Category: BDSM
Tags: femdom, submissive man, cock cage, flogging, caning, humiliation, D/s relationship, anal masturbation, Pink Orchid, Valentines Day
If you clicked on the list of Valentine's Day or Pink Orchid stories, please note this story is categorised under BDSM, read the tags, and proceed with appropriate caution.
This story is not traditional sex and romance, even if it is romantic. It's more about what a domme and sub think about.
_____
"Sarah! All right, my gorgeous darling?"
My old friend Jake appeared, in a perfectly-fitting grey tailored suit, looking every inch the confident businessman. Flirting with me, as usual. He sat opposite me at the restaurant table.
"Fine, thanks, you silver-tongued charmer, you." We'd been friends for over a decade, since college, but we'd never got round to having sex, despite his frequent blatant plays for it. Now, he was married.
I happened to know that certain inches of his didn't match his outward persona. Jake might be all assured and charismatic on the outside, boss of a team of associates in his office, but, in private, he submitted to his lovely wife, Catherine. Which meant his penis was kept restrained in a cock cage.
Once Cat had discovered I too was kinky as hell, attending a session I'd run at a fetish convention, she'd been delighted to show Jake off to me. Jake had had to get his head round his respectable friend suddenly joining his wife in dominating him, so he'd been less delighted. But he'd become used to the idea, getting off on showing himself off to me.
Hence us all meeting up for dinner tonight, before Cat and I took him to Goddess, a nearby fetish night for women and their submissive males.
I was looking forward to it. The last time we'd met, I'd enjoyed watching Jake blush; he'd been humiliated first by having to strip in front of me, and then made to describe various things Cat did to him. I'd also got to spank Jake's cute arse, which we'd both enjoyed, then watched Cat remove his cage, permit him a quick release, wash him and finally lock him snugly away again. I bet this evening would be even more fun.
"Is Cat not with you?" I asked. "She's not here, yet."
"Cat is ill." He was downcast. "Horrible fluey lurgy. She was hoping to make it out later, meet us at the club, but I don't know if she will. She might have to delegate to you."
"Oh, that shame, lah!" My English slipped away from London, disappointed. "There's a lot of viruses around now. I swear they all mutate in January after Christmas, just to make people ill before Valentine's Day. I suppose it is Friday the thirteenth..."
"Yeah." The boy looked sad. I knew he'd been looking forward to this night since before Christmas.
Right. If Cat wasn't here, I'd have to be the domme all by myself. "Just us two going to the club, maybe, then? If you're OK with that."
His startled blue-grey eyes flicked back to me. "Of course I am. Are
you
still up for it?" he asked. "You know..."
"Of course, sweetie. You don't get out of it that easily!" It really wouldn't be a hardship. I texted Cat to assure her of that. That resolved, Jake and I enjoyed our meal. Like any other couple, we bantered about films and TV, as we had for years.
I received a series of messages from Cat, with boundaries and tips for a fun night out with her Jacob, while she snuffled at home on the sofa and knocked back potent hot toddies. She definitely wasn't leaving home tonight. At least she was well enough to watch trashy telly.
Her messages helped reassure me she'd be fine with anything I did with Jake. The main rule was simple; his cock stayed locked away, for her only. It was actually freed quite frequently, Jake had explained. Only it was always on her say-so, not his. Which made all the difference.
We split a dessert between us. The anticipation grew. Jake laid his spoon down. "What will you want me to wear, when we get to the club?"
I'd stick to my little black dress, which was stretchy and flattering of my curves, but the male attendees generally wore very little. If anything On the other hand, I wanted to show off Jake's other side, too. This wasn't just any old naked man, getting off from being nude in public. Jacob was a man whose submission was worth having!
"Just a collar and thong? Or not even that?" He pressed the point.
I'd let him relax for a moment. "Nah, keep the suit. Just lose the shirt and show off your chest; that'll do. I don't think we even need the collar, yet."
"It would get in the way of the jacket collar," Jake agreed, running his finger round it.
"Yes. And not be appropriate in here." Time to start as I planned to go on. "Go on, take your shirt off now. Go to the Gents, if you must."
Jake flicked an anxious look round the room. He nodded. "Excuse me. I'll return in a minute."
He did. The pretty boy strolled nonchalantly back to our table, shirtless under his formal jacket. The sort of chosen outfit you'd see the odd rock singer or celebrity wearing. Jake could, and did, pull it off just as well.
I smiled my approval. "I like this look. Don't look so surprised! You've heard of the pants-wetting well-cut suit?"
Jake shook his head, on his way to quiet obedience already.
"I can't remember who first said it -- Suzanne Moore, or some other newspaper columnist. No, she was the one who coined
'fuck-me heels'.
Anyway, idea is, men like seeing women in lingerie, but women, they generally want a bit more coverage to get them thinking along those kind of lines. A man in a crisp cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up; sex on legs. Or a perfectly-fitting suit to show off the man's body, like you're wearing: that's really gets women moist. Including me."
The head of the tattooed bird on his chest was partly visible where his jacket sides met. When he walked and the fabric swung, there would be more tantalising glimpses of the inked pictures covering Jake's front and shoulders.
