Shy Guy Taen

Author's note: This is a very short story that I was asked to write by a domme I get to see on occasion--to understand what makes me "tick." It was supposed to be short and to the point. I thought others might enjoy it, too. Her name has been changed for privacy.

Marissa studied Oliver like he was her prey--which in fact was what he was to her. She knew the moment she spotted him in the park walking his dog he was submissive, even slave material. She had a sixth sense that way. Of course, seeing him staring at her high heeled thigh-high black boots as she approached certainly helped. She towered over him in her bare feet, that much was obvious, much less in her heels.

She had "bumped into him" to force him to look up and engage with her. It didn't take too long before she had convinced him to come to her place for dinner that night. She was very charming when she wanted to be. But, she always viewed her relationships with men as a predator-prey dynamic. This would be no different. She couldn't wait to dominate him, to completely control him, to tie him up and tie him down, to tease and torment him, and to use him for her pleasure as she saw fit.

Oliver was nervous as he stood outside Marissa's door. On the one hand, he couldn't believe his luck that such a beautiful woman asked him back to her place. On the other hand, she intimidated him. Truth be told, he loved strong, powerful, indeed, intimidating women, but he was still nervous just the same.

Since he was 12 years old, he had recurring "rape" fantasies of strong dominant women capturing him and roughly having their way with him. He wondered if this was the day when something like his long held but impossible to suppress desires would come to life. He had seen Marissa several times in the park but, as was his wont, he hadn't dared say anything to her. She was so beautiful, so tall, so...dominant looking. He was glad they accidentally collided and talked and, then, she invited him to a "date." Had she invited him? It seemed like an order in the end. He pushed her door bell.

Marissa smiled when the doorbell rang. She knew he would come; they always do, like a moth to her luminous flame. She intended to waste no time. She opened the door, dressed to dominate. Her signature boots on (at least for now--they might get in the way later)--and a sexy all black, tight fitting outfit.

"I'm so happy you came, Oliver! I wasn't completely sure you would," she said stroking his face, being more forward than he expected.

Th-thank you for inviting me!"

Marissa just stared at him for bit, sensing how easy this was going to be. She crossed off a number of preliminaries she had in her mind, and decided to proceed immediately to the main event. Ostensibly, she had invited him to dinner. But the hunger she felt now that he was inside her lair had nothing to do with food.

After a long, almost uncomfortable (for Oliver) silence, she spoke firmly and directly: "I think we both know why you decided to come tonight, Oliver. Let's dispense with any pretense otherwise."

She leaned in close to his ear and whispered. "You need this. You need me. You *need* it...Get down on your knees and kiss both of my boots." She pushed him downward, gently, but quite firmly.

Oliver's knees buckled when it was clear she saw him so clearly. He sank to the ground and hesitated but a second before putting his lips on her boots, but as he did so, he both feared what he had just agreed to and relaxed, knowing she was in charge, knowing he would have no control, that she would do all the deciding and thinking for him for at least the next couple of hours. There was no pretext that he had to do anything other than obey

After his kisses, "stay there, on all fours."

Marissa sat down and put her legs on his back contemplating the evening. She loved to objectify her slave-males. Then she got up and sat down on his back.

"You see, this is where you belong. Beneath me. All the time. In fact, you will be beneath me in many ways this evening as I make you into my bitch-slave." Verbal humiliation was a favorite, too.

As she sat on him and told him this, she put a black collar on Oliver's neck and attached a leash.

"Come! Crawl!"

She led her newly acquired slave-lover into her bedroom, finally--where she had wanted him the first time she saw him in the park.

"Stand."

Oliver stood. Marissa started to slowly undress him.

"I like to unwrap my presents myself." She smiled lasciviously, evilly, but also stroked his cheeks, and his head, as she did. When he was fully exposed, she observed he was rock hard. It confirmed what she already knew--he wanted this, he needed this. She wondered if he could even function with a woman without it.

"You will do exactly as I say, you're here for my pleasure and amusement, but I promise you you will have fun along the way. Beware I will hurt you, but I won't harm you. And while your absolute obedience is expected, I will enforce your obedience as I see fit and take from you whatever I want. If something goes wrong for you, tell me and we will adjust--but we won't stop."

Oliver said nothing. She gave him a respectable slap, then a second.

