A dominant woman gives in to her most erotic inner desires by topping her favorite handsome male submissive.

I am not dominant all the time. There are days when I feel positively kittenish. I yearn to be stroked and loved, pampered and played with. But for most of the time — the majority of the days in the week and the months in the year — if I’m in the mood for sex, only a sub will do.

That’s what I was thinking as I unlocked the front door to my house. As I turned the chrome key, I pictured steel handcuffs and handcuff keys. When I heard the exciting metallic click as the lock released, I momentarily lost myself in the memory of the sensual look of release on the face of a beautiful boy, the thrill of desire in the bright eyes of a yearning submissive.

There is nothing so intense to me as taking control of a sub’s fantasies. Of punishing a willing man who knows exactly what he needs and what he deserves. I am so well suited for this type of interaction that I could already feel my body preparing for a night of erotic pleasure. My posture became more severe as I stood up to my full height. I could feel the pulse point in my throat.

As soon as I had set down my purse in the front hallway, I made the call. Because when I’m in this mood — when only a sub will do — there’s one boy I’m thinking of in particular. I dialed his number, and I felt my pussy tighten in anticipation. Matthew answered right away. Good boy, I thought to myself as I heard the quiver in his tone. He knew me by the number on his cell screen, and he knew exactly what a call from me would mean. I never call for any other reason.

“Mistress,” he said softly. His voice was a rush, and his breath had that tremor that I love so much. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine him easily. I could see his blond curls against my blue sheets. I could see his finely muscled body straining as I tormented him in the most sublime ways — cuffing him so that he could not get free, dripping wax on his exposed skin, roughly tugging on his cock, forcefully finger-fucking his anus.

“Mistress, how may I serve you?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” I told him. “As soon as you get here,” I continued. I glanced at my watch. I knew Matt lived twenty minutes away by bike, barring traffic. He rode his high-end mountain bicycle everywhere, had been on a bicycling team in college. At this hour, biking would actually be faster. He wouldn’t be caught in the tangle of people making their way home from work.

“Be here in ten,” I said, smiling to myself at the thought of him trying to fulfill my impossible desires. I disconnected the line and went to my bedroom to prepare myself. For work, I wear a specific type of outfit — generally speaking, you’ll find me in an expensive suit, a crisp shirt in a jewel tone, and heels that are tasteful yet powerful-looking.

“I could absolutely see the undiluted submissiveness in him.”

For a night with Matthew, I chose a completely different type of uniform. I undressed entirely, wanting to start fresh from the first layer up. Black satin high-cut panties were the look of the night, with a matching black bra. Not a demi-cup bra. Not a teaser. The ultimate goal was dominance — and I even wanted my underwear to scream domme. When Matt first caught sight of me in the set, I wanted his heart to beat faster and his dick to silently beg for release.

I thought of the first time Matt and I had dallied together. He’d been at my neighbor’s house, working in her yard. Throughout the morning, I’d watched from my upstairs window, absolutely mesmerized by his comely visage. I’d figured out fairly quickly that he was her new landscaper, and he worked alongside his team, trimming the hedges, mulching, planting bulbs. I had tracked him through his duties, taking note of his slim, muscular build, the way he could heft huge bags of soil without seeming to break a sweat.

Finally, I’d let him catch me staring at him from the balcony, and I’d witnessed the way his eyes had lingered on my body. Something in the duck of his head when I’d caught him watching made me think that he might like to play the way I do.

Later, I’d gone outside on the pretense of checking my mail, but in actuality to scope him out better. To his credit, Matt had made the first move. He’d come over, introduced himself, and given me a card with the name of his business. On the back was his personal number written by hand. The words “please call” were underlined.

I’d called.

For this night, I chose a deceptively simple black dress. At first glance, the dress seemed almost plain. But when I attached a red leather belt around the waist, the sheath took on a level of sophistication that I appreciated. I matched my accessories, choosing high red boots that went up past my knees. I pulled my hair into a fierce ponytail, redid my makeup and checked the clock.

