Serve

Katherine had never dominated a man before. She believed that the act of domination was something purely experienced by men. When we matched on a dating app, I could tell she was reserved; it seemed she had never experienced the thrill of control. I think the fact that a younger man was so interested in her emboldened her a bit, which is why she confessed this truth to me.

She was used to meeting men her own age who showed off their home and their car and their fishing skills. Even matches that seemed promising typically ended with a disappointing evening of grunting, or worse, a man springing his fantasies on her at the last possible moment. It had made her, rightfully, distrustful of any guy she met through the apps.

But then here I was, several years her junior, flaunting my bisexuality and my kinks. A profile photo featured me kissing one of those leg lamps from A Christmas Story, with an arrow pointing down at me and the words: “SUB BOI”. 

That had been the conversation starter for us.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a submissive man before,” she messaged me.

“You definitely have. It’s just that most of us don’t have the good sense to know it,” I replied.

Katherine appreciated my candor. I didn’t talk to her in innuendo or play mind games. I let her know early on how attractive I found her. How her dark hair and the way it framed her face made me want to worship her. I told her she was a goddess. 

I don’t think she’d ever been called that before, but it was accurate.

Her look across the table on our first date seemed concerned, but underneath that I saw intrigue. “How did you figure out that you were submissive?” She asked me.

“A lot of trial and error,” I said over a smile. “If you try something on enough times and it never fits quite right, you eventually have to pull something else off the rack.”

She seemed surprised, but I let the quiet sit between us. She needed time to think. I understood that she was interested, otherwise we never would have gotten this far. Say what you will about the tackiness of my lamp-kissing photo, but it was an honest advertisement.

Finally, I posed the guiding question I had learned to always ask: “When was the last time a man gave you something rather than took something from you?”

Katherine remained quiet, clearly having to think hard about it. I wondered then, and wonder still, what men had crossed paths with a woman this beautiful and had somehow left her feeling so unsatisfied.

After what felt like an extraordinarily long period of quiet, the restaurant humming around us, she asked, “What exactly would you give me?”

I put my hand on the table, my palm stretched out for her to take if she so desired. “There is no gift greater than one’s submission. If I could, I would worship you,” I said.

Katherine laid her hand on top of mine and looked at me with uncertainty. “How?”

My heart beat feverishly in my chest, fear and excitement welling up and overriding my calm. But I managed to say, “If you’d like, I can show you. I promise that you’ll feel as divine as I see you.”

