She threw herself at me

She threw herself at me.

Well, not really -- but it sounds good, doesn't it?

Actually she was standing too close to a tiki torch and when the wind blew the flame toward her, she leaped away from it -- and into me. It was rather nice having my arms full of a buxom blond who smelled like Lolita Lempicka. I helped her steady herself and smiled as she blushed and apologized profusely. The man I was talking to when she stumbled into me made introductions. As we shook hands, I noticed her wedding ring.

"Emily?" I said. "A lovely name for someone so warm and soft and sweet smelling."

The way she looked at me, I knew I'd read her right. Married she might be, but Emily liked girls. And dominants.

Our mutual friend Bruce laughed. He and Emily had a lot in common, apparently. Both were married, bisexual, and submissive. We chatted for a while, and I enjoyed the energy they sent my way. Subs do that in the presence of Dominants--they bend energy our way.

I turned to Bruce. "I brought my Sybian... if you help carry it in, I'll let you choose who rides first."

"Oh!" gasped Emily. "Me-me-me-me."

I smiled at Bruce and he gave his delightful laugh.



He laughed the same way when Emily climaxed later that night, her hips bucking on my Sybian and her eyes wide. She kept saying "OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod" like a Buddhist reciting a mantra that had her on the cusp of enlightenment. And maybe she was. She looked utterly transformed: luminous, uninhibited, joyous. Her hair was a disheveled mess and her nipples, her little pink nipples, were incredibly hard, the large aureoles crinkled up tight.

I had slowly been turning down the vibration on the Sybian as she slid down her peak, looking drowsy and replete, but Bruce gave me a thumbs-up sign and moved behind Emily. He kneeled and pulled her back against him, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and another under her ribcage. Once he had her secure in his embrace, I goosed the power on the Sybian. Emily's eyes popped open.

"NoNoNoNoNoooo," she screamed. "Make it stop!" Her head tossed from side to side.

"Ever heard of forced orgasms, Emily?" I asked her. I knew I had a devilish expression on my face. I love making women cum.

Emily shook her head wildly. She choked on something that could have been a moan or a sob.

Bruce slid his fingers down her belly. I watched him tease her clit as I stepped out of my skirt, leaving a pool of silk on the floor. As I walked toward them, my fingers flicked my right thigh, the thigh that the holster for my strap-on dildo usually rode on. But not tonight. Tonight my tool of choice was the Sybaan.

I stood over them and gave first Bruce, and then Emily, a kiss. Then I took her hair in my hand and pulled it downward until her upturned face left her no where to look but my eyes.

"You are going to eat my pussy, Emily love, and you are going to make me cum. You are going to cum on my clit, making it vibrate with the force of your own screaming orgasms. And only your being limp and senseless will make it stop."

I tightened my fingers in her hair and pressed her face against my pussy. With my other hand, I pressed the control box against my thigh and turned it to its highest setting. Bruce leaned into Emily, forcing her pussy and clit down against the machine.

When she came, it was with an explosion of hot breath against my clit that went off like an explosion in the back of my mind. The keening sounds she made were muffled against my flesh, but the vibrations rippled through me, pebbling my skin with wave after wave of gooseflesh.

So close! I pressed myself firmly against her face until I could feel the suction of her mouth and nose struggling to find air. She sucked pussy juice deep into her nostrils and then I set her free, letting her gasp for air. Mmmm. So close!

I watched as Bruce humped his cock against Emily's ass, a blissed-out expression on his face.

"Finish in her mouth," I instructed him.

Bruce staggered to his feet and moved to stand before Emily while I got behind her on the Sybian. Even without the dildo attachment the vibration of the machine was enough to make me cum. I wrapped my arms around Emily and humped against her and the Sybian as Bruce cradled her head in his hands.

As profane as the scene might have seemed to someone else, to us there was something transcendent and sacred about the giving and taking of pleasure, of the abandonment of inhibitions and fears, and the release of our primal selves in this ages old dance to the orgiastic, orgasmic beat of carnal love pounded out in the drums of our flesh until we fell asleep in a sodden, tangled heap, our bodies imperfect instruments of the tireless, divine spark within.

Quickie intimacy

The sun and the wind conspired to tease me. The sun glowed in a cerulean sky, and its touch on my skin was like a lover's smile, warming me from the outside in. The wind tickled me, dancing along my skin like my lover's fingers. My nipples peaked, the heat of the sun and the chill of the wind enflamed me, and I sighed languidly there in my lounge chair by the pool. My languor was interrupted by a shriek of laughter from my niece, a green-eyed coppery mermaid whose hair and skin were all of a color now that summer had kissed her. I lifted the edge of my big straw hat in time to witness my lover pop out of the pool, grab hold of my niece, and unceremoniously dump her back into the water. She came back up, gasping and spluttering, and I closed my eyes.

