Closing the door behind him, he grinned. No doubt about it, that was a good second date, he thought to himself.
He thought back to their dinner conversation, laughing about their similarities as teenagers - from their awkwardness with the opposite sex to their love of being President of the Math Club. He wondered what high school would have been like if he'd known someone like her. He shook his head. Useless thoughts. No longer awkward, both had matured a great deal past the "geeky" high school years.
It's probably best she hadn't met him with his face full of braces and acne, he considered. There wasn't a girl in school he could make eye contact with back in the day.
"My, my, how things change," he murmured to himself.
He sometimes wondered what the assholes who'd tortured him throughout high school would think if they knew him now. Owner of his own company - a thriving IT business, no more braces or acne, and a Dominant male in the BDSM lifestyle. He shrugged. He no longer gave a fuck what anyone thought of him...well, that wasn't completely true.
Ever since the first night he masturbated to thoughts of her, she played a starring role in every fantasy. In real life, he knew he had to move slow. Only another gentle kiss on the lips when he walked her to her car tonight. She'd responded well, leaning in, whimpering when he pulled away. He considered pushing a little more but stopped himself.
A submissive moving on from a broken heart is a fragile creature. If he moved too fast, she'd flit away as quickly as any butterfly. Oh, but in his imagination, he took everything he wanted from her.
Reliving the feeling of her lips pressed against his own caused a familiar ache in his groin. He reached down to adjust himself and groaned at his own touch. Shit, he was going to need to do something about this.
He locked the front door, turned off the lights, and walked into his bedroom. Stripping naked, he decided to lay on top of the covers, his body temperature rising just at the thought of her.
Propped up against his pillows, he gripped his semi-hard shaft, closed his eyes, and began to imagine her in with him. She'd be wet and wanting him, dressed in nothing but thigh highs, a garter, and fuck-me heels. He cock swelled at the mental image he created. Stroking himself, he imagined her kneeling next the bed, waiting for permission to join him. The idea of her kneeling for him caused him to become harder than before.
After granting permission, she would begin to climb into the bed, but he felt impatient. He would grab her hair and pull her towards him.
"Sit on my cock, girl," he would command. "Cowgirl style. Slowly."
His hand pumped up and down as he thought of how slowly she would lower her dripping pussy over his rod. He loved watching a woman impale herself on him. As she descended, he would push her forward so that he had a view of her beautiful backside.
"Fuck me, girl."
As she began to move, he would slap one cheek, and then the other. Lightly at first, as a warm-up. When her skin began to glow red, he would increase the speed. She would fuck him to the rhythm and speed of his hands - either by instinct or by order, he didn't care. She may be on top, but he would always be in charge.
Imagining the sensations of his cock surrounded by her hot folds and the feel of her flesh beneath his hands, he stroked himself faster and faster.
"Play with your clit, slut," he would growl. He would want to feel her orgasm, but first, he would want to hear her beg to cum for him.
Let her cum, he thought as he felt his own orgasm build deep within his core. He was always a generous Dominant. His hand skimmed the bulbous head of his cock, dragging sticky fluid down over his shaft. His hand began to move quicker as he thought about what he would do next.
After she orgasmed, after he felt her pussy spasm and grip his cock, he knew he would be ready for his own release. That's when the spanking would stop, and he would take over completely. His hand would wrap around her long hair, pulling her up, yanking her head back painfully. He knew tears would form in her eyes at the sharp sting in her scalp. Instinctively, he knew she would protest and cry out, but she wouldn't use her safeword. Something about her told him she enjoyed having her limits pushed - with the right person.
One hand wrapped in her dark tresses, the other would dig into her hip, his fingers leaving bruises. He would hold her still and begin to fuck her fast and hard. He wanted to fuck her senseless, use her hole, wring her dry. Picturing this, his hand slid up and down at the same speed he knew he would take her.
He would fill her with his seed, mixing their fluids. He wanted sticky cum to seep out of her body and run down her thighs. He wanted her to feel used by him. He would growl that she was his little slut, his little whore, HIS as his hips would grind against her, seeking to sink deeper into her depths.
He gripped his cock harder and stroked faster and faster. He was close to cumming, so close. The pressure was building to an unbearable level. He could feel his balls tightening.
Keeping his hand in her hair, he would pull her off of him. He would tell her to clean his cock. He could hear her whisper, "Yes, Daddy" as she hurried to comply.
The moment he imagined her mouth on his body, he came hard and fast, hot cum spraying over his chest. He shuddered and groaned as the waves of pleasure overtook him. Milking himself, he thought about how he would pull her to him once she licked him clean and kiss her hard. He wanted to taste their mingled juices on her sweet tongue.
As he fell asleep later that night, he imagined gathering her into his arms, holding her tight against him, and whispering, "Good girl" as they both drifted off.