This is going to be long, and entirely true, a diary trying to fit three days into some coherent narrative. After I started writing I realized the average reader didn’t want to gobble up several thousand words in one post, so I’ve broken it into parts.
The button on his coat set itself free, and I took the sewing kit he never used, but had in stock in his usual bachelor practicality. Then, with a needle and cuss, I mended it.
I said it would take two minutes, and it was more like fifteen, but I was happy to do it all the same. My slightly more than weekend visit had been an indulgence for me, but it’s in my nature to find pleasure in the smallness of the mundane.
When this happened we were a few hours away from carting me off to the airport, and the two weeks of confinement I am enduring while I write this. The obvious response on my part, with very little time left, was to have a “what does this all mean?!” relationship conversation and follow it with a blow job. I might be a bit of a yoyo sometimes.
After I talked about hard questions, like where this is going, desire followed. Posed like a man proposing, one knee down, one up, I suck his cock into my mouth. While I do so, his hands grip the marble edge of the counter behind him. He’s holding himself exposed and vulnerable for me by instinct, and more than a little conscious commitment to the spirit of the law, if not the spoken letter. I haven’t told him to act as if he’s invisibly bound, but he adopts it as naturally as I stir need in him.
He always submits to me.
I think, given a choice, he would prefer a hand job. This blow job definitely isn’t about what he wants, more satisfying my own cravings. I like using my mouth. I’m not so skilled, but the nerve endings and the taste, from oral, are both deeply gratifying to me. So he surrenders to this, accepting his place is to be used how I feel like it.
This time, to my delight, he also makes few thrusting forays, fucking my mouth. If I was a bit more relaxed I would rub my clit and come with his cock in my mouth. I like his taste and shape, and how he feels, even after four days of exploring desire, he still gets fully hard inside me.
Unfortunately, for various reasons I am still holding an unplaced thread of anxiety, and yet, in his company he has made the pain and half body cramps of the migraine I have had for 4 weeks finally leave me. We’re in a pandemic and work (in an office, back in Canada) is bothering. A doting, beautiful submissive man in another country is a treat at the best of times, and an extravagant luxury in the current circumstances.
I took my property’s technical virginity.
I teased it, promised it and fantasized about it. In our relationship, in it’s 10 months to this point, we traveled from his initial de-emphasis on sex (because we both NEED kink, penis in vagina is nice to have) to him flat out saying he wanted it. Then, of course, we were separated by the border and the plague. This visit, I made it my mission to use the time together to bring him past another arbitrary milestone. I knew that chances like this could be easily taken from me.
There were other complications. During this visit, I was menstruating, which given my aim was to have sex with him for the first time ever, is part of the same act of the capricious gods that made me fall in love with a worthwhile person, but also sent a border shutting pandemic between us. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s giving him back up birth control or trying to give me a buffer of protection from covid. If the changing science about the subject is to be believed, you are less affected by covid during your period.
For the problems of tidying up nature’s habits, I bought a sponge, mail order, from a Toronto sex shop, and hope for the best. Lest you think this is some masculine delicacy I am indulging: I have only had one partner who was really tchy about period sex, otherwise I am always the least into it of any pairing I have been in.
Elder millennials and (very) late Gen X men both approach vaginas with a certain male feminist machismo. They all want to give head and make sure you know they are cool with your period. I am not cool with my period. It’s an indignity inflicted on me since the start of my teens that temporarily breaks everything nice.
But, despite it, I did manage to fuck him. Silver has been duly deflowered, dear reader. Nimue has undone another wizard and thrust him into her yew tree. It actually wasn’t quite according to a set plan. I was just intending, that night, on teasing him, wrapped in an easy on/easy off blue latex hoodie dress, when apparently my mind fucking drove him to make the request right there and then.