Water dripped on me. I opened my eyes to find him standing over me, barechested and bronzed, gleaming like a god. I moved my legs to make room for him and he sat by my calves, resting his hand on my thigh, just above the knee. It made me gasp, the coolness of his hand on my over-heated skin. My libido surged. My nipples crinkled up so tightly they ached, and my skin pebbled until it felt like every hair was standing on end.

"I miss you," he said to me, and his fingers moved in a minute caress.

"Mmmm," I sighed. I missed him too, missed the feel of his legs tangled with mine, missed pressing my lips to the smoothness of his chest, but my niece had supplanted him as my bed companion and would do so for another few days. Hell!

He was sliding his hand up my thigh when my niece called out his name. His fingers squeezed me and then he rose and with a few quick steps, launched himself back into the pool. While they splashed and played, I lay in the sun and dreamed of love.

* * *

My bedroom. She sat on my bed waiting for me to pull out a change of clothes, and when I turned around she was asleep on her side, limp as a kitten. She didn't wake when I unwrapped her from the towel. I left her in her swimsuit and covered her up, then slipped out of the room and closed the door behind me. I made my way quietly down the stairs with an eager smile on my face, only to find my lover stretched out on the couch, napping. Darn!

In the kitchen, I warmed some sweet almond oil and grabbed a hand-towel. He made sleepy noises when I sat on the couch and moved his feet into my lap, then moaned when my hot, oiled hands touched him. I massaged his feet firmly enough to hit his pressure points but not enough to hurt. He sighed and moaned and stretched his legs out. His fingers laced themselves just below his navel, and his cock moved a bit, thickening.

I poured more oil into my hands and slid them up his calves, massaging him with long effleurage strokes. More pleasured moaning from him as I worked up to his thighs, my hands alternately gliding and pressing into the muscles. His cock swelled and twitched when I reached his inner thighs. I worked his trunks down past his knees and squeezed that nice warm oil on his balls. He sighed and spread his thighs for me then, one leg bent and leaning against the back of the couch, the other draped across my lap. My fingers quested, teased, pulled and pressed. My slippery hands glided along his cock, bringing it to full attention.

And when I could bear it no longer, I straddled him. I straddled him and sunk down onto the thickness that jutted ceilingward and we both moaned at the long slow glide of him into me. Our hands joined, fingers entwined, and I bounced ion him, my white sundress concealing everything. I bounced and rocked and watched him, watched his mouth open, watched each gasp and moan percolate from him. The tension built and eventually his eyes opened wide and unseeing. His body tensed and bowed beneath me and I rose all the way up and slammed back down onto him, loving the feel of him inside me. I clenched on him, clenched and released, trying to find my orgasm in time with his, knowing that I had to come, come now, now now now because it would be days before I could come again.

I released his hands and placed mine on the arm of the couch, one on each side of his head, and I battered myself against him, grinding my clit into the stubble on his mound. His hands rose and he pinched my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, and I convulsed, opening my mouth on a silent scream as I came hard. Pleasure slammed my body again and again, rocking us both. And as I climaxed he bucked under me, bucked a few times, and then he, too, was coming, his face frozen and his dark eyes blank.

I sat astride him for a few minutes, catching my breath and enjoying the tremors and jolts that ran through me like the aftershocks of an earthquake. It was marvellous, a delicious and much-needed intimate interlude that was interruped by a little voice calling for me.

I lept up and tossed the handtowel to him so he could clean up, then headed toward the stairs, our fluids running down my thighs.

My Lord Is My Shepherd

HELP!

I texted him

I'M ALL WET.

Five minutes later my phone rang.

"1 900 Hot Babe," I answered.

"You need a plumber?" His voice, doing an impersonation that sounded like Mario the Mafioso.

"A plumber?"

"Yeah, you need some caulking for that leak?"

I laughed. Caulking indeed.

"As a matter of fact, I could use some cocking."

"A hot babe like you? Can't find someone else to cock her, has to call for a plumber?"

"Its an emergency!"

"They all are, lady."

"There is wetness everywhere. Please how soon can you get here?" The desperation in my voice wasn't feigned.

"Well..." he rolled the word around in his mouth. "If I skip my lunch hour, I could be there in 15 minutes."

"Make it 10," I said. "And I'll feed you lunch, too."

"Oh?"

"Yes, pie. Shepherd's pie."

Homecoming

Home was dark and lonely with my lover out of the country, and so I delayed going home for as long as I could. My friends were great, very pleased in fact to have me to themselves for an evening, but around midnight I thanked them for a wonderful time and left.

