Thankfully, she never expressed any curiosity about what was in my basement, the door to which I always kept locked.
We also just kind of fell into our Dominant/submissive dynamic. Five or six months after our first kiss, she was on her hands and knees, with me fucking her hard from behind, and I lost my grip on her bottom. I brought my hand up hard to regain it, resulting in an audible slap. To this day, I really don’t know whether I meant to spank her that night or not.
Really.
Had she reacted negatively, of course, I’d have simply apologized for losing control of myself, and we’d have carried on as before. But in the event, she moaned and lowered herself to her elbows, raising her ass in a clear signal that she wanted more.
I didn’t hesitate.
Over the next few nights, I got gradually rougher, pulling her hair as I forced my cock into her mouth, or slapping her face and tits as I fucked her. I paid close attention to her reactions, not wanting to screw up our relationship by crossing the line. But I never got anywhere near the line.
On the fifth night, I decided that it was time to make things explicit. When we got home from dinner, I pretended to be offended at something trivial she’d said or done, and I began to criticize her sharply. She couldn’t understand why I was getting angry, especially since I was well known for never getting angry about anything. But I didn’t give her a chance to think about it. I grabbed her by her hair, yanked her off the couch, and took her over my knee.
She struggled a bit, probably more out of surprise than anything else, but she stopped when I her gave ass a hard smack. She seemed to understand my intent. Her body relaxed, and instead of defending herself against whatever nonsense I was accusing her of, she simply whimpered, “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, evenly but firmly.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she corrected herself without hesitation.
“Very good. You are not to forget next time.” I hiked up her skirt, pulled down her pantyhose, and spanked her. I began with just my fingers in quick, sharp snaps. When I paused after half a dozen swats, she repeated, “I’m sorry, Sir,” which I took as a signal to continue. I spanked her harder and harder, using my whole hand. A few dozen strokes later, she started blubbering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over again, and her feet kicked up involuntarily in what’s known as “the spanking dance.”
I stopped, and she relaxed across my lap. I soothed her, stroking her hair and rubbing her warm, red (soon to be purple) bottom. Her blubbering quieted, then turned into sighs of contentment. My touch grew more and more intimate, until I finally inserted my middle finger into her pussy, stroking her between the labia. She was soaking wet. She moaned, looked back at me, and nodded.
We raced to the stairs, stripping of our clothes off on our way to the bedroom. In less than a minute, we were naked and fucking wildly, her on her back with me between her legs. Her desire was out of control, and I saw that she wanted me to control it. She reached back and grabbed two spindles of the bedframe, while continuing to move her hips against mine. I slowed my motion inside her, and she looked at me almost in desperation, showing me what she wanted with her eyes.
Without breaking eye contact, I removed my cock from her pussy. “Shhhh… Don’t move,” I said.
She lay still, breathing heavily and gripping the bedframe tightly, while I found her pantyhose, the only suitable object in the room. I quickly bound her wrists to the spindles, then knelt between her knees and started fondling her breasts and rubbing her nipples. She writhed and struggled for a while against her bonds, as though wanting to feel her own helplessness.
Then she raised her pubic mound, wanting me again. I re-entered her, and she came very quickly. She came a second time when I climaxed inside her several minutes later, then she went limp, panting, “Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god.”
We lay still, kissing for a few moments, then I untied her wrists, my cock still inside her. I slid out only when we finally rolled onto our sides. I wrapped my arms around her trembling body and held her tight, until her breathing and heartbeat slowed to normal.
A little while later, she lay with her head on my breast, one finger twirling my chest hair, and she said, “I suppose we should talk about that.”
“I suppose we should,” I agreed. “Have you ever done it before?”
“No,” she answered. “I’ve come close a few times, but… You know.”
“How did you learn about it?”
She laughed. “Well, there’s this new thing called Google, which you might want to check out.” I should have guessed. Ellen thoroughly researched anything that she was curious about, so I had to assume that she knew more about BDSM than I did, at least in theory. She continued, “Honestly, though, I don’t ever remember a time when I didn’t fantasize about it.”
“Fantasize about what, exactly?” I asked.
“About losing control. About feeling helpless and vulnerable. Having a man take me. Force me. Well, not really force me, but… You know.”
“Sure, of course. So no particular kinks or fetishes or whatever?” I continued to probe.
She shrugged. “I’ve watched a lot of BDSM porn, and it’s a mixed bag,” She answered. “Some clips get me wet; some turn me off; some — meh. It’s not really what the guy does, it’s more how he handles the girl. Could I see myself wanting the guy to take me, if I were in the girl’s spot? You know?”
“So it’s the power exchange,” I said, wanting to clarify. “Not the kink.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But mainly the trust needed to make the power exchange work. It’s tricky. A lot of guys have told me that they’re into it, but no one that I’d trust like that in a million years. There was one guy who I felt that I could trust, but he got all weird when I tried to talk to him about it. Made me feel like a pervert.”
“You’re not a pervert,” I said. “Do you trust me?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” she answered, looking up at me and smiling. “Let’s put it this way, I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“OK. But beyond the power exchange, are there particular things you’ve been curious about? Things you might want to explore?”
Again, she laughed. “That’s the third time you’ve asked me that. If you’re making some clever attempt to figure out what kinds of kinky things it’s OK to try with me, then stop worrying. I’ll say it as clearly as I can: For as long as I decide to trust you, I give you consent to do with me any damned thing you please.”
“OK,” I replied. “Well, if that’s the case, then there’s something in the basement that I think I should show you…”
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