The first time

I put a blindfold on him and stand close.

I lean into his ear, whisper, “You are going to undress me, and kiss me all over, starting at my feet…”

He nods, smiles broadly, “Yes Ma’am!”

He is nervous, eager, shifting from foot to foot.

He reaches out tentatively to make contact with me, starts at the top with my shirt, fumbling awkwardly to get it off, touching my bra when it is exposed, he runs his hands cautiously over the fabric to find the clasp. He does not grope at me, feather touches, finding the clasp, releasing it, easing the bra off my shoulders.

He gets on his knees, touches gently down to my boots, finds the zippers, pulls them off one at a time.

The jeans are next…his face at hip height. He pops the button and pulls down the zipper, peels the jeans off me slowly, like peeling a grape, carefully slipping them down, allowing me to step out of them.

He touches gently at the g-string, I know he wants, really, to stroke the lacy fabric, to run his fingers, mouth, tongue against the sheerness covering my pussy, that he wants to touch and lick and luxuriate in it. To his credit he resists, sliding his fingers into the sides and pulling them down. He waits then, for me to get comfortable.

I lie down on the bed on my back and he starts with my toes. It is delicious, slow and deliberate, soft and gentle. He takes his time, working up my body… toes, feet, shins, knees, thighs, a passing flutter of kisses at my pussy, gentle and teasing, but he doesn’t linger there, across my stomach to my breasts, sucking my nipples into his mouth one by one to feel them harden, covering every inch of my skin and on reaching my neck, he nibbles and tickles, then covers my face with soft kisses, he pauses, a slow one at my mouth, to see if I will kiss him back, I don’t, his disappointment floats off him… he sits back on his heels and waits.

I roll over, he starts at the nape of my neck, his mouth a soft prayer on my skin, soundless, and wordless, lips and tongue down my back. When he gets to my arse, he lingers… I let him. The kisses turn to gentle licks down the crack of my arse, I raise my hips to him slightly and I hear him moan at the movement, gentle, persistent licking at my arsehole, soft, then stronger and more insistent, his tongue trying to fuck me, his face pressed into me, I relax into it, hot, sexy, dirty.

I finally tell him to move on, and down he goes, across the backs of my thighs, the crook of my knees, stroking, kissing, licking, down my calves and back to my feet. He pauses when he thinks he is done.

“Am I wet, boy?”

His breath catches, “Do you want me to feel, Ma’am?”

“Yes.”

He takes a deep breath, blindly strokes his fingers up my inner thighs, touches my pussy gently, feeling softness, pushes his fingers between my lips, strokes long and slowly against me, I hear him make a sound as his fingers slip in the silky wetness.

“Yes Ma’am, very,” he whispers.

I roll over onto my back again, and direct his face to my cunt. He pauses for a moment, a little off balance, then he licks at me, tentatively, starting with soft kisses, he teases me, it is lovely, perfect, frustrating, I try not to arch up into his mouth, I let him play with me. His tongue glides between my labia and up to my clit, softly and quickly, over and again.

“Slower and harder,” I whisper.

He changes pace with my direction, I move his head into position to get what I want. I twitch, move, have him change up, down…

I am not getting there after a while, and stop him. He apologises, he is upset that he hasn’t made me come, he plucks at his blindfold, and waits there, murmering soft apologies. I assure him that it is ok, that I am not done with him yet.

I look around, I need something else, something more… I get the cane so that I can hit him while he licks me. I draw him back in, wrapping my legs hard around his head, nearly suffocating him. As he licks at my pussy, I randomly hit him with the cane, the sound of his gasp and the shock of the strike reverberating in my cunt each time makes me push up into his face.

I let him go again when it is clear that this is not going to make me come. His blindfolded face looks up at me, forlorn and lost and disappointed with himself. He apologises again, he is upset.

“Please tell me what I can do…” he begs.

I shush him and tell him that if I wanted something different I would say so. There is nothing wrong with what he is doing, I am just… difficult the first time…

I bring him into me again, tell him to stick his tongue out, to keep still and give me his tongue. He does, and I use it as a masturbatory tool. I fuck against his mouth, my clit sliding against the soft wetness of his tongue, he makes little sounds of pleasure as I get more violent against him, shoving my pussy into his mouth.

“Don’t you fucking move, bitch,” I hiss at him, though I know full well he is not going anywhere.

Finally, I feel that building deep inside, everything stops, there is nothing but me and this reaching to come, it is a desperate singularity, and I fuck against him without coherent thought. I come into his mouth, against his tongue, forever and for a millisecond and forever I am in it, inarticulate with sounds that come from somewhere primal, heart racing, nipples reaching for attention, shoving up into him with all the strength in my hips and thighs. The intensity of it makes my whole body stiffen and shake, pulling his mouth against my cunt with my thighs, until I reach the zenith and then having to shove him back from me, it’s too much, the stimulation, and I start to laugh involuntarily at the incredible intensity.

