Bi to Who You Think You Are

The conversation felt more personal than any exchange we'd had so far that week. I would've liked to continue it, but a phone call came through for him, and he gave it all of his attention.

That afternoon was incredibly busy, as was Friday morning. On Friday afternoon he asked me if I wanted to go to the pub for a few drinks with him, and I agreed. It was casual Friday but I was wearing an outfit I'd bought last weekend, so I knew it would meet his approval. When we went to the pub he introduced me to a few movers and shakers, and spruiked both my career in rugby - he'd obviously done a fair bit of reading up - and my current achievements.

In hindsight, that afternoon at the pub was proof that I'd met his high standards, and was willing to truly invest time and effort in me. There has never been a point with Brent where I've felt he didn't want me to be successful. As mentors go, he was outstanding. But that afternoon was a turning point, and there seemed no end to the lengths he'd go to in order to help me.

The next few months were all about work. Our hours were long, and the work was intense. He'd travel occasionally, but always left me in the office. We spoke about our lives and sports and our careers, but never about partners, and never about sex. It was as if he'd decided that whatever was going on with my sexuality was my business, and he'd leave the topic well alone.

All that changed when he got invited to speak at a conference in Brisbane. That was the first time I travelled with him. That was also the weekend that I first met Samara.

~~~~~~~

If you want the whole, entire truth of the sort of women I was interested in, here it is; I liked the confident, controlling ones. My attraction to Heather has been based on her professionalism, her manners and her pride. She wasn't someone willing to throw herself at a sports star's feet. She knew what she was worth, and I was intensely attracted to that.

Samara is very much the same. When I met her she was on the cusp of leaving a major insurance brokerage in order to start up her own business, and her trip to the conference was one of the last things she'd do on behalf of her employer. Needless to say, she was taking a very casual approach to the event, and was skipping 'mandatory' social functions left, right and centre.

Neither Brent nor I could blame her. It was one of those events which had attracted a couple of groups of particularly obnoxious people, and all of the fuckwits in question were drinking copiously, so we attended each function only briefly, and only so we could report back to our superiors that we had 'taken full advantage of the opportunities'.

Samara had caught my eye on the very first day when she showed up to a cocktail function in an elegant black dress and heels, her dark hair pinned back in an old-fashioned style. She's quite voluptuous, but her body is very natural. Her eyes are blue, her smile is wide, and she's an exceptionally well mannered woman. Do you know that Tom Jones song 'She's a Lady'? That song was made for Samara.

By the third day I was struggling to hide my attraction. I couldn't walk into a session or function without seeking her out. I didn't speak to her, but I didn't need to. My desire was obvious.

We were at end-of-day drinks and Samara was dressed in a conservative skirt and blouse, and she'd just finished chatting to a couple of women. From her posture and the way she was looking at her watch, I surmised she was checking to see if she'd hung around long enough to be able to leave without causing offence.

'Samara,' Brent remarked, following my gaze. 'She's a T-bar girl.'

'Really?'

He nodded. 'She's a friend of mine. Let's say hello. I'll introduce you.'

Brent took me over and introductions were made. Samara asked if I was 'the rugby player' in a way that suggested she'd overheard people talking about me, but had no interest in football and wouldn't have otherwise recognised me.

'Do you have any plans for dinner?' Brent asked her.

She shook her head. 'No, but I'm sick of eating.'

Brent nodded. 'Me too. Every convention, I start eating out of boredom. Not this one here,' he said, gesturing to me. 'He still eats and trains like a professional.'

'Old habits die hard,' I argued.

'Half your luck,' Samara told me. 'Don't listen to Brent, he's obviously just jealous.'

'I'm not denying I'm jealous,' Brent countered. 'I've seen him without a shirt on.'

I thought back to the change room. I hurriedly took a sip of my mineral water and tried to focus on something unsexy.

Samara glanced at her watch. 'Well, I've lasted half an hour. My duty here is done. Are you boys hanging around?'

'No, we might make a dignified exit with you,' Brent replied. 'I'll take Leeam to get something to eat.'

'Feel free to drop by for a nightcap if you find yourself at a loose end,' she offered.

Brent's face took on a mischievous glint. 'Are we both welcome?'

Samara's blue eyes settled on me. Then she turned to Brent. 'How discreet is he?'

'Very,' I said, before Brent had a chance to reply. I understood the fear of being 'found out', of someone noticing something and guessing my secrets. 'I'm happy to stay at the hotel, or if you two want to go to ours, I'll have a wander around and keep myself amused.'

She smiled at me. 'Do you know what Brent's requesting?'

'A threesome?' I guessed.

Her smile widened, and her eyes lit up with an emotion I couldn't identify. 'Oh no,' she replied. 'He's not asking for anything like that.'

I turned to Brent questioningly.

'Did you come prepared, or should I make a detour to an adult store?' he asked Samara, ignoring my gaze.

'I came for a conference, Brent,' she replied, as if he was asking if she had a bunch of bananas in her purse. 'You're a big boy and you earn more than enough. This is Brisbane. Plenty of places will still be open. Buy what you need and give me a call.'

'Point taken,' he agreed.

I was flummoxed, both by whatever it was they were discussing, and their tones. Samara had suddenly shifted from casual yet professional to authoritative. And, bizarrely, Brent seemed to not only accept, but welcome, the change.

'We'll be around in two hours,' Brent said.

'And you'll leave after the same amount of time,' she directed.

He nodded. 'Of course. Can we get you anything while we're doing our shopping?'

Samara hesitated, obviously considering his question.

'No,' she replied. 'Find something afterwards. It would be more appropriate that way.'