Fifteen minutes had passed. I’d known Matt would be late. I’d made Matt late — giving him a task that he couldn’t possibly achieve. We both knew what that would mean. After nineteen minutes, he arrived. I heard him hammering on the front door, and I walked slowly down the hall, allowing myself to appreciate the anticipation that was building inside me.

I peeked through the peephole. There stood Matt, his blond curls tousled, his cheeks pink. He actually looked as if he had sprinted the entire way here, but I knew he must have ridden. Yes, there on my front porch was his bike. He was breathless, and he appeared almost frightened, as if he feared I wouldn’t let him in because he was late.

Poor boy. Of course, I’d let him in. And then I’d punish him. That was the whole point, after all.

I waited one more moment before opening the door. When I did, he practically fell into the apartment, going on his knees in front of me before I could even close the door behind him. How good he looked on his knees. How helpless.

“Mistress…” The word was on his lips immediately. “I’m sorry,” followed right after.

“You should be,” I said, and I worked to keep the smile from my voice. He was going to be sorry, that was for sure, and then he was going to be hard. Next, he was going to be in me, and then finally he was going to come. I knew the future, even if he didn’t. I had to force myself to play things slow, because one tiny part of me wanted to fuck him right then. But we were in this together. We were in this for the same — if mirrored — reasons. For my appetite this evening, only a sub’s yearning would do. I’d chosen Matt. I was responsible for giving him what he wanted, as well.

“Strip,” I said, “and meet me in my bedroom.”

I didn’t look at him. I strode away from him, my heels clacking on the hardwood floor, my whole body already feeling the electric current that being in charge brings to me. How would I begin? Would I whip him with a crop? Would I torment his mammoth cock? I ticked off the different options as I settled myself against the edge of the bed.

I heard Matt approaching. I could tell from the sound that he was crawling on his hands and knees down my hallway. Good, sweet sub, I thought. That’s right. You behave the way I’ve taught you. Many prior lessons had brought us to this point. Many delicious punishment sessions had honed Matthew into the perfect submissive for my every kinky desire. We had worked on obeying my commands. We had practiced striving for excellence.

He arrived in the doorway and looked at me expectantly. I let him stare for a second — let him drink me in — before I snapped, “Eyes on the floor. You know better than that.”

He lowered his gaze immediately. His cheeks flushed pinker. I wanted to tousle his hair, but I didn’t allow myself that gentle gesture. He didn’t deserve my kindness. Not yet. There would be plenty of time for caressing and cuddling after I had taken Matthew to the edge. I stood away from the bed and motioned for him to climb onto the mattress. He didn’t know if I wanted him facedown or faceup, and he looked worried.

“I drizzled a tiny bit of lube down his unit, and then I slid my fist up and down his shaft.”

What if he did the wrong thing?

I gave him no helpful instruction. It wasn’t in my nature to make things easier for him. Where would the fun be in that? I could almost see the different thoughts flicker through his mind. If he lay on his back, that would assume I might do something to his cock. Something he would like? Something he wouldn’t — although, really, he would? If he went on his stomach, he was presenting me with his gorgeous ass. What would that mean? How might that play out?

He took a risk and lay on his belly. I snapped, “Faceup,” and he rolled over immediately, looking twice as worried as he had before. He could never know that I would have said “facedown” had he gone the other way. I couldn’t possibly allow him to be right, not even in something so insignificant as a position. Not so early in the evening, at least. I dangled a pair of handcuffs in front of him, and he quickly brought his wrists over his head and let me bind him. The click of the cuffs sent that fierce electrical charge through me. He would stay where I wanted him until I let him go. I then slid a blindfold in place, even though I do love to see the expressions change in his eyes, I wanted my actions to be a surprise to him. Besides that, I know Matt adores being blindfolded. This he confessed late one night when I put clothespins on his nipples and made him list the top ten kinky ways he fantasized about playing.

