Sir

“So what do you think?” Leo leans close, and my thoughts spark and fizzle into static. Their eyes are even more beautiful up close, dappled blue and gray like sunlight on the sea. I’ve never been a great read of people, so the unabashed openness in Leo’s gaze captivated me from our very first meeting. I could spend whole evenings watching each wave of emotion swell and crest in those eyes. Right now, their eyes are relaxed but lively and intent. 

Oh, right—I owe them an answer. I shake myself a little, looking around to get reoriented. We’re perched on too-small stools in a windy park tucked between two busy avenues, cradling treacly cups of cocoa. 

“Do you want the truth or do you want affirmation that you planned a good date?” I raise a playful eyebrow and bite my lip, nudging their leg with my knee. 

“No lies allowed.” Their tone is light, but they mean it. 

“I don’t know how you drink this stuff! The hot dogs were delicious, but this? Blech. Is there even chocolate in it or did they just pour in straight sugar?”

Leo throws back their head, laughing full throated, with their whole body, a mischievous dimple popping out in sharp relief against the plane of their cheek. They run a hand through their carefully-careless shock of brown hair and bring it down to rest on the hem of my rust-red dress. I’ve dressed just for them: the muted tones to set off my pearly skin and compliment the changing trees lining the avenue; the clingy knit fabric drapes along the soft curves of my breasts and hips, deceptively innocent. My normally wild shag of blonde hair is loosely pinned back, inviting a fist to tangle at the roots. I’m a ripe peach in the sun and I need their teeth in me.

This was a “tour my neighborhood” sort of date, the kind where you’ve finally learned enough about someone to be desperate to know everything: their favorite hotdog stand, the park where they bring their disgustingly sweet “cocoa”, even their subway stop. It looks the same as any other subway stop, of course—grimy, graffitied, and worn—but those are the steps Leo tramps down every morning, which makes them special. 

“I didn’t even have them add the peppermint syrup!” Leo is grinning. “You just like things bitter and unpleasant. I always forget what a glutton you are for punishment.” They wink at me and my stomach flips. 

I lap at the rim of my cup, smugly watching Leo’s eyes flick down to my tongue. They’re too fun to tease. I push it further and shake my head back so my tits bounce in my lacy bra, just a bit. I pretend not to notice their gaze raking across my body. Their breath catches as I uncross my legs and lean in, barely audible over the low hum of traffic. 

“Only when you’re the one punishing me.” I try to keep it flirty, but there’s a sincerity in my voice I can’t hide. I blush. Somehow I can’t help but give them the upper hand over me. 

I hadn’t signed up to care about random subway stops when we started seeing each other three months ago. It was supposed to be a casual fling, two people that liked the same kind of rough sex, but somehow we ended up in orbit around each other. I dig through flea markets to find them vintage lesbian art, they call me during their midnight walks along the beach, we cuddle up with their two black foster kittens to watch old horror films and talk about lighting and framing. And now I want more than a romp. I crave their control. 

Maybe it’s the slow satisfied smile Leo gets when they hurt me. Maybe it’s how they lean back against their headboard and drink me in, making me wait while they decide what to do with me. Or maybe it’s how they’ve shown me over and over that they’ll push me to the very edge of what I can take but are always there to catch me when I come to pieces. I want to hand myself over to them by the fistful—to see how they use me, what they take from me. Surrendering to them fulfills me on a primal level. But do they want the same thing? Do they want to make me theirs, not just play the role for a couple hours to make the sex hotter, but to build something real together? I’m too nervous to ask.

“Come with me, I want to show you my favorite bar.” Leo reaches out and clasps my hand. Their hand is strong and warm where it envelops mine. We walk a few blocks and slip through a patio strung with Edison bulbs to enter the bar.

“I love it! I see why it’s your favorite,” I say. It really is charming. The little Upper West Side classic is clean and cozy, with dark beams and exposed brick. We settle kitty corner at a small wooden table. If I stretched and leaned in my wobbly chair, I probably could touch both walls. The snug space makes each table private but the bar stretches long enough to allow a pleasant buzz of conversation. 

I take a gulp of the swirling purple drink in front of me. The liquor and grape blooms on my tongue. The drink coils hot in my belly and casts a hazy veil between this moment and the rest of my cares in the world. There is nothing but them. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Leo whispers in my ear, leaning close. Their breath scorches my neck and sends an ember of lust skittering down my throat to pulse against my heart. 

