“I want you ready.” He knew what ready meant, and answered with a salute in his voice, “Yes mistress. My pleasure.” He finished the dinner preparations and put the lasagna in the oven. Then he took a shower and shaved himself clean. His owner enjoyed quite a bit of oral. Reciprocally, she was the best he’d ever experienced and over the years he’d learned the art of cuntilingus. He found it ironic he’d bow, scrape, and literally serve and service a dominatrix. He wasn’t a submissive, at least not by pathology, but he’d now protect, defend, and yes even kill, for the female who claimed him as hers. He’d certainly endure pain, and he thoroughly enjoyed pleasing her. Sometimes she let him take over, sometimes she liked him to assert, but he was never certain where her cravings would lead. She was a sadist after all, and being in control, or the illusion of control, was what she most desired. He was not a sadist, and before would not have identified with the heading of, masochist. He could however take quite a bit of pain and over the years learned how to harness, turn it, and use it. Perhaps now he was changed enough to say he was a masochistic submissive. His role wasn’t as populated with men as it was with petite, helpless females, but in the world of fetishes, bondage, sadists, dominants and submissives, nothing was off limits, and all the roles were celebrated. After all, one cannot flourish without the other. What he never anticipated, and if told, wouldn’t have believed, was the amount of power the submissive actually held. It was an indescribable dynamic within this anything-but-vanilla relationship. For all appearances, it was her who held all the cards and wielded the whip, literally. But as the one enduring, and pleasing, and surrendering, it was he who was exalted, praised, and almost worshipped. She continually commended him for his strengths and fortitude. He was her second, her other, her best friend, protector and lover. Their communication was always therapeutic, never mundane. They were more open with each other than a therapist and patient, and it went both directions. She never belittled him for his role, and years into the maturity of their pairing, she still praised him for everything he did to make her life easier; never once taking him for granted or growing bored with him. In return, she gave him immense pleasure, one could even say, ecstasy was her game, and pleasing her quickly turned into his favorite sport. In most respects the situation worked out perfectly. He’d learned how to become a bit of a domestic emperor and in return she provided them with enough financial security they lived well. He drove a Tesla and they ate like kings. He wanted for nothing and for the first time in his thirty plus years, he was sexually satisfied. Sometimes, more than. He was provided time to work on his physique and follow his passion of becoming a fitness model. Well-honed male bodies, rippling eight packs and tight V lats were all the rage. Women were finally granted permission to objectify the male gender in the same way’s they’d endured. The only thing was, men loved it. He loved it. He was now exactly as nature intended. A sex slave and physically perfect specimen able to keep up with his mistress’s needs. If he’d lived the traditional dynamic and worked like all the other mundane men, he’d never have had the passion, energy or desire to fuck for hours on end. The cooking classes were a gift, but soon turned into a new talent. When the mistress closed her eyes and moaned around a mouthful of something he’d created, he realized it was yet another way of making love and giving pleasure. Now he was quite the culinary expert and he knew what was simmering away in the oven, was one of her favorites. He’d paired it with a Syrah from the cellar and was expectant for their meal later. No doubt it would be eaten after the first round of activities, and no doubt they’d partake naked, she might even ask him to feed her, which he loved doing. He double checked his scrotum for any wayward stubble and then quickly finished his bathroom ablutions. She would be home soon, and he needed to be in the dungeon, and ready. She often surprised him, enjoying the foreplay and fluffing required to get him to full hardness, but tonight her sparse communication was all he needed to know she didn’t feel like preparing him. He left the dungeon door open and spent a few minutes waking up his muscles. He did push-ups, squats and a few pull ups before planking for five minutes. Then he went to work on his cock. When she first approached him, she had no idea he was so well endowed. Their first encounter was as vanilla as they come, apart from her being the aggressor and asking him out. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Modern women were like that and he’d been approached before. He was a very attractive man. Once on this first date, he’d played the traditional male role. At least at the beginning of the night it was that way. She’d appeared somewhat aloof during dinner, and then over desert, she’d confessed her predilections. He’d initially laughed, but then considered when she mentioned some of her cravings. She might have been a few years his senior, but she was a stunning female. They’d gone dancing, and he could, which impressed her further. By the end of the evening, she’d let down her guard, and they’d ended up back at his place. Her tone had been dominant, not pleading. “I need you in my mouth.” Who was he to argue with that request? Most of the women/girls he’d been with, hadn’t liked or even offered; not that most of them could get in more than the tip in anyway. She’d insisted on undressing him, taking her time as if she were unwrapping a gift. He’d been in perfect shape back then, but his body had yet to harden into the kind of maturity he now possessed. She’d left his boxers till the last, admiring all of his other attributes before. He still remembers the look on her face when she freed him. He’d been statue erect and throbbing ready. His crown had glistened and his balls had felt