CFNM: His First Time Ch. 01byOrdinaryGirl©
He'd heard her voice once on the phone, a low purr, and it had reassured him that the ad had been for real, giving him barely enough courage to show up to the secluded house, a purple ribbon under his trousers, tied around his cock and balls.
He'd driven past three times, hands shaking, stomach churning, checking the address on the scrap of paper, looking at the time on dashboard, having been sternly warned not to be late. If he hadn't found himself so rock hard at the prospect, he probably would have tucked his tail between his legs and dashed to the safety of his apartment and roommates, where he would have half-heartedly congratulated himself on what surely would have been a disappointment, or a 40 year old perverted man pretending to be a Mistress, or maybe even someone who was luring him to his death.
But that voice, so confident and sexy, firmly giving him his commands for the evening. Exactly 8 o'clock. Purple ribbon tied securely around the cock and balls that would belong to her for the duration of his time with her. The door will be unlocked. Clothes are to be folded neatly on the chair in the entranceway, after which he was to come and kneel for inspection, eyes downcast until given permission to speak. He had quivered at the directions, meekly responding with "Yes, Mistress", the bulge in his pants stiffening with every word until his groin ached. There was to be no masturbating for three days before the visit, to ensure focus of attention, anticipation, and his full submission. He could, however, stroke to the edge and then stop. He only did that once, in an attempt to ease what had become a constant erection, but found it only worsened the desire, the ache to have Friday night arrive, to be on his knees naked for his clothed Goddess.
He had effortlessly turned down invitation after invitation all week: for parties, barhopping, a date with the cute blonde down the hall, causing his friends to frown and whisper amongst themselves over the sudden introspection of the college party boy. He didn't care. He'd always found CFNM porn to be his favourite and the chance to make it a reality was an all-consuming desire; the chance to be a naked slave for a clothed older woman who would use him mercilessly for her absolute pleasure had erased all other longings.
In his mind he was already hers.
He parked in the driveway and looked at the beautiful house. A dim light flickered behind the curtains and he remembered her question about his pain tolerance. The thought of enduring for her to please her caused him to throb and he turned off the engine and wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. A deep breath, shaking hands picking up the bouquet of roses he'd bought on the way--unbidden but meant to please--and stepped out of his beat-up truck. He thought of his mother and how she'd be shocked if she knew that the son she raised so religiously was walking up the steps to an unfamiliar house to kneel before a strange woman who would put a collar and leash on him and treat him as her slave for the next few hours. And his dad! His cheeks burned at how much he did not want his father to ever know that the strong, ambitious son he'd raised to conquer the world was moments from being over a woman's knee, being spanked until his other set of cheeks also burned.
He forced his parents out of his head, and put his hand on the doorknob. A moment's hesitation, a gathering of courage, and then a crossing of the threshold.
She heard the door open, unmistakable amidst the soft music, and smiled at the long pause before the door clicked shut again. She hadn't been sure he'd actually come. He was so young, 22, a good six years younger than anyone else who'd replied, and totally green to submitting! What had she been thinking when she considered him? And yet, his email had been so genuine, pleading for the chance to please her, to surrender totally to her, to please give him a chance to submit, and his attitude belied his lack of experience. Some men are just naturals, wanting to please a woman, needing to exist for her pleasure to feel fulfilled, and the chance to train a young pup like him with such potential was irresistible. Always a risk, she thought, as she listened to him place his shoes on the shoe rack and the quiet shuffling as he arranged his clothing just out of sight. The young ones were fickle, easily scared off, pulled by their societal obligation to assert their male dominance while secretly hoarding the shameful desire to hand it all over. Ego. Friends. Parental guilt. Such a risk. She sighed and adjusted her leather dress so it rested straight across her thighs, then picked up her crop and toyed with it.
He stepped from the brightly lit entranceway into the candlelit living room, faltering as his eyes adjusted. He knew she was watching, could feel the green eyes from her photo surveying him and he felt panic rising as he wondered if he would be able to please her, to bring a smile to her lips, to be her good boy. He could make out her form now, shadowy in a wingback chair, her curly hair framing her oval face, and he moved quickly forward and dropped to his knees, eyes cast down, placing the flowers in front of her black lace-up high heel boots and clasped his hands behind his back.
Silence. He quickly scanned his memory: ribbon was in place, clothes folded, according to his clock he'd been on time, genitals groomed as required, fingernails and toenails clean and trimmed, and the roses for good measure. His breath was shallow and quick, his heart racing, his stomach tossing as he waited, naked, for some sign of approval, or even of acknowledgement. He glanced at his penis; it was sticking straight out like a bowsprit, and to his horror he saw it was dripping precum onto the floor.
She took her time to look him over, running her hand up and down the stiff crop, then taking a sip of her tea. The flowers were a very touching gesture she thought, and the way he stayed so still and waited was pleasing. This was her favourite part: that transitory period of time when a new slave arrives for the first time, overwhelmed by fear of the unknown and yet driven to come to her, that agonizing wait to hear her voice in person, to feel her touch, to be given that approval they seek so badly. Her eyes scanned him once more, taking in the carefully tied bow, the humble stance, the smooth curve of the white young back leading down the firm curve of the buttocks. He was athletic, well toned, pleasing. She touched his left shoulder with her crop, running it down the biceps, and when she did, she could hear his breath stop. Pleasing again. She leaned forward, bringing her lips to his ear, and placed the tip of the crop under the head of his cock, raising it a little. Her perfume was heady, intoxicating, and he resisted the urge to turn and bury his face in her neck.
"Making a mess on my floor, are we?" She whispered pleasantly with a hint of sternness.
"Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress. Would you like me to clean it up?" he quickly whispered back, licking his lips in nervousness.
