tagBDSMBecause I'm Yours

Because I'm Yours


It was a Friday night, I was tired and my heart hurt. It had been a long week of meetings, of professional pleading, and interactions with people who cloaked personal insecurities with rudeness.

Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. It was the city, and cities were filled with important people doing important things, and though I lived in the city and earned good money, I didn't even try to pretend I was important. I'd been a cog in the mighty wheel of business for eight years now, ever since I graduated university, but I still frequently felt sad and alone in the city streets, and I still hadn't learned the art of self importance.

My personal phone beeped to alert me to a message. It was from Tyson, the man from the internet, the man who was coming around tonight to try new things. I'd been talking to him all week and he'd been keen to meet me. I didn't know what I was, other than tired.

Sorry, boss kept me back late. I'll be there at eight. Is that OK?

He was supposed to be here at seven. By eight o'clock I'd probably fall asleep. I lost my temper, frustrated that nothing had been going right.

'Not if you want me to still be awake. Just come straight here,' I texted.

'I'm still in work clothes.'

'It doesn't matter.'

I sent my final text vowing to tell him to go and get fucked if he contacted me to argue. I'd wanted him to come tomorrow night, on Saturday, but he'd told me couldn't and had specifically requested Friday.

My phone beeped.

'Ok. You brave woman! I'll spray LOTS of deodorant.'

I sighed and walked over to my bedroom window. My home was a two bedroom flat in an older style block at Kangaroo Point. From the outside it was hideous, an exercise in nineties chic. The interior, and the views, were another matter. Think polished floors, high ceilings and breathtaking, never-to-be-built out views of Brisbane City and the Story Bridge. I'm good at making money for myself. Really, if I were to list my attributes they would be; I can make money, I can wax my own twat and I have a good complexion for a thirty year old woman.

As I waited for my guest I started to feel guilty about demanding he drive directly here, rather than go home and shower. He was probably tired. If he was anything like me, he'd have accepted that he'd had to work back late, but kept an eye on the clock, secretly panicking as each minute ticked by.

Nah, not likely. Who was I kidding? He wouldn't be like me. He'd just be another disappointment. Someone who didn't want to pay a dominatrix and figured a regular old Domme would not only give him what he wanted but save him a few dollars into the bargain.

I went and showered. I stood under the water and wished I'd just told Tyson to fuck off home. I wasn't in the mood to dominate anything more meaningful than a steakburger, and I was so hungry I could have decimated one of them.

With an experienced sub, and a committed relationship, I love preparations. I knew what games I wanted to play, what clothes I wanted to wear, and what sort of reactions I was going to receive. The struggle with a corset was worthwhile, the application of make-up a joy and as for tightening the straps of my strap-on harness, well, that was a thrill that was second to none. I loved pulling the leather tight and buckling it around my thighs.

I didn't know much about Tyson, or Ty, as he told me everyone called him. I didn't even have a picture. He'd said something about being ugly, and of worrying that I'd see his picture and tell him not to come. Some bizarre nurturing streak within me had told him looks didn't matter, but I was starting tow wonder if that was true. I knew nothing of this man, other than that he was thirty-five and divorced with two young kids, both girls.

Tyson had only seen a few, flattering, non-identifying pictures of me. I was a bigger girl; five foot nine and eighty kilos and I had a stereotypical fat girl's good nails, skin and hair. The nails were painted a subtle, neutral shade, my skin was white and near flawless, and my hair was dyed a rich, burgundy colour that required a hell of a lot of upkeep but was worth the investment.

I sifted through my cupboard and scooped out red lace lingerie and covered it with a mid-thigh length black dress with a criss-cross pattern up the top. I styled my hair and was almost done with my make-up when Ty texted me to say he was five minutes away. That was my cue to go downstairs and let him into the parking bays.

It would be my first and only opportunity to turn him away and trust me when I say that if I didn't like what I saw - if he struck me as scary, or unkempt, or aggressive - he was going to be turned around and sent back home. And if he decided to be stupid and force things, well, his license plate and face would be caught on any one of a number of CCTV cameras. I'd warned him about that, in as nice a way as I could, and he'd said it was fine, he wasn't the sort to cause trouble.

