You Challenged Me

by Kris

You challenged me. I didn't think I had it in me. My thoughts run submissive. The truth is, I don't know if I'm a masochist or not, but I am no sadist. And so I have a hard time imagining myself as being dominant. Outside of romantic relationships, I am often dominant. I make calls, I am directive with people, I tell them what I need them to do. But even out there, it isn't my first response. My first response is to guide people, to suggest and nudge them in the direction of what I want, and to try to get it without asking for it. When they want something other than what I want, even after a little nudging, I usually let them have it, unless it's something bad for everyone involved. But if they won't choose, I become more directive. I'm rarely cruel or pushy about it, so people respond well to it.

But you wanted me to be a dominant in this room. That's a different matter. I had to think about that. But you told me you wanted me to think about it, and so I did. Now I want to tell you about what I did to you, in my fantasy. When I'm done, you can tell me how it made you feel. I hope it makes you feel like it made me feel.

When you came over, you found a note on the countertop in the kitchen, telling you to undress in my living room, and then, naked, come into my studio, in the back, where I normally do my photography work, and wait for me in the center of the room.

You leisurely take off your clothes, letting your thin summer dress fall off your shoulders and onto the floor, pulling off the bra, thin slip, and panties you wear underneath, and tossing them onto the sofa. You think a second more, and, remembering that I asked you to be completely undressed, step out of your strappy heeled sandals. Looking at the mess of your clothes, and remembering how I carefully folded my clothes when you instructed me to undress in your own playroom, you fold them neatly and place them in a pile on the armchair.

The room is comfortably warm, and my house, secluded by shade trees, is quiet and feels private, so you feel at ease, walking in the nude, through the hallway to my studio. You wonder idly if I will photograph you. I have taken artistic pictures of you in the nude before, pictures that tried to show you how beautiful you are in my eyes, but you are expecting something different today. You enjoy the breeze your motion makes, the feel of the slightly air conditioned air, crisp and cool, against your bare nipples, and running past your thighs. While you normally trim your pubic hair, today you decided to shave yourself bare, because it seemed appropriate for a submissive. The air feels funny against your bare mound, and you are very aware of your labia and the air moving past them. You open the door of my studio and walk in.

I designed the room so that it need not be a photography studio, when I designed my home, but could also be used to dance in, could be a place where I could play my violin, and so on. It's a large, square room, with a lightly colored wooden floor, deep red walls the color of sangria, and a crisp white ceiling, and with moldings that have the feel of columns running up the walls in the corners. Usually, most of this is obscured by the floor mats, the screens, the reflectors and stands, and all the other tools I use for portraiture. And so you always thought that I had gone to too much trouble in decorating it.

But today, when you walk in, you see that the room is nearly bare. Gone is my equipment. Several feet in from each of the corners is a candle stand, with several lit candles on it. The candles play against the glossy floor, licking and swirling and flickering, and in a more subdued way, cast shadows on the walls and ceilings. You can see that there are things on the floor, in the two farthest corners, but in this light you cannot tell what. As instructed, you stand in the center of the room, in the midst of the candles. You enjoy the way the light flickers against your skin, the way the reddish tint of the candlelight emphasizes your tan, the way the unsteady light teases, alternately revealing and hiding the treasures of your firm breasts, your smooth, long legs, and what lies between them, as well. You decide to stand at attention, head facing forward towards the back of the room, still acclimating to the light, still unable to make out what lies back there. Your part your legs slightly, stand flat on your feet. The floor underneath you feels nice, having been in heels, on your feet, at work all day.

Just as your breathing slows, and you become aware of your chest heaving out and drawing back in with your breath, you hear the door, at your back. open, and then close again. You resist the urge to look behind you, but just wait. Your pulse quickens again. You have been dominated by many men, but not by me, and it excites you, because of the feelings you have for me.

