It was a cross, on top of a hill, crying out to be occupied. I couldn’t actually fasten Mat to it and leave him to enjoy the view from a lonely vantage point, but I put him where he belonged as best I could.
Mat was feeling slutty. He had been feeling that way for a while and his need was boiling over in him. I should probably point out that I had (originally) no intention of letting him cum that day and he knew it.
Lunch was leftover pizza from the night before. Well brunch really. Actually I mean, despite the lateness of the hour, it was actually breakfast – but pizza for breakfast is good, right?
I’d heated it up in the oven and was offering Mat some but he was initially reluctant. Then he suggested (frivolously) he could spunk on a slice of seafood pizza and then eat it.
Oh, so much, yes.
I gave him a plate with the one remaining slice of seafood pizza (tuna, onion, prawns and double anchovies) and sat back with my own plate of pizza to watch the show.
Mat was feeling slutty. He was naked, wanking his cock and telling me his filthy fantasies. Expressing a desire to suck cock, to be spunked on and to have his virgin cunt raped by an enormous cock.
That fantasy wasn’t enough for him alone, he needed more. He requested permission to use a toy and I granted it. He fetched my big blue dildo and proceeded to fuck himself on it eagerly.
I watched, I ate pizza, I tweaked his nipples and slapped his balls and told him what a filthy slut he was. I enjoyed the show.
He came, like a good boy, on his slice of pizza and then, like a good boy, he ate it up. Grimacing in the aftermath, a pizza almost too salty even for my anchovy loving Boy.
A pizza with a topping you can’t order.
Mat wanted cock; more than that, he needed it. It had become a hunger and he needed filling in every sense.
I approved his search for a man, someone who would let him suck his cock and, important to us both, would let me watch. I was surprised how quickly he found somebody, how quickly we managed to arrange a meeting.
We were nervous and approached cautiously. We were looking for someone who was looking for us. Our paths crossed with a man and we walked on.
“If that’s him”, Mat checked with me, “do you want to go through with this”.
“Yes”, I was suddenly more confident, “I do”.
We wheeled round and this time we all greeted each other. Nervously, hesitantly we made our way inside. The location was as described. Comfy chairs gave me somewhere to sit and watch. We kept the lights low but I could see perfectly well.
Mat kneeled in front of the man and began stroking him through his jeans. He looked sideways at me, putting on a show.
Still as I watched he forgot himself as the man in front of him instructed Mat in how to pleasure him, controlled him, fucked his face, used him.
I watched. I told Mat he was a Good Boy, I held his head and stroked his back and then sat back to watch some more. This was sexy and good.
This man knew how to use him, how to speak to him. I felt a tingle of electricity as I watched and listened.
“Some men are destined to suck other men’s cocks, don’t you think?”, he remarked to me.
Watching Mat with his mouth full, eagerly pleasuring him I felt inclined to agree.
When his kind benefactor gave him a face full of spunk I ran my fingers across Mat’s face, feeding it to him, watching him swallow it down eagerly.
This done we all sat back to relax, to chat and to agree that we might indeed like to do that again someday…soon.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
With a Domme (and a sub) who loves numbers, Christmas and various versions of that song how else could we celebrate Christmas but with a little game.
And so, on Christmas Day there was one stroke from the black cane for my submissive.
The next day my Boy was again ordered to lie down on the bed and present his bottom for two strokes from the butter hand (ridged side down) and, of course, one from the thin black cane.
I’ll spare you the elaborate version of this tale to reveal that on the twelfth day there was :
Mat recently showed me a blog post. Beautifully written, it described how wonderful it felt to tie someone up. Oh, how well I know that feeling.
In fact it described how amazing it felt to tie him up. Oh, how very well indeed do I know that feeling.
Yet despite that, despite my love and longing for those moments it’s something I do very rarely and I found myself thinking about why that is. The reasons are these:
- Lack of time. To tie my Boy needs a couple of hours without distractions or disturbances. It’s not something you can easily even stop to answer the door. Those hours are hard to find. It means not doing something else. If I tie him up then we won’t have time to catch up on that latest episode of ‘Scott and Bailey’ and I know he’s been waiting for us to have the time to watch it.
- Lack of confidence. I’m not yet good enough, I don’t captivate him. I’m not the easy confident rigger he desires. Things go wrong and he isn’t comfortable with it. He loses focus, starts commenting and criticising and my confidence dips still further. I become more hesitant and the problem increases.
- Fear of rejection. I want to suggest it but I know he’ll probably say ‘no’. Now’s not the time,he’s tired, we’re too busy, can we watch ‘Scott and Bailey’ instead? Each of those rejections cuts me, this is something I want, need, so much. It seems less painful to stay quiet and simply imagine the rope twisting through my hands.
But I want and need so much more than that.
So I’m going to do one thing to try to fix this. I’m going to demand some time from my Boy. A specific couple of hours, for me, to do what I need. I’ll blindfold him or gag him if I need to; but I need his body, relatively willing, for me to experiment on.
It may not be exactly what he wants, but it will be what I need. Time to play, with no need to meet anyone’s standards but my own. Time to experiment, to make mistakes but most of all to take pleasure in the rope and in my Boy.
And when he says ‘yes’, I’m going to make sure I keep asking and making that time until I can be the rigger (and Domme) he needs as much as the one I want to be.
There is one gesture that will melt my heart and move me. One little thing that means so much and it is this, my boy kneeling at my feet.
It’s simple, non sexual, even publicly acceptable but it puts our D/s relationship in central space for that moment.
I had Mat kneel for me recently in a busy town centre. I was amused (and not entirely surprised) at the cries of “say Yes” that ensued. What those observers didn’t know is in that moment we were both saying “yes” to each other. This gesture from him at my command underlines who we are.
He kneeled at my feet atop a beautiful hill as I sat on a throne like rock, my willing submissive, my boy, my own. No queen ever felt so powerful, so respected or so worshipped as I did then.
Mat kneeled at my feet unbidden at the end of a hard day and helped me off with my shoes. As he gently massaged my feet, I felt loved and cared for. A simple service, spontaneously offered and the more precious for it. He gave me his submission without words and I took it with joy.
It is a gesture that sums up who we are. It never fails to move me deeply. At my feet, my Boy offers himself and I accept gladly. I give him my love and my approval. There is no quicker way to my heart.
This then is my favourite view of my Boy.