Patience

When he sent me a witty message over the app about a writer we both enjoyed, I thought he was cute, handsome, interesting enough. I didn’t expect that he’d be the one to fulfill my most long-running sexual fantasy. He had nice arms and a high-paying job at a company he refused to name directly, and he responded back quickly, with a certain edge: he never talked down to me but did give me attitude. I was intrigued and eager to meet anyone new. I was freshly heartbroken, reeling from a mutually-unwilling breakup with a very kind and gentle lover who was wonderful, but never fucked me nearly as hard as I’d liked. Before our relationship ended, when I’d beg that lover to push me deeper in the mattress, he’d falter, then politely ignore my request. I’ve always had a bratty side, always dreamed of being dominated, but hadn’t yet found someone who could rise to the occasion. All the other men I’d met, especially after this first lover’s absence, were unskilled or passionless, but I sensed I found something special with this new guy. There was something innately sexual under the surface. I needed to see more. 

When we met up for the first time at a jazz bar near his apartment, I was shocked at how nervous he was to touch me—until we were sitting in the dark and I put my thigh on his. Then his hands were on me instantly— slow, intentional, and strong. He traced my tattoos, and soon after, I was face down on his bed as he whispered how good I felt, how I was his little slut. He was the first man I ever called ‘daddy.’ Soon, he’d become the first man to fuck me in the ass. I knew he was perfect for me when, as I was sucking his cock (cut, beautiful, perfect fit for my throat) he instructed me to look in his eyes. He stroked my cheek as he fucked my face, and every time I looked away, he reprimanded me with a gentle slap. “I said, look in my eyes.” Each time I failed to meet his gaze – the intimacy of it all, the whiskey, the cock going deeper and deeper in my throat, the bratty side of me coming out in full force – the slaps got harder. I loved it. I told him how much I loved it and from then on, we started seeing each other every two weeks for the exact kind of sex I needed: wonderfully easy, incredibly dirty, and totally safe. I loved how he had anticipated and reciprocated so many of my kinks, and that exploring came to us so organically. All this to say that when he texted me in filthy detail that he wanted to restrain me, tease me, and make me beg for it, I could hardly wait. 

I’ll set the scene: he came into my apartment in his work clothes, and I greeted him in a flimsy babydoll dress. It was a record-breaking heatwave, but he looked gorgeously put together in a neatly-pressed button-down and thick, black belt. I had written out my boundaries ahead of time and then smoked to take the edge off, so I was nearly euphoric as he sunk on the couch and pulled me to him. I crawled onto his lap, and as I grinded on his cock, I was already desperate for him, ready to abandon our plans. “I want you now on this couch, I want to feel you inside of me,” I begged, but he just laughed. “Get on your knees,” he said.

In between his legs, I knew what he wanted me to do, but I played dumb as I could, kissing the outline of his dick through his slacks. He guided me to his zipper, and I feigned confusion. “Is there something you want me to do, daddy?” Pausing, batting my eyelashes, shaking my head. It was too easy to submit to him—I had decided beforehand I’d give him some resistance, to earn the punishment I knew would follow. “I want you to eat my pussy first,” I said. And he laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me? How dare you. Unzip my pants right now,” he ordered. When his hard cock greeted me, he pushed my face into it, holding the base, rubbing it all over me, totally undignified. “Little slut. You look so stupid like this with my cock on your face. Take it in your mouth.” However deep I tried to go, he pushed my head down further. “Good girl. You know I’m going to take care of you so well, but first… yeah, just like that.” And right when I started to find a rhythm, he pulled me off him, and zipped his pants back up. “Go get your blindfold.” I obeyed. Giddily. He fastened my black collar around my neck, tied the blindfold over my eyes, making me promise I’d tell him if it lifted, and finally, finally, fastened my wrists in front of me. He kissed me deeply, brushed his hands down my arms, and took a gentle hold of the O-ring on my neck: “I’m gonna lead you into your room now, baby.” On my bed, he adjusted the cuffs so my hands were behind me, above my head, and strapped to my headboard. “You look so good, baby. Wait here.” I protested, and with a smile in his voice, he told me it was time for me to learn patience.

