I talk often, on Mastodon or Twitter, about having a Dom. A Sir I have sessions with every now and then. I thought it was about time I shared with you the story of one of those sessions. I hoe you enjoy this as much as I did.
I arrive. I’m late. I don’t like being late as I don’t like to disobey or disappoint Sir and if he tells me to arrive at a certain time I have to be there at that time. Not earlier, not later.
At. That. Time!
I explain why I’m late. Traffic. He understands, he gets what the traffic is like round here.
“You will be punished,” he says calmly. It’s a tone that is full of authority it scares me in a sensual way. I am as excited for the punishment as I am nervous.
The pleasantries of “hi, how are you, what have you been up” are dispensed over a tea, while he also tells me what I can expect for this session.
My erection is hard to hide and trying to do so becomes pointless when he says “Strip.”
He leaves me alone to remove my clothing while he goes and gets changed.
The atmosphere in the room has altered. What was friendly and relaxed becomes fuelled with sexual tension and conformity. I have the tremors of anticipation. There is an erotic fear that is calmed by the feelings of absolute trust.
This man knows my limits. He knows what I will and won’t do. He knows what I like and don’t like. He knows how to handle my bratty side. He knows what punishments will bring me back to his control and what will make me say “we’re done.” I’ve never said that. I don’t imagine I ever will with him, but I know I can.
The trust goes deeper than just what we’ll do when I’m there. He has collared me. In these session I am his and his alone. With other Doms, who he lets me see from time to time, I am still his. His protection goes further than just ensuring I’m safe in his hands, but also in the hands of others.
He respects me but importantly, maybe more so, he respects my Handler. He knows if my Handler says no then it’s a no. He accepts that. As I do as I’m told for him, abide by the wishes of my Handler.
This respect is not just a turn on for me, but it brings a warmth I desire. I have two men controlling me. Telling me what to do. Giving me permissions and taking them away just as quickly. It’s an erotic control. It’s sensual. It makes me hard.
He reenters the room and I’m stood there in white socks and a jock. He knows I want to keep my socks on yet still I have the fear I’ve displeased him because he’s told me to strip yet here I am, still with some clothing on.
He smiles and rubs my belly commenting on how he likes my hairy stomach. I know I’ve done the right thing.
“Arms out!” he commands and I do as I’m told.
My arms are tied in a square formation in front of me. As he ties the knots he checks I’m not in pain or discomfort. He checks the knots are tight and that blood is still flowing freely into my arms and hands.
I cannot move my arms. I am hard.
“Sit down!” he commands and again I do as I’m told.
He starts to bind my legs. He makes sure I’m comfortable, once more showing his respect for me while also asserting his control.
Once done I’m fully bound and although I can move I am limited to being able to roll over, which he orders me to do.
I am on my knees. My arms rest on his chair. He is behind me. I cannot see him. I can only hear him. I am hard.
“I’m going to put the hood on.” Yes, it’s statement, but the tones says it’s a question. He knows I don’t mind the hood yet I have the option to say I’d rather not wear it. I let him put it on. This way he can take pictures he can share publicly. Even before he doesn’t that he’ll still ask my permission. He knows he has it but he still asks. Respect again.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Lets warm you up with the flogger!”
He knows I like the flogger. There is no pain with a flogger. None at all. It’s a relaxing sensation.
Could it be that I find no pain in the flogger because I have a high pain threshold? Could it be that my Sir just doesn’t hit as hard with the flogger? Or maybe it’s the nature of a flogger, it’s not meant to cause to pain?
I think only the first of those statements is true but maybe it’s an element of the others. I’ve seen how hard he hits with the flogger. If he wants to cause pain with it he could. I know my pain threshold is high.
The flogging starts. I love it. The snap of the fingers of the flogger across my back and ass are glorious.
“Good Bear,” he says as he brings the flogging to an end. I get rubs of my stomach and chest and told I’m being good. He’s at my side. I can see him but am so bound I cannot touch. I want to touch.
“Are you ready for the paddle?” he asks.
Am I though? I want the flogger more. I’m here to please Sir, it shouldn’t matter what I want. To him though, it does. If I say no he’ll respect that. But I do want the paddle.
The sharp smack of the leather against my bare ass cheeks comes sharp. It sends electricity around my entire body. I want him to do it again. I want him to do it harder. He does.
He spends a few minutes warming up my ass cheeks with the paddle and then stops. He reaches around and rubs my chest and stomach, telling me I’m a good Bear. This time though he is behind me when he’s rubbing, not at my side. I can feel his hard cock through his jock, pressing against my ring. It makes me groan. It makes me want to break out of the binds (something I’m not capable of doing) and lower myself down on his cock or taking it in my mouth. He knows this. He knows I want to do this. He teases me because of it. Rubbing himself more against my hole. I groan more.
The brat in me is rising. I can feel it coming. I’m getting that turned on that I want to rebel and get what I want!
He stops. I assume it’s back to the paddle. Instead it’s time for the riding crop. The sharp fine snap of the crop against my ass feels like the slash of knife. The pain is intense and sharp but pleasant and erotic. I want more. I get more.
The brat in my is getting stronger. I could do it. I know I could do it. I could break out if I tried hard enough. Could I thought? Could I really? His knots are good. I don’t think I could break out, but I want to try.
He moves the crops all around me ass and in and out of my thighs. Stroking with it, snapping with it. Pre cum is dripping out my cock. I need him inside me. I don’t get that though. Instead he swaps back to the paddle.
