dr_mabeuse
seduce the mind
- Joined
- Oct 10, 2002
- Posts
- 11,528
Here's the deal on this story. I'm trying to write a story (novella, probably) in which a maledom is topped by a femdom but in a semi-subtle way. This is part of the first chapter. She's going to become his Domme, but it's going to happen believably and slowly and mainly through love. She's not going to go in there with a whip and a chair. This is the first sex scene and it happens after they first meet and I want to know how it comes off. I want to know how it works as a meeting scene and a first-time sex scene.
This scene is ambiguous as to who's really in charge. I'm trying to walk a fine line here, to have him dommed without his really knowing he's being dommed, if such a thing is even possible.
It's kind of long so I've truncated it for you. The actual first meeting is when he saves her from committing suicide by jumping off a bridge into the Chicago River at 2 AM, which is a weird thing for a domme to do, but I think it fits with her character as I envision it, because, as I say, she's not a hard-core leather mama but a woman with doubts and fears and insecurities herself. He's kind of thinking of killing himself too, so this happy couple meets on the bridge, he saves her, and brings her back to his place, and that's where the scene opens.
I'll post the meeting-on-the-bridge scene in another thread should anyone want to look at it, but it needs serious work. This story started out as an M/f story in which Michael saves Beth from committing suicide and in return she pledges her life to him, to become his slave, but in writing it I just got so bored with writing M/f stuff that I just couldn't take it anymore. Still, the meeting-on-the-bridge retains a lot of M/f character that has to be changed to M/F.
I apologize for the length. A lot of it is just dialogue though.
She was numb, like she was stunned, and she didn't stop crying till I parked in the alley behind my place and dragged her upstairs, turned her around and sat her down on the sofa.
I poured her some whiskey and gave it to her.
"I don’t want it," she said.
I nodded. It made sense to me. I don't know why they're always offering people drinks in the movies. What she needed was some Thorazine or Demerol to knock her out.
Instead she sat there, looking around my place and rubbing her eyes. I lived in a rear coach house, an ancient place of uneven floors, high ceilings, and crooked windows, stuffed with books and potted plants and paraphernalia from my job as a chemist at Wyandotte Pharmaceuticals, old flasks and condensers and pieces of glassware that had caught my fancy.
In addition, there were suspicious eye bolts in the ceiling and the doorways, some with chains still hanging from my last assignation with a woman here. I have certain specialized sexual proclivities I indulge in, and, living alone, I'm not used to having to hide the evidence. My last long-term relationship hadn't ended well, which was one of the reasons I was wandering around at night drinking and visiting that bridge, and which also perhaps explained the less that pristine appearance of the place.
"My name's Michael," I said. "You going to tell me yours?"
She sat there hugging herself. "You live here?"
It seemed pretty obvious to me. "Yeah. I do."
"Why'd you bring me here?"
"Would you rather go some place else? Just say the word. You have a home, I take it? Or is that gone? Is that why you were out there."
She stared at me for a moment and then said, "I'm married." She pulled off her glove and showed me a rather large diamond on her hand.
"Uh-huh. So there's trouble in paradise?"
"You wouldn't understand. You couldn't begin to understand."
I shrugged. "Well it's probably none of my business anyway. My only question now is what do we do with you? You want me to call you a cab or something?"
She sunk into her chair. "I'm cold. Do you have a blanket?"
"A blanket?"
I did. I have an aunt who's an inveterate knitter, and she'd made me several afghans, so I pulled one off the back of the sofa and spread it out on her. She gripped it tightly against her and I went over and turned up the thermostat on the space heater. The place is too old and quirky for central heat.
Now that I could get a good look at her I realized she was older than I'd thought. That stunt on the bridge seemed like such a teenage bit of melodrama that I'd assumed she was very young, but now I saw that she was all grown up; old enough to know better, old enough to command a man's respect. Her long red hair was a mess, but as she ran a brush through it I realized her haircut had been expensive, and so were her shoes and what clothes I could see beneath the afghan and her coat. She came from money, from luxury, and she was naturally vain about it.
"Things are totally fucked up," she said. "Fucked up beyond all hope. I don't have a home anymore. I don't have any place to go. I don't want them to get their hands on me again. They're the ones who drove me to this. God knows what they'll do if they find out about this!"
I sat down in a chair opposite her. "And just who are you talking about?"
"My husband. His family. My mother. It's like a damned gothic novel. I want a separation. I need a divorce but he won't give it to me. Because he's a bastard and he's got everyone on his side, and what am I supposed to do?"
"Why don't you tell me about it?" I was curious, but I was more involved in watching her brush her hair, which was as thick as taffy. "Just who are you?"
She dropped the top of the blanket now and even unbuttoned her coat. She was wearing a rust colored jacket beneath and a dark brown, silky blouse. I saw now that the scarves matched her blouse very nicely.
"Look. You don't know who I am and I don't know who you are and I like it that way. Really, you don't know what a relief it is not to be known. Let's keep things like that."
