Time to switch it up a bit — female dominant, male submissive, more sensual than kinky, however.

To say that I was tired would be a gross understatement. My inner monologue game of word association had left me linking “knackered” to “git” with “British words that I need to use more often” when I reached her door. The door swung open as I knocked. The scent of vanilla wafted from her place. Lighted candles lead the way.

I did not wait for instructions, and entered, taking off my shoes once I crossed the threshold. By the time I was to the room, my shirt was fully unbuttoned. She sat in an easy-chair, watching, a glass of white wine in her hand, a bottle of water next to her. “Continue” she said, gently.

I looked down to find two hangers over the doorknob, onto which I placed my shirt and then my pants. Awkwardly, I hopped out of my socks.

“Oh, and those, too” she said, pointing to my boxer-short-clad groin, my erection starting to poke through the little hole in the fabric. I complied, leaving my underwear with my socks in a heap on the floor.

“Lie down,” she said, standing and pointing to a massage table. I complied, quickly, lying face down, ass-up for her. Immediately, hot oil was poured onto my back, and she kneaded her way down my spine.

I squirmed and sighed and groaned and growled and whimpered as she worked out the knots all around my shoulders, then the middle of my back, and then my lower back.

I expected probing fingers as she worked my ass, but I should know better than to assume my expectations. Her touch remained fully professional before working onto my legs.

My erection waxed and waned as she worked on my backside, but I found myself positioning my body so that “it” had some room to breathe. She ignored “it,” despite the fact that he lay between my legs, pointing toward my feet, seemingly responding to each of her touches.

And speaking of my feet, there may have been cries of pain when she worked on mine.

And then a feather touch worked it’s way up my left leg, over my left buttock, over my spine, to the back of my head. “Turn over, pet,” she whispered in my ear. I came out of my trance and complied as gracefully as I could muster.

My erection flopped in a metronomic way and then did it’s best sundial impersonation, straining for touch.

And, with that, any pretense of a professional massage went away.

She grabbed one testicle in each hand and worked little circles with her fingers at the base of my shaft. I hips started rocking of their own accord and I felt the sweet release of orgasm working its way to the forefront. I tried my damndest to ward off my climax, but my exhaustion combined with the relaxation she provided had me truly in trouble of early release.

I believe she sensed the approach, as well, for she withdrew her hands before I reached that “point of no return,” if only barely.

“Oh, pet – you know how I like you hard. We can’t have you soft now, can we?” she asked.

“Of course mistress, I want to be hard for you.” I replied, my voice straining and my hips trusting for her touch.

She reached down to the ground and came back up holding leather cuffs, obviously tethered to the massage table. “put your arms at your sides” she commanded – gently, yet sternly, and I complied. There was enough give so that my arms could rest, comfortably, if they were at my ass, but I could not pull them any further away.

She then, slowly, started removing her clothing, her little black dress unzipped and, with a shimmy, dropped to the floor. Her bra unclasped and ceremoniously dropped. Her panties stepped out of. Nude, she positioned herself back in her chair, placing her legs over the legs over the arms of the chair in which she sat. She watched my face as one hand spread the lips of her pussy and the other rubbed her clit.

I thought I was impossibly hard beforehand. I was wrong.

She brought herself to an orgasm while watching me, my hips bucking as I believe every ounce of my being screamed “please, let me please you.”

“Would you like something, pet?” she asked, letting her legs come down off the arms of the chair.

“I want to taste you,” I replied, and with that, she placed two fingers inside of her wet pussy and then, standing, put them in my mouth.

She finger-fucked my mouth with these two fingers while, with her other hand, she traced a finger up the underside of my hard shaft, barely ever making contact with my sex. Every time I tried to shift my body weight to keep my cock in contact with her finger, she would force her juice-soaked fingers deeper into my mouth, threatening to gag me, until I returned to being the toy with which she wanted to play.

“How do I taste, pet?” she asked, continuing to slide her fingers into & out of my mouth.

“Heavenly,” I managed to mumble.

