This is a brief recollection of a fond memory from several years ago with a previous partner. I’ve thrown it onto paper on a whim this evening and not really proofed it, so apologies for errors.
My friends tell me that I have a traditional, old fashioned “aesthetic” regarding design, style, and personality. I suppose they’re right though I don’t like to admit to it, with a few exceptions. This is one of those exceptions in which my seemingly eccentric style led to an incredibly memorable evening, and one we repeated many a time after. I shall endeavour to present it as I experienced it, with maybe just a little flare.
—-
” ‘Love’ is the name that we give to our pursuit of wholeness, to be restored to our original nature.”
If ever there was proof that matters of love and human connection are untouched by time and social progress, then these words of Plato would be such a proof. An orange glow from the gently flicking fire radiated across the pages open in front of me. How strange that the words from the mouth of a Greek man at a dinner party some 2000 years ago still held personally relatable truth.
My reading stopped as I basked in reflection. He was right, love isn’t just some enjoyable bonus to being social creatures. It serves and speaks of so much more, it’s a place in which my own nature is preserved and expressed in ways it can’t possibly be elsewhere. An opportunity to be me, a very natural part of me, that isn’t otherwise easily expressed.
I sat absorbed in thought as I often did in that room, the space I had developed to fit me. Floor to ceiling bookcases on one side, an enclosed fireplace on the other with my favourite leather armchair in front of it, accompanied by a simple pine coffee table to hold my work and a cup of coffee. It wasn’t just the way the space looked, or how it was so conducive to deep, peaceful thought. It was also the smell. Old books, crackling fireplace, leather, coffee. And this would be one of the evenings in which the room reflected my nature even further than normal.
My reflective daze was interupted by a flash of red through the rain drizzled window. Her car. She was late home from work, though she had called ahead to let me know. It hadn’t bothered me, I’m quite comfortable with a book and my thoughts on a wet evening, but I certainly wasn’t going to let by an opportunity to express my love for her. Of course, what that means to her and I might seem strange to others.
Ingrained deeply in my nature is a desire to control, protect, and dominate women, to see a woman surrender herself to me and to enjoy the exchanges of power that come with it. And of course, that part of who I am is tightly wound to affection, romance, sex, and love. Plato’s words returned.
Out of sight I heard the car door closing and the unavoidable click of her work heels on pavement. My mind shifted to her work, things we had already messaged about earlier that day. I couldn’t help but grin at my own unusual attraction to….proficiency. She’s good at what she does and a proficient, professional woman is incredibly attractive, particularly when that guard is lowered and her true nature is naked to me whenever I desire.
Yes, I may have had no qualms with her being late home but I enjoy any opportunity to show her my love. To show her myself. To expose my true nature and remind her of her true place.
She already knew what awaited her. Beneath the calm and firm appearance she would have maintained in that evenings late meeting, she will have been dripping wet in both anticipation and preparedness. I returned to my book, only half reading as I listened, visualising what I could hear as she followed the orders I had given.
This evening would be one of service. An evening of undivided servitude to me and my will.
The door unlocked and opened in an adjoining room. I shift in the armchair, cross my leg, ankle on knee. I had changed into tan trousers, black linen shirt and soft brown leather shoes. I know what presses her buttons.
I heard her heels come off and bag being placed down followed by a rustle fading down the hall as she disappeared to my bedroom and the drawers reserved for her things.
By now I’m barely even pretending to read. My cock is throbbing, unmistakably hard and yearning, almost as much as my eyes and mind, to have her in my grasp.
Soon she returns, the sound of heels once again giving her away. She will have changed, as was my orders, into gentle black patterned thigh high stockings and garter belt, matching grey and red lace thong and low-cup bralette. Her work heels will have been replaced with the tan leather strappy pair I had chosen out, ones with thin leather straps that wrap side to side over her delicate feet and twist upward, crisscrossing around her ankle to her mid shin. If she has remembered correctly the collar with an almost identical tone to the heels will be undone and in her mouth when she enters the room.
I continue looking at the book casually as if I’ve hardly noticed her entrance to the house. She will have my attention when I give it, not a moment sooner.
The leather heels stop and draw together right on the edge of a rug, the abstract boundary to my reading space as she is well aware. She knows she may never step inside that space without permission. I pretend to read for a moment longer. I want her wait to be drawn out as a reminder of her place, just in case her day pretending to be authoritative in the office still needed to be loosed. My acted reading reaches the end of the page and I glanced up, looking her in the eye, giving the doninant glare she’s raved about so many times. Without a word I let my eyes slowly move up and down her body, admiring what is mine while checking she has obeyed my commands.
Her long, dark hair was bound in a high and tight pony tail, minimal natural makeup with the exception of her eyes which were framed by a dark eye liner and mascara to make her lashes contrast against her face. Held between her lips was the tan leather collar, open and drooping on either end. My eyes traced the exquisite shape of her bare shoulders which she held square and pulled back as she had been taught, the line of her collar bone and curve of her chest to her breasts. The matching lace launderette was as I had hoped, subtle and minimal but pretty and sexy. Perfectly extenuating her plunging cleavage and smooth, tight waist. Speaking of which, my gaze came upon the lace garter belt, we only had one so no need to consider if it was the correct choice, but I certainly inspected whether she had fitted it correctly, sitting on her hips, the suspending clips not being too tight to draw on the stockings, nor too loose to let them sag.