The drive home was a bit stressful. Fog had rolled in, covering Silicon Valley in a quilted blanket. As I drove down the winding road into the valley from the mountains around Los Gatos, deer materialized in the fog, grazing on lawns and watching me pass with curious dark eyes. I got turned around once in the dark and the fog and when I finally found the ramp for I-280 I heaved a sigh of relief. Shoulders I didn't know were tense suddenly relaxed.

An hour later, I reached San Francisco. I pulled into the garage and as soon as I did, I had thoughts of my cold bed. Tempurpedic it may be, with silky-smooth 1000 threadcount sheets, but the night was cool and there was no one to warm myself against. I felt a bit of melancholy, but chased it off with the mantra "Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'll be home."

I love the darkness. I've always found it friendly and embracing, and I have excellent night vision, so I didn't bother with lights. I walked straight up to my room and started stripping down. I was bent over, untangling my panties from around my feet, when hands seized my hips. I knew it was a man by the erection he ground against my ass.

Fear froze my throat. I couldn't breathe, couldn't talk. I wanted to pull away, but self-defense training kicked in. I leaned backwards, throwing my weight against him. He fell into the door, taking me with him. I dove my hands between my thighs, aiming for his balls, determined to emasculate my uninvited guest. Or at least stun him long enough to get away.

His "Ow! Kay that hurt!" saved his ambition to one day be a father. I knew that voice.

"You should know better than to sneak up on me you stupid idiot!" I hissed at him as I helped him move to my bed. The way he was rubbing his back it looked like he'd taken the doorknob in his kidney.

"I wasn't sneaking up on you. I told you I'd be here around One," he grumbled.

"I thought you meant 1pm not 1am!"

I helped him lay down on my bed, then crawled in next to him.

"I'm sorry baby," I said, and kissed him.

"I'm sure you are," he said with a grin in his voice. "Who knows when I'll be able to have sex?"

I ran my hand down his chest and put my head on his heart.

"I don't mind if you just lay there," I said suggestively, letting my hand slide farther down until I was cradling the warmth of him.

"Well I do!" He said, and pushed my hand away. "My back hurts!"

"How about I kiss it and make it better?"

"How about we go to sleep and try this again later?" he responded grumpily.

I threw my leg over his and kissed his chest.

"I'm glad you're home," I said, and gave him a big squeeze.

"I can tell. Some homecoming!"

Saturday Afternoon

We were over at a friend's house, leaning against the stone wall that separated us from a 300 foot drop into the ocean. The sun was shining and the sky was clear of any clouds. If we'd been further inland the temperature would have been in the 80's, but as it was, the ocean breeze was brisk enough to make me shiver once in a while. He put an arm around me and I nuzzled his neck. His body warmth and the naturally spicy scent of him immediately enthralled me.

"When we get home..." I started.

"Yes?"

"When we get home I want to tie you to my bed and ride you."

He made an interesting noise and pressed himself into me. I could feel his hardness against my belly. It was a tease and a promise.

A couple of hours later we headed home. I reached into the glove box for a toy and then reclined my seat. He didn't complain when I plugged the vibrator into the outlet, but he did shoot me an exasperated look that said can't you wait? My answer was to put my right foot on the dashboard and slide my left hand under my skirt. Waay up under my skirt.

Every guy fantasizes about having a girl who is always ready for sex, he told me once. Until he gets one and realizes what a nightmare keeping her satisfied can be. I chose not to take offense to this wry self-honesty on his part. I've found that my sex drive intimidates most of the men I date.

The drive home from Pacifica took seven or eight minutes. Enough time for me to have an orgasm and perfume the two-seater with the scent of pussy. When we pulled into the garage I leaned over and kissed him, teasing his mouth with my tongue. When he reached for me I opened the car door and dashed up the stairs.

He chased after me and caught me just inside the door. He pressed me up against the wall with his body and ground his cock against my mound, making me gasp when the seam on his jeans rolled over my clit.

I would have dropped to my knees right there if it wasn't for the fact that my mind was fixated on tying him to my bed. I wanted him that way. And so I grabbed his hand and pushed past him toward my bedroom, toward the scarf-draped hat stand that beckoned with promises of silken ties.

The Forfeit, part 2

(While this can be read as a stand-alone vignette, it is intended as a follow-up to this story.)

I massaged him first, anointing his flesh with faintly scented argan oil. From memory I recited the poetry of Rumi and Neruda, and parts of the Songs of Solomon, sensually guiding the words with their vivid imagery into his mind. I left no inch of him untouched, and when I finished, his body was completely limp with the exception of his cock, which I'd brought to full attention.

