She was my mistress for a while now. It began with a chance encounter, a drunken night at a bar. She offered to let me crash at her place to save me from late night metro. Her flat was as well put together as she was. About a decade older, successful, sharp - she was everything I wanted to be. I was impressed, slightly intimidated, and mostly just excited to meet a cool friend. That was until she first kissed me later that night. After that, whatever I felt was mostly an indescribable mystery, even to myself. At some point it stopped to matter.
This was the first time I've ever kissed a woman. It was so much softer. She had a way with, well, everything - I didn't even consider stopping at any point. Not even when she gently pushed on my shoulders. I just let myself flow where she wanted me to.
I found myself landing gentle kisses on her inner thighs, suddenly caught in hesitation, unsure how to proceed - if to proceed. I've never seen another woman from this angle before. I could see a thin line glistening with wetness, could even pick up on its faint scent. "I understand men now"- I remember thinking to myself. It would be impossible to resist even if I wanted to, and I didn't want to. I reached over to taste her.
I had the most incredible sex of my life that night. It made sense that she knew exactly what I wanted, but it was more than that. She was forceful, but soft, intense yet calm. I was deeply attracted to her. I knew I had a submissive side to me, I enjoyed it occasionally, but unlike the men before her, she tapped into it with notable ease and precision.
We saw each other a few more times and I began to consider that this could be something special. That's when she told me she was married - her husband was back, and from now on, unless he's traveling, our meetings would take place at a hotel near her. She said they were separated, but that turned out to just mean distant. It didn't matter. She could do no wrong, say no wrong, be no wrong. I couldn't really even imagine being mad at her.
She grew more controlling slowly. First it was a blindfold, then a bit of rope but only for the wrists. It felt natural to get down on my knees when she told me to. I loved eating her out, I loved to see the satisfaction on her face. One day she took me to lunch to this over-the-top fancy restaurant with tall ceilings and an army of flawlessly trained staff, and she said if I don't make her cum by the end of it, the bill is on me. I playfully begged her to let me take her to the bathroom all throughout, trying to entice her with my best moves. She was entertained, but impenetrable. After the meal, she handed her credit card to the waiter, smiled and headed to the bathroom. I followed in a few moments. I would follow her anywhere.
Not to be overly cliché, but there's no better way to describe the feeling. Eating her out was like biting into a really ripe peach - the way she melts in my mouth, the way her juices only make me want more and care less about the mess I make.
One night I got to her room to find an entire anal kit laid out on the coffee table. I had recognized the strap on, but this time there were a few more shapes and sizes to choose from for the attachment. I was never a fan of anal and tried to rain check but she was convincing, as always. Giving me a brief, but charged up kiss, she sent me off to the bathroom with a douche kit and I patiently obeyed, deciding to at least give it an honest shot.
She spread me out on the couch and dove into my pussy. More often than not she preferred to finish me off with her hands, and I savored these moments with her highly skilled tongue. It felt just as incredible as she pushed her way into my ass, first with the tongue, then with a finger. The plug was a different story, but my struggle with it didn't discourage her, maybe even the opposite. I liked to see her eyes light up like that. Surely I could handle a bit of discomfort for her. It was barely pain, really.
She praised me in breathy whispers, pulling it in and out again and again, making me wince every time I passed the widest part.
She didn't stop until we moved up a size. I was getting tired and losing my resolve and she kept amping up instead. I was getting whiny and impatient when she surprised me by swiftly pushing the whole length of the plug inside me. I wailed, but she quickly covered me with her warm skin and kisses. The pain subsided.
Then it was her turn. Hers was an elegant glass dildo, much smaller than mine, but I didn't think to question it. Everyone's preferences are different.
I've licked her asshole before and enjoyed it just as much as every other bit. I thoroughly prepped her and slowly pushed the glass ridges inside, one by one. I could play with her like that forever, but when she said "lick it clean" I was taken aback.
"Suck on the dildo baby," she repeated herself.
Despite how sexy I thought she was, there wasn't anything sexy in THAT - it just felt wrong. Not bad or dirty, just plain unsanitary. It's the insides.
Seeing my hesitation she leaned in, purring like a kitten. I watched as she covered my hand with hers, and we pushed the dildo all the way in, then all the way out. Still, when it reached my mouth I turned away.
The mood change was palpable. I hesitated turning back more than necessary. Maybe I knew that the moment I looked up at her, her hand would land on my cheek in one life changing flash. But it still caught me by surprise.
I was infuriated and hurt, unsure whether to yell at her or burst out in tears. Something in her eyes stopped me. I could sense that either of those would disappoint her, and even though it shouldn't have mattered, it did.
"I want you to do it for me"
"No, that's gross. And what was that??"
"Don't be a child. Sex is not gross. I need you to do it."