~~~~~~~~~

We quickly found and ate dinner. When we had finished our meals, Brent asked if I wanted to come to Samara's hotel room with him.

'Why?' I asked. 'What's she going to do with you?'

'She's a Domme. She's going to play with me.'

I had precisely no idea what he was talking about.

A hint of a smirk crossed his face. 'You're drawing a blank, aren't you? Let me put it this way; I'm going to go to an adult store, buy handcuffs and a flogger, then go and kneel at her feet and beg her to take me.'

My brain was flooded with images of Brent kneeling naked before Samara. The mental imagery was vivid and highly erotic. My cock twitched. Would they have sex after she'd hit him? Would I get to watch my boss be fucked by a Dominant woman?

'What would I do?' I asked.

'Watch. Maybe join in, if that's where things are heading. Who knows? It'll be up to whatever you, and she, decide.'

'What about you?'

'What about me?' he asked. 'When I'm with her, I become nothing. My body becomes hers.'

I mulled that over. My cock grew harder.

'Does it get you off?' I asked. 'Sexually?'

'Absolutely. Would it do it for you?'

'Probably,' I admitted.

'I get a hard dick just thinking about it,' he said.

'You aren't alone on that one,' I confessed, glancing at my lap.

Brent leant across the table and regarded me seriously. There was no mockery in his tone, just sincerity. 'Then come with me. In these circles, people understand privacy and discretion.'

'Sounds good,' I agreed.

We turned the discussion to work while our erections subsided, before paying the bill and making our way outside. Brent told me to go to our room and shower and change while he went and bought what was needed.

After I'd washed and dried myself, I stared at my nude body in the mirror. I still had a rugby player's body, well muscled but not lean, a lot of ink, and an average cock. Trust me on the last point, I've seen enough men naked to know what I'm packing isn't exceptional.

Was Brent attracted to me? Samara? I knew I was attracted to both of them. Brent was everything I could have wanted in a man, and she was everything physically I could have wanted in a woman.

Would they even have a chance to see me naked? I had no idea, none at all, about BDSM. Because I didn't know what was coming, I took the opportunity while Brent was out to research BDSM as best I could. That's when I started to panic.

When Brent came in he saw how anxious I was, and asked if I'd had a change of heart.

'How serious is this going to be?' I asked, holding up my phone. 'Like this?'

Brent peered at the phone. 'That's porn, Leeam.'

'Yeah,' I agreed. 'I got that.'

'It's not real life. She won't do anything that you don't want.'

He put a plain black bag, obviously filled with adult store goodies, on the hotel room desk and started unbuttoning his shirt. I tried not to look.

'Does she ever do things to you that you don't like?' I asked. 'You said you give her your body. Does she ever take it too far?'

'She's never pushed me too far. She knows what I want, and she provides it. There have been times I've asked her to slow down, or take a step back, but she's never done anything I didn't want.' He slipped the shirt off his shoulders and leant down to remove his shoes. 'How was your anxiety before a game?'

'Through the roof.' I chewed my lower lip. 'That's one of the reasons I liked league. My team mates helped me calm down. When you're swimming, you're all on your own.'

'You won't be on your own tonight.'

'What if I make a mistake?'