It took some effort to rouse him up off the massage table, and when he was vertical I had to help guide him over to my bed, where I put him on his back and bound his limbs with silken sashes. When I kneeled next to him on the bed his eyes fluttered open. They were warm and lustrous, the pupils dilated. He smiled at me, a slow, sensuous smile that brought my attention to his lips.

I leaned over him, slowly lowering my head until my lips hovered over his.

"I love you," I said, and as I said it I opened myself completely, letting the love flow from me.

"Mmm.... I love you too," he mumbled back almost drowsily, and pursed his mouth for a kiss.

How do you describe a kiss that commingles elements of the sacred and profane: awe and love and passion and desire? It was all there and more as we breathed each other in and let the energy flow between us.

I straddled him, and as I lowered myself onto him, as I worked the wedge of him into me, I felt myself splitting open on so many levels: physically, emotionally, spiritually. A prayer came to my lips unbidden, and as I sat, unmoving, upon him, I slowly recited, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul..."

His eyes opened, and he watched me, and his expression transformed from uncertain to transcendent in a few heartbeats. He felt it, I knew, that sense of the sacred that seemed to pervade our joining.

I leaned forward, moving my hands so they pressed into his upper arms, so the weight of my upper body restrained him further, and my eyes holding his gaze, I put my inner muscles to work. I sat unmoving astride his immobile body and yet we moved together, our PC muscles undulating. His cock twitched within the fist I made of my pussy, and it was intense, oh so intense.

We maintained the stillness as long as we could, but eventually his thigh muscles were clenching and releasing and I was swaying. I brought my hands up to my nipples and with one tweak I went off like a fireworks display, keening louder and louder. He convulsed under me, his entire body straining, pulling at the sashes that bound him to the head and foot boards. He lifted his head up off the pillow, his eyes wide and wondrous, and then his face contorted and his hips raised, lifting us both up off the bed. The power of his orgasm awed me, blew through me like the breath of God, and left me tingling with profound joy.

I untied his arms before I curled up next to him, drowsy and sated in a way that was soul-deep. My love for him and what we'd shared radiated from within. I felt like a small sun had been born inside me.

"We should do that more often," I whispered into his ear.

"Peace, woman," he gasped in response. "There is only so much God and sex the human body can take."

I smiled ruefully and nodded my head against his shoulder. I wondered briefly how many people really experienced Divine Sex, then drifted off to sleep.

The scent of a submissive

She squirmed delightfully.

Her squirming couldn't have been more artful if she'd intended it, but given her discomfort, I doubted she was aware of how she kept shifting in her seat. Normally, I would have been kinder to her, to this young woman scarcely out of her teens, but something about her brought out my inner sadist instead of the nurturer. It was the scent of submissiveness. Most cannot distinguish between vulnerability and submissiveness, but a natural dominant can taste it in the air, and this girl had my sub-dar beeping. She was aroused, embarrassed by her arousal, and aroused by her embarrassment. Hence, her squirming.

I leaned forward to stroke the backside of my footstool, Mika, who purred in response. A good girl, that one, very compliant, and eager, oh so eager, to feel a firm hand on her bottom. The front of my yukata fell open further, revealing more of the patent leather bustier that mounded my breasts impossibly high. From the corner of my eyes I saw the girl lean forward. Her breath caught.

I looked over my shoulder and gestured vaguely, and the boy came forward carrying one of my grandmother's porcelain tea services on a silver tray. Jacob served me one day a week, for two hours, and paid for the privilege of doing so. Apparently it is difficult to find a woman who appreciates panty-boys. He was honored that I'd chosen him for the humiliating task of serving tea to my vanilla guest wearing a ladies camisole, silk panties, stockings, and heels. His hair gleamed as silver as the tray when he bent over to place it on the table.

"Cream or sugar?" I asked the young woman when the boy had poured tea into a cup and looked in her direction.

"Neither," she said after a pause.

The boy handed her a cup, bowed, and then brought me mine. I tousled his hair as a reward and he gave me a tremulous smile. I snapped my fingers and pointed down, and he gratefully sank into a kneeling position beside my chair.

"Next question, Erika?" I prompted, reminding her of her purpose for being here. She'd asked to interview me. I'd tried to discourage her, but she was insistent, and in the end I'd admired her persistence enough to agree.

"How long have you been in this... business?" she asked. It was her third question.

"I've been a pro-domme for five years now."

She jotted a note, then asked, "Was it difficult to find a clientele?"

"Not really. There are many more submissives out there than there are dominants." I ran my fingers through the boy's hair. "Within a year I had enough word-of-mouth traffic that I had to turn people away."

