by Eden Myles
My heart was knocking in my throat. “Then you’ve decided.”
Robert went to sit on the edge of my desk. Unlike his, I kept mine strictly organized, control freak that I was, though I didn’t mind that Robert liked to work in what I secretly called his personal paper-storm. It was just what made Robert Robert, crunchy earthy and sweet. “I admit I have my reservations. I’m not much of an exhibitionist, I’m afraid.” He picked up my favorite coffee mug, the one I left on my desk for all to see, the one that read, Big Boss Lady in block letters. “How did you ever get to be this way, Margo?”
“What way?”
He waved the mug. “A femdom. I Wiki-ed it.”
I bit back a smile. “I was born this way, Robert. And I’m not a femdom. I’m a dominant. I’m what the Society calls a lady.”
“So what shall I call you, then? Milady?”
I closed the filing cabinet. “Yes, call me that.” The missing funds had left no trail, but at the moment, I didn’t want to concentrate on business woes. The weekend stretched ahead of us and I decided I had more important things to interest me.
Things like a certain, grey-eyed, sweet-faced angel of a man. I reached for my suit coat and said, “Why not let your lady take you to dinner, Robert? We’ll work out all the details.”
***
Over some Goan cuisine at our favorite Indian café in the West Village, I explained what I expected of Robert. He spooned prawn curry carefully into his mouth as I spoke, only interrupting me when he was unclear about something I’d said. I half expected him to laugh at me, or to tell me I was crazy, but he seemed to be taking this very seriously.
After that, we were both very open about our past sexual experiences, and we each discussed both our soft and hard limits. We reassured each other that we were clean and free of disease, that I had adequate birth control, and we were not currently involved in any other relationships. That was important to me. Some gentlemen I knew were more open-minded about such things, allowing their companion to live this whole other single’s life on the side, but I was a little old fashioned in that regard. I wanted my courtier all to myself, no other players involved.
We told very frank stories about ourselves, got to know each other all over again. I was amused to learn that Robert hadn’t had sex for the first time until he was almost twenty-six years old. It had been with an older woman and had been a disaster. I told him about my first real boyfriend in college and how he had opened my eyes to the world of BDSM. I told him about my years working as a professional domme to put myself through college. I had never told anyone that, not even Malcolm. To his credit, Robert said that was interesting, and made a joke about how much simpler sex seemed to be back in the 1970’s, when he was a young man. I didn’t discuss my attack when I was thirteen years old. Maybe one day, I thought, but not tonight. I wanted tonight special; I didn’t want it all about my emotional baggage.
We drove back to the penthouse apartment that the firm had given me when I first went to work for Robert and I invited him upstairs. Despite our close friendship, I had never had him in my loft. In fact, I had never invited anyone from work home, period, keeping both worlds separate until now. I kept the place spare and modern, decorated in a vast, white, neo-Grecian motif—I’d always had a fascination with ancient Greece—a time when pleasure and luxury meant something—and the sparseness prevented me having to do a lot of housecleaning since I didn’t employ a maid. I knew my reluctance to let anyone I didn’t know and trust into my inner sanctum was yet another symptom of my obsessive need to control my environment and protect myself, but I couldn’t help it. Just because you can see you have a problem doesn’t necessarily mean you can control it.
Robert circled the main living space with his suit coat over his arm, looking at some of the erotic photography I had collected over the years like someone perusing a normal gallery on a Sunday afternoon down in SoHo. Much had been shot by Malcolm—Malcolm with his potent, old fashioned eye toward his beautiful sepia men and women. I was a huge fan of Malcolm’s photography. It suddenly occurred to me that I felt very comfortable with Robert being here, seeing the things I loved, seeing inside me.
Finally, he turned to me. “They’re quite good, aren’t they?”