Brent removed his socks. In just his business slacks and belt, he looked as good as I remembered. I've always kept my chest shaved, but his body hair suited him. It was masculine, raw, authentic. He was the epitome of a successful, good-looking businessman.

'You won't,' he said. 'I'm going to have a shower. Then either we're both going, or just I'm going. The choice is yours.'

I went with him. Despite my outward anxiety, there was a part of me that knew I couldn't miss this. If I did, it would become like the event in the change room, something I replayed over and over in my mind, wishing I'd been brave.

Samara was staying a few blocks down from us in a studio apartment. She answered the door in heels and a coat, but once we were inside, the coat was discarded. Her attire consisted of a red bra, red French cut knickers, stay up black stockings, and shiny red heels. She was in her early thirties so she had a more mature body than a younger woman, wider hipped and bigger breasted, but her waist was small and I found her extremely attractive. She was a fantasy bought to life.

'Do you drink?' she asked me.

I shook my head. 'I prefer not to, but I'm not bothered by others drinking around me.'

She directed me to sit at her small kitchen table with her. There were only two chairs, and I took one and she took another. Brent fetched me a glass of water, and poured her a glass of wine. I understood that his relationship with Samara wasn't a new one. He knew what she expected, and he was doing it without needing to be told.

'What has Brent told you?' she asked me.

'He said you were a Dominatrix.'

'Strictly speaking, a Dominatrix is a paid professional. I'm not a sex worker. What I do is for fun, so the correct term is 'Domme'.'

'Sorry,' I apologised.

'You have no need to apologise.' She smiled reassuringly at me. 'Would you like to get involved in tonight's proceedings?'

'I don't know,' I admitted.

'Well, how about you sit in the room and watch? If I think you're looking interested, I might ask you if you want to participate. Just say 'no' if it's not your cup of tea. If you choose to get involved and I'm taking it too far, say 'slow' or 'stop'. Nothing fancy, just the usual ways you'd communicate to someone that you've had enough.'

'Yeah, that sounds good,' I replied, feeling encouraged. 'Thanks.'

'Brent texted me while he was out shopping,' she said. 'He told me you were concerned I was a gossip. Don't worry about that. I'm very discreet, and I expect the same from you. That means no telling old team mates what you did with me. You can refer to what you did, of course, but no naming names, or giving identifying information.'

'I feel the same way,' I replied, relieved.

She smiled at me, and I found myself smiling back. I trusted her implicitly, and with a degree of pride, I realised she trusted me, too. Whatever went on in this hotel room would be our secret.

'I'm going to tell Brent to strip off,' she told me. 'You can either do the same, or leave your clothes on. If you want to get undressed at any point, just do it. What you can't do is communicate with him, touch him, or interfere in what we're doing unless I invite you to. Because it's just the three of us and we're in a private room, feel free to masturbate. Just clean up any mess you make and ensure that what you're doing doesn't interrupt us.'

'Sure,' I agreed.

You might feel the conversation was humiliating, but it wasn't. Hearing an attractive woman talk so matter-of-factly about sex and desire was exceptionally liberating, and it removed a lot of the shame I attributed to myself.

Samara turned her attentions to Brent, and requested he strip naked. I didn't even bother trying to hide my interest in his naked form. He had a great body for a white collar executive, particularly one who'd never had a sporting career, lean but firm, and covered in a divine coating of dark hair. His only flaw was his cock, which I estimated was somewhere around four inches fully erect. He was also circumcised, which surprised me, because we're Australian and it isn't a common procedure here.

Samara glanced at me. 'Not bad, huh?' she remarked.

'No,' I agreed.

'Have you slept with him?' she asked.

'No,' I replied.

'In my dreams he has,' Brent remarked.

'Nobody asked you,' Samara told him. 'Get on your feet. Crawl over here. Stop pretending you're something you're not.'

It was a rebuke, no doubt about it. Brent dropped to his knees and crawled over. The power exchange was incredible.

'Ma'am,' he started apologetically. 'I'm sorry.'

'I'm sure you are,' she replied dismissively. 'Go and crawl over to that bag you bought with you. Bring it back to us. Leeam and I are going to sort through what you purchased.'

She and I both sat and watched as Brent followed her instructions. I'd presumed that Samara would expect me to be submissive, but she seemed to treat me as something less than her but more than him. I was a co-conspirator of sorts.