Her eyes widened and she squirmed again.

"You have provided me with a list of the services you provide. Thank you. What I would like to know is why people pay to have these sorts of things done to them?" She cast desperately curious glances at both my footstool and the boy.

"Girl," I said.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Do you want to answer her?"

"If it pleases you Mistress, I will, but I would need to hear the question again." An elegant confession that she was not paying attention.

I let my hand fall on her left buttock with a loud smack. My footstool took it silently, with the barest flinch. Her bikini-clad ass flared out just a bit, begging for another one. As I leaned back, the tie on my robe loosened completely and the fabric fell open to reveal my full attire. Bustier, paddle, velvet boyshorts, and thigh-high boots. Erika's eyes widened just a bit, then shifted back to my footstool.

"Mika-girl, the journalist in training wants to know why you pay me to spank you. Sit up and tell her."

I removed my booted feet from her back and Mika sat up, resting her lovely broad bottom against her heels.

"Mistress understands me. She understands that I need pain in order to fully experience pleasure, and she knows that asking for pain does not mean asking for abuse...." Mika's sweet contralto trailed off for a long moment. "I trust her. I trust her to give me what I pay for, and to respect the terms we've agreed upon, which frees me to surrender to the experience--experiences I would not otherwise have without...without some personal risk."

"Personal risk?" My interviewer asked Mika.

Mika looked at me for permission to respond. I nodded.

"I have asked for what I wanted from boyfriends in the past, but they did not know what they were doing, and sometimes I was injured..."

"Oh. Okay. I think I understand," she said, obviously not really understanding.

"No. You do not."

I stood up, shrugged off the robe, draped it across the back of the armchair. Moving to stand before the girl, I took an assertive stance and watched her.

She didn't know what to do with her eyes. They jumped all over the place, bouncing from breasts to boots to the leather paddle swinging at my side. Her hands twitched, sending her pen flying. I gestured for the boy to fetch it and he brought it to me, palms up and head bowed.

I took the pen and tapped it against my thigh. Her eyes followed it.

"Why are you interviewing me, Erika?"

"I am working on a series for the Weekly."

"And why this particular topic?"

"Why?" she asked dumbly.

"Yes, why this topic?"

"I--Well, I---uhm, learned about your profession from a friend and I was curious and I couldn't find much out there in print so... so I pitched the idea to my editor and he said he'd consider publishing it."

"That is an answer, girl, but it is not the answer."

She swallowed. Her eyes met mine and were caught.

"You were more than curious when you heard about us. You felt a naughty tingle, something that delved into secret sexually-charged places in you. Didn't you?"

She nodded slowly.

"I've been watching you, girl. You are sexually excited by your perception of their humiliation and by your embarrassment over it. Don't bother denying it -- I can smell your arousal from here."

She blushed scarlet and squirmed half out of her chair.

I lifted my hand, palm open toward her, in a 'stop' gesture, and she subsided.

"I suspect that you have bondage fantasies. Something in you wants to be tied up, stripped, and put on display. You want to be embarrassed, humiliated, and sexually violated while completely helpless. But at the same time you don't, because you don't want the emotional fallout that comes from it happening for real. You've probably even played at being tied up, but it is never as exciting as your fantasies."

I leaned forward, took her chin in my hand and looked into her eyes.

"You are here, interviewing me, because you want to be subjugated, you want to submit, and you are curious as to whether or not a pro-domme can fulfill that want."

Silence.

She blinked. A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Come now, girl. Answer the question. Why this topic?"

"Something is missing," she whispered. "And when I heard about--about pro-dommes, I got excited on so many levels..."

"Good girl," I said. I collected the teardrop and rubbed it between my fingertips.

I strode over to the armchair, sat down, and gestured for Mika to lay across my lap.

Erika cleared her throat.

I shot her a stern glance. "This interview is over. If you want to remain, you will be silent. When I have finished with these two, we can discuss arranging a session for you."

I switched my focus to Mika, giving her my full attention. She was paying me for it, after all.

"Now, girl, it is time for your spanking. Will you need a ball-gag again this time, or are you going to be a good girl?"

"I think I will need the ball-gag, Mistress," she answered.

Ahhh. She wanted a thorough thrashing, and the freedom to really let herself go.

"Very well then." I gestured for the boy to bring the ball-gag I had set aside earlier, then untied the paddle from its place at my waist.

I held Erika's eyes for the first fall of the paddle against Mika's pale ass. She squirmed onto the edge of her chair and watched avidly, her arousal perfuming the air. I breathed in the intoxicating and familiar scent. The scent of a submissive.