“You’re pretty cute yourself.” I reach up and trail a finger across their cheek. They smile and hum a little. I bite my lip, thinking. It’s tempting to let our dynamic let me off the hook for hard conversations, to play into the fantasy that they’ll just know what I want without me having to say a thing. But that’s not the way it works in the real world. If I want to be theirs, I have to say it out loud. 

“Leo?”

“Hmm?”

“I love what we’re doing. It’s really good for me.” I tuck my hand back into theirs. I feel queasy and flushed.

“Sweet girl.” They smile.  

“Have…have you ever wanted, like, more? To go…deeper…with someone?”

“I’ve thought about it.” They tip their head to the side and all of a sudden I’m too nervous to meet their eyes and see what’s written there. Was this a terrible idea? “I know some people use words like Sir as spice, but I’ve always wanted it to mean something more. A real title for a specific kind of relationship. One where I hold the power not just for a scene but between scenes. To really take someone in hand. It’s hot. It’s also a lot of responsibility.”

I know what they mean—it’s not that what we are already doing isn’t real, or that a more formal dynamic removes the guardrails of consent that keeps us both safe. But there’s something intangible we’re trying to say about making the deliberate choice to mean more to each other, to bring our full selves to the connection in an intentional way. I take a deep breath. “I’d want that. With you.”

I still can’t quite look at them. They put a hand under my chin—so close to where my heart beats in my throat—and tip my head up to look at them. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” they say. Their face shines in the dim light, radiant with warmth and focus. I nuzzle into their hand. “I’d need to think about it.” That’s fair. I wouldn’t want them to make this decision lightly. They stroke my cheek and say, “If I were to do that with anyone, it would be you.” 

I smile up at them, full of trust.

“I want to hurt you now,” Leo says, changing their tone. Their eyes hold a challenge. My favorite.

“Oh, yes, please.” I whimper and nestle closer to them. Our knees nudge against each other under the table. It shouldn’t feel so exhibitionary—their strong legs are fully covered by their thick, dark jeans and while I’m always more bare than they are, the femme lily to their masc oak tree, mine are still sheathed in tights. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling a sinful slip of skin on skin, a secret bare wantonness we are hiding below the table. 

Their nails dig into my thigh, catching the sheer material. Leo had a fascination with destroying my tights—I had a standing command to buy them three pairs at a time so they could rip them off of me whenever they wanted. The fabric clasps my leg, twisting tighter and tighter before yielding. They trace their fingers around the tattered scraps, savoring the mess they made of my clothing. I wonder what the appeal is for them—is it the quiet violation of the normal boundaries between people? Sheer hedonism in the act of destruction? Perhaps it symbolizes that I myself could be ripped apart at their whim. I love it when they ruin my clothes for all those reasons, but mostly because there’s nothing sexier than the satisfied curve of their lip when they do it. 

“Be a good girl and stay quiet,” they say. Fuck. I bite back a moan and press my leg into their hand. Leo wraps their hand around the outside of my thigh and starts to squeeze. I can’t make a sound. We’re in public. No one can know what we’re doing. What I let them do to me. My eyes go wide and I bite my lip. Leo tips their head and raises an eyebrow—yes? 

I take a shaky breath and choose. To yield, to bend, to step inch by inch into an icy pool. My body relaxes. I search their face—ah there it is. That whisper of delight in my submission. That tiny expression always feels like a full body caress. I feel it flickering in my sternum, licking along the insides of my wrists, liquid down my spine. 

Leo squeezes harder, each of their fingers becoming a blaze of pain. I tense, then plunge forward and float in that pool of their pain and control. I was going to bruise. I was going to touch each bruise a hundred times to remember this moment. The sensation spirals in my core. It drops the bottom out of my stomach. My lips part and I pant. Lust roars in my ears and settles in my cunt, boiling my blood. 

As if they can see my need, my limit, the point where I will stop being able to perch demurely on my chair and instead beg them openly to take me, Leo drops their hand. 

“Wait one minute and knock three times on the bathroom door.” Leo gets up. They stand behind me, trailing a finger down the back of my neck. I tremble. In one smooth, private motion, they reach into the oversized pocket of the red wool coat hanging off the back of my chair. I barely register them transferring the silk-wrapped cock I’d brought into the pocket of their own leather jacket.

