Early Bird Dinner Pt. 02

[True Story]

Author's Note: This is the second chapter in the true story of my first-ever experience as a submissive. The full title was originally "Early Bird Dinner: Hyperrealism, Mundanity, and Sexual Taboo." I hope you enjoy.

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He reaches for my body and pauses.

"I've been trying to practice complete consent," he offers, gazing down into my eyes. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

His hand reaches to hold my waist. I nod.

"And here?" he asks, moving his hand from my waist to my thigh. His hand is hot through my jeans and my skin tingles beneath his touch. I never realized seeking consent could be such stimulating foreplay.

"You have my consent to touch me there, and all of my other places, too," I say.

He laughs and leans to kiss me again, wrapping his hand around my waist, pulling me to him. His body is lean but muscular. Exploring, ignited, I run my hands over his shoulders as we kiss. Coils of heat rise up through the fabric of his t-shirt. He tugs my blouse up an inch to reveal the pale skin of my stomach. With his hand pressed to the small of my back, he leans and kisses the small constellation of freckles there, traveling slowly upwards. When he has tired of the game, he uses both hands to pull my shirt effortlessly over my head and tosses it to the floor, lost.

He moves to lie fully on top of me. I feel protected, safe, my body small and warm beneath the firmness of his form. His lips move down the steep tilt of my jawbone. As if I were an exotic delicacy, he tastes me, running his tongue teasingly along my skin and then returning to kiss the same spot with care. Barely audible, my half-moans intermingle with my breath. At once, he pulls my hair back, hard, until the whole of my neck is exposed up to him, my head pushed down into the duvet. My moan is full-bodied, audible now. He devours my neck and collarbone without hesitation as his hand reaches down to my jeans, tracing up from my inner knee to the apex of my thighs. He lets out a soft chuckle of appreciation as he feels my heat. I'm warm and wet through the denim. Already I'm overwhelmed by sensation, his hand in my hair, his lips at my chest, his hands between my legs.

He runs his hand from my ass to my clit through my pants. His touch is void of the tentativeness so commonly found among men of my age. He has touched women before, he knows what to do, and I know he knows, and this arouses me intensely, this partner who knows, this partner who can solicit the reaction he wants.

I moan, opening my eyes in my pleasure as he rubs me. He is watching my face, watching the formless vowels escaping my open lips, taking in the tightness in my temples as my face contorts. He is worlds apart from the men who are too focused on their own pleasure to delight in someone else's. He delights in my pleasure because his hands coax it from me, demand it from me, and the moans escaping my lips and tightness contorting my face are his; my body is his canvas, my pleasure his painting.

It's not long before I'm left in just my knee socks and underwear. He removes his own shirt, his pants. I reach to pull my socks off, but his hands hold mine. "I kind of like them. They're cute," he smiles, shrugging. I leave them on.

He pulls me down beneath him and kisses me again. Our skins touch for the first time. He is warm on my cool skin. I feel my breasts pressed against the firmness of his chest. We explore each other slowly. He runs his hands softly but confidently up my sides; I bring my palms flat against his stomach, run my fingers through the hair on his chest, kiss his collarbone gently. He brings his lips to my shoulder, raising goosebumps on my arms. His tongue finds my earlobe and he licks, softly, before tracing my ear completely with his tongue. He brings his lips to lick, then suck, my nipple. He is gentle, and I arch my back and run my hands through his hair, thick and curly between my fingers.

He reaches beneath my underwear and traces me slowly with his finger as he kisses me. His hand feels shocking on my skin. I haven't received a touch this intimate, this intentional and present, in so long. I am positively wet, dripping for him, and he kisses me as he slowly enters me with his finger. I moan softly, feeling every centimeter of him moving inside of me, feeling my tightness around him. He breathes out, moderating his pleasure, and slowly removes and inserts himself again, this time deeply, until his finger is fully inside of me, his hand pressed to me. From within me he pushes firmly and moves his finger back and forth, exploring me and triggering twinges of pleasure and intimate sensation; he is reminding me that my body, my most intimate places, belong to him. I moan and breath into his mouth as his lips cover mine; we share the same breath, the same air.