“I’m glad you like them.” My voice was gruff and low. Were I talking to Robert my best friend, I would have added something funny and self-deprecating like, I was afraid you might think I was perverted or something. Then we would both laugh and drink Irish coffee and discuss it. But that wasn’t the relationship I had with him just at the moment. We weren’t friends, colleagues, or even girlfriend and boyfriend. I was a lady and he was my courtier, my sexual companion.
I was wet. I wanted to take him to bed, work him, make every inch of his body mine. I realized I hadn’t felt this level of lust and excitement in years. I moved up behind him and slid my arms around his waist. I buried my face in the side of his neck and inhaled the sweet, lemony cologne he wore. I feathered kisses under his ear and slid my hand down the film muscles of his lower belly. He was partially erect already. I squeezed the bulge in his trousers, finding it sizable. “Come to bed with me?”
“If it’s what milady wants.” His Wenglish accent made it sound delightfully medieval.
I led him to my bedroom. I had spent a great deal of time and money decorating it. The floors were black and white checked parquet, and Byzantine-style Boiserie covered the walls from floor to ceiling, carven by a talented indie artist I’d found online. Likewise, I’d had the same artist paint Romantic-style murals of gods, heroes and wars all over my ceiling. Thronos, stools, couches, footstools and klismos chairs were scattered around the vast room. Tall white columns were draped with real ivy. My Greek bedstead was vast and beautifully simple, with lion paw feet, entirely custom made, and covered in soft red velvet throw pillows.
“Amazing,” he told me softly as I led him to the bed and commanded him to disrobe for me. “It’s like something out of time.”
I ignored his compliments. I didn’t explain the real reason I’d put so much into it, that for years I had been carefully preparing my nest for my future courtier, a nearly subconscious act on my part, I now realized.
I watched him undress. His eyes were steady but his fingers shook as he undid his tie and then his shirt.
I turned to my vanity to afford him a chance to collect his courage. I slid out of my business wear, but left my black lace bra and panties on, as well as my thigh-high silk stockings with their scalloped edges. I undid my corporate chignon and my dark honey hair showered down around my shoulders. When I turned, I found Robert sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully looking me over as he worked his trousers off.
I was hardly a flyweight. A good appetite and Swedish genes had seen to that. At six feet even and hovering around a hundred and seventy pounds, I was a true Amazon. I had hips and heavy breasts, but only the most misogynistic men considered me “fat”. Most felt I was simply imposing. My mother had complained that I would never get a man unless I was a stick thin, quiet good girl, but I’d had plenty of lovers over the years to prove her wrong, and I had no desire to diet away my curves—or change who I was.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” Robert said.
My heart surged but I trained my face to show no emotion, the way I had when I had done this professionally. I lifted a long leg and planted my size nine four-inch pump against the flat, hard plain of Robert’s abs. “You won’t speak unless spoken to first. That is the first rule.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “Yes, milady.”
“You will be absolutely obedient to your lady. Her word is your law.”
“Yes, milady.”
“You will make yourself sexually available to your lady at all times. You will place her needs above those of your own. She may summon you to her side. When she does, it is your duty to go to her and fulfill her needs without question. Do you agree to all this, Robert?”
I looked him in the ey
e. My heart was pounding harder than ever.
He looked back at me with a combination of fear and lust. “Yes, milady.”
I gave him his first set of instructions, and he dutifully slid his big, warm hands up my calf, cradling my leg while he lowered his head and brushed a series of soft kisses along my knee and shin bone. Watching him kiss me, obey me, made me wetter than ever. Very quickly my desire for him actually hurt. When he reached my ankle, I pushed him back on the bed and crawled atop him, sleek and catlike, pinning him to the mattress and working his trousers the rest of the way off.
He watched me quietly, though his hands moved briefly to cover himself before I ordered them away. I thought how he shouldn’t be ashamed. He was absolutely perfect and beautiful. I drank in the sight of my naked courtier pinned beneath me and found it wasn’t enough to slake my appetite.