"Oh?" I asked. "Should I know who you are?"
"You might. If you traveled in the right circles you might. What sort of business are you in?"
"I'm a chemist."
"A chemist? Must be nice. Not much money in that. You don't have to worry about people fighting about it all the time." She sighed and looked away. "You probably wouldn't know me, then. You can call me Beth."
"Okay, Beth," I said. "Now, what are we going to do with you?"
Her eyes suddenly looked sad. "Please don’t say things like that. That's the way they talk about me, like I'm some problem."
"I'm sorry," I said, and I was. "But you're something of a problem to me. You can't really stay here."
She looked around, looked down at the sofa she was sitting on.
"Why not? I won't be a bother. I can just sleep on the couch here."
"Beth, I don't know you from Adam, and you don't know me. I mean, spending the night in a stranger's apartment…?"
She was looking at the chains hanging from the screw-eyes in the ceiling. They'd been up there so long I'd forgotten about them, in fact I'd taken to hanging my clothes from them when I came in from the dry cleaners, though there were no clothes up there now, thank God. She might have thought I used them for exercise or something, but there was a matching set of screw eyes set into a board on the floor beneath them, and then there was a lamp table with a riding crop and a jar of sexual lubricant. I hadn't bothered to put anything away. The stuff had been sitting out for three weeks.
She stared at them and I watched her, then her eyes flicked up at me and away. She said nothing but I felt my scalp start to prickle.
"Let me tell you what's happening," she said, shifting in her seat. "Maybe that will help you understand. I have some money. More than is good for me, probably. My husband pretty much married me for it as it turns out. It's not what you'd call a happy marriage. And now he wants to take it away from me. They want to have me declared mentally incompetent."
"They?"
"He and his family. He's got some brothers. Assholes."
"Uh huh. And so that's why you decided to jump off the Clark Street Bridge. To prove them wrong."
"Please. This isn't a joke and I'm kind of desperate. They've almost succeeded. I don't want to go back to that man."
"All the more reason you can't stay here. How's it going to look that you're sleeping around with strangers?"
"Oh, please. He could give a damn about that. He's already fucking all my friends. It's never been what you'd call an exclusive marriage."
I sat back in my chair. "Look," I said. "Why are you telling me all this?"
That seemed to stop her. "God, I don't know. Shouldn't I be?"
With the warmth generated by the space heater, I caught a trace of her perfume. She seemed so out of place among my things. She made everything seem so shabby and bachelorish.
"What do you want from me, Beth?"
"Let me stay here tonight. I have no place to go and I don't want to be alone."
"You can't."
"Why not?"
"Because you can't. I'm not in the habit of sharing my place with strangers. Unless," I said, "You had in mind being something other than strangers."
She wasn't surprised and she wasn't shocked. She just flipped her hair out of her face and said, "I don't think you'd like me, Michael. I don't take orders well."
"Who said anything about taking orders?"
She gestured with her chin. "I'm looking at a riding crop sitting on a table and some chains hanging from your ceiling," she said. "Unless there's a pet gorilla you're not telling me about, there's something kinky going on here. You don't look like the bottom type. Only a dom would let himself live in this kind of mess, and not a very good one. That's not quite my cup of tea."
I smiled. The look in her eyes was making my stomach weak—a natural glow that reflected the color in her cheeks.
"Very good," I said. "But I'm eminently flexible."
"Not flexible enough, I'd bet." She returned my smile and cocked an eyebrow. "Are you still offering that drink?"
She was in full seductive mode and she was powerful, and I was delighted with her despite myself, charmed.
I stood up. "Sure. Straight whiskey? Water?"
"Water. Not too strong."
I went into the kitchen and made two drinks, whiskey on the rocks with water. All the glasses were dirty so I had to wash and dry two, and it struck me how right she was. My place was a mess. It was as if I was suddenly being awakened from a dream of fog and apathy to find I've been living without plan or structure for God knows how many weeks, and I was dazed and embarrassed to find out the condition I was in..
I turned off the lights and went back into the living room to find Beth looking at my books. She'd taken off the blanket and her coat and in her tight-fitting jacket and shiny silk blouse she looked lithe and stunning. How could she have been thinking of killing herself?
I handed her her drink and we toasted. he fingers were long and slim, elegant. I found the thought that she was married strangely thrilling. I liked the way she hated her husband but loved her ring.
She looked at me over the rim of her glass as she drank, then lowered the glass and sat on the sofa
"Now tell me," she said. "Why were you out on that bridge?"
I looked for a place to sit, but sitting seemed wrong somehow. Beth indicated the space on the sofa next to her and said, "Sit," so I did.
I was going to explain, going to launch into some long story about spending the nights driving around downtown just to blow off steam so I could sleep, about having too much energy, being too wound up. I was ready to go into the usual spiel that I always told myself, but instead I heard myself blurt out the truth.
