My first night with a Dom: Part II (how I got broken in)

(This post is a continuation of Part I)

I opened the hotel door with my right hand as I tried to keep the towel from slipping off my body with the left. A. entered with a couple small black bags and two wooden poles with hooks on each end — spreader bars. Damn, he just carried those right through the hotel lobby?

Nnnope, not that kind of spreader bar.

Nnnope, not that kind of spreader bar.

“Did you have a nice flight?” was what I apparently decided to open with. I’m not sure there were any better options, but still, I felt stupid saying it.

Yes, he’d had a nice flight. He probably said some other pleasantries, but my memory fails me. Have you ever been so nervous — for a speech, a date, a competition, whatever — that the nerves just completely delete minutes-long chunks of your memory?

A. said he wanted me sit on the edge of the bed while he unpacked. Then he paused and looked me over.

“Actually, go ahead and spin around for me.” I did. I got a smile from him and then was told to sit back down as he began to pull item after item from his little black bags. Here was a rubber whip. There was pair of padded cuffs. Some items, like a black, studded posture collar, were not necessarily to be used. “We might try it out,” he mused.

He only partially unpacked (“We can’t ruin all the fun.”), and I was confused as to how he’d fit so much into these tiny bags. He was like Mary Poppins’ sadistic cousin or something.

The first item put to use was a blindfold. Next, A. told me to stand up, turn around, and put my hands behind my back, and he applied heavy padded cuffs to my wrists. My last line of defense (and final vestige of any modesty), the white bath-towel, started  to slip off my body as he fastened my wrists together. A. must have noticed some minute tensing of muscles, because he laughed and said, “You know, that towel’s going to be coming off sooner or later.” I smiled. It dropped to my feet.

Now positioned by the end of the bed, I was instructed to widen my stance as a wooden spreader bar was cuffed to my ankles. Damn…spreading my legs had about quadrupled my already very tangible feelings of vulnerability. A. checked in with me that my legs were doing okay. They were.

Spreader bar (legs)

Then, at long last, he put his hands on me. I was still blindfolded, but I felt two warm, rough hands glide upwards from hips to ribs, then rotate to skim my breasts on their way up to my neck. The awkward nerves had subsided and been replaced by hot, jittery, impatient nerves. The hands cupped my breasts. Soon, a pair of lips and a tongue joined in, exploring my nipples. Finally, A. slid a hand down my stomach, down over my shaved pubic mound, and ever-so-lightly tickled my pussy. Fuck, that felt nice.

That’s when the toys began to make their appearance. A. interspersed spanking with using the small rubber whip — very gently at first, culminating at a sting — on various parts of my body. After warning me, he zipped a tight hood with an air hole over my head and had me lie on the bed, hands still shackled at my back.

Rubber whip

Hood

“Do you know what this is?” A. asked as he placed something cold on my stomach. It felt like ice, but there was no water running off it. “It’s a glass of water. I’m going to come back in a moment, and I want you to stay very still. Don’t spill any water.” It’s interesting that, at this point, the thought running through my head was not, What is he going to do if I spill? but simply, I cannot let this spill! It didn’t really matter what the practical consequences were, I just wanted to do right by him.

While he had me on my back, A. alternated between rubbing my body, whipping me, rubbing my clit, spanking it gently, licking it, and penetrating me with his fingers. Next, he turned me onto my belly and continued to tease me, this time also shoving his knee firmly into my crotch and directing me to grind my pussy against it. He did not speak all that much, except to instruct me and occasionally check in to see how I was feeling. And I liked that. I got off on his stoicism. As I mentioned in a previous post, a “dominant” partner who is yelling, Yeah, baby! and Take it, bitch! does not give off the air of true control to me. They are not in control of their own arousal and sadistic urges.

He did take a moment, though, to whisper a reminder in my ear: “Don’t forget, if you want to cum, you need to ask me for it. If I say no, you hold it. Do you understand?” I understood.