He clings to my hips like a drowning man, seeking contact, cheek pressed against my thigh, arms wrapped around me, laying across me, trying to get closer, he is kissing whatever part of me he can reach, he is worried, can’t tell if I am crying or laughing, either is odd… I have not warned him, normally I warn, I did not expect to get to this with him the first time… and still, I am laughing.

I bring him up to me as I come down, heartbeat slowing, breathing returning to normal, I am no longer laughing, I am kissing kissing kissing, tasting myself on him, pulling him impossibly close and closer still, wrapping myself around him until every part of our bodies that can touch is touching and we kiss and kiss and kiss. I am languid then, I remove his blindfold, he blinks into the light, he is wired, jumpy, he is so happy that he has made me come for the first time… he keeps saying, “Wow!”… “Wow!”… It is completely and utterly adorable.

He finally gets up from the bed and paces, looking at me, restless, he wants to punch the air, he wants to jump up and down, he wants to shout, it amuses me greatly, and I realise… what he really wants to do… is this:

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20 Comments

  1. Perhaps you should design an internationally understood “just made Mistress come” strut. That way even strangers can offer their congratulations and boys can obtain discounts at selected stores.

  2. Brids: “I haven't commented in ages and yet every time I see you've posted something I never have anything to say”

    Thank you for letting me know, Brids… I shall stop worrying about your well being.

    Ferns

  3. Anonymous: “Perhaps you should design an internationally understood “just made Mistress come” strut.”

    *laugh* Brilliant idea! It must be cocky, confident and include some seriously smug hip swinging. There must be closeups of said hip swinging a la the clip to prove that the strut has been executed adequately to secure the store discounts.

    I shall be the sole judge of strut quality, all decisions are final and no correspondence will be entered into.

    Ferns

  4. Miss Ferns!

    I made my coffee, came to this blog, and found that
    . . . You are BACK! And with enough woodsomeness to build a timber palace!

    Oh lordy, that was a good one. *Sigh*

    Sir Puppington Lothian.

  5. “Thank you for letting me know, Brids… I shall stop worrying about your well being.”

    Were you actually worried about my well being or is that sarcasm?

  6. Rich: “wow…. I think it may have been a mistake to read that at work. I think I need a cigarette.”

    Cigarettes are so bad for you! Go out and practice your strut instead…

    Ferns

  7. “Fernflower: “Oh wow. Aren't submissive boys wonderful?”

    *happy sigh* Yes, yes they are!

    Ferns”

    Well, the submissive boy in that story was wonderful, anyway. That boy being myself, of course. In spirit, anyway. It must have been my spirit, because my spirit took the spirit of my trusty service sabre with it, swiftly to despatch the spirits of all other oontenders.

    Please don't be concerned about me: I'm sure I shall be fine after my morning coffee.

    Sir Puppington Lothian.

  8. Right, had my coffee. Hmmmmm. Strutting my stuff, a la Travolta
    . . . .

    Well, I don't know about that. But when I've produced an orgasm in a woman, in that special way, I look up at her face, and for a short while I think I've created the most beautiful work of art there's ever been.

    Sir Puppington Lothian.

  9. puppy: “That boy being myself, of course.”

    Of course! The spirit of your trusty service sabre is a force to be reckoned with…

    “…for a short while I think I've created the most beautiful work of art there's ever been.”

    Awww… sweet!!

    Ferns

  10. Beautiful! From your writing I see how I always leave all the imperfections out, all the building up. I'm grabbing only the most intense of moments, but they don't build by themselves. I love it how it doesn't at all flatten the mood, that you describe how it's hard to achieve an orgasm. Probably the most common realization this “I need something else, something more”, and yet I never write about it. Hmmm.

  11. pasthurt: “Beautiful!”

    Thank you!

    “From your writing I see how I always leave all the imperfections out, all the building up. I'm grabbing only the most intense of moments…”

    I do that a lot too… sometimes *that moment* is what I want to examine and hold up to the light.

    Straight narratives (start, middle, end) are mostly not that interesting to me, so I don't tend to do them unless there is a specific reason for it.

    With this one, his reaction made no sense unless I explained how he got there. I think, from a writing perspective, it's the 'what are you trying to get across' thing that dictates what you include (or not).

    “I love it how it doesn't at all flatten the mood, that you describe how it's hard to achieve an orgasm.”

    *happy smile* Thank you for that.

    Ferns

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