The Pleasure Dom
Online and in person, I was always beating around the bush, so to speak, flirting incessantly but shying away from saying the words out loud—I want to fuck you. And here he was, texting me about how he wanted to have me on his bed, hearing how loud I’d moan for him, feeling how wet I’d get, watching me shake from it all. His frankness terrified me. But I couldn’t hide how turned on I was from it all.
He was ten years older than me, from a different country, and he proudly advertised himself as a pleasure dom. All of these were firsts for me. We met on a sex app, too; the scariest first of all.
But something about him seemed familiar, genuine, and I wanted to lean into it. He’d chosen his photos well: no mirror selfies, nothing blurry, nothing cliche or overly posed. Mostly, there were pictures of him traveling, smiling lightly at the camera, well-dressed. His dark eyes were intense, and the more we talked, the more the close-up photo of his abs at the gym caused that familiar thrumming in my stomach.
He asked if I’d like to meet him at a cafe. My eagerness surprised me.
We started off with small talk, but it quickly devolved into sexting once the plan was set in motion.
Daddy’s excited to play with you. I can’t wait to hear how you react when I go down on you.
For once I was out of words—I’m blushing already… If this is how you text I can’t wait to see how you are in person.
I can’t wait to taste your pussy. Is it already dripping wet for me?
It was. I let him pick my outfit: he told me to wear my thigh high stockings, my plaid skirt. He offered to meet in his apartment outright—he had a zoom meeting, and how hot would it be if I sucked him off under the table? It would be hot, I responded, but let’s meet in public first. I still had a little bit of caution.
He didn’t know I’d be wearing my favorite thong, red lace, ‘ouvert’—open crotch style, and the matching bra, low cut, hugging my tits and hiking them higher under my tight black sweater. It would be hard for him to look away.
Walking out of the train, every head turned to appraise me. Could they tell I was about to get fucked? My perfume was wafting around me— warm vanilla, girly, with a perverse underlayer of oud and musk. Damn. I was breaking necks. My curls were bouncing, unrestrained, glossy, untamed. The guitar blasting in my headphones was helping with the escapism—I felt unstoppable.
We were meeting at a coffee shop around the block from his place, and I arrived just before him, squeezing my thighs under the table to relieve the overwhelming tension, the blood rushing to my clit. My nerves electrified every sensation. The smell of the chai, the bustle of the crowd, the dim lights. It was all already so sensual and then he walked in and my heart stopped…
AURORE publishes smart, sophisticated smut, centered on women’s pleasure.
Upgrade to paid to read the full story and access the archives of over 300 sexy stories.
Already a member? Log in here.