Well, it’s here. The dildo and strap-on he asked me to order. Okay, the toys he dom-ed me into ordering. I could have said no, but he had that gleam in his eye, and I can’t deny him anything when he gets like that.
It’s all my fault, really. The moment he found the porn clip on my screen, the wheels were in motion. It didn’t help that I tried to hide what I was watching. Never a good move.
First, he forced me to watch it while he stood over my shoulder. Then he made me tell him what about it turned me on. In detail.
The fucking sadist.
And yes, of course, that turned me on, too. We both knew it would.
He let it lie for a day or two. Letting me think it was forgotten.
“I’ve found something I’d like you to purchase. Make sure it’s the right size for you. Once you’ve placed the order, let me know, and we’ll discuss further.”
He sent it in an email. With a link. That, of course, I clicked and purchased — adding some lube that he never mentioned but I was absolutely sure would be necessary.
That’s the email I sent in reply.
No mention was made for a few days. I wondered if telling me to order it had been a test of sorts. If he was mind-fucking me (as usual). Until…
“So about that order you placed.” He could have been referencing our next grocery delivery if his tone was any indication. But we both knew. “We need to discuss it before it arrives.”
Of course, we did, but also, did we really have to? Couldn’t we just pretend it didn’t exist until it arrived, then stuff it in the closet for six months, forgetting it completely until the day I felt capable of what I knew he wanted from me?
The answer is yes, technically we could, and he would respect my decision. But that was just my fear of the unknown talking. If I didn’t really want to do this, we’d never have gotten this far.
“To the question you still haven’t asked, yes, I want you to fuck me.”
I must have looked like a fish out of water. I certainly felt like one. My mouth opened and closed, over and over. Did he? Had he? What the?
“But you’re not a switch. I’m definitely not a Dom…” I sputtered. I thought that was something people only did in books, but here I was — sputtering.
He shook his head at me. “You should know better than that, babygirl. I intend to be in control as always, but I want to receive pleasure only you can give me.”
Fuuuuuuck, I knew he was right. But what if I did it wrong? Or he hated it? Or I hurt him?
With my mouth still flapping, he calmly explained himself.
“You, my sweet submissive, are going to put your naked self in that harness, lube up that purple dildo and my hairy ass, and fuck me slowly.”
I stared at him.
“I’m going to stroke my cock and tell you how good it all feels. And when I tell you to, you’ll speed up and slow down, and move at my pace.”
“And when I’m ready, you’re going to bury that shaft deep in my ass, press those sweet tits against me, and ride my orgasm with me.”
Is it hot in here?!
“When I’m done, and my own jizz is coating my hand, and that harness and dildo are off, then I’m going to bury my face so deep in your cunt. I’m going to lick and suck and bite until you’re screaming my name.”
I think I stopped breathing.
“Still worried that I won’t be in control of anything?”
Nope. Not at all.
For the record, this is all fiction but it is based on conversations I’ve had with John Brownstone in the past. This is me, still using 31 Days of Erotic Fiction to get me writing more often and in different ways than usual. And it’s working better than I ever imagined!