I tip back the rest of my drink and press the glass against my forehead, desperately trying to look collected. The ice cubes clink and rattle in my shaky hands. This doesn’t feel like role play anymore. This feels like Leo sees the aching soul of me. I begin a slow count to sixty. 

When I get up I wobble just a bit, blushing at my ripped tights. Is everyone staring? Can they see my unsteadiness? Do they know what’s about to happen? 

Three nervous knocks on the door. The door opens inward onto a small tiled room glowing dimly under a pink neon light. Leo draws me in, one hand cradling my waist, the other tight on my bicep. They pin me to the door. The lock clicks behind me. And then their mouth is on mine and the rest of the world stops mattering. They taste like booze and mint, their lips soft but ferocious on mine. It’s not a shared kiss—they use my mouth, plundering it, biting and sucking. I cling to their shoulders like driftwood in the storm of their kiss. They wrap a fist in my hair, slamming my head back against the door so they can devour my neck, my collarbone, the tops of my breasts.

“I want you on your knees.” Their voice resonates in their chest and rumbles into mine.

“Yes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

My breath catches. Sir. Just three little letters but an invitation to so much more. Belonging to each other, being theirs as much as they are mine. My Sir. They slide a hand beneath my chin and tip my head up. Their ocean gaze is calm, steady…hopeful.

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper. A wave of delight crashes through their eyes, followed immediately by a hard, aggressive longing.

“Knees. Now.” Leo shoves my shoulder and I stumble, teetering in my heeled boots. I hit the sticky bathroom floor on my knees, trapped between them and the door. They unbutton their pants and slide a hand in to reveal the hot pink cock. I look up at them wide eyed. They expect me to grovel for them on the floor of a bar bathroom? Momentary tears of shame well up in my eyes, then I feel a rush of lust. My place is wherever they put me.

They work their cock in and out of my mouth, the wet sounds of my throat obscene even over the bar music. They pull out fast, drool spilling onto my chest. A stinging slap across my cheek. I’m trapped, helpless, watching lust and power spread over their face as they use me. 

“Look at you.” Their smirk cuts through the hazy pink light. “I bet you love this, you’re such a dirty slut.” They tangle a hand in my hair to yank me up and push me over the sink. They ease my skirt up over my ass and claw down the round flesh, rending my tights over my bare cunt. I brace myself. They pass two fingers over the slippery mess of my vulva and laugh as I moan and arch into their hand. “Taste how wet you are to kneel in a bar bathroom for me.” They wipe their hand across my mouth and I taste myself, sweet and tart. 

“Oh please sir, please sir.” I can’t control my begging. I don’t even know what I’m begging for, so long as they don’t stop. I catch a glimpse of myself in the scratched mirror, my hair spilling over my shoulders, my plum lipstick smudged, a glassy vacant look in my eyes. I need them to fill me. 

They spin me back around to put my back against the door, pulling up one of my legs to rest on the sink. I’m spread for them, empty, hungry. I reach for them and they grasp both of my wrists and hold them overhead as they slide inside me.

I nearly shatter. I writhe against them—they’re impossibly close and still too far away. They bite into my shoulder with a growl. “You’re fucking mine, pet. Mine.” I whimper and whine and pant like the animal they’ve made me. The angle puts the ring of their strap right against my clit and I hump against them, desperate. I need them closer. I need more. They thrust into me, bringing me closer and closer to a peak. The pain of their teeth, the hitch of their breath in my ear, the pressure and friction building in my cunt...Desire roils in me. They clasp a hand over my mouth and I wail into it as my orgasm rocks me.

I collapse onto their chest, encircled by their strong arms. They smell like sandalwood, like sex and sweat. “What a good girl.” Leo strokes my hair back from my cheeks and I can hear the smile in their voice. “Look at what you let yourself be for me. My good pet.” Each of their words unfurls in my heart, into a bouquet of lust and safety and fullness. I can’t muster anything more than a satisfied hum. They chuckle and continue tracing gentle patterns along my neck and shoulders. 

When I return to my body enough to nuzzle into their neck, Leo helps me straighten my clothes, my hair. They swipe a finger along my chin to clean up my lipstick and tuck their cock away. Then they cup my cheek in their warm hand. Their eyes are intent and focused. “Come now pet. The night is just beginning.” 

There’s more? Anticipation and nervous energy jumble in my stomach, but I feel sure. Steady. I want to go where they lead. “Yes, Sir.” 

They lead me out into the night.