I finished applying my make-up, slipped on my heels and went down to the complex gates. I was just stepping out onto the pavement when a Lancer indicated and pulled to the side of the road. That's what Tyson had said he had, a silver Lancer. I was nervous, my hands were sweating, and I braced myself to come face to face with someone physically unappealing.

The man behind the wheel wasn't Tyson.

'Oh, sorry,' I apologised, smiling nervously at the driver. He had a shaved head and a goatee, and had the overall appearance of someone who'd been arrested for bikie activities and was claiming innocence. 'I'm waiting for someone in a Lancer and I thought you were them.'

'I might be who you're waiting for,' he said. 'Tyson. Are you Jade?'

That's when I idly wondered if I was going to die.

Men don't have those fears. Apparently they worry that women will be fat, but I'd already told Tyson I was fat, and given him a body shot to prove it, so he could hardly feign surprise, but I had the stereotypical fear of a woman that she was about to get assaulted by her sexual partner.

I wasn't sure I wanted him inside my apartment. He had broad shoulders and he looked like a physically strong man, the kind that could easily overwhelm me. If he decided to get violent then I'd stand no chance whatsoever.

'Yes,' I replied, forcing a smile. 'Hey, I was, uh, just thinking I was kind of hungry. Do you mind going and getting some dinner?'

'Sure, no worries. I haven't eaten myself and I'm starving. I just didn't want to be any later than I already was. What do you feel like?'


'Anything? That doesn't narrow it down,' he said. He gave me a smile. His teeth were perfect. 'You want to hop in and we'll go for a drive?'

I looked at the complex. There was a camera pointing where his car was parked.

'Sure,' I agreed. 'We'll find somewhere to eat.'

I opened the passenger side door and slid in. Tyson was in dark blue cotton workpants and one of those shirts that's fluoro yellow and navy blue, with reflective stripes on it, but he didn't smell too bad. Not gross or anything. And he, oh, he just didn't seem half as scary now that he'd started speaking.

'Sorry for not giving you a picture of myself,' he apologised. 'I have the sort of face that makes it impossible to buy cold and flu tablets. You know,' he added uneasily. 'Lots of people think I'm a criminal, but I'm not in an outlaw bikie gang, I've never been to jail, and I've never been arrested.'

'You just look tough,' I half-teased, half-remarked.

'I live with my brother. He's a personal trainer and coach, and he trains a lot of bodybuilders and wrestlers. When he started his own business he didn't have many clients, so my old man pulled me aside and told me it might be an idea to book a session or two with him each week until he was on his feet.'

'Parents,' I said with a knowing smile. 'I take it you had no choice in the matter?'

'None whatsoever,' he agreed good-naturedly. 'I don't normally mind, but at the moment he's trying to monitor my diet and that's pushing the friendship.'

'Are you starving? Sick of eating broccoli?'

Tyson grinned. 'Both. I'd kill for a Big Mac.'

'There's a Maccas down the road. I'm happy for a Big Mac meal. If you don't mind paying for it, I'll give you the money for mine when we get back to the apartment.'

'No, no, I'll pay for it,' he said. 'You're all good.'

He had a different way of speaking to me than the men I'd had in the past. There was no 'Goddess' or 'Ma'am' or squirming, he treated me completely and totally as an equal. It wasn't unpleasant.

'What do you do for a living?' I asked.

He told me he was a transport manager for a large, well known, retailer.

'Tell me something unusual about your job,' I requested.

'Oh jeez, that's a bit of a stretch. There's not too much that's interesting about it. I took a three year break a few years' back, does that count? Bianca - the girls' Mum - is a doctor and she'd only just graduated from medical school and didn't want to take maternity leave. I went to uni to keep myself from going mental, then went back to work.'

'That definitely counts. I'm impressed.'

'Nah, my grades were pretty shit. I had to retake three subjects.'

It wasn't the degree that impressed me, but I didn't say anything. I had the feeling he was the kind of man who was a feminist, rather than the sort who described himself as one.

'How about you?' he asked. 'What do you do with yourself?'

'I'm a contracts manager for a commercial real estate company.'

'You enjoy it?'

'No. I hate it. It pays well, though.'

'I've had jobs that make me question how much I really liked eating. Every time, I thought I should stay because the money was good, or it was close to where I was living, or some other shit, but it was all bullshit. If you hate it, find a new job.'

