Smart Sexy And Submissive

"Seeking Smart, Sexy & Sometimes Submissive"

Do you think a tattoo can be a sign from the gods? A while back I saw a CL ad entitled "Seeking Smart, Sexy & Sometimes Submissive".

I like chatty ads; this wasn't that but he struck a few right notes and the title - hey! that's me. I was having a hard time coordinating the DP I was after. Kevin, the sexy Canadian attorney, said 'yes' but never followed through. I booked (and cancelled) a babysitter 5 times for him. Every time we were supposed to be in a hotel room - fucking -, he was actually in an airplane headed off to calm some nervous client or other. Then there was the farm team - Dennis and Willi. Willi was satisfactorily filthy minded and edgy looking to keep my interest. Dennis? Not so much. Especially after he wanted me to call him 'dirty boy'. Ugh. But once again, industrious Willi, who managed some swanky restaurant on the peninsula, was never available. I was beginning to feel ancy, wanting something - anything - to happen.

So now there was "Napa Guy". He made it clear he did not 'hot chat', as he put it. Too many flakes in the D/s scene. Women who liked to talk the talk but not walk the walk. He was a philosophy major (oh no - loser?) so I asked about his favorite philosopher. Answer: Thomas Aquinas. I reared a little at my computer. Medieval theologian = failed seminarian/kinky (ex-)priest? He's pleasantly surprised I recognize the name. I poke around a bit more in his past. What does a philosopher do for a living in Yountville? Turns out he got to Yountville via a detour through Yale Law. Now I'm pleasantly surprised, even more so when he sends a pic of his tattoo with the quote from the Angelic Doctor. Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner!

We agree to meet for brunch - 10:30 the following Friday at the Boon Fly Cafe. He asked how he'll recognize me. I tell him - tell me what to wear, then you'll know. Muted dress, preferably burgundy. No clunky shoes. I have just the thing.

I know where the Boon Fly is - on Carenos Hwy. attached to a very expensive hotel. I'm late but when he sees my shoes I can tell he doesn't mind. He's younger than his picture made him look, handsome, and very nervous. I like that because I am, too. I've never interviewed to be someone's sub before, don't have any clue how it's done. He asks a lot of questions about my sexual history. When did I know I was submissive? (Who knows? Who cares?) Did I have any experience with this sort of thing? My mouth is dry despite the manhattan I'm drinking well before noon. That depends on what 'this sort of thing' is. His eyes twinkle. It's clear he's not going to the let the cat out of the bag though he may let me see the tail.

We discuss limits. No marks, I say, I can't explain that . He chuckles and swears he's not going to whip me. What he likes is sensation play. I shiver a little. That sounds like it's right up my alley (if only my alley weren't so dark - I have no idea where it leads, having only been down it part of the way). Surprisingly, I find myself telling him all sorts of things I've never told anyone before: that I tied my barbies up, that I have rape fantasies my better feminist self despises. None of this seems to faze him. We have this weird conversation right in front of the bartender and I think we look nothing like some master and his prospective slave girl. We look like very successful white people trying to organize a hookup.

Which is true. To a point.

When he kisses me up against my car (he's here on a harley), he puts his hand on my neck, ever so gently, but I know what it means and my brain and my cunt sizzle.

He books a hotel room for the following Friday. This is all going very fast but I need it to or I'll chicken out. I drive out to Napa shaking in my flats. I have sinfully high heels in a bag. Or at least, I think I do. As it turns out, I've only brought one so I'll have to face him in flats.

This 'failure' makes me even more nervous, a feature he does not help when he instructs me to wait in the lobby for 'further instructions'. The Marriot is full of old folks and I am certain every old lady who eyes me knows for a fact I am only there to get laid. My blush is furious. Thank god he finally texts I am to get a bottle opener and champagne flutes (???? - I am not allowed to ask questions) and proceed to room 1027. And keep my eyes down. Oh, and call him sir.

I can do this. I can do this, though I almost giggle as I stand there staring at my little ballet flats. The room is so dark I couldn't see him even if he let me look. His voice is so much lower that - for a minute - I fear he's given me to a stranger. Well, even so, now I'm here and there's no going back. He blindfolds me almost immediately, making it very difficult to pour the champagne he opens after I fumble with it, trying so hard not to cheat that I can't manage. Before handing him the flute, I stretch out a hand to find his general area in the pitch blankness.

Inadvertently, I touch his leg, close enough to his dick to feel how hard he is already. The erring hand is promptly and none too gently slapped away. We both drink a bit and then he takes the flute from my hands and tells me to get on all fours. His gear is across the room. I am to fetch it so he can put it on me. It's hard in a dress and the dark but I manage to find it. 4 cuffs. He puts them on me, attaches my hands behind my back and drapes me onto the bed, ass up. He's assessing me, I can tell, though he says nothing until he reaches under my dress and pulls off the lace panties.

