I teach second grade. It’s fulfilling work, but exhausting. I spend all day barking orders and trying to cajole seven-year-olds to follow them. When work is done, my bossy-pants come off. I don’t want to make decisions, plans or threats of sending anyone to the headmaster’s office. I don’t want to give orders; I want to take them. I want to relax in the security of someone else’s control.
My boyfriend’s situation is just the opposite. Theo works as a server at a high-end steakhouse in a tony part of town. It’s good work. It pays so well, in fact, that he has foregone other career opportunities. But he takes orders all day and all evening. When he comes home, he wants to give them.
That is, most of the time. Some days, life gets to him. I can tell when the day has stolen his verve: he’ll be passive, indecisive. We’ll wind up eating shit for dinner because we can’t decide, and then we’ll watch shit on TV.
But that’s rare. Usually, he’s Mr. Assertive when he comes home to me. He’ll get off work and send me a text like one of these:
“Put on your red dress. We’re going out.”
“Make fondue. I want to feed it to you.”
“Take off your clothes and get out the strawberries and whipped cream. I’ll be home in 10 minutes.”
“It’s movie night. Couch cuddles and La-La Land.” (He has a thing for Emma Stone. Correction: we have a thing for Emma Stone.)
Or, my favorite: “Get out the lube.”
When I get a text like that, I know the night will end with a warm sense of satisfaction in my heart and warm trickles of semen on various parts of my body. I get a little shaky just thinking about it.
Last Friday was a perfect example. Theo got off work earlier than normal. I got a text around 8pm that said, “We’ve got a table at Terilli’s at 9. Picking you up in 30.”
I had already showered and started to prepare him a warm welcome home. It didn’t take me long to touch up my makeup for a night out, and slip into a form-fitting, strapless, tea-length dress. I twirled for myself in front of the mirror. My light brown hair was done in loose curls that draped over my shoulders. I pulled it back and decided I liked it better that way, showing more of the skin of my slender neck, inviting a little nibbling on my ears.
My makeup was just right, accentuating my green eyes and plump lips. I reddened them with lipstick. The black dress hugged my flat tummy and drew the eyes to my firm, C-cup breasts.
My thin legs perched atop four-inch black heels with thick straps around my ankles. I dug in a drawer until I found a matching black choker and wrist cuffs. The choker was an easy choice. I debated the cuffs for a while, but finally decided to wear them. I wanted to give Theo the not-subtle message that I would be his captive tonight, bound to him like a mendicant, or a slave.
I cinched the cuffs to their smallest setting. Theo teases me about being petite. I get cold easily, and I fail at things that require brute strength. But I know the teasing is only his way of calling attention to my body, which he adores. He wants me small enough to pick up, move around, toss onto the bed, or bend over his knee.
He dropped by the house to pick me up, already wearing a black suit from work. Theo looks great in suits, which accentuate his broad shoulders and fit waist. He wears his dark hair in loose curls and his square chin with dark stubble. His blue eyes penetrate me more deeply than his — his other qualities — and he shows dimples when he smiles.
Theo freshened up and escorted me to the car. We arrived at the restaurant right on time. Terilli’s is a dimly-lit Italian place with a great wine selection and live jazz every night. We were seated in a tiny booth in a secluded corner — perfect for canoodling — where a perky, pony-tailed waitress took our drink order and smiled a little too agreeably at Theo.
We talked about work. He asked about the problem I was having with my headmaster, and my mum’s health, which has been declining. Theo is a great listener. He often makes sure I feel secure and valued before he takes me to bed and treats me like a worthless slut. I can’t decide which treatment I like better. I’m glad he can do both.
Dinner was scrumptious, punctuated by increasingly overt flirtations from pony-tail girl, and we nearly drained a bottle of good, dry Cabernet. When dessert came, I noticed two things about Theo’s demeanor.
First, to my great delight, he ignored Pony Tail Bitch as she slid the tiramisu under his nose, her tits squeezing together provocatively. I had noticed him checking her out when we first arrived, looking at her skinny ass as she bopped away from our table. He is a man, after all, with primal instincts and balls that need draining. But now his focus was locked onto me like a tiger stalking its prey. I knew, by the end of the night, he would tear me apart.
The second thing I noticed was that he was finished with chit-chat. The man is a great conversationalist, but he knows when it’s time to stop talking.
He forked off a corner of the soft dessert and held it to my lips. I enveloped the sweetness slowly, sucking it off the fork with eyes locked on his.
“Fuck, you’re a spicy tart,” he whispered.
In response, I made a dramatic show of licking my lips.
“You look stunning tonight.” He looked me up and down.