The entire inspection took less than 5 seconds as I soaked on my woman’s beauty and the expressions of her obedience now covering her body. I glance back to her eyes which were cast downward until she felt my gaze back on her. She looked back and still, without a word I gave a subtle move of my head and looked at the ground in front of my chair, before casually returning to the next page of my book.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see her unfold her arms from behind her back to take the collar from her mouth for just a moment so that she could speak,
“Yes Sir. Thank you Sir,” the first words of our evening. They felt fitting, not just for the depth to which d/s dwelt in us both, but in how it expressed our connection and affection in our own unique way. She took four steps to be on front of me and knelt, arms remaining behind her as she did. Only then did I place the open book on the table beside me, unconscious my legs so that my knees were almost either side of her. Once again I lock eyes with her and reach out, touching her soft cheek with the back of my hand to trace down her jaw line. Her eyes close and she pushes back against my fingers, like a cat purring.
My hand reaches her mouth and retrieves the collar. A glance down confirms a very dark, wet patch where it had been in her mouth. She was salivating. I gave a gentle grin and a suppressed, sheepish smile a slight titling of the head confirmed from her embarrassment that it was more than just one of her holes that was wet with anticipation.
She straightens as I fit the collar around her neck and tighten the buckle at the front, the 3rd hole, I knew by now. Training and practice had recently been paying off as her indecisive submission was overridden by taught actions and responses, as we were about to see. I run both hands over different parts of her body, enjoying her flesh but firmly giving a reminder of her bodies true purpose and owner. Then I lean back again, spread my legs a little more and pick up the book with just four words, “Use your mouth girl”.
She shuffled forward on her knees, running her hands up my thighs to unbutton my trousers and unzip my fly. I hadnt worn underwear so my still throbbing cock sprung out as she pulled the material out of the way. Without hesitation one hand was positioning my manhood, the other was cupping my balls and she began running her tongue up and down my shaft. Her eyes remained closed or on my cock, she knew she wasn’t permitted to look up until she was fulling engaged in pleasuring me.
From the first time we were together I loved the way she approached oral sex. Not just as a way to show affection, not even just as a way to serve as a good submissive, but as a way for us to connect, a moment for us both to be ourselves and experience intimacy. She was skilled at giving her entire focus to pleasuring, in all forms but particularly with her mouth on her knees. It seemed as if the world had completely melted away and every little twitch and movement of lips, tongue, cheeks and fingers was carefully selected to please and serve.
Soon she was bobbing her head up and down on my manhood, the head of which I could feel hit the back of her throat and slide slightly down before feeling the soft, warm mouth squeeze back over the sensitive flesh until it was at her lips. There had been countless hours of training and experimenting on what I enjoyed most and what aligned with her natural timing, she had become incredibly proficient at selecting what actions and timing to use. By now her eyes moved between her work and my eyes. Every moment she came up for breath strings of saliva were drawn between her mouth and my cock, which would immediately be stroked by at least one hand, never giving an empty moment to my sensations. As her body had relaxed into her evenings place in front of the fire, the noises of my cock sliding in and out of her mouth was joined by her moans. Yes, she was performing, but she knew I didn’t allow or desire faking. If she was moaning, then she was loving the opportunity to the use herself to serve me.
My book didn’t last long and found it’s way back to the table, my trousers found their way to my ankle, and my hands found their way onto her shoulders and into her hair. The testosterone and internal need to actively dominate her boiled to the surface. When she felt my hands tightening in her hair and her movements coming under my control, her hands returned to behind her back and she surrendered to my use of her throat.
She enjoyed the process of being objectified for my pleasure, moments of ignoring her needs and wants and discomfort to take what I desired. For some time she had been training her throat most evenings on a thin toy, usually while I fucked her, and often while I face fucked her onto the toy while taking her pussy at the same time. The training had paid off.
I hardly noticed the squeaking if the leather chair under our movements as I thrust her head up and down on my cock, feeling her chin press against my balls and my cock press down her throat. Training, including a number of canings, had taught her to keep her hands behind her back and I felt a gush of pride looking down and seeing her maintain her elegantly sexy positioning as I ravaged her throat.
Eventually I wanted more of her, pulling her off my manhood and holding her in place to look down at her and give her gentle praise for serving so well. Her eyes were wide with desire as she caught her breath, “Can you use me more, Sir?”
—
Yes, more did occur that evening…. but I’ve rambled on far too much and I’m unsure anyone would even bother reading this far! Certainly, if someone enjoys it somehow and let’s me know, I’ll tell the rest of what I can recall of that evening.
Be well.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/nnip2q/by_the_fire_mf_ds_a_recollection_of_a_favourite
This was a wonderful read. I really do hope you post the rest. You’re an amazing writer.