Is this the gift you've brought me, he asks. I sputter, close to laughter: yes, SIR. Next thing I know he's slapped my ass - HARD - and starts spreading some cool creamy stuff up the crack in my ass and I am terribly certain he is going to fuck me with no prologue, no nothing. But no - instead I feel him inserting beads, how many I can't tell. When he's done, he yanks my head up by my hair and begins to kiss me, tongue probing hard, and - in what seems like the same moment - he pulls the beads out. FAST. The delicious fullness in my mouth intensifies the sudden emptiness in my ass and all I want in that moment is for him to PUT THEM BACK. But I'm not running this show and I know it.

Undress me, slut, he commands and I do the best I can with my teeth. He laughs and unclips me - for now, he adds, so i can use my hands. I hurry. When I'm finished he leans down over the bed and tells me to lick him. God, how I lick him - I rim him within an inch of his life, using my tongue like a cock. I suckle his bag, lick up and down his legs till they're wet with spit. Finally, he turns and stuffs his dick into my mouth. Again, again and again - until I finally, embarrassingly, spit up champagne on his cock.

This goes on - how long I don't know - the room is dark and the music is repetitious, hypnotic. I'm already way woozy when he puts on the hood. Fuck, I'm already blindfolded, I think - what the hell is this? This, it turns out, comes with ear plugs attached to different music. I can't see, I can't hear but I can feel - feel the clips he puts on tits after he pushs my dress and my slip down. At some point the music suddenly get louder. For a minute I don't know why and, while I'm trying to process this, he pulls the clips off. O MY FUCKING GOD! My whole body goes ZING!

What happens then involves hot wax and sizzling pubic hair. He says he won't mark me but I am still nursing pencil eraser size burns on my chest.

And wondering how anyone can get hurt like that and not even fucking notice? Finally, he takes me to the bathroom, puts me in the shower stall and gently sponges the wax off me. This must be intermission because I am allowed to take my hood off. I feel like a falcon, suddenly free to stop concentrating on my mouth and I hardly know how to see, hear or breathe. We drink some more champagne before he brings out the rope. This excites him, I can tell, because he's talking very fast and shaking slightly. The rope smells like grass. When he's finished, my tits are trussed. He slaps them and I feel like flesh being tenderized. He must be able to tell I'm zoning because the slap that follows is to my face and it is accompanied by a demand: Do you want to pass out or have your ass fucked? I don't answer fast enough, so stunned am I by that insane choice, so he slaps me again. This time I quickly answer, fuck my ass! That answer is not good enough for him either because this time he slaps my ass so hard I cry out.

FUCK MY ASS, PLEASE, I say again.

Next thing I know I'm on my back on the bed. He's ripped the rope off my chest and is busy tying my ankles to my legs so I look like some obscene crab. What comes next is a dildo that must have been modeled on a horse cock.

I am sure there is no way that is going into my ass so I am relieved when he uses it to fuck the hell out of my pussy which, to my surprise, is very wet and pleased to accommodate the gigantic piece of silicon. When this is finished, he puts on a condom and begins to lube me up. OMG, this is really going to happen, I say to myself, or so I think. I must have said it aloud because he laughs as he presses my bound knees apart and plunges in.

He's not my regular 8" lover but - holy fuck - I let out such a scream I am sure we will be evicted immediately. In my desperation, I somehow manage to wiggle my left leg free which eases the pain somewhat. Relax, he breathes over me, and - amazingly - I do. It gets easier. It gets downright pleasant. He pulls himself out, flips me over the bolster pillow, adds some lube and resumes. Count to 100, he instructs me. I think I do though I'm not sure I still know how. When he reaches 100, I am blissed out - partly from the spasms in my poor ass and partly from my buzzing pussy. Where the vibe on my clit came from I have no clue but it must have been him because he's still got me pinned. I am too tired to say thank you.

I am spent. Done. Achy. Then I hear him say - now it's my turn. He strips off the condom, hangs my head over the side of the bed for some more deep throating but I'm not choking anymore. I'm completely limp and he can do as he pleases. But his pleasure is to fuck me. a new condom and I'm on my knees again, facing a clock that says I have about 15 minutes to make him come, get dressed and get back in my car.

And that is exactly what happens. In a daze, I dress, he kisses me, pats my sore ass and sends me on my way. The last thing I hear him say is:

God, I'm hungry. I think I need to order pizza.