She withdrew her hands and walked to pick up her bottle of massage oil. Taking my still-stiff cock in one hand, she dribbled several drops onto the head of my shaft. Again, her thumbs made little circles, this time starting at the head and working their way down.

I do believe I made the noise puppy dogs make that first night that they find themselves separated from their mothers.

“Please,” I whispered. “I want to fuck you.”

“Oh, you want penetration?” she asked.

A nod was all I could muster.

And then her pinky finger pressed, just slightly, into my pee-hole. I yelled in agony. She stopped. My erection did not wane.

Seconds passed without any contact between us. “Tell me, what do you want?” she asked, and ran a finger, lazily, up the underside of my cock.

“I want….” I replied, sweating now as I willed myself not to erupt, “to make you happy.”

“Oh pet – I’m so happy to hear that,” she replied, with a grin. And then, climbed up onto the massage table, straddling my chest, facing my feet.

Slowly, she lowered sex to my mouth. I strained with my bonds, but was able to reach my tongue out to her clitoris. As anxiously as the position would allow, I pleasured her. She rewarded me by interspersing the light touches up my shaft with hard slaps to my cock. With each one, I seemed to grow even harder.

Her juices, combined with my own sweat, had fully saturated my beard by the time she came from my tongue. With her orgasm completed, she lowered her full weight onto my face, treating me as her throne. My tongue out, I kept pressure on her clit until the last throes of her ecstasy were gone. With that, she stood once again.

“Pet, I now want you to cum,” she whispered in my ear, stroking my massage-oil lubricated cock. “Tell me when you know you have no choice. From there, I want you to hold it.”

By the time the instructions were given, she was masturbating me with a fervor — long, slow strokes up my shaft and then with a little twist with her palm at the head before letting all five fingers lightly work their way back down my shaft, where she’d wrap her fingers around me and slowly & firmly & deliberately work their way to the head of my penis. I managed a “yes, mistress,” barely.

Never changing her pace, she continued, seeming to delight in watching my hips move involuntarily. She smiled as I made lustful noises.

“Oh, pet, you should hear and see yourself…” she started to say.”

“Now mistress,” I interrupted her mid-sentence and mid-stroke. She released my cock. My hips thrust. My erect cock, looking for touch, some place to penetrate or, failing that, to find some place for release, flopped against empty air.

I winced and closed my eyes — the dread of a ruined orgasm looming over me. Still having the same lust in my blood, but the semen spilling out of me keeping me from getting hard . . . I know she relished that power over me.

But, again, I must learn to not expect.

Once again, she straddled me; This time, she faced me. Slowly, she lowered her sex onto me. Filling her with my erect cock.

Her hips pressed against mine, and she grinded against me – not allowing me the “in & out” that a fuck session so commonly has, but, basically, ensuring that my cock knew every millimeter of her insides. My orgasm came in a single, great wave. She leaned over my body and placed her left breast in front of my mouth. I eagerly took the nipple between my lips and started sucking it.

She moaned and I felt another spurt fill her.

A minute passed and my erection started to wane from inside of her. Gingerly she lifted herself and walked, on her knees, up the massage table to my face. I knew what was coming. She loved it when I ate my own cum from her pussy.

And this time, my expectation matched her behavior. She lowered her wet sex to my mouth and I licked deep inside, forcing my seed from her and swallowing every last drop.

When I was convinced that all was gone, my tongue found its way to her clitoris and I worked her until her body shuddered once again, my head squeezed between her thighs.

She stood and released my arms from their bonds. “Head to the bed,” she explained, and I stood, not entirely confidently, on my feet, and started my way to her bed as she walked to her closet. I laid myself down and, next to me, she placed a riding crop and a strap on.

“Sleep now, pet – you’ll need your energy for a long day ahead of you,” she whispered in my ear before kissing my cheek.

I cringed just a bit, not knowing what was to come.

“You have pleased me, greatly,” she then whispered, and my cringe turned to a smile.

I had pleased her. All was right in my world.