"Tell me you understand."

Wincing slightly from her blows, he replied: "I understand, Mistress." Marissa smiled at the title being offered without being told.

She next pulled out some rope and cuffs and secured his wrists behind his back. Then, thin rope as she placed his cock in bondage before her. When done, she grabbed it firmly.

"This is mine, not yours. I'll do whatever I want with it and you'll like it!" She gave it a couple of slaps, too. It's always good for her to establish authority this way.

"Now, get back down on the floor where you belong and worship my boots. A slave should worship his superior's boots as a sign of his place in the world. Be thorough."

When she felt enough was done there, she drew him close to her. She started to fondle his nipples, slowly, gently at first, but with gradually increasing intensity. She continued until he grunted and then moaned in pain. She loved hearing men suffer for her. She then yanked him by that leash over her lap. She started spanking him, also slowly at first, caressing his very spankable butt after a few salvos, before resuming with increasing intensity, only to stop, caress, and resume again.

"Every male belongs over a woman's lap for a spanking, whether it is a boy over his mother's lap for an appropriate punishment or a husband or boyfriend over his wife's or girlfriend's, for no other reason than he must know it is his place and, frankly, because I just enjoy reddening men's bottoms." She had clamped his hard cock between her legs. She could feel it twitch with excitement as she struck him.

After Oliver was sufficiently pink, Marissa pushed him off. She took off her boots and stripped out of her outer layer, leaving only black nylons, silky panties, and bra on. She then moved back against the pillows, removing her panties, and pulled Oliver's head into her groin with the leash, wrapping her long, strong legs around him as she did and grabbing his head with both her hands. He wasn't going anywhere. Oliver was completely trapped and right where she wanted him.

"Worship me, now." Following her instructions, Oliver did as he was told. "This is where you're meant to be, what you're good for--to be my sex slave. It's what you secretly, desperately want, isn't it?" He could only muffle an unclear reply, but it seemed to her to be in the affirmative.

When she had her fill of that, she wiped his face clean with a towel, released his arms, only to re-tie Oliver spread-eagle, tightly, to her bed. She wanted to keep him from being able to move at all, if she could. She put her panties back on to prepare for one of her favorite activities--to smother this poor slave-male within an inch of his life under her own sexy, nylon-covered bottom. Or perhaps with her bare butt. She enjoyed it both ways.

Over and over again she sat on his face, cutting off his air, relishing his struggle for life-giving oxygen each and every time. She loved the power of literal life and death in her hands--well, ass really. She teased and tormented his cock and nipples along the way. Sometimes she would wiggle and grind her ass into his face, enveloping his head, but mostly she'd keep relatively still, pressing down with her full weight to ensure a complete seal around his mouth and nose. She loved--loved!--his desperate struggle, craved to hear his loud intake of life-giving oxygen, only to deprive him of it again and again. All along the way she teased and verbally humiliated him. "You make an excellent perch for my gorgeous ass, don't you think?"

After a long time of that, she strapped a dildo gag to his mouth. She mounted his face in a different way, an act that was at once pleasure only for her and pure domination for him.

She wanted him, finally, her way. She removed her panties and bra. She had him suck on her breasts. She sat up and rested on his stomach. Then, ever so slowly, she moved up his torso, dragging her slickness as she went. The slowness was intended to provoke in him the anticipatory expectation of being overwhelmed by her womanhood.

When she finally bumped up against his chin, she rested a moment to savor the view of the completely bound, controlled, and dominated slave-male who was about to be used as her toy yet again.

"Stick out your tongue, my little bitch, and hold still." She then raised up and sat down on his face and started to ride it, grinding roughly on him. She didn't care whether he was comfortable or not. His face was little more than an object to be used by her.

When she was done with that, she put a black hood on his head, a gag in his mouth, and untied his cock. "And now you're mine!" She took him inside her, at first she did not move, just savoring the complete envelopment of his sex, immobilized in her bondage, utterly dominated--savoring their complete connection, even if it all was at her command. She then gently rode him, extracting from Oliver all that he had to offer. She pinched and tormented his nipples as she rode Oliver and herself to spectacular completion.

Once done, she lied down beside her slave, gave him a kiss. She then rested her head on his head.

"Rest up," Marissa whispered. "Your night has just begun..."