"Yes, be a good boy and lick it all up. Then you may lick my boots. Keep your hands behind your back. And hurry up, Mistress likes her floor to be clean."
"Yes, Mistress." And in a flash he was cleaning up the little pool of precum, and then moved onto her boots. Tender licks, long licks, thorough licks, like a little boy with an ice cream cone. When she had had enough, she took his chin in her hand and raised his face to her. A part of him wanted to drop his eyes in awe of the beautiful woman in tight black leather, whose picture did not do her justice, but another part of him never wanted to stop looking at her. She looked at him intently, her face inches from his, her grip on his chin firm while she dragged a finger from her other hand down his bare neck.
"So you want to be my slave, do you?" She raised her eyebrows at him as she waited for his reply.
"Yes, Mistress, I really do. More than anything. I want to exist for your pleasure. Please, Mistress, please." He was earnest, eager, and his brown puppy dog eyes were full of innocent hope and unguarded desire. She smiled slightly and reached down to firmly grasp his ribboned cock, her lips now almost touching his, and he breathed in her sweet breath, barely exhaling.
"Whose cock is this?" His erection lurched in her hand, answering for him before he could even get the reply out, bringing a smile to her lips. "Hmmm. It already recognizes its owner."
"Yes, Mistress." It was a whisper.
Slowly she moved around him, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and he thought he might just faint. He forced himself to breathe. He jumped slightly as she touched his shoulders from behind before slowly running her hands down his back, bringing herself to a squat until her thighs were on either side of his hips. He could feel pressure of her breasts on his back, through the warm leather dress, as her hands cupped his buttocks. She reached between his legs to cup his balls tightly.
"And these, who do these belong to?" Her voice was sterner now.
Her hand released them and she dragged a finger from his scrotum to his anus. "And your tight little ass? Whose is it?"
"Yours, Mistress, to use as you see fit." A calm was coming over him as he felt himself surrendering, melting into her control.
"To use as I see fit. Hmmm. That's a pretty grand declaration, slave. Are you sure about that?" She bit his shoulder firmly and smiled at how he quivered. "Anything at all? Even if I want to fuck it?" She punctuated the question by quickly sliding a finger inside him, feeling how tightly he clenched before relaxing somewhat.
"I am just a body for you to use, Mistress. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy."
"Endure for your Mistress? Please your Mistress? Be my good boy?" She slid her finger out as he answered affirmatively, and reached for the collar on the table beside the chair. "Once this is on you, you are mine for the evening and you'll do as I say. Whatever I say. Is that understood? If you are having second thoughts, this will be the time to leave."
He remained still. After a moment, she took his silence as acceptance and placed it on his neck, doing up the clasp, securing it with a heart shaped lock, tenderly adjusting it so it sat comfortably. Cuffs placed tightly on each of his ankles and wrists before walking to the front of him and sitting once again in her chair to look him over. Yes, just the way she liked her slaves: naked, collared, ribboned and cuffed. A smile of pleasure danced on her lips.
"I sent you an email with instructions on how I like to be pleased with your tongue. I told you to memorize them word for word. Tell me now." He swallowed hard, eyes on her sexy boots, willing himself to recall the words he must have read a hundred times since it was sent a week earlier. He started to recite it, pleased with himself that the words came easily, his tone verging on cockiness. This swiftly turned to faltering when she reached under her dress and slid her panties down to her ankles, stepping out of them. He closed his eyes, focusing on his task, found his place again and continued.
She smiled at the way he stumbled over his words at the sight of her silky violet panties, the cotton gusset darker from the moistness of her. She used her crop to lift them to his nose. He struggled wildly in his mind to find the words he had known by heart a half hour ago, coming up empty. He silently cursed himself, the rich scent of her filling his nostrils, then his mind, overwhelming any rational thought.
She clicked her tongue in disapproval. "For shame. Disappointing your Mistress so soon. I told you to be ready."
He felt his heart sink as she removed the panties from his nose and got up.
"I'm sorry," he whispered helplessly, "I HAD it memorized..."
"I'm sure you ARE sorry, but that doesn't change that you were not prepared enough. Are you wasting my time?" Her voice was cold and cut right through him.
"No, please! Mistress, please, I promise I am not wasting your time! I had it memorized, I just...there are no excuses. I've disappointed you and I'm sorry. Punish me as you see fit." He hung his head and waited.
There was a silence and then the command to lean forward and touch his head to the floor. He clasped his hands behind his back and did as he was told.
The first sting of the leather slapper made him inhale sharply, but he quickly composed himself for the following blows. After a good dozen slaps, he was biting his lip to keep from whimpering, his buttcheeks burning deeply. When he thought he could not bear any more, she continued with two more blows, driving him to tears. He stayed, forehead to the ground, ass on fire, feeling humiliated and penitent.
After a moment of contemplation, she sat back down and raised his face to her. Tears had wet his cheeks and his eyes stayed downcast. She touched her palm to his cheek and he leaned against it.
"Look at me." When he had obeyed, she continued. "There will come a time when the sheer knowledge that you've disappointed your Mistress will sting much worse than the punishment you've just had. But until that day, you will be paddled every time you let me down. This is for your own good and to make you a better slave for me."
"Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress." His eyes searched her face, waiting for the hint of that smile, some hope that she would let him make it up to her.
She tenderly wiped his tears away. "Don't disappoint me again. Now. Tell me how I like to be pleased."
She leaned back in her chair, legs crossed, sipping her tea as he recited it flawlessly, in a much more humble tone than the first time. After a moment of silence, she gave a nod of approval and casually stated that maybe one day he'd earn the right to put that knowledge to use. Handing him a bottle of cream, he was instructed to remove her boots and massage her feet. Picking up a book from the shelf beside her, she opened it and started to read, ignoring the slave at her feet.