I walk slowly, without much noise, until I am just behind you. You can feel me very close to you, can tell that my face is just behind yours. I run my fingers through your hair slowly, several times, enjoying the feel of your soft waves against my skin, I draw it together and let it fall to one side of your neck. You can feel my warm breath against the bared nape of your neck. You feel me brush against your back now. You can tell I am wearing silk pajamas, rather than leather or latex. Although they feel smooth against you, you still quiver slightly. I lay a hand flat against your taut abdomen, running it up to just let my fingers slightly cup your right breast, and then down, lingering at your belly button, and then pressing slightly against your lower abdomen, letting my fingers graze towards your mound, but not lowering them any farther. You press your body up slightly, not rising off your heels, trying to push my hand down farther towards your sex, but I remove it. You keep your hands at your sides obediently. Then, I take the same hand, and slowly run it along your outer thigh and hip, letting it rest on the upper side of your hip. I swing around you slowly, letting the hand that is on your hip trace around your buttocks, letting my fingers fall gently across the curve of you on the other side, their tips nestled against the crease, and my body now in front of you. I look you in the eyes.

“I have worn your collar, my pet, but you have never worn mine before. Today is the first time.” You see in my other hand, a shiny chrome collar, shaped slightly like a “V” in the front. I raise it up and place it around your neck, letting it snap shut with a click in the back. It has a suede interior, soft and pleasant against your skin. I run my finger along the arch of the “V,” letting it follow down onto your skin and between your breasts, and then cupping one of them. I draw close to you, so that I am breathing into the ear on the opposite side.

“Do you want me to tell you what I have planned for you, my pet?”

You purr. “Yes. Please.”

Still massaging your breast, I look you in the eyes. “I don't want to hurt you. But to have you as my pet, I need for you to endure this pain, to be properly prepared for my pleasure. But wailing and begging, I do not care for, because I am no sadist, as I have told you before. I will give you two options. I will give you a gag, so that you will not be able to give in to the temptation to cry out. But if I do that, you will spend the night tied to the footboard of my bed, on the floor. Or, you can forgo the gag. If you cry out, I will do the same to you, but I will make the bonds tighter and less pleasant. But if you are silent, I will reward you by letting you stay with me in my bed. Which way do you prefer?”

“Test me,” you say lustfully. You arch your back.

Releasing your breast, I run my hand up your tense back, and grasp you by the lower back of your head, firmly, but not painfully. I smile. “Your choice pleases me.”

Then, I release you and walk to the back of the room, and return with restraints in my hands.

“Raise your hands above your head, and then bend your elbows so that your forearms are parallel to the ground, with each hand cupping the elbow on the other side.” You do so, and I lock restraints around your arms, securing each rist firmly to the other elbow. Then I attach small chains on the restraints to a D ring in the back of your collar. The effect is that your arms are locked in this position, your forearms slightly behind your head, and that you cannot lower them.

I walk out of the light again, and push in an object on wheels. It is a wooden horse. You notice that it has two strange notches carved into the top surface. You also notice that the board edge on the top is curved, and does not look very sharp. But you still do not greatly relish the feel of it pressing up, spreading your lips, and pushing into the sensitive tissue of your sex. You involuntarily rise up on your toes. I laugh softly.

I walk back and return with a stool, placing it at the head of the horse.

“Get on, my pet.”

You do as told, rising up as high as you can on your toes, clearing the crossboard of the horse by no more than the width of your smallest finger. You stop in the middle, and notice that one of the notches is in front of you, and the other behind you.

I go to the back of the room and return with several more items, placing them on the floor next to the stool. You see some cords, and two boards. The last items, a short spreader bar, and ankle restraints, I bring over, and lock the ankle restraints around your ankles and the spreader bar between them. The horse has very wide legs, and you wonder if you could tip it over, now that you cannot rise up on one leg and get off it that way. I place the boards in the notches, perpendicular to the crossboard, and parallel with your stomach and back. They bracket you in, so you cannot lean forwards or fall backwards. Although they make it even harder for you to get off the horse, should it become too painful, you can't imagine this is why I have put them there. You could still knock the horse over. Perhaps. You wonder what my reason is.

