He was a good boy.
It had started fairly normal, like most romances do. She loved that he was attentive, but didn’t cross the line where attentive became overwhelming. To explain further, he sent a message in the morning, one at night, and if they were to meet, but not a message saying: “Have you eaten yet?”.
He picked her up at work whenever he could, and could sense when she desperately needed a coffee (vanilla latte, too much sugar) and a massage, and obliged, but was courteous enough to ask her to make sure if she really wanted those things.
They had met by chance, as most. He was locked into her eyes, which drove into him and seemed to get to his very soul. She was used to staring at people, always trying to figure something about them, and she didn’t avert her eyes when he looked up at her. He was rewarded with two oval hazel eyes, which looked about as deep as the Mariana trench. She feasted on his eyes, face, arms, and then the rest of his body.
He loved the fact that she looked like she was really enjoying her sugary pretzel, and didn’t mind the fact that her fingers were covered in sugar. He wished he could suck that sugar off her fingers, and when she actually sucked carelessly on them, he instinctively felt a stir in his penis.
She saw him as he licked his lips, and her thoughts flew.
He pointed her that she still had a little sugar on the corner of her lip, suppressing the instinct to run his fingers (or tongue) to clean it. She wiped it off, smiling at him and taking the sugar from her finger, biting it lightly, then sucking on it.
He knew she was teasing him… and it worked.
He went over to her table, introduced himself, then offered to carry her bag pack, which looked (and was) heavy. She didn’t accept, and he didn’t insist. He asked instead if he could join her around, and she accepted. After all, it was a crowded mall, and he looked harmless enough.
She went to the library, her favorite spot, and browsed through it all. Surprisingly, he also read a lot, and went his way, but always brought good books to her, asking if she had read them, and discussing them with her. He won her heart with that, but she didn’t let him on.
And so they happily went about, their paths already crossed.
As hey explored themselves, physically and spiritually, he found out she wanted to dominate, and he liked the idea. She was tickled by the fact that he liked her fantasy… but being in the post sex glow, she figured he could say just about anything, so she discarded the idea.
Then he went out of the country on business, and came bearing interesting gifts… A tied corset, which he already knew she loved, and a blue crop, her favorite color. It was then she knew he meant what he said.
They began submitting and dominating each other, establishing their roles, which turned out to be her as the dominant. He didn’t ever lose his essence, or his manliness, much less his independence, but many times he came to her naked, on all fours, with the infamous crop on his mouth, and a lustful look in his eyes.
Many times she made him dry her back only with his tongue after a shower; something both loved and revered, and relaxed her more than his most dedicated massage. Lying on her face, softly moaning into the pillow as he licked all the little water droplets off her back.
He learned that his body wasn’t only his anymore; she owned it, as much as he owned hers, but she exercised her owner’s rights more than he did.
“You are, indeed, a good boy…” she said, patting his face as his moans were carried off into all the corners of their house, his body spent, but his soul as content as ever.