I’d been with all kinds of men over the years, men of all ages, types and breeds, but there was something about the middle aged male form that made my juices run and my heart thud faster against my chest. I loved the hardness of them, the way time had tested them and found them fit and strong, like a tree that can weather any storm. I even loved Robert’s imperfections. His body was lightly, darkly furred with just a scattering of silver, and his tummy wasn’t the flat plain of a boy anymore—he was solid and thickly muscled—but all that just endeared him to me more, made him real and warm and alive to me. He had a wonderfully deep, well-formed chest, wide shoulders and well-corded legs, and his cock was thick and heavily veined, not overly long but well fitted to his body and flushed red now with his arousal.
“You’re beautiful too,” I told him.
I leaned close and whispered what I planned on doing to him tonight while he shivered and fought his need to grab me. I told him that wasn’t permitted anymore than speaking without being spoken to first. The only thing he was allowed to do was to use the safe word we had agreed upon if I made him feel uncomfortable in some way. I didn’t want him frightened or hurt; I cared about him too much.
Finally, I urged him back into the next of pillows at the head of the bed, straddled him, and traced the line of his cheek with one sharp, French-manicured fingernail. “If you’re good, you can fuck me after I’m finished with you.” I then reached for the cuffs I kept in my bedside drawer.
His eyes, lit with excitement, watched me, and his breathing grew increasingly shallow as I gathered his wrists together and cuffed them to the spindles of my headboard. The motion pulled his arms taught and made his biceps stand proud. I traced his lovely muscles with my fingertips, raced the smooth of my nails over his clavicle, around his nipples, and down the slope of his ribs. He sucked in a quick breath at my touch. I could tell he was trying to be good, that he wanted to be a good boy and get his reward.
I smirked as I touched him as lightly as a feather, which gave my already fertile imagination a boost. I found the grand white plume I kept in the same drawer as the handcuffs and began brushing it methodically against his nipples until they were hard, then followed the line of dark, lush fur down the middle of his body to his groin. His hard-on grew by inches, and when I brushed the feather around the base of his cock, the thick, meaty head started weeping thickly and he groaned deep in his throat and his face took on a look of extreme concentration.
“Oh god…Margo…” he breathed so low I had to strain to hear it.
I had a feeling he was going to have trouble obeying, and I thought I should discipline him, but the truth was, I didn’t want to scare him, or, god help me, hurt him, especially this first time. So instead of disciplining him, I replaced the feather with my mouth. I kissed the base of his cock, the source of my pleasure. I shook my hair out all along his lower belly, let it tickle like blonde ribbons along his abs, then licked all around his steely shaft before moving lower. I loved his wonderful, clean taste. Unlike so many other executives I knew, Robert didn’t drench himself in those sickeningly sweet colognes as if trying desperately to hide his own male scent. It came through clearly, a bright, musky taste.
I’d learned many things over the years, working as a domme. For instance, it wasn’t the size of a man’s equipment but how he used it. I’d been with men who were hung little better than eunuchs but who were wonderful, talented lovers, and I’d been with men who could have done professional porn for a living but fumbled around like adolescent boys. A man’s cock was so much more pleasurable when it was fat, rather than long. And the most aggressive men, the alpha men, frequently had more balls than cock.
I took Robert’s big, heavy balls in my hand and squeezed them gently before bowing my head to them and flicking my tongue over their velvety-hard surface. Robert’s stomach contracted and he jerked his hips up reflexively in response. “No, my courtier.” I stopped licking his balls and squeezed his cock until he got himself under control again. “Do you trust me?”
“Y-yes, milday,” he managed in a thin, reedy voice like a man on the verge of hyperventilating.
“Good.” I gave the crown of his cock on brief lick, just enough to taste his precum, and then slid off the bed and moved to the adjacent washroom. I felt his eyes on my back as I left him there, bound and helpless.
When I returned five minutes later, I had my shaving kit with me, including my favorite straight razor, a strop, and a basin of warm water. I settled beside Robert, who watched me with great interest…and not a little fear.
“Milady…”
I slapped his cock with the strop and he immediately groaned at the stimulation.