Here is when the first small test of A.’s responsiveness occurred: He was fingering me and began to slide a finger into my ass as well. It felt great, and I breathed loudly. He kept going, but then somewhat suddenly began to thrust the finger rather quickly. (For the record, I do love anal play, but I can be a bit of a wimp about it, especially when it involves quick movement.) I cried, “Ow!” and jumped away whimpering — as well as someone bound, hooded, and face-down can jump, that is. Thank goodness A. responded just as kindly as he had led me to expect. He calmly apologized, then massaged my legs and ass cheeks for several minutes, applying firm downward pressure and basically pushing my cheeks together. Huh — that actually does the trick. My confidence in him grew.

(A similar event happened later, when A. surprised me with the Hitachi vibrator/monster/earthquake/concrete drill. It became painfully over-stimulating, and when I voiced this, he immediately removed the Hitachi and tenderly comforted my pussy. Even later, there was a point when A. said he was going to put his cock on my face and asked whether I was going to be comfortable with that. I thought for a moment, but in the end I had to shake my head ‘no.’ Bless his heart, A. said coolly, “That is alright. That’s why I asked. It’s important that you are honest with me always.

Hitachi vibrator   )

The next step was cuffing my wrists to a second spreader bar above my head. Belly-up once again, I could hear and feel A. tying a rope to the bar at my wrists, running it under the mattress, and fastening the other end to the bar at my feet. After removing the hood (but not the blindfold), a rubber gag ball was fastened on. Well, shoot. I’m not goin’ nowhere now.

Spreader bar (wrists)

Gag ball

“How long do you think you’ve been like this? Since the moment I cuffed you,” he asked.

“I don’t know. Thirty… thirty-something minutes?”

He chuckled. “It’s been almost an hour and a half.” What the fuck, really?? Time flies.

That’s when A. seriously went in for the kill. He leaned over me on the bed, cradled the small of my back, and rubbed and penetrated my pussy like no one has ever done before. I am not exaggerating there. I could tell that he was taking cues off of every moan and arching of my back — just as he’d told me he would. He relentlessly rubbed my clitoris in circles, up and down, side to side, and with each Good girl, and Does your little pussy feel nice?, I moaned more loudly.

Several minutes in, A. hit some sort of magic spot when pounding his fingers into me — I very rarely climax from that — and my breath quickened exponentially. I could feel it coming… A few more breaths and it was almost upon me…

“Can I cum? Can I cum! Pleasepleaseplease, I’m going to!” He didn’t respond for a few moments. God, I hope he doesn’t say no, I thought. Please don’t say no. Then:

“Cum!” he barked. That was the loudest I’d heard him talk all night. And I was plenty happy to follow these instructions. I convulsed in climax as he continued to pound me with his fingers. “That’s what good girls get,” he said afterwards, back to his regular soft voice. “Does my good girl want another?”

Um…Do you really have to ask?

The next several minutes were rinse and repeat. This time I thrashed so violently when I came that I somehow pulled down the spreader bar at my wrists and nearly squeezed my hands out of their cuffs. A was amused. “We are definitely going to have to use the chains on you next time.” He decided to briefly test out another inescapable restraint for next time:

Hogtied

Finally, aftercare. Ahhhhh. I could write another entire post just about this aftercare — don’t worry, I’ll confine it to the paragraph below:

Before removing my blindfold, A. lowered the lights so as not to hurt my eyes. He massaged me deeply from shoulders to toes, paying special attention to the spots where I’d been cuffed, then gently rubbed and scratched my skin. We had some discussion about the events that had transpired and how things had felt, although I’m sure that after a bit of reflection we’ll communicate about it more via email over the next few days.

Honestly, I am thrilled at how the evening went. My expectations were exceeded. I don’t know whether all men learn to please this well by the time they’re old fogies, or whether A. is better than most. I’m slightly ashamed to admit that the blindfold not only helped make me feel vulnerable and heighten my sensations, but also took my mind off of the doubts I’d been harboring regarding my physical attraction to A. The attraction remains about the same at this point, but after how incredibly well he aroused and satisfied me on our first go-around, I am leaning heavily towards ‘it doesn’t matter.’

P.S. My sincerest apologies to any poor souls staying in the adjacent hotel rooms.

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