I said: "I think I was thinking of killing myself too."
She looked at me. "Yes. I thought so."
"I broke up with a girl four, five months ago. Jennifer."
"Ah. A girl."
"Best sub I ever had. And then we just fell apart. It got stale, you know? It got old. There was no…resistance there anymore, no challenge. Nothing left to discover. There was no meat to it, but I haven't have any rest since. Haven't had any peace. Days I work. Nights I drive around or drink. I don't know where I'm going. What I'm doing anymore. She was covering up some kind of hole, a kind of roaring emptiness."
"So you must miss her very much."
"I don't know. I don't know if I miss her at all, really. It's like what we were doing together just stopped working for me. It all got so predictable, so easy. It left me feeling empty."
"I know what you mean," she said. "I felt like that once."
"What did you do about it?"
She sighed. "It doesn't much matter what I did, does it? But you just reminded me how stupid it is to jump from a bridge over it. And there you were telling me to jump." She smiled.
"I didn't really want you to jump."
"It doesn't much matter. At least you didn't try and pick me up."
"Would that have mattered?"
"Yes. I really wasn't in the mood for that."
"Yeah. I can understand that." I took a drink. "So why were you going to jump?"
"Oh, I had a good reason. Because people are assholes and I wanted to fuck them all over. I don't think I really wanted to jump though. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could, that I had that arrow in my quiver. I like being prepared."
I looked at her. She was truly a beautiful woman. With her hair brushed now and the cold wind off her, she had a streak of pride that showed in her features not as arrogance but as a kind of intoxicating sobriety or level-headedness, a kind of wisdom. She sat upright in a way that was touching, given the slightness of her form and her curves. She was noble.
"You're quite beautiful, Beth. You know that?"
She looked askance at me.
"Still trying, Michael? You don't even know what color my eyes are."
"Brown."
"Wrong. Sienna."
"I never know what color sienna is."
"Well look!" And she leaned over and stared comically into my eyes so I could see her irises quite clearly.
"And you," she said. "Aren't much of an asshole for a male dom."
"Oh? Is that a compliment?"
"A big one. Or are you?" she smiled wryly at me.
"I don't know," I said. "Are you going to sleep with me tonight and find out?"
"No." She turned serious. "Don't ruin it, Michael. I like you."
"Ruin what? I saved your ass tonight and you say you want to stay in my flat. What am I supposed to think?"
"I thought you were mourning your lost Jennifer."
"You could help me forget her."
"You're not chaining me up. I don't do that."
"Okay. I don't have to."
"No. Forget it."
She stood up and went to the space heater as if suddenly cold.
"Tell me about your Jennifer. Tell me how you suffered."
"How I suffered?"
"Yes."
"Oh. You like that?"
"I just want to hear."
I sighed. "When we broke up I missed her like crazy. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, would actually cry myself to sleep. Real tears. I'd have to take long walks in the park and walk down by the lake. I thought about throwing myself in. I'd come back and want to masturbate to her, but I became impotent, so I couldn't even satisfy myself that way."
"That must have been terrible for you."
"It was horrible. To be horny and need to come and not even be able to get erect? It was agony. And then to be unmanned on top of it? To know the reason you can't get relief is your own failure as a man?"
"Yes. Are you still impotent, Michael?"
"No, thank God!"
Beth was standing with her arms crossed and was caressing her shoulders dreamily. "It's so romantic when a man suffers for a woman."
"Well it wasn't romantic for me. It was hell. Then I had to opportunity to take her back. She wanted to come back, and I realized it wasn't her at all. I was just done with her. Something was gone from our relationship, some magic, some bit of conflict that had given it life. It was all too easy, too available, and that's when the real trouble started. Because worse than pain is no feeling at all."
"And that's how you feel now?" she asked.
"More or less, yeah. Numbed out. Dead."
Beth didn't say anything for a few seconds, then, "Do you really want to sleep with me, Michael?"
I looked at her in surprise. "Well yes. Of course I do."
"You're not that numb, huh?"
"No."
"Tell me you do, then."
I put down my drink and sat forward. "I want to sleep with you, Beth. very much."
She smiled shyly. "No. Not like that. Say it like you mean it. You know..."
I did know.
"I want to fuck you, Beth. I want to grab you and rip your clothes off and fuck you till you scream."
"Mmmm," Her smile vanished. Her eyes were half closed. "But you can't. I won't let you. But would you like to get off for me, Michael?"
I looked at her, puzzled.
"I won't sleep with you, but you can masturbate for me."
I was stunned. "Are you kidding?"
"No. Of course I'm not kidding. I love to see a man masturbate. I'll even take my pants and blouse off if you promise not to touch me."
I was a bit incredulous. "Are you going to masturbate too?"
"No, Michael. I told you what I'd do. That has to be enough."
I stared at her for a long moment. Her face was composed and serene, her arms folded over her breasts. Only the pulse in her throat showed she might have felt any excitement at all.
