Back when I was 22, I’d just broken up with my college sweetheart and began dipping a toe into the wider dating pool. My roommate at the time, Jane, was a few years older than me and worked in software development. During the week, she basically lived at the office, but when it came time to play, she actually proved to be quite the wingwoman. As an occasional sugar baby, Jane had developed a thriving network of admirers and contacts on the local party circuit. It was during one of our nights out that my erotic life came to an unexpected turning point.

As similar-looking brunettes with long legs and small busts, Jane and I could have easily passed as sisters, and we routinely swapped outfits. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror scrutinizing my bra-free boobs in a backless halter top when I heard Jane come in the front door.

“Hey, Christine? What are you doing tonight?” she called out.

“I was going to go see this new band I’d heard about. Why?”

Suddenly appearing behind me, Jane smirked and tickled my exposed back as she said, “Forget that — I’ve got us a better deal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m going out with Paul again — you remember him?”

“Is he the one who’s 50 and likes you to insult him after he takes you shopping?”

“No judgment. He’s sweet. And he wants to go to this party tonight where there will be other classy gentlemen of means.”

“Jane,” I began, “you know I love you, but I just can’t see myself doing the sugar baby thing.”

“You don’t have to,” Jane insisted. “Just come out with me and meet some people.”

As I considered her offer, Jane added: “Besides, you need to get away from those lame-ass college guys who all know your ex.”

“OK, point taken,” I said with a sigh. Deep down, I knew she was right.

Jane gave me a hug from behind and assured me, “You won’t regret it. Now come on — you need a cocktail dress, and as it so happens, thanks to Paul, I have plenty of them, and you know I share.”

I borrowed Jane’s black one-shoulder number, and she wore her silver satin slip dress; neither of us bothered with bras. As we teetered down the street in our high heels and hailed a cab, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window, and I felt a sudden rush of confidence. 

Paul greeted us with a smile and plenty of champagne, and after the initial pleasantries, he and Jane looked at each other in a conspiratorial way.

“Listen, there’s someone we both think you should meet,” Paul said.

“Oh?”

Jane nodded and told me, “He’s smart, charming, handsome, and a partner at a — ”

I held up a hand and asked, “What’s the catch?”

“It’s not a catch, so much as it is a … character trait,” Jane explained gently.

“That’s a good word for it,” Paul added with a nod. “We all have our … things.”

“I don’t know.”

Paul leaned in close to whisper in my ear, “He likes to be dominated.”

“What?”

“You heard me: dominated. He gets super turned on by a woman who tells him what to do and how to do it. And from what I’ve heard from Jane, you don’t suppress any opinions, so … we both think you might enjoy each other.”

“Well...I guess it can’t hurt to at least say hello.”

“That’s the spirit! He’s a good guy. Go let your hair down,” Paul said, raising his glass in salute as Jane took me to the bar.

Patrick was seated there alone in the corner; and to my delight, his charm, good looks, and brains were just as Jane had described. He was at least six-foot-four with dark hair and deep blue eyes. I felt myself swooning a bit within the first few moments of our conversation. I could tell he also felt a bit nervous. Once Jane excused herself to return to Paul, I took a deep breath and tried to break the ice a little more.

“So, did she try to set you up with anyone else, or just me?”

Patrick laughed and told me, “No just you … because you’re the only one I’d inquired about. I’ve heard so much about you — but not enough.”

I felt my cheeks flush, but I also wanted to test out this “dominance” thing. So I put on a serious face and dove in.

“Is that right?” I leaned in. “What would you like to know, Patrick?”

He inhaled sharply and replied, “Frankly, I’d like to know everything. Maybe we could go somewhere more private?”

“I don’t think so.” I crossed my arms. “Who says you’ve earned that privilege? I’m inclined to say shame on you for being so presumptuous.”

“You’re right, you’re so right. I’m sorry.”

“No blubbering.” I interjected. “I’m not interested in excuses or apologies, Patrick. I want you to prove to me right here in front of everyone how much you respect me.” In that moment, I had no idea where those words came from — but they worked like a fucking charm!

Patrick grinned — as if grateful — and then, to my total and complete shock, he dropped to his knees and began kissing my feet — in full view of the entire room! He started by kissing my leather pumps, but then gently lifted my stocking-covered foot out of my shoe and sucked on my big toe.