Now, I took a moment to really admire the form of the man on my mattress. He is such a delightful specimen of masculinity. Although he is built lanky, with muscles from hours in the gardens and a tan to match, he still seemed suitable presented as he was on my blue satin sheets. His blond curls adorned my pillow. His body trembled slightly. But it wasn’t his outward appearance that melded so well. I could absolutely witness the undiluted submissiveness in him. I could see it in the way his lower lip shook. I could see it in the way he held his body as still as he possibly could. Mostly, however, I could see it in his cock.

What a cock.

Matt’s erection pointed straight up toward the chandelier. His cock was proud, yes, but there was something in the way that the tip seemed to quiver, as if it was also slightly worried about what I would do next, that let me know he was submissive where it truly counted. He was submissive all the way to the tip.

My eyes still on my sub, I slid on a pair of thin latex gloves. Then I gripped his cock firmly in my hand. Matt sighed. He hadn’t expected this. I drizzled a tiny bit of lube down his unit, and then I slid my fist up and down his shaft. He shuddered in an attempt to hold back. When I held his balls in my rubber-clad grip with my free hand while I pumped him, he sighed. I put the tip of my finger between his ass cheeks, and he groaned. I tried to picture how he was feeling — what he was hoping for. Then I did what he wasn’t expecting. I kissed the head of his dick. I did this simply because I wanted to, because he was pleasing me with his form, because I needed a little taste. Matt’s whole body shook. I licked my lips and then undid my belt. Matt, if he were listening carefully, would have heard the snick of the buckle, the click of the fastening, the quiet hiss of the leather pulling free.

Cruelly, I did nothing. I stood by the bed. We were alone together. We were bound by our lust, by our desires. I did not want to rush. I wanted to appreciate every second of this evening. Matt was reaching his own boundaries, however. He wanted more. He was hungry for pain and for the abundance of pleasure that would so quickly follow afterward.

“Mistress…” His voice was yearning, begging.

“I’m here, Matt,” I said.

“Mistress, please…”

This was difficult for him, hovering in that place of wonder and worry. I took a step closer. He heard my heels on the floor. Then I doubled up the belt in my hand and cracked the leather. He jumped and then settled into the silky heaven of my sheets. I hadn’t touched him with the belt.

This time, I was the one to speak. “Matt…”

I started.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Do you want to feel my belt?”

“Oh, yes, Mistress.”

“Where do you want to feel my belt?”

He didn’t answer right away. I think that’s because wanting something and asking for that something are two very different situations. If I guessed what he wanted and merely took care of him, then he would have almost no responsibility for the scene. He was merely there, a plaything. A plaything who would undoubtedly get his rocks off, shooting in a rush on his lower belly, but a plaything nonetheless. If I made him participate, then he was verbally acknowledging — even requesting — the pain and pleasure I was looking to mete out.

This is a difficult concept for many subs. Matt was no different, but he happily rose to my occasion. He said, “On my ass, Mistress,” so I had him roll over, gingerly roll over, because his cock was so fucking hard at this point that it was like rolling over with a steel pipe between his legs.

I could imagine the way my sheets felt against his shaft. I knew that Matt appreciated the luxurious sleekness because he sighed softly as his dick dug into the bedding.

When I snapped the belt again, he flinched. I saw his ass tighten and release. He was dying for me to stripe him with my red leather. Truth be told, I was desperate as well. But this evening was all about waiting and wanting. I needed to take this slowly. I wanted to appreciate every subtle nuance, every shift of Matt’s hips on the sheets, every flicker of desire in his form. He still had the blindfold on. He was lost in the haze of hopefulness.