It was the evening of the first full day of my visit. When I arrived, the prior afternoon, denied orgasm since September, he was nearly frantic. You would think a guy in his early 40s wouldn’t have a bunny rabbit libido. He does, but I had taken the edge off the previous night and that morning, so when I disrobed, only to trade my clothes for tight latex, I figured this wouldn’t go anywhere.
He had asked to not stack all sorts of elaborate kinks and performance that day, as he was feeling a little off. So, although my brain was full of possible means to bind and use him, I kept it light. There were no expectations when I let him hand buff me up, fussing with how the zipper neckline displayed my cleavage to best effect.
But, one thing led to another, and pretty soon I was straddling him, both of us now slicked up with silicone lube from glossing up the dress. It’s a fascinating substance as it feels like oil but manages to taste only like the absence of taste. Nothing about it seems to react with me, or him, making everything glide just so.
That evening I had a bit of a sadistic edge to my play, flexing my suggestive ability. I vary, cruel, nurturing, a bit of both. I don’t know how to describe where that wellspring of endless unkindness inside me comes from, but pull aside what passes for my armor and what is inside is small, sleek, sharp and ripping. I hurt to consume and feed, and that fuels the most intense intimacy.
I didn’t hurt him with my hands, but I did want his mind cowed and a little off balance.
The trick with pushing Silver into a sort of trance state is to start the line of patter from a natural flow of flirting, from things that are neat ideas or that he wants to be true, to testing things that are more impossible.
In past romps about his perception, I have summoned up body engulfing liquid latex, or in one intense bit of edge play, spun the fantasy that our entire relationship was an act of brainwashing on my part. Fantasies, tricks and mind fucks come easy to me and suit us both.
This time I played on light sensations, and his want, reminding him I controlled him. A little bit of shiny latex and he magnetizes to me, though quite remarkably I can also get the same effect just stripping nude. It’s really very flattering.
In only a few in person encounters, he has already discovered so much about a part of sexuality that exists outside what he fantasizes about. Touch takes a simple latex fetish slut and unlocks things he didn’t realize were possible. Silver’s learned a hand on his throat is enough to make him into a wordless mess. He’s learned the warm bed with a soft woman is as strict a form of bondage as the strongest cords and chains. And, he’s learned his body naturally knows how to obey mine, hindbrain providing anything he needs, from an instinct to to touch to smooth, driving and grinding thrusts.
Latex clad teasing and stroking turns to straddling. The carpet’s under him, and my words as much pushing him down as there’s an ever upwards tension towards me, and a seeking, as if he could make the barriers of our skin and the weight of my mind over his subsume him completely.
I taunt him with my power. I tell him he has no choice, that even his perceptions are mine to decide. And, because I am vicious, as he looks up at me, I say:
“How do you know you aren’t inside me already?”
He looked terrified when I said that, a brief pause I can tell he actually did a physiological scan of himself to confirm his penis wasn’t in me, but wedged under my crotch.
Nonetheless, his request for actual sex included the plea that I use a condom, which, I guess was nerves from him because I wasn’t going to dream of doing otherwise.
Maybe I frightened him because bodies rubbing together will sort of groove up so the cock starts to naturally slide into the right channel, at least in my experience. That is, it will if I am actually aroused enough. Maybe it’s because our contraceptive conversations, on my side, were so rigorous and discussed consequences and contingencies. Silver, due to a very Christian upbringing, is personally yucked by abortion and while he emphasizes he is pro choice because it’s not *his* body, I probably terrified him even more by telling him that if an accident occured I would discuss with him about if he was up to what *actually* mattered, if he was able to provide the care and support the business of having a whole other human would inflict.
That conversation was fresh enough, I guess I don’t blame him for being terrified, even as I firmly emphasized I wasn’t going to rape him.
But he asked me to fuck him, in that moment after I scared the bejesus out of him.
After he asked, I took an interlude to insert the sponge, about as tidy as I could hope, and then roll the condom onto him. After, it was an easy matter to insert him.
His cock hilted in me, less like a foreign thing, and more like a missing piece. My relief was intense enough I wonder if he noticed?