Pony Tail Bitch showed up just then with the bill, continuing her streak of terrible timing. Without taking his eyes off me, he leaned over, took out his wallet, and threw a card onto the table. While Pony Tail processed the payment, he leaned back, continuing to consume me with his eyes, and crossed his arms across his chest. His biceps stretched the fabric of his suit. Pony Tail finished the process and bopped away forever. I stared at Theo’s arms.
At this point, I was already melting into a puddle of desire for him. I thought about the luscious, meaty snake in his pants, and bit my lip. I wanted it in my hand, in my mouth, in… well, in so many places. I wanted to make him hard, make him cum, make him happy.
He leaned toward me for a kiss, and I offered him my cheek. I could play coy for a while, but I knew I would give myself over to him very soon and very eagerly. I would happily open my lips, my legs, my ass cheeks to him in the most compromising positions and surrender as he had his way with me.
He kissed my cheek very softly and then whispered in my ear, “Take out my cock.”
This was a surprise. Theo had never showed interest in public sex before. But I was so horny, it sounded like a terrific idea. Plus, when Theo gives me a command, I simply can’t deny him. I reached under the table and felt his bulging manhood. I looked around to make sure we wouldn’t be caught, but he never took his eyes off me. With an air of nonchalance, he retrieved his wine glass and swirled it under his nose, under his searing gaze.
I unzipped him and discovered he had ditched his underwear when he picked me up. His half-hard member flopped out easily, lolling about in his lap like a drunken acrobat — limber and muscular and looking for purpose.
I felt a softness between my legs, thinking about his languid, predatory strength and how certain he was to take me. I wanted to be ravaged. I wanted him to press my insides with the weight of his muscled manliness. I wanted him to carve out my soul and devour it in front of me, my life force dripping off his jowls, and leave the shell of me to blanch in the sun.
I stroked him slowly and felt him grow stronger in my hand. My mouth watered. He drank wine.
Once he drained his glass and leaned over for another peck on the cheek, he zipped up and we left. I tried to walk slowly, sway my hips, look sexy. But I wanted to sprint to the car. My face felt flushed.
On the drive home, he put his hand on my thigh, the very edge of his pinky brushing my pubic mound. I flushed again, trying not to look at his hand but willing it — with some kind of Star Wars force — to move closer, to rub me. He didn’t. We spoke little.
At home, I tried to hold on to the coquettish flirt, but it was slipping away quickly. So I was glad when Theo took action. He kicked off shoes and socks, threw his jacket over a chair, sat on the couch, spread his knees, put his hands behind his head, and said, “Is that a new dress? Come show it to me.”
Theo loves me to strip. He likes to be teased with my supple flesh just out of his reach. He toys with his prey.
I sauntered over between his knees and moved my hips in slow swings, twisting my waist and running my hands over my body. He smiled and the crotch of his pants was tight.
I turned around and swayed my bottom just above his lap, watching him over my shoulder. Then I sat on him and felt the ridge in his pants, hard as pipe. I stroked myself against it slowly. I felt fluid escaping my panties.
Theo slid the zipper of my dress down my back slowly. I stood and stripped out of it with all the seductive slowness I could muster. Then I did the same with my bra and panties. It gave me a rush, as it always does, to be nude in front of him, completely exposed. All I wore was the choker, cuffs and heels. I bent over him, one hand on his thigh and the other on his chest, and kissed him, moaning into his mouth.
“Undress me,” he commanded.
I unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his pecs. I suckled his nipples.
Then I dropped to my knees, unbuckled his belt and slipped it out from around him. I wrapped it around my hands a time or two and then held it across my face and bit into the leather.
Theo reached out and put one hand on the side of my face. It felt powerful and secure, holding my head just above the bulge in his slacks that was calling to me.
He said, “I’ve been daydreaming about your blowjobs all day, Laura. Show me what you’ve got.”
I dropped the belt on the couch and retrieved the meaty plaything from his pants for the second time that night. The drunken acrobat from the restaurant was now a roaring cannon — a scepter of conquest reigning over everything it touched. I’ve never wanted to be colonized so badly.
He stood so I could strip off his pants the rest of the way, and there we were — in the spot I often have dreams about — him standing solid and erect, towering over me with his scrumptious cock in front of me, and me on my knees, in an attitude of hopeful, lustful prayer, nakedly desiring him, symbolically shackled in leather and lust, ready to give him my full devotion.
There’s a reason Theo dreams about my blowjobs all day — and all night and often when he should be paying attention to other things. They’re empyrean, sublime, other-worldly. I know this because I have invested long hours in research, reading, watching and practicing, and because every man I have performed for in the past 10 years has told me so, all of them panting, most of them delirious, one of them even weeping. When I worship a man’s cock, I change his life.