I looked forward, in due course, to seeing his large dragon again. That impressive tattoo wound around his right thigh, its eyes looking to his cock.
"So. You in your suit, buying me a drink, squatting by my feet? Don't want to wear the knees of your trousers out, do we? Yeah, I think that'll look good. I'm with Cat," I checked no waitstaff were hovering: "I want a useful submissive, who looks good, and makes
me
look good. So I can show you off in the club, just like any James Bond fantasy casino scene." I smiled as wickedly as I could. "And then of course you'll need to remove more clothes, so I can show off more of you. And have fun with you."
If Jake was now thinking of that Bond scene where the spy was restrained in a chair and his dangling vulnerable balls were tortured, so much the better. Jake's large hanging balls, shown off all the better by his caged cock, really were a thing of beauty.
I couldn't
wait
to get my hands on them properly.
"Right. Shall I get the bill, then?" The question was hesitant. Jake was struggling to maintain his public confident persona.
"Please."
I was pleased with my instruction so far. Jake looked gorgeous, dressed so he'd gather looks in the street, but not totally unsuitable for a stroll through Hackney. Not much would be, being fair. It took a lot to raise eyebrows in East London. I liked the idea of a perfect gentleman companion to serve me. Jeeves, to my Bertie Wooster. I hoped I wouldn't seem as much of an idiot.
We queued for entry to the club. Most women were in dresses and heels, exact details of their outfits hidden by their coats. Most of their men, clearly submissive by their body language, wore coats, likely not with much beneath. Jake stood out, both for his clothes and how he treated me.
He held my hand, but unlike most of the couples, it was he who stepped up to the window to confirm we had pre-booked tickets, but that sadly his other Mistress was unable to attend.
"We'll process a refund if we're able to sell the ticket, sir," the guy at the counter replied, just as if Jake were my butler or manservant.
"Changing room?" Jake queried once we were inside.
"No. I'm fine in my dress, don't you think?"
"Absolutely, ma'am. May I lock up your coat? And anything in your bag you don't want to carry about? Should I keep Mistress's holdall?"
I agreed to have my coat stored in our locker. Jake returned from the changing room looking somewhat insecure. Practically-naked men were being led out all around him. He was the odd one out, still dressed.
I aimed to reassure. "There you are, my gorgeous boy! Come along, Jacob. You can carry both our bags. Find me a seat, then go buy both of us a drink. We need to talk, in detail." He bowed his head, nodded, and followed. The perfect gentleman submissive.
I wondered if it was Cat who had got Jake responding to his full name so beautifully. Or had he grown up that way, knowing that use of his full name meant he was in serious trouble? It was probably as well I didn't know his middle name.
He found a small table with one chair, and looked round. "That will do," I told him. "You can crouch by my side, can't you? Or there, look! Footstool!"
Jake grabbed the stool gratefully, confirming he wouldn't have to risk damage to his suit on the floor. It was more of a side table, perhaps; a square of solid wood held a foot off the ground by four stumpy fat legs. "What would you like to drink, ma'am?"
"I had wine just now, so just lemonade for me. One soft drink for you. Off you trot."
Jake sauntered to the bar, enjoying obeying my order, not to mention all the female eyes on him, and a fair few of the male ones. His usual charisma got him served quickly, the barman amused at his attire. It wasn't a strict rule that all men here had to be submissive, after all, just that a woman had to make the booking. A dominant man with another man, or with a man plus woman, wasn't unheard of. A sub in a classy outfit was rarer, but happened.
I supposed a shirtless suit was the sort of costume you associated a Hollywood actor with, not here. Jake carried off the look well, and was appreciating the attention.
It would make it all the more mentally complex for him when I'd ask him to remove it, shortly.
"Sit down, there." His seat was a foot lower than mine. He placed my drink on the table, his on the floor, and sat, as stylish but even more subservient than 'little Alex Horne' next to the Taskmaster. I briefly pondered what an Asian Greg Davies in a woman's body would look like. The Taskmaster's glasses looked a little like mine...
I grinned at Jake as we both sipped our drinks, him more nervously.
It was my job to start the conversation.
"So, Jacob."
He lifted his face, startled.
"Your Mistress has left you in my capable hands for the night."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Obviously I've known you for ten years, but, in some ways, I don't know you very well, do I?"
"No, ma'am."
"Yes. I've only gotten to see you naked once, after all. And give you a little spanking. Now, Cat did send me several messages, with instructions..."
Jake's face failed to stay impassive. He was definitely unnerved now. Oh, yeah. My sweet plaything.
"What did she say? Oh, you can predict most of it, I'm sure," I told him in my best breezy voice. "What do you think she told me to do with you?"
Jake gulped. He could guess he'd be in trouble if he erred on the side of gentle kindness. Yet he equally didn't want to risk suggesting more than Cat might have written!
Poor lad, on the horns of a dilemma. "That wasn't a rhetorical question, sweetheart. If you don't give me a three-point answer in the next minute, there will be... repercussions. Come on! At least three out of five, please."
"Er, yes, ma'am. What Cat would say. Right. Uh-huh." He forced himself to concentrate. "She'd want my body shown off. Like, showing off my cock cage and my arse, lead me around for all to see."
