He’d been chasing me for a while. I kept batting him away like a fly buzzing around a carcass. He was rude, arrogant and insistent that he just drive over to fuck me.
It doesn’t work like that. Not when you’ve never met.
Still he kept on. And then, I discovered something interesting.
He wanted ME to fuck HIM.
My inner novice domme was piqued and tweaked.
He said he’d done it once before but had a disappointing experience. He’d also told me he’d had two threesomes which weren’t any good. His youth and negativity annoyed me: how could one so young be so….I don’t know…. casual about it all? Unless he was lying.
He got excited when he learned I had previous. He asked about positions and if I’d come, which gave away the fact he’d either been high or was lying about the last time.
I suddenly sensed that the arrogance, like with so many men, was a cover. He could probably be a good fledgling slave – or at the very least, someone I could control and both of us would enjoy it.
We arranged to meet that week.
He was definitely more nervous than me. I actually felt completely removed from the situation, indifferent even. He sat opposite me, fashionable haircut and glasses, expensive shirt, neat shoes : the cookie-cutter hipster. Without the swag.
I had nothing to lose here : I could walk away and not really be bothered.
But still, there was something about him.
Was it a turn on knowing what he wanted?
Yes. Oh yes. And mainly because yet again, it had fallen into my lap.
Back at mine, we drank champagne and he leant in to kiss me. It was all tongue and teeth, like an excitable puppy and I stopped him.
“Slower” I said, and looked into his eyes. “Like this”
I brushed his lips with mine softly and put my hand around his neck.
I whispered into his ear : “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do” he stuttered.
“I think you should fuck me first, don’t you?”
“Like you need to encourage me!” He laughed and grabbed me.
I led him upstairs.