I'm a dom. I'm used to giving orders and being obeyed, but it was obvious that Beth wasn't going to take any orders. I didn't feel like fighting about it though. She had me excited. With her proud, serene face and her lush red hair, the provocative tilt of her hips and the way she was caressing her arm as she looked at me, she had me aroused. Now she was inviting me to arouse her even more and suddenly there was nothing I'd rather do.
"Alright," I said. "Alright. What do you want me to do?"
"Take your penis out. I want to see you get hard."
I opened my pants and skinned them down to my knees. My cock was already filling with blood but still mostly flaccid, but as soon as I slid my pants down and Beth sidled over it started to grow, ratcheting up, getting bigger with each beat of my heart. She stood by the chair across from the sofa, her eyes falling casually on my dick. She said nothing, then, as my cock came to full attention, she murmured "That's so nice. I love to see a man get hard for me."
Her words gave me a thrill. I've never been an exhibitionist, but I surged with shameful pride now. I scooted forward till my ass was on the edge of the sofa so she could get a good look and Beth took off her jacket and began to unbutton her blouse. She popped the first three buttons and by that time my dick was high and tall and engorged with blood, throbbing.
"Go ahead, Michael," she said. "Do it. Beat off for me."
I gave a little laugh. "Are you giving the orders?" But she didn't answer.
I took my cock in my right hand and started to pump. I was hard, the skin stretched taut, and my hand felt good. I felt no shame, no embarrassment at all. The only thing I felt was a little dismay at being made to perform for her like a trained monkey, and I was a little ashamed at my natural male randiness, always ready to get hard and ejaculate under the most rude and unsavory conditions. I didn't even need for her to undress any further. It was enough just to have her there watching me and I was already prepared to ejaculate, to shoot my seed all over my belly. I was little more than a cum-puppet in this beautiful woman's hands.
"Slower," she said. "I want this to last a while."
I slowed my hand, which turned my pleasure into a kind of spine-chilling agony as my balls flooded with cum and lubricant spilled from my slit of my dick, making me moan inadvertently. Beth's fingers caressed the bare skin between her tits and idly stroked the nascent mound of her left breast as she watched me with what seemed like detached interest. She didn't seem to care whether it hurt me or not.
"What are you thinking about, Michael?" she asked idly as my hand slid the loose skin up and down on my steely stalk.
"You," I said. "I'm thinking about fucking you."
She smiled. "Good. I like that," she said. "How are we doing it?"
"Face to face. Ugh! I'm driving it into you! Hurting you with it! Pushing your knees up to your tits!"
"My," she cocked her head. "You're a violent one, aren't you?"
Each stroke of my hand was producing a dollop of pre-cum that slid down my shaft now and over my fingers, and my balls were aching. I started frigging myself faster but Beth said, "Slower, Michael. I want you to do it slower."
"Fuck you. I want to come!"
"Trust me. Do it slower. It'll be better this way."
"What?"
She peeled off her pants and folded them and laid them on the chair and stood there in her bikini panties and her silky blouse. I could see the bulge in her panties from where her labia pouched against the silky fabric of her panties, but more than that, the act of taking off her slacks and presenting herself to me had such erotic impact that I felt chills from scalp to asshole and I immediately slowed my hand to that agonizing rhythm she wanted once again, just to make it last, just like she said.
"Oh God, Beth! Let me come!"
"In a minute, Michael. Stop for now."
"Stop?!"
"Stop."
"Fuck!"
It took a huge act of will to stop, and when I did my cock was twitching and jerking, trying to reach the orgasm it had been denied. Beth finished unbuttoning her blouse and removed it to reveal a gorgeous cream-colored bra and a lithe, sinuous body that fit her underthings like a jewel in a setting.
I wanted her. I wanted to defile her and penetrate her. I wanted to pull her down and soil her and bite her and make her dirty. My cock was aching, throbbing with the pressure of pent-up semen howling for release, myhands aching for the sweetness of female flesh. I wanted to come all over her.
She swept her hair back behind her ears as if to keep it from even getting close to me and said, "Go on now, just a little faster. I want to see you come now, Michael. Shoot it straight into the air."
I began to beat off again and again she corrected me on the speed. Every time she watched to see how fast I did it and then made me do it just a little slower. It was maddening, delaying me, denying me, making my balls seethe with a maelstrom of boiling cum and making me writhe on the sofa till the whole lower half of my body was on fire.
"Jesus, Beth! Let me come! I've got to come!"
"Who's stopping you, Michael?" she asked sweetly.
And then I realized she was right: I was doing it for her, pumping myself so slowly just because she'd told me to, following her orders.
But I couldn't now. I couldn't speed up. I kept at that slow speed until I was in agony, and then that agony broke, and a tide of pleasure ripped through me, a tide of pleasure and relief like I'd never experienced before.