“You've accused me before of straying too vanilla for your tastes, so I didn't want to stop here.” I smiled. Going back to the stool, I bend down and pick up the cords. They appear to be elastic cords, with karabiners at one end, and nipple clamps at the other, and are about two feet in length. Holding them both in one hand, I run my finger in lazy circles around your areole, enjoying the feeling, and staring with concentration into your eyes. Then, I pinch your nipples, making sure they are hard, and put the clamps on them, one at a time. You wince, but remain silent. Then, holding the elastic cord of one of them near your breast firmly, I pull on the other end, and attach the karabiner to a D ring on the horse at your waist. When I let go, you gasp, as your nipple is pulled painfully down towards the horse. You try to relieve the pressure by leaning forward, but you press up against the board in front of you, unable to lower your upper body. You drop quickly on your heels, bringing your body closer to the horse and relieving the pressure slightly, but then jerk up when the board presses into your cleft. I attach the other karabiner, and step back, to admire my handiwork.

“So you see, my device is simple. If you stay on your toes, you avoid the pain between your legs, but the cords will pull mercilessly on your nipples. If you lower yourself onto the board, you will spare your nipples. But at what cost?”

I sit on the stool, and put my legs up under me on the pedestal, and, folding my arms, watch you intently. You look at me with just a little fear in your eyes, wondering how long I will let you stay like this. You twist your body to each side, trying to adjust and find a position. I enjoy the way your posture, standing on your heels, accentuates the beauty of your long, smooth legs. You alternate, wincing at the fiery pain in your nipples, which feel as if they are going to rip off, and lowering yourself onto the board, to relieve them, and jerking up again when the board presses into you. I watch you intently.

As time progresses, the pain in your nipples feels more and more terrible. In addition, your calves strain from standing up on your heels. You lower yourself, but the board, though rounded, is still quite painful. In addition, your arms are becoming sore from being above your head. You look at me in an expression of pain, but hold your tongue. You alternate more and more quickly, unable to find relief in any position. As you tire, you begin to sweat from the exertion. The cold sweat makes your hair cling to your back, and shines in the candlelight. You shiver.

I smile. “Perhaps the stimulation of the board would be more acceptable if you were aroused. Why don't you masturbate yourself against the board for me, pet? I want to see it.”

You glare at me, but by this time, the pain is becoming more and more unbearable, and so you try it, lowering your body, thrusting your hips slowly and as far as you can, locked in between the two boards, rubbing yourself along the crossbar of the horse. It does make you aroused. And you find it is true, that the board is more tolerable. But the pain quickly outpaces the arousal, and you find you cannot keep yourself aroused enough to make it go away. You wince. You want to cry out, but you bite your tongue and resist the urge.

I rise up and come closer, running my hand again along the tense flesh of your buttocks and side. I run my fingers underneath your chin, and then hold your face up gently by the chin, looking into your eyes.

“Do you want my help, pet?”

“Please,” you whisper.

Taking one of your breasts in hand, I massage it again, letting my fingers wrap around your nipple. I run my hand along your side, and down in between you and the board, just getting it in, pressing you up against the back board. You arch your back as much as you can, trapped between me and the board. I lower my fingers, letting them trail in between your legs, pushing them so that the tip of my finger comes between you and the board, and finds your clit. Rubbing my fingers around the hood first, drawing my face closer to yours and breathing hot breath onto it, enjoying your hot breath against mine, I make contact with your clit and begin to rub it. You push up against me, without saying anything, urging me to go faster and harder. I do, increasing the speed and force of my hand against your breast as well. You buck back and forth, locked between the boards, pressing yourself onto the cruel horse to press yourself on my fingers, pushing faster and faster as I rub harder and harder. Finally, you come, thrashing hard against the board without care.

Drawing my hand back, I kneel down and release the spreader bar. Standing up, I draw you into my arms, lifting you up off the bar. I reach behind you and remove the board from the notch, and pull you off. You lean against me, your arms still above your head.

“I am pleased, my pet.”

I notice your arms are still bound. You still seem to be straining, keeping them in the awkward position. I release the restraints from the ring in your collar, and then from your arms. You lower them and wrap them around me, holding on to me for a moment, and then, letting go, realizing your place, you stand up straight, back at attention. A good pet.

“Clasp your hands together, pet, behind your back.”

You do so. Coming around behind you, I bind your wrists together with the restraints, and then, pulling your elbows together, I bind them to each other, tightly, drawing your forearms against each other from wrist to elbow. The position is uncomfortable, although a relief from keeping your arms above your head. It also causes you to curve back your shoulders, thrusting out your breasts, and to lean forward slightly, to compensate and balance.