The mechanics of sex, for me, have not been easy. I had a hyman, and after, a fair amount of natural tension so my vagina will often stay stubbornly clenched. Not so here, where it was all soft and enveloping. I have been afraid if I build up the aesthetic I usually favour that it would catch a hint of the wrong thing and close down, but it was a perfect, seamless coupling, tip to hilt.
I experimented with riding him, after a moment of savouring the deed was done, and then he chased his own sensations by thrusting back at me, but very soon stopped, the closeness of his orgasm, between this and the mind fuck, being far too much for him to handle.
So I forced him to come. He warned me, a little pout about his mouth, that he was close and I said good, that I wanted it. I don’t always give him the privilege that orgasm denial puts on the victim, that mind over matter sensation of conquering a drive that wants very much something else. I made him feel helpless, urging him deeper and yet deeper.
He tried to keep fucking me, post orgasm, poor man. He wanted to extend my pleasure, and I think thanks to porn, he imagined that he would provide endless pistoning service. I had the more practical, in depth sex ed and the act finished before the softening did, dismounting as the seal on the base of the condom started to break, so the whole thing nudged off with me.
No cum ended up inside me, but I was briefly amused as a streak dripped from the condom and landed over my thigh, a so close, but yet so far moment from his biological imperative. I felt like some proud huntress crowing over a rabbit or a deer I’d stalked.
After he was moody and a little shut down.
I had an urge to fuss, but it was his virginity, and when we talked about it after he mentioned that he wasn’t quite ready to beaver it to pieces, and we let a night’s sleep conk us out. He was better in the morning. Discussing, he was largely just tired and disappointed he hadn’t manifested instant endless piston sex god powers.
I was just happy two decades or so of masturbation hadn’t given him numb dick, but after way, way too much painful sex in my lifetime I didn’t want to further spoil the mood with baggage “it didn’t feel unpleasant in the wrong way, where the pain emphasized deep seated incompatiabilities I told myself I just had to relax through” is a really low bar for my sexual partners. But, I also think I viewed his virginity as a privilege, and him an embarrassment of inexperience.
That’s very typically male. Men aren’t used to thinking about themselves as the prize, and Silver is hard masculine in most things (I won’t rank my past partners particularly by where they fell on a spectrum because men take it the wrong way if you say they are traditionally feminine in bed and one might read this). How can I say how charmed and flattered I am to initiate him, to help him discover things?
There’s even a meta kink thing I am doing where I am eroticizing that I keep accidentally giving him ruined orgasms because little cum spurting fuck ups are more difficult for him to grapple with emotionally than just mindless pumping. It makes me feel powerful to know that the wrong word or a bit too much of the right pressure from me and all this elegant structure he contains himself in turns into a botched popsicle stick and glue craft pile.
Some sort of point, in pushing and mending things.
Thus also, I sewed a button back on to his long black, Seattle practical rain shedding coat, because whatever this is, ownership, debauchery & love, it’s being an everything that is extremely real. I want it to last, and being more or less monogamous, he is stuck being my everything. There’s a duality there in the penetration I took from him, and the same way I take charge of his sewing kit to do a favour for him that’s an assertion of my power for me.
As with his virginity, it’s a means to an end, where I leave a lasting mark, even as I do it just right. The branding on the button goes on to match the others, and the biological universals of sex are stiched into his psyche, inherently useful even outside me. Former eagle scout, he knows the theory of how to mend a button, but here I take a piece that I learned in more practical indoctrination to the parts of my gender role education I actually like, and sew myself into the place I want to be.
I have fucked more than he has, and sewn on more buttons than he ever did, both for myself and others. And I want him to feel the vulnerability of trusting me to care for him, the intense play of domestic power. I want more than what is tidy and gives control by the hour, even if it leaves him wondering if he was enough and me cussing as I unknot cheap black cotton threads to know he’ll have my work resting on his collar bone now until the coat wears out.