"Oh God! God! I'm coming!" I lifted my ass off the sofa and thrust out my loins and ejaculated three feet straight up, a giant shot of semen that arced into the air and fell back on my chest like a sky rocket to be followed by another and then a third, and then my balls just emptied themselves in a drooling fountain of cum that gushed from my open slit and flooded down my shaft...
This scene is ambiguous as to who's really in charge. I'm trying to walk a fine line here, to have him dommed without his really knowing he's being dommed, if such a thing is even possible.
It's kind of long so I've truncated it for you. The actual first meeting is when he saves her from committing suicide by jumping off a bridge into the Chicago River at 2 AM, which is a weird thing for a domme to do, but I think it fits with her character as I envision it, because, as I say, she's not a hard-core leather mama but a woman with doubts and fears and insecurities herself. He's kind of thinking of killing himself too, so this happy couple meets on the bridge, he saves her, and brings her back to his place, and that's where the scene opens.
I'll post the meeting-on-the-bridge scene in another thread should anyone want to look at it, but it needs serious work. This story started out as an M/f story in which Michael saves Beth from committing suicide and in return she pledges her life to him, to become his slave, but in writing it I just got so bored with writing M/f stuff that I just couldn't take it anymore. Still, the meeting-on-the-bridge retains a lot of M/f character that has to be changed to M/F.
I apologize for the length. A lot of it is just dialogue though.
The Girl on the Bridge (excerpt)
She was numb, like she was stunned, and she didn't stop crying till I parked in the alley behind my place and dragged her upstairs, turned her around and sat her down on the sofa.
I poured her some whiskey and gave it to her.
"I don’t want it," she said.
I nodded. It made sense to me. I don't know why they're always offering people drinks in the movies. What she needed was some Thorazine or Demerol to knock her out.
Instead she sat there, looking around my place and rubbing her eyes. I lived in a rear coach house, an ancient place of uneven floors, high ceilings, and crooked windows, stuffed with books and potted plants and paraphernalia from my job as a chemist at Wyandotte Pharmaceuticals, old flasks and condensers and pieces of glassware that had caught my fancy.
In addition, there were suspicious eye bolts in the ceiling and the doorways, some with chains still hanging from my last assignation with a woman here. I have certain specialized sexual proclivities I indulge in, and, living alone, I'm not used to having to hide the evidence. My last long-term relationship hadn't ended well, which was one of the reasons I was wandering around at night drinking and visiting that bridge, and which also perhaps explained the less that pristine appearance of the place.
"My name's Michael," I said. "You going to tell me yours?"
She sat there hugging herself. "You live here?"
It seemed pretty obvious to me. "Yeah. I do."
"Why'd you bring me here?"
"Would you rather go some place else? Just say the word. You have a home, I take it? Or is that gone? Is that why you were out there."
She stared at me for a moment and then said, "I'm married." She pulled off her glove and showed me a rather large diamond on her hand.
"Uh-huh. So there's trouble in paradise?"
"You wouldn't understand. You couldn't begin to understand."
I shrugged. "Well it's probably none of my business anyway. My only question now is what do we do with you? You want me to call you a cab or something?"
She sunk into her chair. "I'm cold. Do you have a blanket?"
"A blanket?"
I did. I have an aunt who's an inveterate knitter, and she'd made me several afghans, so I pulled one off the back of the sofa and spread it out on her. She gripped it tightly against her and I went over and turned up the thermostat on the space heater. The place is too old and quirky for central heat.
Now that I could get a good look at her I realized she was older than I'd thought. That stunt on the bridge seemed like such a teenage bit of melodrama that I'd assumed she was very young, but now I saw that she was all grown up; old enough to know better, old enough to command a man's respect. Her long red hair was a mess, but as she ran a brush through it I realized her haircut had been expensive, and so were her shoes and what clothes I could see beneath the afghan and her coat. She came from money, from luxury, and she was naturally vain about it.
"Things are totally fucked up," she said. "Fucked up beyond all hope. I don't have a home anymore. I don't have any place to go. I don't want them to get their hands on me again. They're the ones who drove me to this. God knows what they'll do if they find out about this!"
I sat down in a chair opposite her. "And just who are you talking about?"
"My husband. His family. My mother. It's like a damned gothic novel. I want a separation. I need a divorce but he won't give it to me. Because he's a bastard and he's got everyone on his side, and what am I supposed to do?"
"Why don't you tell me about it?" I was curious, but I was more involved in watching her brush her hair, which was as thick as taffy. "Just who are you?"
She dropped the top of the blanket now and even unbuttoned her coat. She was wearing a rust colored jacket beneath and a dark brown, silky blouse. I saw now that the scarves matched her blouse very nicely.
"Look. You don't know who I am and I don't know who you are and I like it that way. Really, you don't know what a relief it is not to be known. Let's keep things like that."
"Oh?" I asked. "Should I know who you are?"
"You might. If you traveled in the right circles you might. What sort of business are you in?"
"I'm a chemist."
