually.

Odd things seemed to excite me. Or “odd” things. Turns out there wasn’t anything weird about me. I was right just as I was. And Brianna would’ve laughed her ass off if I’d said “untraditional” in her presence.

“Sexual traditions exist to make unadventurous people feel smug and cozy. God, they bore me!” It was something Brianna said. She seemed to have a whole book full of proud, sassy sayings like that.

She was the one who took me in hand, who let me open up and then helped me explore the landscapes of kink. She wanted me to find what was right for me. It was a thoughtful process. She really cared for me, and I, of course, was smitten with her.

Brianna was beautiful, sexy, worldly, never scornful. She had enjoyed her own many kinky explorations, discovering new things about herself until she was, in her words, “a fully realized erotic being.”

One of the first things she established about me after we started seriously seeing each other was that I fell into the sub category — “sub” as in submissive, and “submissive” as in “not dominant.” Brianna was a domme. She liked control of the sexual situation, and she knew how to be in charge, how to monitor the other person’s reactions so that the experience was always positive.

Our first few times in bed I’d had only a hint of her true nature. Back then she’d just been this hot woman who had asked me back to her place from a party. But even the first time we were naked together I felt a special connectivity.

Now we were in a relationship and I’d never been happier with anyone. Already we’d done stuff that I couldn’t have imagined before. All of it had been exciting, one way or another, but not everything I wanted to repeat. She helped me narrow down the acts and scenarios that most appealed to me, that got me the hottest.

It was like a collaborative research paper, just with a lot more fucking.

For instance, I found that getting spanked didn’t get me off much. But I loved it the first time she handcuffed me. With precise skill, she shaped my awakened sexual being — or let me find it on my own. She simply facilitated it and was delighted each time I made a new discovery.

Now we had my ultimate scenario planned. I came over to her apartment, and she led me into the bedroom. She wore a severe expression. She ordered me to strip. Trembling, I dropped my clothes. She knew just the tone to take, how to make her voice reminiscent of every authority figure who’d ever secretly aroused me in my life.

“Lie on the bed. On your back. Hands and feet out!”

Her bed was a four-poster. After disrobing, I tried covering my cock with my hands, feeling a sweet bright shame. Now I lay utterly exposed, unable to hide my helpless hard-on.

Brianna went around to the bed’s four corners and tied my wrists and ankles to the strong wood posts with silk scarves. I tested the knots, not surprised to find they were very secure.

She loomed over me, seeming to dominate the room. She wore a sexy black dress and high heels. Her eyes blazed with command. She looked me over, and I felt like an unworthy offering brought before someone of far greater importance than myself. Even so, my cock didn’t wilt one iota. It remained fiercely hard, the cock head throbbing against my lower belly.

Still gazing at me, she began to touch herself. She brought her hands up to cup her breasts through the sheer fabric of the dress. A flicker of pleasure flowed across her austere features. Her fingers squeezed harder. A soft moan escaped her lips.

I automatically strained at my restraints again. All the mechanisms in my body wanted me to move toward her. Instinct told me to take her in my arms, kiss her, lick her, caress her. But I could barely move tied up this way. And that was central to the brand of kink I enjoyed.

“Brianna went around to the bed’s four corners and tied my wrists and ankles to the strong wood posts with silk scarves.”

She continued to feel up her own tits. More excitement showed on her lovely face. She worked a hand down the front of her dress. I watched keenly as she reached her crotch and began to rub there.

I jerked my hips on the bed, lifting myself no more than a few inches into the air. My blazingly erect cock bounced on my abdomen. Arousal tortured me. I wanted this woman, but I was powerless to reach her.

She moaned louder, squeezing and rubbing herself harder. Her wet mouth opened wide and her eyes rolled, but she never lost awareness of me. Her gaze continued to flicker over my staked-out naked form.

Finally she had to get out of the dress. She slipped it off her shoulders and let it drop, revealing the exquisite pillar of her bare body. She had a swimmer’s tautness with lush swells of ripe femininity. Her breasts were full and high, her back a long flawless slope, ending in the twin hemispheres of her ass.

I cried out, a raw, wordless sound. She gave me a cold acknowledgment. As much as I wanted her, that stare said, I could not have her. I would not be allowed to touch. I would remain bound in place, to long, to suffer, to watch.

She resumed caressing and stroking herself, now spreading her legs and tracing two fingertips up and down the hairless groove of her oiled pussy. Pleasure shuddered up her naked body. She tweaked her own nipples, squeezing so hard that the hot pink color deepened to purple.

I thrashed impotently on the bed, tied to the four posts, naked before this deliciously cruel and beautiful woman. I couldn’t even reach my own cock to jerk myself to satisfaction. My mouth hung open. I heard whimpers and realized they were mine.

Brianna slipped two fingers up inside herself, making certain I got a good view of what I would not be permitted to touch. The scent of her excitement was in the air. She worked the digits slowly in and out of. I saw them glisten as they emerged. Nothing about the pleasure she was giving herself was fake.

I ached to touch her but couldn’t. Somehow, she had deduced that this setup would reach the deepest part of my being, the truth of my sub self. Everything in my personal sexual history had been leading unwittingly to this moment.

And I never would have found myself without this amazing woman.

Her fingers delved deep. She still wore the high heels and they made her arch her body toward me. Hot bliss lit her face. A flush spread over her skin as she undulated, as her muscles rippled, gathering with her approaching climax.

I writhed. I begged. Just as she wrenched with her orgasm, she gave me a piercing gaze and told me, “Come!”

And I shot my whole pent-up load on my stomach and chest. It was the best orgasm of my life.