The way I felt about him was possibly comparable to the way some people feel about late night kebabs.
He wasn’t always on my mind. I didn’t want him appearing daily. That would be inadvisable. He couldn’t hold down a job. I don’t think he had in years. He had a gambling problem he thought he hid from me well but really didn’t. He wasn’t adverse to a few lines of marching powder (but not around me) and he wasn’t adverse to a bit of distasteful Twelfth marching carry on either.
Despite all that, he was a handy diversion that I cared for in a funny sort of way.
I suspect I know why too. He called to the darkest parts of me. Not just the Dom. Or the mixed up ex Jehovah’s Witness. Or the ex Christian. Or the non-believer. Most probably a combination of all. And I never actually realised until the impromptu ceremony.
By the time of this event, I would estimate I had known him for about eighteen months. During that time we saw each other quite often but somehow never fucked. We came close. Neither of us ever said stop or ‘no’. We just didn’t go there. Hardly close either.
I suspect he treasured me. Christ knows why. I suspect he had me on a pedestal.
One night he literally did I suppose.
He kissed. He ravaged. Christ, he licked and caressed and worshipped every part of me that was not forbidden by our unsaid agreement. Crazed like no man I had ever seen, he lifted me bodily, carried me into the kitchen and planted me on the worktop.
Panting, he made a torrid confession.
‘You make me go crazy. So fucking crazy. But I can’t. It’s killing me.’
As I was meant to, I drowned for a few seconds in his worship. He probably said this to all the girls.
Still, sense won out.
‘It’s ok. I don’t need to know why. If it happens, it will be because we both want it. No regrets.’
Like molten jet poured into my cunt, his eyes pleaded something unknown. I held him to me, letting my female softness console.
He left, wrenching himself away.
For several weeks I didn’t hear a thing. And that was ok. I could sense him thinking and feeling. Puzzling it out. He would come once he felt the pull and got to where he wanted to be.
He did on a fine summers day. One of pollen in the air. Haze between heaven and earth. The smell of tarmac melting and the sound of flutes and drums polluting and permeating the prodigal province.
It was decided that we would go for an innocent walk, out near the lough. A canal ran nearby and a pathway alongside. Silly mistaken romantic that he was, he held my hand. This added to his charm.
He didn’t know who he was messing with. I could be anything I chose.
I chose to be the woman that stopped eventually in the middle of the path and pulled him in for a forceful passionate kiss.
Hand on the back of his head I held him in place. One step closer and I could feel him rigid. I told him with my eyes I’d felt it. He looked bashful. My cunt reacted. Wet. Tight. Ready.
The ceremony had begun.
I took in all of him. An appraisal. One hand cupped his shoulder. He’d been working out a lot but despite every defined speck of him he still felt like something I needed to dominate and protect.
How silly was it that I, a redheaded female Domme, ten years older than he, should slide her hands? Slide her hands wherever the hell she liked unless he said no. And he didn’t.
The ceremony had reached the surrender stage.
After discovering his iron hard cock in his soft cotton gym joggers, he nibbled my lower lip and lowered them. He got a glare of defiance and a raised brow when he took my hand and placed it on his silken cudgel. Forgiveness took split seconds.
Saliva and my hand prepared him for my mouth. They met. He gasped. Head thrown back. My personal Jesus wept from his slit.
Torturing him with my mouth and hand I stroked his throat and chest with my other, almost kneeling but not genuflecting. Anyone might see us. I concluded they would be very lucky.
Jesus was nearing corruption, so I tightened my hand around his throat. Eyes on, I soaked in his debauchery, aware of its effect on me.
I decided not to bear it alone. I told him.
‘Your cock in my mouth makes me so fucking wet. Feel. Go on. Taste!’
Wet slippery fingers found his mouth and he jerked. I sucked. Gripped his throat tight.
Somehow I held him as pleasure ripped through him. Then suddenly he went limp and slumped , a broken flapping wing.
I let go, Licked him clean. His beautiful eyelids fluttered. Jesus.
Had I choked him too hard?
‘You ok?’
‘Oh my God. What. What did you do? What was that?’
‘I heavened you. That’s all. Are you really ok?’
‘Yes but I think you ruined me.’
We laughed and turned back the way we had come, a path we would always remember not to forget no matter how much we tried.
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