As I pant, his finger deep inside of me, he brings his other hand to my hair and reaches to the root. He pulls my hair back as his finger moves inside of me and deep, primal shivers exit my spine, up through my sides, my arms. I feel my face contort with pleasure and when I open my eyes, he is watching me, his eyes hungry. He knows his hold on me is complete.

"Your pleasure is beautiful," he says richly in my ear. I feel exquisite, being watched this way - it feels too good to be true, that my pleasure - this simple expression - is enough to arouse him, to please him. These moans come from the core of me. I have never felt more authentic in bed with a man.

He removes his finger from inside of me and brings it, dripping to my lips. I smell the musk on his fingers, Eve liberated from the Garden at last, and keep my wide eyes fixed on his as I open my lips obediently. I welcome his finger into my soft mouth, and he exhales slowly, his eyes nearly golden in the dim light, watching my every move. I wrap my tongue around my own wetness and hold his gaze as I savor every drop, sucking his finger fully until it is buried in my mouth to the hilt.

When he is clean, he pulls his finger gently from between my lips and pulls me toward the pillows. He lies on his back, an invitation, and I climb on top of him, straddle his waist and bend over to kiss his lips, enjoying the gentle trace of my breasts on his chest. I pull his hair gently, submissively, and bring my soft lips to his neck, his chest, his stomach, fluttering kisses along his body. I take my time discovering him. I ask to remove his boxers and he lifts himself from the bed and he is lying, finally naked, before me. His hair is dark, black, against his skin.

I lean up to kiss his lips, meet his eyes with a smile, before returning my lips to him, kissing again down his side to the softness of his skin on his uppermost thigh. He is hard before my mouth but I wait, kissing either thigh, holding his hips in my hands and tracing the skin there. I kiss his pelvic bone and his hair skims my lips. I reach for him with my hand and feel the warmth and hardness of him throbbing against my fingertips.

I want to tease him. I want to pleasure him. I hold his cock to my cheek and tease his shaft with the tip of my tongue, savoring his warmth. I lick the head of his cock softly, once, with only the tip of my tongue, and he exhales deeply as I bring my tongue to tease the other side of his shaft. My mouth is screaming for his cock, but I try to have patience as I savor this part of him, taking my time and teasing his body.

His breathing quickens and he reaches down to encircle his hands around my hair, pulling it atop my head so he can my eyes, see my mouth pleasuring him. I look up to meet his gaze and our eyes lock - his stunning green to my deep blue - before I kneel between his open legs and open my mouth to him. He lets out a full-bodied moan as I take him slowly, fully, coating him with me, and slide my tongue up his shaft, circling the head of his cock fully with my flat tongue. I moan with him in my mouth as I run my mouth up and down his shaft in full, over and over, grazing the head of his cock with my tongue every time.

I pull him from my mouth, coated in my saliva, and bring both hands to encircle his shaft. I knead him slowly, covering his cock completely with my hands, tonguing the tip of his cock with my tongue. My palms are covered in saliva; he is rock hard beneath my hands. With a slow, tender motion, I knead him and lick the head of his cock rhythmically. He allows me free reign for only a few moments before he reaches for my hair and pulls my mouth down to cover him entirely. He directs my movements firmly, surely, pulling my mouth down to cover his cock in firm, rhythmic motion. When he releases me, he pulls me up to his face. I rub my hand across my lips before he pulls me down roughly and kisses he hard on the mouth. His energy is tangible, aroused, and he whispers into my ear, "I want to be inside of you."

Goosebumps spread across my arms instantly. I nod.

I hop from the bed ungracefully, aware of my nakedness and his eyes on me, as I bend over and reach for my wallet. The light blue Trojan condom that has sitting silently for a few weeks, awaiting a moment like this. It is slightly tattered around the edges after cohabitating with my debit card and cash. I smile, returning to my mind for a brief moment to breathe in the sweet significance of using this condom - a condom my ex bought - with this strange, delightful new partner.

