Please Be My Dom

Bach Concerto No. 2 plays into my ears as I wait for the A. My feet tap, moving slowly with the beat. Only in New York can I feel comfortable enough being this strange in public. I stop after a bit, my muscles aching after my long walk in the city in my new boots.

A medium-sized rat skirts in and out between the tracks, dragging a bread piece in its mouth just as Cello Suite No 1 begins. The weirdness of NYC pairs perfectly with western classical music.

My attention shifts to a white man walking confidently across the platform, on the yellow line that demarcates safety and danger. His footsteps feel timed with the music that only I can hear, and I immediately step back, making room for him, an automatic move on my part. As our eyes make brief contact, I feel his piercing blue eyes linger.

-Please be my dom-

This sexual unexpected thought surprises me so much that I force my eyes to hold onto the grimy white tiled walls of the station ahead of me.

That's a fucking first.

I carefully sneak a glance at the man - he's shorter than most, dressed sleekly in a smart black Fall coat, a black cloth mask, and in polished dress shoes. He spots me watching him, and I quickly turn away, blushing behind my mask.

The A arrives mercifully just then and I get into a car. As I sit down, I notice he's there too. For some reason, I don't feel panicked, mostly just aroused.

Another first.

I sneak a quick glance at him, and feel my heart pick up pace. I turn off my music, putting it away, savoring the thud of my heart, noticing the soft wetness between my legs.

I smile, remembering what I'm wearing - sometimes laundry day leads to the least sexy or the most sexy underwear - this week it was the most.

The train lurches to a stop and people begin to leave and enter, clockwork bee-like behavior telling me we're just going to get more crowded. Before I know it, he's found a way to sit next to me, his leg pressed up against my thigh.

"I saw you looking," he says discreetly as he leans into the hard plastic backrest. "What's your name?"

I'm both glad and embarrassed to be caught, to be read so easily even behind my mask. I look around and no one else is looking. The perks of a New Yorker audience. I could be dressed like the Cookie Monster and no one would bat an eyelash.

"What's your name?" he says, his tone slightly more authoritative.

I look briefly at him before lowering my eyes. In that glimpse, I see the depth of his lust for me, I smile.

Countless subway rides without ever having this feeling, maybe that's why my answer rolls so easily off my tongue.

"It's Nyra, sir."

"Do you want this?" He asks, as he places a gloved hand on my thigh. I feel warmer, even though his leather glove is cool through my panty hose. I resist the urge to spread my legs, to give him more access.

"Yes, sir."

"Good, Nyra. Do you have a friend who you share your location with?"

My heart beats faster, leaning closer to panic.

"Yes, sir. Why?"

"Text them and tell them you're with Matthew Broker. And that your location will be on, and you'll be home in 2 hours. And this is my phone number."

He rattles off a number and I type quickly, letting my best friend know all the details. I then go rogue for a second, googling his name and I see a professional headshot. Steely blue eyes, dark blonde hair with grey, and a mouth that I wanted to kiss. Outside this context, I'd have called him a douche, but not now. Not while I feel this electricity running through me.

I look up and he has an eyebrow raised.

"I didn't tell you to do that. But I understand. I will have to punish you though later. Screenshot that to your friend, and call my number to make sure it's mine."

I follow both commands, getting wetter with each number I type in. We pull into a station and I make the call. As I see his phone light up, I realize he now has my number.

The doors close, and his hands starts to rub slowly up and down my thigh, his nails sometimes getting caught in the fishnet. God, I want him to slip past my coat, but so far he's being appropriate.

The train lurches to a stop again and now he grabs my hand, pulling me to the door. I follow him, holding my purse, as we walk fast through the corridor, through the turnstiles, up the stairs to be greeted by the fresher air above us.

"Take your mask off," he says, as he pulls us against the wall of one of the many commercial buildings in midtown.

I do slowly, a different kind of strip. He lifts my chin and smiles in appreciation.

"I knew those beautiful eyes belonged to a beautiful face, pet. Do you want to be kissed, Nyra?"

"Yes please, sir." I stand straight, like a school girl, looking up at him.

"Soon, let's go to my apartment first."

As we walk, he begins to discuss safety. He offers the traffic light system, which I'm familiar with. He asks about sex acts I'm comfortable with, what I'm not. And I answer, getting wetter with each word that makes this experience closer into reality.

He turns briefly, "Anything else?"

"No calling me a cunt and no race stuff," I say, this time looking him firmly in the eye, watching his reaction. He nods in understanding.

As we walk into a doorman building, he slows down his pace so we enter together.

"Hi Mr. Broker!" an elderly white man smiles at both of us.

"Hi Peter," He says as he nods in response.

We get into the elevator. As the door closes, I turn facing him. He seems to be smiling and has his arms crossed.

"Strip," he says.

I am now terrified at my choice and also deeply aroused, a confusing combination. I'm even more terrified Matt will see the confusing evidence in my panties.

Matt. Matt. Reminding myself of his name and his choices about safety make me calm down and I decide to smile at him, a way to regain some power, some comfort. He smiles back encouragingly or at least I think he does - I can still only see his eyes.