Although I’m bound my arms are closer enough to my head that I can pull the hood off. I do it as I need something to hold in my hands. I need to stop my hands attacking the binds. Holding the hood should do it.
The fuller size of the paddle compared to the crop gives a louder sounding smack as it hits my ass and the area of sensual pain is greater. With that comes a greater sensual experience and again I groan wanting more. The greater sensual experience increases the desire to be a brat so I throw the hood out of reach.
I get more of the paddle.
I’m being a good Bear so I am being rewarded. I don’t want to be good. I want what I want, not what he wants!
I can see the knots on my arms. I know if I move in a certain way I could, eventually, release myself from the ropes that bind my arms in front of me. My brain swirls in a mass of confusion. If I do this I can have him. If I do this he’ll punish me. If I do this he may tell me to leave. If I do this I can steal a kiss or a suck of his cock. If I do this… I don’t know what’ll happen.
I’m a good Bear. I can stop myself. I’m a brat Bear. I cannot stop myself.
The confusion is an erotic mind fuck.
“Sir!” I exclaim, “I need something to hold!”
“Why?” he demands to know. Just his authoritarian voice is enough to expand this already spiralling confusion. Do I tell him? Do I just release myself and charge him? No. I tell him. I’m a good Bear.
“Because Sir, I’m feeling bratty and I think I can break out of these binds if my hands aren’t busy!”
He hands me a bit gag to hold. I get stomach rubs for being a good Bear and confessing my desires. My hands are now too busy to release myself from the binds.
He gets the paddle again. After a few smacks he asks how the pain is. He asks for a score from one to ten. “Five,” I say and he hits my harder. “Six,” I say and he continues. “Tell me when we get to an eight.” I don’t want to. I want to experience then ten. I want to feel the full force of my Sirs hand. I want to know what the ten is to see if I can take it. But he is a good Sir. He wants the session to last and knows a ten will make it stop. I don’t realise this at the time because all I can think about is the erotic pain and sensory input. He is a good Dom. I am a sub. We know our roles. We know our place.
My cock is desperate to get out of the fabric of the jock that is soaked from pre cum.
The slaps get harder but still not reaching the ten. He stops once more. Again with the stomach rubs, again with the teasing of his cock behind me. Only now something has changed. I cannot see him but I know what he has done. He has removed his jock. His hard and naked cock is against my hole. I push back and he pulls back. “No no, you’re not getting it yet!” I groan in pleasure and desperation. “I think you deserve a treat,” he says.
He orders me to sit back and he climbs around me and sits himself down on the chair in front me. I was almost right when I thought was naked. He was still wearing the jock but had pulled his cock out the perfectly accessible and purposely designed hole at the top of the jock.
“Put it in your mouth!” he orders.
I don’t need to be told twice and I get what I wanted earlier on in the session. As I suck he leans forward to smacks my ass. He puts his hands to my stomach and chest and I get rubs and murmurs of ‘good boy.’
As I continue to suck him he announces my punishment. “Bear as you were late you will not be allowed to cum today.”
I’m disappointed but I understand and I accept it. I will have the memories of the session to have wank to later or to tell my Handler about as we flip-flop fuck.
But there is a problem. I’m massively turned on. I’ve been flogged and paddled, smacked with the riding crop, rubbed and teased and now I have his cock in my mouth. My cock is leaking pre cum and the entire erotic experience has bought me close to shooting my load.
I have to tell him. I don’t want to. I don’t want his disappointment. But if I don’t tell him and it happens the punishment could be a delay in the next session.
I’m a good Bear. I decide to tell him.
“Sir, I’m not sure I can hold it.”
“Are you close?”
Again, the erotic tension is high. Am I about to get punished? Is he going to stop the session? Have I disappointed him?
“If you can cum without me touching yourself or me touching you, then you may cum.”
I am still sucking him but he tells me to stop and he gets up. Is it over? Should I cum? I don’t know what is happening. While I remain bound and at his mercy it’s a massive turn on.
He is behind me.
I feel cold on my hole. It’s lube. The sudden excitement of what is about to happen brings me closer to cumming.
He presses the head of his cock against my hole and I groan.
He slides in.
As he does I can control it no longer and I cum. I fill the jock. My body spasms and I moan in pleasure. He knows what’s just happened.
He fucks me.
He pounds my ass hard.
He smacks my ass with his palm.
He holds my hips and pulls me closer so he is deeper inside me.
He fills my ass.
I cum again. I have lost all control.
There is a relaxed hush and as he pulls out he asks how I am. He cares. He starts to undo the knots around my arms and asks how they feel. He cares. He releases the knots and binds around my legs and asks how they feel. He cares!
I tell him everything is fine, and it is. I cannot tell him how I am feeling sensually, not because I do not want to but because I cannot put it in to words. And even if I knew what to say actually saying it would be a struggle as mind is still overflowing with erotic sensations.
We clean up. We get dressed. He makes me tea. We chat about the session and about our plans for the week.
Anyone looking in would see two old friends chatting about life over a cuppa, putting the world right and telling stories of family and childhood.
As I leave I have a smile that he and my Handler have put there and I have a story to tell and memories to explore.
He is a good Dom.
I am a good sub.
I am a good Bear.
Heart of lion, pecs like dinner plates, mind of a whore.
The reason your dad left home and the person to whom you say “You should smile more!” – Fuck off!