I crawl back onto the bed and rip open the wrapper. He asks me how I'd like to start. "You on top," I offer. He nods, pulls me beneath him with one arm, and puts the condom on swiftly. In a moment he is resting in a bowed plank above me, the skin of his chest grazing my hardened nipples, his eyes looking into mine from above. I spread my legs beneath him, my thighs coming apart with the sound of a gentle wetness unfolding; they are already coated with me. He holds my gaze as he reaches down with one hand and guides himself to my pussy. He traces the head of his cock back and forth across my wetness deliberately, watching my eyes grow desperate and pleading beneath him, and in a moment he pushes the head of his cock inside of me. I feel the wide head of his cock splitting open my folds, entering my tightness. I close my eyes and tip my head back with a cry, a fierce fusion of pleasure and pain, and he reaches for my hair and pulls, facing him, eyes locked with his, again.

"Look at me," he commands, pushing fully to the hilt inside of me, holding himself there in ownership, and slowly, tantalizingly, pulling out. My tightness grips him like a glove but I am leaking around him; I feel my juices dripping out of me, down my thighs, my ass. Faint, breathless moans escape my lips as he fucks me with the greatest restraint. I feel my face contorting in pleasure, my eyes closing to protect myself from the overwhelming ownership of his gaze, but every time he tugs me back to face him, and our eyes lock in an unbearable intimacy. I am swollen and throbbing around him.

The pace is too slow to bring me to orgasm and all the more torturous for it. I can't endure much more for fear of splintering, or breaking into color, or forgetting where I am. Suddenly he pulls me to him and flips us over so he is lying on the bed, his hard cock still pressed to the hilt inside of me as I straddle him in the lamplight. It takes me a moment to remember my surroundings in the stillness, but when our eyes meet, a furious hunger seizes me and I begin to move slowly atop him. His hands encircle my waist, directing my movements.

Every inch of my body is electric; I am tingling from within. Our bodies are shadow and muted yellow light. I arch my back and lean, farther, riding him, seized by a primal energy. Goosebumps flare on either arm. For seconds at a time, I return to myself long enough to realize the moans floating through the air are my own, and then I'm lost again, captive to his right hand around my waist, his left hand that reaches behind me and slaps my ass with a hard smack, urging me on as I ride him harder, obediently. I can't tell whether we've been in this position for 30 seconds or 30 minutes; the frenzy of our pace clouds my mind with sensation, color, and the occasional sound of his low, steady "Good girl" as he reaches up to tug my hair and fuck me from below.

After a while I feel myself tiring, growing lightheaded, and without saying a word he grabs and moves me so we are side by side, him behind me, holding me. He moves in and out of me from behind, and with every slow thrust, I hear the sound of my wetness tightening around him and releasing him. I feel the heat of him behind me as my left hand drifts above my head, entangled with his right. Every inch of our skin is touching. Not a moment of sensation is lost to rhythm or distraction.

As he fucks me he asks, very casually, if I've ever had any group sex experiences. His voice is steady, conversational. He could easily be asking me what flavor tea I prefer, what street I live on. His command over his body, over mine, is absolute.

My breath hitches in my throat. "A few," I half-speak, half-moan, focusing my attention on his smoothness entering, exiting me in slow, perfect time.

"Tell me," he says in my ear. The hairs on the back on my neck stand up in response to his command. And it is a command. There is no pretense here; he doesn't ask for what he doesn't want. There is no pretending.

I breathe deeply. I concentrate with laudable effort as I describe my first threesome with two strangers in a New York City penthouse; two drunken foursomes with college friends. The memories are hazy, clouded with alcohol and cobwebs, but I obey, painting honest pictures that he watches, brushstroke by brushstroke. Words tumble out in halting spurts and pauses for breath. He asks me about logistics. Positions. He knows I will answer and I know he knows I will answer, as he fucks me mercilessly slowly all the while.

His fingers trail up my back, around my shoulder, to my mouth. He teases my open, softly panting lips with his fingertip and I meet it slowly with my tongue, closing my lips around him and sucking him softly deeper. I feel him harden inside of me, still.

"I would love to see you with another man's cock in your mouth as I fuck you," he says into my ear, his voice colored with wanting. I feel swift, involuntary pang of arousal in my core as he speaks a fantasy that I've entertained for as long as I can remember. I moan around his finger and dance the tip of my tongue around him as he fucks me deeper, faster.