"A chemist? Must be nice. Not much money in that. You don't have to worry about people fighting about it all the time." She sighed and looked away. "You probably wouldn't know me, then. You can call me Beth."
"Okay, Beth," I said. "Now, what are we going to do with you?"
Her eyes suddenly looked sad. "Please don’t say things like that. That's the way they talk about me, like I'm some problem."
"I'm sorry," I said, and I was. "But you're something of a problem to me. You can't really stay here."
She looked around, looked down at the sofa she was sitting on.
"Why not? I won't be a bother. I can just sleep on the couch here."
"Beth, I don't know you from Adam, and you don't know me. I mean, spending the night in a stranger's apartment…?"
She was looking at the chains hanging from the screw-eyes in the ceiling. They'd been up there so long I'd forgotten about them, in fact I'd taken to hanging my clothes from them when I came in from the dry cleaners, though there were no clothes up there now, thank God. She might have thought I used them for exercise or something, but there was a matching set of screw eyes set into a board on the floor beneath them, and then there was a lamp table with a riding crop and a jar of sexual lubricant. I hadn't bothered to put anything away. The stuff had been sitting out for three weeks.
She stared at them and I watched her, then her eyes flicked up at me and away. She said nothing but I felt my scalp start to prickle.
"Let me tell you what's happening," she said, shifting in her seat. "Maybe that will help you understand. I have some money. More than is good for me, probably. My husband pretty much married me for it as it turns out. It's not what you'd call a happy marriage. And now he wants to take it away from me. They want to have me declared mentally incompetent."
"They?"
"He and his family. He's got some brothers. Assholes."
"Uh huh. And so that's why you decided to jump off the Clark Street Bridge. To prove them wrong."
"Please. This isn't a joke and I'm kind of desperate. They've almost succeeded. I don't want to go back to that man."
"All the more reason you can't stay here. How's it going to look that you're sleeping around with strangers?"
"Oh, please. He could give a damn about that. He's already fucking all my friends. It's never been what you'd call an exclusive marriage."
I sat back in my chair. "Look," I said. "Why are you telling me all this?"
That seemed to stop her. "God, I don't know. Shouldn't I be?"
With the warmth generated by the space heater, I caught a trace of her perfume. She seemed so out of place among my things. She made everything seem so shabby and bachelorish.
"What do you want from me, Beth?"
"Let me stay here tonight. I have no place to go and I don't want to be alone."
"You can't."
"Why not?"
"Because you can't. I'm not in the habit of sharing my place with strangers. Unless," I said, "You had in mind being something other than strangers."
She wasn't surprised and she wasn't shocked. She just flipped her hair out of her face and said, "I don't think you'd like me, Michael. I don't take orders well."
"Who said anything about taking orders?"
She gestured with her chin. "I'm looking at a riding crop sitting on a table and some chains hanging from your ceiling," she said. "Unless there's a pet gorilla you're not telling me about, there's something kinky going on here. You don't look like the bottom type. Only a dom would let himself live in this kind of mess, and not a very good one. That's not quite my cup of tea."
I smiled. The look in her eyes was making my stomach weak—a natural glow that reflected the color in her cheeks.
"Very good," I said. "But I'm eminently flexible."
"Not flexible enough, I'd bet." She returned my smile and cocked an eyebrow. "Are you still offering that drink?"
She was in full seductive mode and she was powerful, and I was delighted with her despite myself, charmed.
I stood up. "Sure. Straight whiskey? Water?"
"Water. Not too strong."
I went into the kitchen and made two drinks, whiskey on the rocks with water. All the glasses were dirty so I had to wash and dry two, and it struck me how right she was. My place was a mess. It was as if I was suddenly being awakened from a dream of fog and apathy to find I've been living without plan or structure for God knows how many weeks, and I was dazed and embarrassed to find out the condition I was in..
I turned off the lights and went back into the living room to find Beth looking at my books. She'd taken off the blanket and her coat and in her tight-fitting jacket and shiny silk blouse she looked lithe and stunning. How could she have been thinking of killing herself?
I handed her her drink and we toasted. he fingers were long and slim, elegant. I found the thought that she was married strangely thrilling. I liked the way she hated her husband but loved her ring.
She looked at me over the rim of her glass as she drank, then lowered the glass and sat on the sofa
"Now tell me," she said. "Why were you out on that bridge?"
I looked for a place to sit, but sitting seemed wrong somehow. Beth indicated the space on the sofa next to her and said, "Sit," so I did.
I was going to explain, going to launch into some long story about spending the nights driving around downtown just to blow off steam so I could sleep, about having too much energy, being too wound up. I was ready to go into the usual spiel that I always told myself, but instead I heard myself blurt out the truth.
I said: "I think I was thinking of killing myself too."
She looked at me. "Yes. I thought so."
"I broke up with a girl four, five months ago. Jennifer."
"Ah. A girl."