I slowly take my scarf and fall coat off, placing both on my arm. I unzip my boots, savoring the sexy click of the metal along my calf and step out of them. Just when I reach for the buttons on my shorts, the elevator door dings open on the 14th floor.

"Let's go, pet. Grab your things."

I grab all my stuff and follow him through a warmly lit hallway. He opens the door to an apartment overlooking the park.

"Keep stripping until I tell you to stop." he says, as he puts his keys down and takes off his mask.

His face, I want to caress that jawline, touch every feature on his face, hover on his lips.

Instead I play my role, asking,"where would you like me to keep my clothes, sir?"

"Fold them and place them on the floor, pet."

I kneel facing him and begin to fold my clothes into a neat pile. The cool stone floors and the submissive act of being on my knees is deeply arousing. The folding, not so much. A little too domestic. Plus folding clothes neatly always made me think of my mom and her precision, and that does not do much for me.

I shake my head a bit and I pull my shirt off to reveal my black lacy bra. Silky textures slip through my fingers as I fold my blouse, and I kneel again. As I straighten up, I go back to my shorts.

His face moves from shock to lust before settling into calm. My crotchless pantyhose, the only clean pair I had, and my red panties, also the only clean pair, have an impact. I decide to step in front of my clothes pile and turn, facing away from him as I kneel to put down my shorts, giving him a full view of my ass.

"Stay there, Nyra." He says, and I hear his shoes on the hardwood floor.

"This is what you were wearing today when you went out in public?" he asks, as I feel the warmth of his fingers slide through my panties onto my ass. No more gloves. He caresses each cheek gently, his thumbs moving along the sides of my ass crack.

I moan in response, and I feel a soft pat on my ass, followed by a heavier sting of a slap.

I get wetter and feel close to being overwhelmed even though we have just begun. Or maybe we began when we made eye contact, when he walked that yellow line.

"Answer me."

"Yes sir, I wore this."

"What a slutty outfit underneath your coat."

He slips his finger into the wetness held in the crotch of my panties and I groan again.

"What a slut," he croons, and then slaps my ass once more with his free hand. I feel a familiar tingling, my abs contracting, and I ask desperately, "May I cum, sir?"

"Already?"

"Yes, sir."

"After I punish you for googling my name without my permission. Take off your bra and count to three."

I unclasp my bra, folding it neatly before going back to a kneeling position with my ass raised.

"One."

A stinging slap of my left cheek accompanied with goosebumps erupting all over my body.

"Two."

A harder slap on my right, and my nipples becoming hardened nubs.

"Three."

His hands reach around me from behind, cup my breasts hard and he pulls on my nipples. I scream and cum hard, pulling my body tighter into a ball, falling into a mess onto the floor.

The cold stone floor slowly starts to seep in through my orgasm daze, just as he says, "Get on your knees again and face me."

He quickly unzips his pants and drops them to the floor.

"Fold them."

I do carefully, all while taking in his crisp light blue boxers that match his eyes. The memory of the outline of his hard cock beckons but I focus on my task, imagining what his cock must look like, taste like.

As I turn my head upward, he grabs the back of my neck pushing his cock into my mouth. I don't even see it, all I can do is feel its width, smell the interweaving soft sweat and nice bath soap that I can't place. I'm looking up at him, taking in his dress shirt, his stubble, and I feel stuffed as he pushes more of himself in.

"Two fingers up if you need me to slow down, 5 for a stop, okay?" He says, as he looks me in the eye.

I nod the smallest nod, and then I get face-fucked. My saliva coats him as my jaw opens to adjust to this pounding. I lean into his legs for support, holding onto his hips so he can fuck me the way he wants, the way I want him to.

"Put two fingers into you, but no cumming."

I obey, moving my panties to the side, my wrist turning an awkward angle and I gasp in satisfaction as my fingers find their home.

I fuck myself as he fucks my mouth. I feel my back arching and I know I'm going to cum soon, so I slow down as he speeds up, letting myself feel the awkward of the wrist to zone in on a discomfort that isn't so deliciously entwined with pleasure.

He pulls out and very gently slaps the side of my face with his cock. I want to keep sucking it and so I look up at him and open my mouth.

He grins and pushes back in, "For a little longer, pet. Then we have to move on. We're on a schedule."

I bob up and down his cock, taking all of him in before pulling back out. I notice his cock reacts when my tongue moves along the tip and so I repeat this motion, over and over.

He jerks out of my mouth and I almost tip over, my wrist still inside of me. I steady myself and ask, "Sir, can I take my hand out please?"

"Yes, stand up."

I pull my three fingers out and gingerly set my panties right before standing up straight in front of him.

We stay like this for what feels like minutes, him taking me in, me taking him in. He's slim, the body of an older weekend runner maybe, with more grey on his chest than blonde. His eyes glide over my body slowly and as I read the desire emanating from him, my body gets goosebumps.

"Where did you get those panties from?"

"Victoria's Secret, sir."