I lay on the bed naked, arms over my head, underwear stuffed in my mouth. He’s in the other room, fully dressed, waiting. When he had sent me photos of the handcuffs the night before, it looked like there’d be some space between my wrists to move a little, but I should’ve known: he was big on discipline, so there was no wiggle room at all. My thighs shook, my hands thrummed against the bedpost they were tied around. I couldn’t see through my blindfold, but I imagined how I looked smiling ear to ear through the lace in my mouth.

All I can see is darkness. I feel my silk covers under me, my soaking wet pussy, the sweat forming under the leather collar, the nylon on my wrists, but I no longer sense him. “Are you seriously leaving me here, daddy? Come back. I want you.” Silence. I try harder. “I miss your cock already. Aren’t you gonna come back and fuck me?” Silence again. He is so fucking cruel. “You’re so mean to me, baby. Can you at least bring me more weed?” Footsteps. A slap across the face. “Do you know it hasn’t even been two minutes and you can’t stop fucking talking? I told you, I had to teach you some discipline.” I’m smiling like an idiot, in full sub-space. “Discipline is overrated, daddy. Come fuck me.” Another slap. “I’ll have to add more time now. Hold still.” Minutes pass. I try to rub my thighs together to create friction, but it’s no use, there’s nothing I can do about how badly I want to be touched.

He comes back. “You’re here,” I beg. “I need your cock. Let me take your pants off.” He slaps me again, warns me he might not even let me touch him, might just jerk off on my face and leave me here. I whine. He reconsiders. Sits next to me, starts very slowly running his fingers down my body. Tells me how sexy I am. Lightly traces my thighs, squeezes my tits. I’m being so good. I bite my lip, so I don’t say a word. Finally, his mouth. Under the lace of my babydoll, under the lace of my bra. His tongue. On my thigh. Higher and higher. I could scream. I can’t resist. I beg. “Please, please, take off my underwear.” It’s a miracle—he does. He uncuffs me, warns me to be good. I raise my arms, let him pull my dress over my head, docile as can be. I’m completely naked now, and when he pulls me into a kiss, I press myself against the buttons of his shirt. His tongue is perfect. I’m all his. He guides me down, re-straps me to the bedpost. “Now, let’s practice being patient.” He stuffs my underwear into my mouth and walks out. 

This is a perfect moment. I don’t know how long I wait in the terrible anticipation, but I know he laughs when comes back in and sees me smiling. He removes my DIY gag to kiss me again. I unleash a barrage of insults, then complaints, then try to taunt him with all the evil things I’m going to do to get back at him, but I’m tripping over my words, stuttering. “I think you’ve lost your negotiation skills, baby. You can’t even say what you want.” I try to talk back once more—the slap I get for it comes from pure affection. “You try so hard to control everything, but you have to let me take care of you, OK? If you want something, say ‘please, daddy.’” It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.

For the next thirty minutes, he goes down on me, uses his fingers, his mouth, teases me with a vibrator, lets me writhe into his hand. I can’t come on anti-depressants, but it feels fucking amazing, and he whispers that I can take all the time I need, and I don’t have to rush anything. Then, he takes off the blindfold and lets my eyes adjust to the sight of him standing over me as I take his cock in my mouth so, so gratefully. “I’ll let you watch this.” I didn’t earn the privilege of taking off his shirt, but it's okay, because now he’s flipping me on my back, covering my pussy in lube, and finally fucking me. He always goes so slow at first, almost pulling out completely so I can feel every inch of him when he thrusts back in, the thickness of his head stretching out the entrance of my pussy. I’m gasping, and his hand is around my collar, in my hair, on the dimples of my back. We’re talking through our moans. “You’re going to make my neighbors hate me.” “Good, they deserve to know what a little cumslut you are.” When he takes me in the ass, it’s a good, sharp, overwhelming kind of pain, and we’re both panting, and he’s putting all his weight on me, lying face down on me as I lie face down on my vibrator, and it’s so good, and my mind is so empty, and all I can make are little sounds I can’t even be embarrassed about, and he’s going to finish in my mouth, I don’t have to make a single decision, he controls it all, tells me how good I am, thrusts so hard into my mouth his stomach rests on the crown of my head, and his cum tastes so good I choke on it a little and it’s all over my face and his stomach so I clean us up, lick it all, and it’s done, and he pulls me on his chest and kisses me non-stop, and I’m smiling so big because I feel so lucky to live out my fantasies. We talk about stupid things as he plays with my hair. After I kiss him goodbye, I make a new list of what we should try next. 

Photo by Mariana Ayumi