“Do you trust me?” I repeated.
“Yes,” he answered softly.
I went about stropping my blade until it was perfectly, wickedly sharp and then set it down so I could apply a warm, ginger-infused gel to the thick mat of dark fur surrounding his beautiful cock. “I prefer my men clean shaven at the groin,” I told him. “You may do this yourself, or allow me to do it in future. But either way, it must be done.”
He snorted and fought the reaction of his body as I applied the gel and the cool burning of the ginger began, then grew as still as a corpse as I took up the straight razor. I felt the small muscles in his lower belly flutter as I began skillfully removing the hair at his groin, scraping over the lovely plains and angles, going delicately around his balls and the base of his cock. I spread his legs further and urged them up a little as I skirted his perineum and nipped at the edges of his asshole.
I could see the question in his eyes and I said, “You may speak now, if you wish.”
“You’re very skilled,” Robert said. He had finally relaxed visibly.
“I offered this skill to my clients,” I told him as I wiped the blade and snicked it closed. I followed up the path of the blade with my tongue, moving wetly and unhurriedly around all the places my blade had touched while Robert gasped and jerked in his binds, testing them mightily when I briefly raced my tongue up his cock to catch the sudden spurt of precum there.
“You’ve been very good,” I told him. “But you mustn’t come unless I say. You mustn’t even spurt.”
“I’ll do my best, milady.”
I squeezed his cock and he groaned, but this time, he didn’t spurt. “I don’t want your best, Robert. I want perfection.”
Finally, I moved up his body, slowly shedding my undergarments as I moved snakelike into position, my knees clutching his hips as I rubbed the wetness of my dripping wet sex against his skin. Robert’s handcuffs clacked against the spindles as he strained, and he bit his bottom lip at the sight of my bare breasts dangling a few tantalizing inches over his mouth, at the feel of my wetness streaking his belly. I leaned low and brushed my engorged nipples against his chest, then over his chin and lips before moving them quickly away. He gasped and closed his eyes briefly as he worked on controlling himself for me.
“Good boy,” I said, stroking his dear face with my fingertips and rewarding him with a kiss. I clutched his cheek and deepened the kiss, nearly losing myself in the taste of him, and he made a groan so low
in his throat it was nearly a growl. I slid my tongue against the roof of his mouth and over his teeth and I felt him trembling under the onslaught of his own desire. I loved this, watching a powerful, confident man like Robert turn to emotional putty in my hands, feeling him submit to me, giving himself to me to play with.
I trailed biting kisses over his chin and down his throat, traced the curve of his Adam’s apple with my tongue while I crawled down the length of his body. Soon I was at eye level with his newly-shaven groin and thick, bone-hard erection. Without the fur there, he looked even bigger, wet and ready for me. His cock lay almost perfectly flat against his lower belly and his balls were likewise rock-hard and painfully tight against his groin. I licked at the drips of precum gathering at the base and said, “Shall I make you come, my dear?”
“Please,” he said, his voice soft and desperate.
“Please, what?”
“Please, milady.”
“Tell me. Tell your lady what you want, Robert.”
“Please let me come, milady.”
I finally took him in my mouth, swallowing him down slowly while using both hands to keep his hips pinned to the bed. He whimpered as I took him into my mouth as if I were causing him some deep pain. He had such a beautiful cock, faintly curved so it quickly hit the back of my throat. While I held him there, I gathered his balls once more and tugged gently at their tightness, rolling them like Ben Wa balls in my hands until I could feel his whole pelvis struggling not to buck uncontrollably as he fought his nature.
I guided him in and out of my mouth, going slow and enjoying his taste, enjoying his struggles. I worked his balls the way I worked his cock. I stroked along his perineum but avoided penetrating him there the way I would have with another man—penetration was Robert’s hard limit, and besides, he didn’t need it. It was obvious he hadn’t been with a woman in a very long time. Finally, I slid his slippery cock out of my mouth just long enough to say, “You may come now.”