"Best sub I ever had. And then we just fell apart. It got stale, you know? It got old. There was no…resistance there anymore, no challenge. Nothing left to discover. There was no meat to it, but I haven't have any rest since. Haven't had any peace. Days I work. Nights I drive around or drink. I don't know where I'm going. What I'm doing anymore. She was covering up some kind of hole, a kind of roaring emptiness."
"So you must miss her very much."
"I don't know. I don't know if I miss her at all, really. It's like what we were doing together just stopped working for me. It all got so predictable, so easy. It left me feeling empty."
"I know what you mean," she said. "I felt like that once."
"What did you do about it?"
She sighed. "It doesn't much matter what I did, does it? But you just reminded me how stupid it is to jump from a bridge over it. And there you were telling me to jump." She smiled.
"I didn't really want you to jump."
"It doesn't much matter. At least you didn't try and pick me up."
"Would that have mattered?"
"Yes. I really wasn't in the mood for that."
"Yeah. I can understand that." I took a drink. "So why were you going to jump?"
"Oh, I had a good reason. Because people are assholes and I wanted to fuck them all over. I don't think I really wanted to jump though. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could, that I had that arrow in my quiver. I like being prepared."
I looked at her. She was truly a beautiful woman. With her hair brushed now and the cold wind off her, she had a streak of pride that showed in her features not as arrogance but as a kind of intoxicating sobriety or level-headedness, a kind of wisdom. She sat upright in a way that was touching, given the slightness of her form and her curves. She was noble.
"You're quite beautiful, Beth. You know that?"
She looked askance at me.
"Still trying, Michael? You don't even know what color my eyes are."
"Brown."
"Wrong. Sienna."
"I never know what color sienna is."
"Well look!" And she leaned over and stared comically into my eyes so I could see her irises quite clearly.
"And you," she said. "Aren't much of an asshole for a male dom."
"Oh? Is that a compliment?"
"A big one. Or are you?" she smiled wryly at me.
"I don't know," I said. "Are you going to sleep with me tonight and find out?"
"No." She turned serious. "Don't ruin it, Michael. I like you."
"Ruin what? I saved your ass tonight and you say you want to stay in my flat. What am I supposed to think?"
"I thought you were mourning your lost Jennifer."
"You could help me forget her."
"You're not chaining me up. I don't do that."
"Okay. I don't have to."
"No. Forget it."
She stood up and went to the space heater as if suddenly cold.
"Tell me about your Jennifer. Tell me how you suffered."
"How I suffered?"
"Yes."
"Oh. You like that?"
"I just want to hear."
I sighed. "When we broke up I missed her like crazy. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, would actually cry myself to sleep. Real tears. I'd have to take long walks in the park and walk down by the lake. I thought about throwing myself in. I'd come back and want to masturbate to her, but I became impotent, so I couldn't even satisfy myself that way."
"That must have been terrible for you."
"It was horrible. To be horny and need to come and not even be able to get erect? It was agony. And then to be unmanned on top of it? To know the reason you can't get relief is your own failure as a man?"
"Yes. Are you still impotent, Michael?"
"No, thank God!"
Beth was standing with her arms crossed and was caressing her shoulders dreamily. "It's so romantic when a man suffers for a woman."
"Well it wasn't romantic for me. It was hell. Then I had to opportunity to take her back. She wanted to come back, and I realized it wasn't her at all. I was just done with her. Something was gone from our relationship, some magic, some bit of conflict that had given it life. It was all too easy, too available, and that's when the real trouble started. Because worse than pain is no feeling at all."
"And that's how you feel now?" she asked.
"More or less, yeah. Numbed out. Dead."
Beth didn't say anything for a few seconds, then, "Do you really want to sleep with me, Michael?"
I looked at her in surprise. "Well yes. Of course I do."
"You're not that numb, huh?"
"No."
"Tell me you do, then."
I put down my drink and sat forward. "I want to sleep with you, Beth. very much."
She smiled shyly. "No. Not like that. Say it like you mean it. You know..."
I did know.
"I want to fuck you, Beth. I want to grab you and rip your clothes off and fuck you till you scream."
"Mmmm," Her smile vanished. Her eyes were half closed. "But you can't. I won't let you. But would you like to get off for me, Michael?"
I looked at her, puzzled.
"I won't sleep with you, but you can masturbate for me."
I was stunned. "Are you kidding?"
"No. Of course I'm not kidding. I love to see a man masturbate. I'll even take my pants and blouse off if you promise not to touch me."
I was a bit incredulous. "Are you going to masturbate too?"
"No, Michael. I told you what I'd do. That has to be enough."
I stared at her for a long moment. Her face was composed and serene, her arms folded over her breasts. Only the pulse in her throat showed she might have felt any excitement at all.
I'm a dom. I'm used to giving orders and being obeyed, but it was obvious that Beth wasn't going to take any orders. I didn't feel like fighting about it though. She had me excited. With her proud, serene face and her lush red hair, the provocative tilt of her hips and the way she was caressing her arm as she looked at me, she had me aroused. Now she was inviting me to arouse her even more and suddenly there was nothing I'd rather do.