'Easier said than done. I'm not sure I know how to do anything else.'

'What do you want to do?'

I smiled at him. 'Write. Bake. Get in my car and drive wherever I feel like it. And on the topic of cars, I'd like anything other than my white Corolla.'

'I'd kill for a muscle car,' Tyson mused.

'Me too. Something that makes rumbly noises.'

'The fuel bill would probably send me bust.'

'Probably. The worst part is that I'd probably just run out of fuel when I was driving along a highway because I'm so used to fuel efficient hatchbacks. Or maybe not. I think the old cars made noises when they were running low, didn't they?'

Tyson perfectly mimicked the noise my parents' sedan used to make when it was low on fuel and I laughed. He grinned again, and I thought that he was actually kind of hot, in a rough, shaven-headed sort of way. Maybe it would be fun to bring him home. I knew what his desires; the website where we'd met was for kinky folk and during our chats he'd confessed his fantasies. So I knew what he wanted, or, more pertinently, what he thought he wanted. You never really know until you do something, do you?

Tyson didn't stray down strange paths and his tastes would seem almost rather vanilla, unless you imagined yourself doing the things he wanted to a bloke you picked up in a club, at which point you'd realise that yes, he was rather kinky. He wanted to be sexually used. He wasn't into chastity, but if I chose not to give him an orgasm, he was okay with that. Likewise, if I wanted to give him one, he'd be equally happy. The point was that he didn't want control over his body.

In short, he wanted to be objectified and relegated to nothing more than a malleable sex toy. He was happy to be gagged or hooded. He liked it when women pinched his nipples and he'd also been playing around with butt plugs and said he'd given himself some good, strong orgasms while using one. I'd asked how he felt about nipple clamps and being fucked with a strap on. He was okay with the first, but wanted to wait a while and find someone he was comfortable with before being fucked.

Lastly, he was seeking an ongoing, monogamous relationship. That was okay; I was, too. I wanted someone who was easy to talk to, who respected women - rather than just fetishized the dominant ones - and who listened to the same music as me. So far Tyson, despite his rather fearsome appearance, was ticking the boxes.

We drove into McDonalds where my companion ordered two large Big Mac Meals, two McFlurries and a side of twenty-four chicken nuggets.

'That's a lot of food,' I remarked. 'I know this probably sounds odd coming from a fat girl, but are you sure we'll eat all this?'

'I'm starving,' he confessed as he edged towards the window to pay. He cast me a cheeky, sidewise glance. 'Are you judging me?'

'No, no,' I replied, trying to bite back a smile. 'Just... impressed.'

Before Ty had a chance to respond, the McDonalds girl leant her head out the window and directed us to the waiting bay. We'd have a five minute wait until our dinner was ready.

We drove to the spot requested. I eyed my companion up, trying to gauge what the work pants and shirt might be hiding. I'd never been with a blue collar man before. Or was he white collar but wearing work clothes? Into what category did a degree-qualified transport manager fall? I had no idea, but I was starting to feel rather silly about my initial fears that he might murder me. If he responded favourably to what I was going to do next he'd definitely be getting an invite into my flat.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and shifted around so I could inspect Tyson's shirt. It buttoned up down the front much like a business shirt. I unbuckled his belt then undid the first few buttons. Tyson didn't protest. Nor did he offer to help. He just sat, stock still, while I exposed his chest and stomach.

He was fucking hot. I pushed the shirt wide open and drank in the view. Mmm. Whatever his brother had done to him, it had been worth the pain and suffering. There was plenty of muscle but still enough fat to prevent him from looking like a male stripper. Tatts, too. The only thing I didn't like was the complete lack of body hair. I love a hairy chest and belly, and I absolutely adore snail trails, but he was as bare as the proverbial baby's bum.

'Are your legs shaved?' I asked.

He nodded. 'Yeah, just about everything is.'

A McDonalds worker came over with our food before I had an opportunity to ask Tyson about his pubic hair. It's one thing for a man to have no chest hair. It's quite another for him not to have pubes and, call me old fashioned, I like hair on men.

'We can take the food back to my house to eat,' I told my companion.


'Yeah. Sorry if I baulked when I saw you. You're not ugly, but you weren't what I was expecting.'

'No, don't apologise. I have two girls. I'm already worried about how men will treat them when they grow up.'

