I love a man in a suit. Well, I love the idea of a man in a suit anyway – sadly many actual men who habitually wear suits are dickheads.
So, hello unknown Men In Suits. Do you know what the sight of you does to me? Can you tell what’s going on in my head when I catch sight of you?
A well-fitted suit speaks to me of power, authority and responsibility. I want to submit to that power, feel that authority. I yearn to break through that professional detachment and make you forget your responsibilities until you can see only me, feel only me, want only what I can offer you.
This is a kinky fantasy of mine – I’m not a 24/7 lifestyle sub and I’d hate to be under someone else’s control all of the time, so being a slave isn’t something I’d want to do for real. But pretend, part-time sexual slavery….oh yes….oh yes please…..
Tonight is the night. We’ve negotiated the scene carefully, establishing hard and soft limits, safewords and safecues. He’s curious and slightly nervous at the idea of power I’m putting into his hands. I’m hyper-aroused by the prospect, wondering how he will choose to exercise it.
He greets me at the front door with our usual kisses – both tender and hungry, wordlessly telling each other of our sheer joy in being reunited.
(Reposting from a piece I wrote on FetLife a while back)
My place is at the bottom in any given sexual dynamic. I do not switch. I am not any kind of Domme. That’s the bottom line for me.
I just don’t get off on wielding power. Giving orders doesn’t make me wet; receiving them does. Inflicting or threatening pain or control is tedious, asserting my will takes conscious effort, being in charge is both awkward and fatiguing. Oddly (but not uncommonly, I gather) this is very much at odds with my professional persona, in which I am the confident decision-maker and voice of authority. (It’s probably just as well that I don’t get sexual satisfaction from this, otherwise I’d probably spend all of my day wanking rather than working).
I’m pretty sure I actually saw this on the way home today. Even if my eyes deceived me at the time, it makes for a pretty damn hot fantasy. How lucky it just happens to be #MasturbationMonday!
So picture this. You’re on the bus on the way home from the station. It’s been a long and demanding day, so all you want to do is silence the whirling work-thoughts buzzing around your brain. You’ve been idly contemplating your favourite sexual fantasies on the journey so far, picking out which to play on your mind’s projector that evening when you settle naked onto your bed. You’re gazing out of the window, not really registering what you’re seeing as you picture scenes of dominance, restraints, floggings and hard fucking.
Then it happens. The bus jolts over a speed bump and you look up momentarily, to meet her eyes.
Let me tell you about why I like you to spank me…pinch my nipples…dig your fingers into tender parts of me…
…I want to be your slut. I want to exist to please you. Your moans, your dilated pupils, your hard cock – I want to be the cause; and see your unrestrained lust.
I feel powerful when I see how I make you feel, and so will I hand that power right back to you, to use me for your absolute pleasure. Your arousal, your approval are the nectar that feeds my deep hunger; they are what makes me wet and welcoming, spreads my limbs and wants you deep inside me
He’s been asleep all afternoon. I can’t begrudge him his rest; he works ridiculously hard and despite being half-dead with exhaustion last night, he still found the energy to push me face-down onto the bed and fuck my arse until I screamed with delight.
But I’ve been reading smut on the internet for the past hour, and I’m so horny. I shift under the duvet, pressing my thighs together and squirming with unrelieved lust.
He snores gently and I haven’t the heart to wake him.
My cunt however, has no conscience. I know that if I start without him, he’ll be pulled from sleep as I writhe and moan by his side. So I slide my hand below the covers, part my legs and stroke my already slick lips apart.