Going back to the corner, I bring back a crop and a leash. I attach the leash to your collar, and smack you once, sharply, on your behind, with the crop. You wince just slightly. I pull the leash taught in my hand, backing away from you.

“Well, pet, you've gotten off and I haven't. That's not right, is it?”

As I turn around, and lead you out of the dungeon, you smile.

I lead you through the house, and up the stairs, to my bedroom. I make sure to hold doors for you so you can pass through them.

When I get to the bedroom, I tug the leash around, swinging you onto the bed. You lose balance when your thigh hits the mattress, and fall over onto it. You scramble back up to a kneeling position on top of the bed, a king size bed with a luxurious quilted, satiny cover in golds and deep reds, and a pine four-poster frame. I climb up onto the bed, kneeling in front of you. You can see that I am aroused, through the thin fabric of my pajamas. I draw my pajama top off, and then the bottom, pushing them off the bed to the floor. You see that I am stiff, my penis thrusting out sharply away from my body. I am still shaved myself, as you have always required me, when I have been your pet, and you can see the skin of my groin is smooth, as are my legs and abdomen and chest.

I pull you down towards my member, and, your arms thrusting up behind you, you attack it with your lips and tongue with relish. Seeing you so eager to please me, I loosen my grip on the leash, and enjoy the feeling of your full lips as they run around the head of my penis, and then the feel of your tongue as you run it along the sensitive skin on the underside. I draw back my foreskin so that you can service my glans more directly, and you attack it. I pull back the leash, urging you to go faster, and goad you on with the crop on your thrust out bottom. As you take more of me into your mouth, I let go of the crop, laying it aside, and run my fingers through your hair, letting their tips rub against your scalp. As you move faster and deeper, I rub your scalp harder, letting my fingers curl towards the back of your head and the nape of your neck. I moan softly, enjoying you as you enfold me in your warm, sensual mouth.

I begin to buck my hips, as I come close to climaxing myself, but then, moving my hands to your forehead, push you gently off of me.

“You did well, on the horse, my pet. I want to reward you for that.”

“Reward?” You ask. “Reward your slave?”

“I'm just getting used to being a dominant. And, to be honest, how can I respect someone who pushes others to please himself and does not take care of them?” I draw you up by your chin, and with my other hand, run my fingers around your areola.

I move on the bed, up on my knees, circling around you. You feel my still firm erection, just drying from the juice of your mouth, graze electrically against your leg. Coming behind you, I remove the bonds from your arms. You let your arms fall to the bed in front of you, enjoying being able to relax them, but also supporting your weight slightly on them.

I grasp you by the waist, drawing your upper body up, parallel to mine, and drawing you slightly up on your knees, so that your buttocks rise up from the bed. Using one of my knees to push your legs apart, holding you by the stomach and breast, I enter you from behind, probing for a moment with the tip of my penis, and then pushing myself in quickly. Your back slides up and down against my back, slick with your sweat. I move slowly, in and out of you, letting you rub against the shaft of my member, enjoying the feel of your breasts, kissing and nibbling at your earlobe, the line of your jaw, and the nape of your neck. You moan, taking one of your newly free hands, and grasping over the top of one of mine, pulling it down from your breast. You guide it to your clit, pumping my hand against you, as I thrust harder and faster, my body bumping up against your buttocks. You move in time with me, thrusting your hips back to push me in deeper inside you, moaning more freely now.

I thrust harder and faster, my fingers rubbing your throbbing clit faster and harder, your hand still over mine, pushing me to go even harder and faster, your nails digging into the skin of my fingers beneath them. You moan more and more.

Finally, with aggressive thrusts, each one drawing me almost completely out of you and then slamming back in, as deep as I can go in this position, your hips thrashing against me, we climax together, and you feel my hot semen filling you up, on the inside. We fall down onto the bed, side by side.

You pull up close to me, and I cuddle you in my arms, the chrome of your collar cool against my skin and your flesh searing hot. I feel your heart beat against me, first quickly, and then more slowly, your hand running slowly and leisurely along my hard chest, and watch your head glide up and down as my chest moves more and more slowly and my breathing returns to normal. Beneath the tangle of your damp hair, strands plastered to your wet face, I see you smile contentedly.

I smile too. I could get used to being the dominant. What do you think, pet?