"I'm going to cut them off you and I'll get you a new pair. Stand still and look ahead."

He moves towards the kitchen behind me, and roughly caresses my ass as he walks by, almost seeming like he was testing my ability to obey. Thirty seconds later, I feel cool metal on my asscheeks.

"Yellow, sir. Please." I say, listening to my racing heart shift towards panic.

He moves up in front of me. "Better?"

"Yes, sir, thank you." The heartbeat settles, as he leans close up against me, his chest against my breast. I see his hand move, and the sharp cold blade of the scissors slides underneath the delicate lace, grazing my hip bone and he snips. He methodically moves to the other side, cold against hip bone.

He pulls my panties off and smiles, looking at my bare crotch in my pantyhose.

"You're so tiny. What's your dress size?" I hear a tinge of wonder in his tone. Under typical circumstances, I'd shut this shit down, but I hadn't said anything about this to him. Plus, his desire, even the pure objectification, was intoxicating my nipples into harder nubs.

"00 petite, sir."

"Didn't even know that was a size. Even your ass and your legs are so petite," he says, as his fingers run up the sides of my thighs before cupping both cheeks in his hands. His body feels warm against me, his cock hard against my thigh.

"Did you know what you were going to do today, pet?"

"No sir."

"You had these slutty little secrets underneath your coat and no one knew," He says, as he slips a finger into my cunt.

"I wanted you to know, sir." The words slip out before I even thought them through.

He shoves another finger into me, while he whispers, "Good, good..."

He fucks me harder with his fingers and then pulls out.

"I want the world to know. Come with me."

For the second time, he grabs my wrist and drags me, this time to his bedroom. I watch him scan the room, and his eyes land on the floor to ceiling glass overlooking midtown.

Fuck, what the fuck does he want to do to me? What if someone sees?

"As a courtesy," he says, rummaging through his dresser and pulling out a mask.

"Do you want to wear it, sir?"

"You can if you want some privacy. You have a memorable face, Nyra. Unless you don't want it."

I nod, in relief. I place the mask on and catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Naked except for pantyhose and a mask, my body looking far more glamorous than I expected.

Pussy juice embarrassingly drips down my thigh, and I realize I have a barrier for my face, but none for my pussy.

"If you get any of your juice onto the floor, I'll want you to clean it up."

I nod as I say, "Yes sir."

"Stand as close to the glass as possible."

I inch closer until my nipples brush against the glass made cold by fall. As I look down, I feel a little nauseous. We're so far up, and the light in the bedroom means people could see me if they looked up. I stare straight ahead and god, the sun setting over this dirty beautiful city is gorgeous.

He pushes my legs apart, and I almost begin to reach around before I remember.

"Sir, can I please hold onto you? I'm afraid of falling."

"Yes, pet, only around the neck."

As I reach my arms backwards and behind to circle around his neck, my breasts get pushed up, my nipples get harder.

He roughly spreads my legs wider, smacks both my ass cheeks hard and then he enters me, no fingers, no nothing. Just his cock into my pussy and he begins pounding, holding my hips firmly to steady me.

I moan with each thrust, pushing back against him partially to feel him deeper inside of me, and partially because I don't want to touch the cold window, place our weight on the glass.

His one hand snakes up to my tits and his palm is large enough to grab both my nipples, and he squeezes my breasts hard.

Guttural noises are now escaping from my mouth with this added stimulation, and as he thrusts once more, he slaps my right tit.

I'm almost crying from not cumming, from the thrill and humiliation of being spanked and then displayed in this stranger's apartment, all the way up in his window.

"Please, sir, can I cum?" I ask, as I slow my thrusting, to modulate my orgasm. He continues to fuck me hard. I imagine if I had long hair, he'd be pulling me onto his cock with it and I groan at the image, groan from these sensations.

He pulls on my right nipple and moves his left hand to my clit, and whispers, "Yes."

I pound back into him hard, bracing myself against the frame of the window. His flicks on my clit work and I scream as I cum hard onto his cock, and in response, I feel him cumming inside of me.

He pulls out and slumps down onto the carpet. As I turn to get away from the window, he pulls me into his lap. The energy has changed, no longer charged, loud, electric. Just calm and still. His hand moves across my breasts and he begins playing with my tits, moving them very slowly.

I remind myself I have to pee, but I don't move - this feels decadent, his arms around me the perfect aftercare for our fucking.

He looks at his watch, and then places a finger at the entrance of my cunt and lazily follows the shape of my labia.

"I'll have to be careful with you, Nyra."

I grind into his lap gently, an old habit of arousal, helping his finger slip back in. He gently moves in and out, before pulling out seemingly with reluctance.

"We need to end soon. Let's we wrap up. Do you still want to be kissed, pet?"

"Yes, sir."

He hooks a finger under my jaw, pulls my mask off, and brings my lips to his. As we kiss, my arms wrap around his shoulders, his hands caress my curves, before landing around my waist. Our first kiss.

"I'd like to do this again, sir."

"Let's go shower, Nyra," he says with a smile, as he pulls me up.