'Here we go,' she said, accepting the bag and emptying it onto the kitchen table. She spread everything out so I could check it out. 'What do you think, Leeam?'

I picked up a set of handcuffs. 'What do you do with him when he's handcuffed? Fuck him?'

'I only have penetrative sex with men I love,' she replied. 'I might spank him. Sit on his face. I might leave him chained to the desk, or something else in the room, so he could feel like a dog that's being punished.' She leant down and ran her fingers through Brent's hair. 'Just be warned, Leeam, that Brent is technically a switch, which means that he's not always the submissive one. He'll behave for me, but if you try the same with him when it's just the two of you alone, you might have a fight on your hands.'

I laughed awkwardly. 'We're not lovers.'

She didn't respond. She merely stood up, helped Brent to the bed, and leant him over it. His feet where on the floor and his chest was pressed against the mattress. She secured his hands behind his back with the handcuffs, then reached for a blindfold that Brent had purchased.

'Interesting,' she remarked, holding it up for me to see. 'He's not normally into blindfolds.'

She took the slip of fabric over to Brent and used it to remove his sight. When she was done, she leant down to whisper in his ear but try as I might, I couldn't make out what she was saying. He mumbled a response and she laughed, stood up, and went to the table to collect a flogger.

'Come with me, Leeam,' she said. 'Brent's no masochist. He likes a spanking, but he doesn't want pain. He just wants to experience the indignity of being bent over and assaulted.'

'Are men ever truly masochistic?' I asked, following her over to the bed.

'Oh yes,' she replied, stroking Brent's exposed arse with her hand. Her nails were short and neatly painted with dark red polish. 'We humans can be exceptionally perverted creatures.'

She directed me to sit on the edge of the bed and I sat half a metre or so away from Brent, fully clothed but very sexually aroused. My erection didn't shame me, but nor did I pay it any attention. I wanted to see what she was planning on doing to my mentor.

'Count with me, Brent,' she instructed him. 'I want to hear 'Thank-you Ma'am' after each stroke.'

'Yes Ma'am. Thank-you, Ma'am.'

Thirty times she hit him. Thirty times the leather tendrils connected with his bare cheeks, leaving them glowing pink. There was something beautiful in his submission. He was breaking down all of the stereotypes of what it meant to be a man, and yet he never once lost his masculinity. Instead, I found myself admiring him all the more for having the confidence to show both Samara and I who he truly was.

'Would you like a turn with the flogger?' she asked me.

'Sure,' I agreed.

She pulled me close, so that she was standing behind me, her chest pressed to my back. Her body was warm, her skin was soft, and the flogger felt sensual in my hands.

'Do you know why he wanted the blindfold?' she asked me.

'No.'

'He wants to be at our mercy. He doesn't care who spanks him. He doesn't care if either of us fuck him, either.' She placed her hand over mine, so that I was holding the flogger correctly. 'Would you like to fuck him?'

I shook my head, trying to convince myself. 'No.'

She raised our arms so the flogger was now in mid-air. 'Maybe another time,' she said diplomatically. 'I would have bought my harness and dildo had I known this was on offer. Brent's arsehole will go unravaged tonight.'

Samara bought our arms down and the flogger connected with Brent's rear.

'Thank-you Ma'am,' he gasped. 'Thank-you, Sir.'

Samara released her grip on me and took the flogger from my hand.

'That's it for the spanking,' she said to me. 'Help him to turn around and sit on the floor. His hands need to stay handcuffed, and I want his back to the edge of the bed.'

I did as she'd directed while she went back to the kitchen table. Brent's body felt large and strong, and it was covered in a slick of sweat, and helping him to his feet bought back memories of league. There was the same testing of physical limits, as well as a sense of understanding between us.

He let out a small grunt as his spanked arse made contact with the carpet. I saw that his blindfold had shifted slightly, and pulled it back into position.

'Good man,' Samara told me, noting what I was doing.

She held up two items, one in each hand; lubricant and a Fleshlight. The Fleshlight she handed to me, while she opened the lubricant. She didn't need to tell me what was coming next. I understood. I felt like her equal, her confidant.

Together we heavily lubricated Brent's cock, and inserted it into the Fleshlight. Despite the blindfold, it would have been impossible for Brent not to realise there was two of us working him, but I got the impression that that was what he wanted. In perfect unison, her hand over mine, Samara and I moved the fleshlight up and down, almost pulling the toy entirely off Brent's cock before pushing it all the way down his shaft again.