I felt her fingers wrap around my wrist, “Let’s go.”

~~~

The trip from the restaurant to Katherine’s Brooklyn basement apartment was only around fifteen minutes. But to me it stretched on and on. I watched her as she moved under the lights of New York: first the amber street lights, then the harsh white light of the subway station. In the eggshell-colored hues of the Q train, I saw her as if for the first time. She looked back at me with withheld excitement, like I had promised her something she had been waiting for her entire life. The way the light hugged her soft brown skin made her look like a saint, swaddled in some holy radiance. I could feel the need swelling within me to bow down before her altar and pray.

As she led me by the hand through the doorway and into her apartment, I felt my breath hitch in my throat. “Oh my God,” I muttered, taking time to look over her with the appreciative eye of a man lost in an art museum. “You are the singularly most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on.”

Katherine seemed rigid as I complimented her. When was the last time anyone had even spoken to her this way? Had anyone ever spoken to her this way? I realized in that moment that my role tonight was not that of a simple submissive, but also to offer this woman some measure of healing.

I moved close to her and let my hands find her waist, maintaining eye contact. As they slid down her body, I felt a tautness across her and knew she needed comfort and the truth of what was being offered to her.

Power. Control. Acceptance.

“You’re quite good with your words,” she said, filling the silence, defenses up. Here, safe in her own home, she was more free with her skepticism—“You seem like you’ve been around, but what value is there in being your ‘most beautiful’ when you’ve seen so much less of the world than I have?”

“You’re right. I have seen less of this world than you,” I replied, “But I know myself. And I think I know something that’s inside of you, waiting to be freed.”

“Keep talking,” Katherine relented. My smile remained unwavering as I acknowledged her words with a tilt of my head.

I backed two steps away and proceeded to kneel down before her. As I did, I gently slid my hands down her thighs, then to her calves. My grip tightened, ever so slightly, as I turned my head up to maintain eye contact with her. 

“What I’m going to do now is show you precisely how divine you are. Is that okay?”

I looked like a puppy awaiting its master’s command. I knew she could see it and I knew something inside of her stirred. Something deep and hidden away, something she didn’t even know was in there. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused. The movement of her lips, even that small amount, was something I hung onto. 

I twitched slightly under her gaze.

This realization made her smile.

Then it came from her, suddenly: “Yes,” she said in a steady, strong tone that echoed her piercing questions at dinner.

I smiled again and sank lower still, my hands gripping her legs with glee. Laying hands on another as a submissive is a dance. I cannot be too firm or else I betray myself or assert a power that I do not feel mine to claim. But who feels desired in a loose grip? The trick is to hold on as if the other person is a butterfly, so beautiful you don’t want to let go but well aware of how privileged you are to touch that beauty.

I inhaled deeply as I pulled back from her. It sounded meditative, like I was commencing prayer. Then she felt my hands again applying gentle pressure, this time to her stomach. 

I was signaling her to move back. She glanced around and caught sight of the chair she was standing in front of. Its regal form awaited her like a throne and she, no doubt feeling the power that entailed, fell back into its open embrace.

I trailed one of my hands back down her stomach, around to her hip, and then along the outside of her leg. I stopped at her ankle and gently grasped her as my other hand came around to pull the heel from her foot. She froze, but did not pull away from me as I proceeded to remove her other heel as well.

“In certain Pagan faiths, women of great wisdom were revered as leaders of the community. Sometimes spiritually, sometimes more literally. It was not uncommon for men and women seeking the guidance of the enlightened few to kiss their feet…” My words trailed off as I pressed my lips into one of her soles, “as a show of fealty, respect, or… adoration.” And again my warm lips pressed into her foot.

“You know your history,” she said with a smile, “but you could try words prettier than a term paper.”

I paused for a moment and regarded her, then smiled back. “A fair point,” I said, “I may have something better in mind, then.” 

I placed my hands around her right foot and began to massage it. The tension throughout her body was still quite apparent, but she was slowly allowing herself to feel something besides worry. This was silent praise, driving me to strive harder to bring her somewhere she would never forget. My thumbs pressed into the sensitive flesh along her arch and she exhaled a long, hot breath as she bit her bottom lip with her front teeth.

“Not so bad, is it?” I asked her. She smiled, her eyes closed, but she didn’t say a word.

I continued to work into her taut muscles and delicate skin. I applied pressure around the ball of the foot, then lightly pressed inward from its center. Glancing up, I watched as her hands gripped the armrests of the chair. Her toes wiggled and curled, providing me immense pleasure just from knowing she was enjoying it. I kept a steady pace and strong pressure up for several minutes—each second of it ecstasy for me because my hands were on her.

I leaned up and brought a hand to her shoulder as I approached her for a kiss. Slowly, purposefully.

Our lips pressed together and I could feel her body going flush with excited heat.

My tongue slid into her mouth and she welcomed it. She allowed our tongues to meet, to slide along one another—pleasure coursed upwards through me and, as the kiss continued, my head became light with the feeling of it all.

Still on my knees, I looked into her eyes with a powerful need. “I want you. Any way I may have you,” I whispered.

Katherine pushed a hand against my forehead and instantly I moved with it. No resistance. No questioning. As if she were controlling a puppet, I backed away even further and sat on my heels waiting for her next move.

She stood slowly, her fingers moving to her waist. She gently tucked into her skirt and began sliding it down her legs, pushing the fabric down past her thighs, and let gravity do the rest. I continued to sit, obediently staring at her. 

Never had I seen a body so inviting. Her thighs hugged the fabric as it slid down her form, subtly popping around the material and begging to be kissed. As she straightened back up, she shook her head and let her dark hair tumble back over her shoulders. Her eyes, shadowed by the angle, cast down on me with a ferocity and need that froze me in place. It was as if she had completely transformed in that moment, become some other creature entirely. One more ready to take what she wanted.

I nervously reached out a hand, stretching toward her now bare leg, but she cleared her throat and I once again found myself unable to move. I pulled my hand back, turned my eyes back up to her own. She was smiling. Teeth shining in the dark, highlighting her lips. I wanted to wrap myself around her in that moment, but knew better than to disobey.

Those lips curved into a smile as she stared down at me, helpless and uncertain. Our roles had so quickly shifted, but this was as they were always meant to be: A woman feeling the confidence and power she had locked away long ago and a man ready to prove himself for her amusement and pleasure.

She sat back down and spread her legs, naked from the waist down. With only one word, she dictated the course of the encounter: “Serve.”

It came from her with such ease, as if she had practiced this a hundred times. Surprises weren’t going to stop tonight, it seemed. 

And neither was I.

I crawled forward and placed my hands on her thighs, moving between her legs with something between respect and fear of god. My tongue met her pussy lips, tracing the length of her slit until I found her clit. I used firm pressure and began flicking my tongue against her. She gasped as my focus increased. Her fingers instinctively found their way to my hair and entangled in it, directing my head. I didn’t pull away, or lose my rhythm, I only became more devoted as the minutes went by, intent on making her cum. The only times I strayed from her clit were to probe her gently, desperate to taste her.

I tongue-fucked her as I felt her riding closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. “God…” she said, breath catching in her throat. Her voice was low, guttural, animalistic.

I pressed my tongue deeper into her, reading her body and returning to her clit.

“God… God…” Katherine moaned, electricity skirting, running down her extremities and up to her head. Her moans grew louder and louder, making it more difficult to focus on my worship of her most sensitive spot. I opened my eyes and looked up to see her straining to look down at me. She placed her other hand on my head, her free fingers now looping into the curls of my hair and gripping tight. This act caused me to let out a moan of my own, directly into her wet pussy. She tightened the grip on my hair, pressing her thighs into the sides of my head.

Knowing I was responsible for this woman’s pleasure made my cock strain against my pants, and I could feel precum leaking out of the head. But I knew my pleasure was secondary to her’s and this truth turned me on even more. I had to focus extra hard on her now, restrain my hands from moving to grip my needy cock.

With each moment trapped between her thighs on her whim, I edged closer and closer to my own climax. I couldn’t tell what sounds we were making or which of us was making them. Together, we were sinking deeper and deeper into something pure and animal—I wanted to devour her.

No, I wanted her to devour me.

Orgasm hugged her all at once. She uncurled one of her hands in my hair and wrapped it around my forearm. I tensed up as she did so, reveling in the softness of her touch compared to how tightly she had been keeping me in place only moments before. Part of me wished to beg her for my own release, but I bit my tongue and basked in the glow of her pleasure.

Katherine breathed heavily as I took my mouth off her throbbing pussy. As her breathing slowed, she loosened the iron hold her thighs had on my head. I remained between her legs for a moment despite her grip loosening, not wanting to leave.