"Alright," I said. "Alright. What do you want me to do?"
"Take your penis out. I want to see you get hard."
I opened my pants and skinned them down to my knees. My cock was already filling with blood but still mostly flaccid, but as soon as I slid my pants down and Beth sidled over it started to grow, ratcheting up, getting bigger with each beat of my heart. She stood by the chair across from the sofa, her eyes falling casually on my dick. She said nothing, then, as my cock came to full attention, she murmured "That's so nice. I love to see a man get hard for me."
Her words gave me a thrill. I've never been an exhibitionist, but I surged with shameful pride now. I scooted forward till my ass was on the edge of the sofa so she could get a good look and Beth took off her jacket and began to unbutton her blouse. She popped the first three buttons and by that time my dick was high and tall and engorged with blood, throbbing.
"Go ahead, Michael," she said. "Do it. Beat off for me."
I gave a little laugh. "Are you giving the orders?" But she didn't answer.
I took my cock in my right hand and started to pump. I was hard, the skin stretched taut, and my hand felt good. I felt no shame, no embarrassment at all. The only thing I felt was a little dismay at being made to perform for her like a trained monkey, and I was a little ashamed at my natural male randiness, always ready to get hard and ejaculate under the most rude and unsavory conditions. I didn't even need for her to undress any further. It was enough just to have her there watching me and I was already prepared to ejaculate, to shoot my seed all over my belly. I was little more than a cum-puppet in this beautiful woman's hands.
"Slower," she said. "I want this to last a while."
I slowed my hand, which turned my pleasure into a kind of spine-chilling agony as my balls flooded with cum and lubricant spilled from my slit of my dick, making me moan inadvertently. Beth's fingers caressed the bare skin between her tits and idly stroked the nascent mound of her left breast as she watched me with what seemed like detached interest. She didn't seem to care whether it hurt me or not.
"What are you thinking about, Michael?" she asked idly as my hand slid the loose skin up and down on my steely stalk.
"You," I said. "I'm thinking about fucking you."
She smiled. "Good. I like that," she said. "How are we doing it?"
"Face to face. Ugh! I'm driving it into you! Hurting you with it! Pushing your knees up to your tits!"
"My," she cocked her head. "You're a violent one, aren't you?"
Each stroke of my hand was producing a dollop of pre-cum that slid down my shaft now and over my fingers, and my balls were aching. I started frigging myself faster but Beth said, "Slower, Michael. I want you to do it slower."
"Fuck you. I want to come!"
"Trust me. Do it slower. It'll be better this way."
"What?"
She peeled off her pants and folded them and laid them on the chair and stood there in her bikini panties and her silky blouse. I could see the bulge in her panties from where her labia pouched against the silky fabric of her panties, but more than that, the act of taking off her slacks and presenting herself to me had such erotic impact that I felt chills from scalp to asshole and I immediately slowed my hand to that agonizing rhythm she wanted once again, just to make it last, just like she said.
"Oh God, Beth! Let me come!"
"In a minute, Michael. Stop for now."
"Stop?!"
"Stop."
"Fuck!"
It took a huge act of will to stop, and when I did my cock was twitching and jerking, trying to reach the orgasm it had been denied. Beth finished unbuttoning her blouse and removed it to reveal a gorgeous cream-colored bra and a lithe, sinuous body that fit her underthings like a jewel in a setting.
I wanted her. I wanted to defile her and penetrate her. I wanted to pull her down and soil her and bite her and make her dirty. My cock was aching, throbbing with the pressure of pent-up semen howling for release, myhands aching for the sweetness of female flesh. I wanted to come all over her.
She swept her hair back behind her ears as if to keep it from even getting close to me and said, "Go on now, just a little faster. I want to see you come now, Michael. Shoot it straight into the air."
I began to beat off again and again she corrected me on the speed. Every time she watched to see how fast I did it and then made me do it just a little slower. It was maddening, delaying me, denying me, making my balls seethe with a maelstrom of boiling cum and making me writhe on the sofa till the whole lower half of my body was on fire.
"Jesus, Beth! Let me come! I've got to come!"
"Who's stopping you, Michael?" she asked sweetly.
And then I realized she was right: I was doing it for her, pumping myself so slowly just because she'd told me to, following her orders.
But I couldn't now. I couldn't speed up. I kept at that slow speed until I was in agony, and then that agony broke, and a tide of pleasure ripped through me, a tide of pleasure and relief like I'd never experienced before.
"Oh God! God! I'm coming!" I lifted my ass off the sofa and thrust out my loins and ejaculated three feet straight up, a giant shot of semen that arced into the air and fell back on my chest like a sky rocket to be followed by another and then a third, and then my balls just emptied themselves in a drooling fountain of cum that gushed from my open slit and flooded down my shaft...
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