Suddenly, I could wait no longer. Matt needed this and I needed this. What was the point in withholding what we both so desperately desired? I struck him with my belt, and he sighed. His wrists rattled the handcuff chain. But his body absorbed the blow easily and quickly, and I could tell in a heartbeat that he was ready for more. I struck again. He went through the motions once more. To make sure we were on the same erotic page, I reached one hand beneath his body and fondled his dick. He almost went off in my embrace. I could sense how close he was, and I thought that if I whipped him steadily, there was a chance he would come from that act alone.

Once the thought appeared in my mind, I had to see if I could make the experience happen. Both for me and for Matt. I striped him again quickly, then landed another stinging blow. He was moving his hips in a seductive wag, which I allowed for the moment. I knew that the movement was gaining him some sweet friction against my satin bedding. And I knew he was making my sheets sticky with pre-come, as well.

“The crack of the leather on his skin was a lovely noise to both of us.”

As I lined up the next few blows, I flashed back to our initial evening together. When he’d arrived for our first date, he called me ma’am because he’d sensed something. Some power in me. I’d corrected him, saying, “Mistress,” to see if he’d understand, to see if he’d get what I wanted. He did. And that night had ended the way I knew this night would — with Matthew bound and punished, and me riding out my bliss on his gloriously mammoth cock.

The crack of the leather on his skin was a lovely noise to both of us. I felt my pussy growing wetter by the second, and I could tell that Matt was approaching his big “O.”

“Will you come for me if I whip you just right?” I asked him.

“Oh, yes, Mistress,” he promised me.

“Raise your hips a little higher,” I instructed.

Matt did as I asked, and I struck him harder and faster before letting one of my hands, still gloved, fondle his balls. He shot off like a bottle of champagne, his jism coating my sheets. He cried out as the climax ripped through him, and that noise made my own clit seem to twitch in response.

I was ready for a release of my own. Matt would discover quickly what his submission did to me, how he turned me on, but that was acceptable. I didn’t need to keep him in the dark on this. Not literally, nor figuratively. I took off my gloves, and then I removed his blindfold and undid his cuffs. Then I had him undress me to my bra and panties. Matthew took this job very seriously. He worked slowly, careful not to mess my clothes in any manner. When I was standing only in bra, panties, stockings and boots, I gave him the next instruction:

“Please me,” I told him.

He gazed at me, hoping, I think, for more information. I refused to offer him any additional help. We’d done this often enough. He ought to be able to figure out exactly what I wanted. On his knees, he pressed his face to my pussy. I sighed and pushed my hips forward. He tongued me through the layer of my panties. He was waiting for me to give him permission. Taking pity on both of us, I did.

“Pull them down, Matthew,” I said, and my own voice had a slight unexpected quaver to the tone. I was closer than I’d thought. Whipping Matthew had ramped me up quickly.

Matt tugged my panties down, and I stepped out of them. Then he resumed his oral onslaught, his erotically charged journey, using his tongue to tap on my clit, using his lips to tug on my nether lips. I was transported by the way he worshiped my pussy with his mouth. I stepped slightly wider to give him better access. He took it, really shoving his mouth against me, drinking up every wayward drop of my juices as he slicked his tongue around my hole.

I gripped the back of his head with my hands and rode his face, grinding my pussy into his mouth. I laughed when he appeared to be struggling to breathe between my thighs.

I groaned as Matt pulled my panties to the side and pushed his tongue up inside of me cheekily. Normally I would have reprimanding him for being too bold but today, I was thankful!

When I came, I used my hands to hold his head against me. I trembled all over with the force of my pleasure, and I let Matthew know with my body how much he’d pleased me.

“Good boy,” I grinned.

I released him, and he sat on his heels and looked up at me, expectantly. He wanted more. I could see the craving in his eyes. That was fine. I wanted more, as well. Because for me, this was one of those nights… when only a sub will do. Luckily for me, Matt craves the opposite, the flip of my desires. I realized as I tied him down again, this time faceup so I could torment his pretty cock, that he had an agenda of his own.

You see, for Matt, there are some special nights when only a domme will do.

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