As much as I was shocked, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t aroused, as well. The moment he put my toe in his mouth, I felt an electric current shooting up through my calf and thigh — and heading straight to my clit. I clutched the edge of the bar for balance and tried to maintain my composure. I wasn’t so sure I succeeded.

“All right Patrick, I think you’ve proven your point.”

He stood up, clearly proud of himself. He leaned in close and took my hand as he asked, “May I serve you tonight?”

“You may. Call us a car, and let’s go.”

“You’re in charge,” he said happily.

He was handsome, and juices were already pooling in my panties. I had never been with a man who wanted to submit and serve me, but I was definitely responding to this new development in a big way. Turns out my friend and her pal were a good judge of character — and kinksters. 

I texted Jane to let her know what was going on. By the time I finished, I saw through the venue’s glass lobby windows that Patrick had not merely called a car. He had a black limo waiting to chauffer us away from the party.

“Where to?” Patrick asked, once we’d settled into the luxurious vehicle.

“My place.” I paused and took a deep breath before adding, “But you aren’t coming in tonight.”

“No?”

“No, but I’m going to let you make me come on the way there, and if you do a good job, I’ll let you take me out — for an entire night. How’s that?”

Patrick looked at me longingly but said sincerely, “That sounds wonderful.”

“Good. I’ll tell the driver where we’re going — and then you better get to it. It takes a bit of work to make me come.”

My swelling confidence was a real rush for me, and any lingering feelings of doubt melted away with Patrick’s first caress.

I let him kiss me once on the mouth, and then I relaxed into the leather cushions as he got on the floor in front of my seat and resumed his worship of my feet and legs.

Once he arrived at my inner thighs, he began to deliver the most delectable nibbles on my sensitive skin. His nips and kisses sent shivers all the way up to my nipples, and my throbbing clit was soon pulsing with arousal.

I moaned with pleasure and impatience, telling the boy: “I want to come. Don’t make me wait. I’m so fucking wet.”

He seemed amused by how quickly I was unraveling. He planted another set of kisses on my inner thighs, and then yanked my lace thong to the side, exposing my smooth shaved lips and peachy-pink clit.

“May I taste you?” he asked with reverence in his voice.

“Yes — you may — and hurry up!”

I tried to remain cool and continue to sound as though I was in control, but I was so turned on all bets were off.

Patrick teased me with more butterfly kisses to my outer lips, but then his whip-like tongue slid down over my clit and began to probe my inner folds.

I wiggled my hips as Patrick’s tongue slithered and flicked. I was desperate to experience every bit of pleasure possible. But when he slid two fingers inside me and started to suck my clit intensely, my pleasure turned into otherworldly ecstasy.

“Do you like how that feels?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

“Oh yeah!”

“Do you want me to stuff your pussy full with my fingers? May I?”

“Mmm, yes. More,” I told him.

I felt my slick juices leaking onto the leather seat cushion beneath me as Patrick continued to work me over.

Soon enough, the two fingers inside me became four, and between that and Patrick’s tongue on my clit, I began to ride a wave of multiple orgasms.

Thanks to Patrick’s oral proficiency, I had three climaxes before the limo came to a stop in front of my building.

As I caught my breath and adjusted my undies, Patrick made a show of licking my juices off his fingers.

“Can I see you again?” he asked.

“Yes, you may.”

I could tell my face was still flushed from coming so intensely. I’m not sure how serious I sounded. But it must’ve been enough because Patrick followed up with: “Thank you … Mistress. Is it OK if I call you Mistress?”

“I like the sound of it, so yes,” I told him with a smile.

“Thank you for an incredible evening, Mistress,” he said, dipping his head reverently.

As I exited the vehicle, I glanced back at him to say, “Patrick, I’ll expect you to pick me up here no later than 7 p.m. on Saturday evening. Make reservations somewhere nice.”

“Yes Mistress — with pleasure.”

I blew him a kiss and sincerely bid him goodnight.

From then on, Patrick and I became regular play partners until our careers took us to opposite coasts. However, the experiences we shared were quite formative and remain among my most precious kinky memories. Patrick was by no means my first lover, but he was my first true sub and the first man to honor and encourage my newly unleashed dominant nature.