'How old are your daughters?'

'Poppy's eight, Isabelle's six.'

We drove back to my flat. The smell of our food was intoxicating. Plus, Tyson still had his shirt unbuttoned and well. That was doing things to a whole different part of my brain. I wish I could give you a photo, because he didn't just have a 'great body', he had an amazing one. He was at 'belonged on an inspirational picture at a gym' level.

After he parked his car and unclipped his seatbelt he tried to fix his shirt, but I told him not to.

'Your neighbours might think I'm trying to rape you,' he said.

'This is the city. If they thought you were trying to rape me, they'd turn around and pretend they didn't see anything.'

We didn't pass anyone as we made our way from his car to my flat. He took his boots off the moment he was inside, but he was still every inch of six foot. I directed him to put the bag of food on the table, and I placed the drinks tray alongside it.

'Don't sit down just yet,' I told him, as I myself took a seat. 'Take your clothes off.'

'All of them?' he asked.

I grinned, crossed my legs and leant back in my chair. 'All of them.'

Some women don't like inexperienced subs, but there is something excruciatingly wonderful and heart rending about that expression on a man's face when he realises that shit is about to get real, and everything he's been jacking off thinking about is going to happen. Tyson was predictably nervous. His hands shook slightly as he slipped off his workshirt and folded it over the back of a chair. With his shirt off, he looked to me for guidance.

'Keep going,' I encouraged, eating a fry. 'I'm enjoying myself.'

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'can't imagine why' under his breath but he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He was out of his comfort zone, which was precisely where he needed to be, as he piled his pants on top of his shirt. The first descent into submission was obviously harder than he'd anticipated.

'You're gorgeous,' I told him sincerely. 'If I were doing this for you, how would you feel?'

The question amused him. 'Thrilled.'

'Well,' I said pointedly. 'That's how I feel. You're here to make me happy. You being naked would make me very, very, happy.'

'Am I supposed to get hard?'

'Are you?' I asked. He was standing behind a chair and it was impossible for me to get a clear view of his crotch.


I got up, walked over and looped my fingers around the hem of his trunks. I pulled them down, careful not to snag his pants on his cock, which was of standard size, uncircumcised, and surrounded by a thicket of black pubic hair. He was probably two-thirds of his way to an erection and growing.

'I'm trying to keep it down,' he said.

'I love it when a man's body betrays him.'

He chuckled and blushed. 'Fuck. Sorry. I... I don't know what I should be doing.'

'All you should be doing is exactly as I ask. I don't set people up to fail, not at work, not in my personal life.' I knelt down and pulled his trunks down to the ground. Then I stood up and gave him a friendly swat on the arse. That got a reaction. I slapped the other cheek, harder this time. He was now well and truly erect. Interesting. I'd have to toy with him a bit after dinner, because I knew this one hadn't told me the full extent of his fantasies. 'Sit down. Eat. After dinner I'll send you to have a shower and then we'll start really having some fun.'

'I, uh... thank-you?'

'Save your thanks till the end,' I requested, pushing his burger his way. 'Eat.'

He ate hurriedly, eager to get back to what we'd been doing. After a burger and a few fries he told me was done. My phone beeped and I told him to stay at the table while I responded to the message.

I knew who it would be; a friend making a safety call. Sure enough, she'd texted and asked how it was going. I smiled at the stories I'd tell her tomorrow as I sent her a text with my secret word that confirmed everything was going well.

I peered over at Tyson. Poor man. I really shouldn't have enjoyed watching him suffer as much as I did. I went and sat directly next to him and put my hand on his cock. It had softened as he ate, but quickly began to swell as I held it.

'You didn't mention you wanted to be spanked,' I remarked.

'It's, uh, not exactly that,' he muttered.

'Hmmm?' My fingers traced a path up to his chest. I pinched a nipple, hard. His eyes were glazed and it was almost as if he were going into a trance. Tyson was now breathing hard and starting to forget that he shouldn't be enjoying this.

'I don't care if you're rough with me,' he clarified.

'I see,' I said, placing my hand on his throat. 'Tyson?'


'Open your eyes. Look at me.'

His brown eyes fluttered open and met mine. My hand remained on his throat, not exerting any pressure, but just staying there so he knew I was in charge.

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