like heavy weights. “Oh dear lord. You are him.” He hadn’t fully comprehended her meaning until a few weeks later. In the interim, she pursued him with a vigor to rival the hungriest of men. She was a potent female and she always got what she wanted, and she’d decided on him. Despite the protests that he was his own man, and had no desire to belong to a female, let alone in a non-traditional role such as she was requesting, she never faltered. His friends warned him, and yes she did appear a bit obsessive, but they didn’t see the whole picture. It was when they were together and alone that he saw the truth. She wasn’t mentally ill, bi-polar, OCD, or a stalker like his friends all perceived. No, she was genuine and simply had a much larger appetite than the average human; man or woman, it didn’t matter. She was more than everyone else in all situations, and she required someone willing to sate her insatiable appetite. Apparently he could. God knows, at that point, he was more than willing. Never before had he been with a female who wanted to fuck more than even himself. She’d licked her lips and begun slowly. She paused long enough to insist on a moment of eye contact. “You do not have permission to come. Is that understood?” Again he’d chuckled, thinking she’d have a difficult time getting him too. The only curse of such a large dick was the extended time it took to actually find release. He’d nodded and grinned and then jerked his throbbing organ until it tapped against his groin. He’d inadvertently dared her, something he later discovered you never do with a Sadist Dominant. “Good luck. Takes more than a lick to get me off.” It was a rare moment for his usually stoic mistress when she grinned and lifted her eyebrows, obviously accepting his unintentional challenge. There were no words after that, at least not that he could remember. She took control in a way he’d never imagined, and within a few minutes his knees were shaking and he feared falling down. Her hand massaged his balls as her mouth, her luscious, cavernous, wet, warm insistent mouth, took and plead and played him like an instrument. She was a musician of the highest order and she took all of him. She slid those luscious lips ever farther to the base, amazing him as she seated him deeply down her throat. Playing him with her muscles and vibrating the tendon with her tongue until he screamed in anguish, trying his hardest stop the rapidly approaching ejaculation. He’d never practiced holding it back. All the girls he’d ever been with had either not been able to take all of him, or had grown sore and tired before he could complete. Now though? Oh my god, now this alien woman was paradoxically insisting he give her his seed, but had yet to grant permission. Her left hand gripped his ass firmly, digging in her nails and insisting he stay there with her nose buried in his groin. Her lips, her mouth, her tongue and her throat all persisted in extricating the one thing he’d been ordered not to do. Thinking back, he realized even then he’d felt a kind of surrender to her. A need to obey and please. He was her soldier and she his general. She was right, he was meant for her. He just needed to be taught, and she was more than happy to oblige. He stayed himself as long as he could, and then strained through the confession. “I…I can’t hold it!” She’d increased her sucking, stroking and massaging. Almost angrily, but she’d not stopped, and when he tried to pull away, she’d hurt him with her nails, insisting he come in her throat. When he did, she swallowed him as if he were the cure. But then, as he was uselessly twitching through the biggest release of his life, she freed him from her mouth and bit his inner thigh until the skin broke. That was the first time he realized what pain could do to his body. He’d fallen to the floor, screaming in agony and attempting to push her away. She was strong and skilled and he was useless against her onslaught. She pinned his arms under her knees and then bit his right nipple, even harder, again leaving broken places. “Bad boy. You disobeyed.” “FUCK!” He screamed. She laughed and then pulled off her dress in one fluid motion, revealing her utter nakedness. He was still harder than he could ever remember being, let alone after already coming like a fire hydrant. “Now I’ll fuck you and this time you do not come until I say.” He yelled again when she sat on him, sheathing all of him in one fluid roll of her hips. He could feel where he filled her up and where he hit her cervix, but she loved it. Taking every inch of him and throwing her head back in abandoned, rapturous bliss. She rode him hard, pumping her sex over him and rolling her hips as he gave into the act. Within seconds and he was more than a willing participant. “Harder! Harder!” She keened. He grabbed her at the swell of hips and thrust himself as viciously as he’d never been permitted to do. Over and over he punished her with his huge, hard cock, and she only asked for more. Her body tightened around his, squeezing him as she flushed bright pink and her nipples tightened down to tight little nubs. She clutched his chin, again insisting on eye contact. “Come for me.” The words caught and stuttered out of her mouth as she seized. Then she slapped him, hard, hard enough to startle, but still he didn’t come. He couldn’t. He had to watch her. It was as if a goddess had chosen him, a lowly mortal, and he had no choice but to watch her ascend. She was in control enough to slap him again and the look she leveled him with seemed to travel directly to his throbbing shaft. He came again, and then again and by the time he was finished, he was certain his legs had vanished.
It always worked. He was more than ready now. He stood as per protocol. Fully erect, legs spread and hands behind his back. His cock throbbed in anticipation. Delicious scents wafted from the kitchen. The staccato of her heals down the marble hall was his only warning. “Hello my love. I see you’re ready. You please me immensely.” ~Too be continued. Flash erotica fiction from ~Payne Hawthorne