My Surprise Dom Pt. 01

I nested my body into Squishy, my overstuffed living room chair. I'd rescued her from a neighbor's refuse pile. Her upholstery was tattered and stained, but the bones were solid. After I refinished her, she'd become the prized seat friends vied for during our weekly game night.

Our game nights skewed towards the adventurous, as did my circle of Bohemian friends. This week's gathering was a sex dungeon murder mystery. The game came with an inflatable male body, a murder victim that was discovered at a BDSM gathering. My friends and invitees Chad and Gary offered to bring their St. Andrews' Cross over to bind the victim to.

"It'll make a great centerpiece!" Gary quipped with enthusiasm.

"Indeed," I said to myself. It would clearly heighten the mood, but could also enhance the reason I'd chosen this game in particular.

You see, I really enjoy power exchange sex, primarily as a sub. It fit my nature and provided a release from my intense marketing career. The invited friends all knew this. I had played that way with some.

I also used denial as a form of motivation. Often it was simplistic: no chocolate until I cleaned out the garage, no discretionary spending until I'd saved enough for a special trip. A while back, there was this customer engagement concept I'd brainstormed, but was stuck trying to tie the elements together. It could be groundbreaking, so I chose an equivalently difficult denial. I would not engage in sex, including dom/sub play, until it was done.

Unfortunately, I had overdone it. The effort proved fruitless. All it did was leave me horny and frustrated. I wasn't ready to admit I'd failed, though, and hoped the game would rekindle my intent and provide the impetus to finish.

Gary brought the cross by a few days before the game, and I had great fun binding the inflated victim with bondage tape while adding embellishments from my BDSM collection. I also sent the seven other players their character information: roles to play, minimal facts about the others, and so on.

I knew my friends would go all out costuming themselves for their roles. We'd dressed similarly for slut fests and themed parties before, so awkwardness wouldn't be an issue. I did, however, try to select character profiles that matched their interests, or costumes I'd seen them in. Still, a few swapped to try something new, which could easily lead to some afterparty shenanigans.

My character was the dead man's underpaid assistant. Rummaging through my apparel, I chose a bodice that pushed up my exposed breasts, a matching thong, some self-supporting stockings, and spiked heels. A leather posture collar with a leash ring spoke to me, and I purred while running my fingers across it before adding it to the pile.

As I closed my accessories drawer, I spied a wide silk hair ribbon with "Are You Enough To Tame Me?" boldly scripted on its tail, along with outlined depictions of S&M accessories. It was wide enough to double as a blindfold or restraint. I recalled how powerful it made me feel when tied to my fiery red ponytail, and I placed it with the other things.

I paused in contemplation. Was I caving it on my project commitment, or realizing it was misguided to begin with?

It didn't take long for my answer.

"Ugh, get out of your head, Tina! Just do this!"

Come game night, I was heading for the shower when the phone rang. It was Chad.

"Hey, Tina," he started, "Gary's really sick, and won't make it tonight. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, no! I'm sorry to hear your boyfriend's not well. Do you need anything?"

"No, he's set. He's so sorry to mess things up, though."

"No problem," I said. "I'm sure we can figure something out."

"Actually, we have a solution, if you're OK with it," he replied. "Our partner Damian said he'll do it. The others met him at our place last month when you couldn't join, and they all loved him."

I didn't know Chad and Gary had a partner, but that discussion could happen later. "That was a more vanilla gathering," I answered. "This will be quite the opposite. Is he going to be comfortable?"

"Trust me on this," Chad said. "As a man that really knows men, he'll be great."

Chad was right on that account. I did trust him. He could figure men out so quickly.

"But will Damian be OK with it?" I asked.

I heard a snicker on the line. "Honey," Chad said, "You're going to love him! Plus, he's already got the outfit."

My brain scrambled to remember what role Gary was playing. Then it hit me: Dominant slave master.

"This could be fun if Damian really was a dom, and could be that in front of everybody," I thought.

I knew I'd miss Gary. He was one of my closest friends from college, a confidant I could share life's ups and downs with. But we knew each other too well to pull off dom/sub with a straight face. If Damian was really up for it, I could be my sub-slut self. It's not like he'd be interested in me.

I thought back to my bold costume. Chad would have warned Damian how brazen the group could be, but I wanted to err on the safe side. I added a lacy crop top to temper down the bare breast look, then popped into the shower.

Come nine o'clock, everyone had arrived except Damian. Philippe complimented my bondage skills on the victim, but noted the body didn't look constrained enough. Gina thought adding air would do the trick and began blowing air into the nozzle by his ball sac. The others couldn't resist the chance to comment.

"Damn, your oral's impressive," Philippe teased. "He's about to pop!"

Gina gave him a glare until Stacey giggled and told her to look up. She'd overdone it, and the dummy's eyes were bugging out. We all laughed hysterically.

Then there was a knock. I grabbed my hoodie to cover my revealing top and cracked the door to ensure it was Damian.

My eyes looked straight into the taut, muscled chest of a leather-vested man. They drifted upward to a chiseled jaw and the deep-set eyes of a conqueror. His curly locks suited him perfectly. I wondered what it would feel like to run my fingers through them.

"Tina?" he said with a heart-melting smile that broke the trance. "I'm Damian. Thank you for letting me fill in for Gary."

"What a bad time not to be a gay man," I thought.

Before I could reply, Jack and Clara called his name and invited him in. I shut the door, then turned to see his nice ass encased in leather pants. He strode with confidence towards the others.

Apparently, my gaze lasted longer than I realized, for when I looked up, Chad was snickering at me. I gave him my best heart throb look, mouthed "Thank you", and blended into the gathering.

After some socializing, nibbles, and drinks, everyone was ready to get started.

"Damian," Pierre said, "as the newcomer, it's only right that we give you Squishy." He looked at the comfy chair with a bemused look. A few others feigned disagreement, but soon we were all settled in and the game began.

The game went great. Damian blended in seamlessly, and soon the bantering and innuendos flowed as easily as the wine. I took every opportunity to taunt and tease him. He responded in kind, which raised conflicting desires in me.

Was I wrong to presume he was gay, or was it my self-imposed abstinence acting out? Some things he said felt far more personal than character-driven. My logical side reasoned that the lack of sexual possibility between us freed him to act his part. My impassioned side wanted to hear that he wasn't gay, and his comments were truly from desire. Either way, I was feeling the electricity I'd hoped for.

Soon, the game timer went off, startling most of us. Everyone jotted down who they thought the killer was. Four of us got it right, accusing Gina, who was the dead man's former business partner. Rounds of rock-paper-scissors awarded a sex shop gift certificate to Clara, who clapped and giggled in glee while her boyfriend Jack feigned trepidation.

Everyone mingled for a while longer, then helped clean up. Shortly after midnight, they made their way out the door. Damian was last and stopped to thank me for allowing him to attend.

"I had a great time," he said with a smile. "I'm just sorry I couldn't be of more service to you."

"What do you mean?" I asked coyly.

"I didn't want to risk offending you by being more forthcoming in my role," he said. "You modeled your character well, like you really were craving to succumb to me. Your proud breasts were giving your intentions away."

I glanced down at my breasts, upturned with nipples poking at the fabric. I thought about moments when they'd stirred as we'd conversed and was proud that he'd noticed.

"They are watchful, but very aware," I replied smugly.

"Yes, they are," he replied. "Maybe we could explore that sometime."

His words and unrelenting gaze sparked a fire between my loins.

"OK, either he's not gay, or he's a dom, or both," I thought.

I wanted to react in kind, but recognized I was too tired or drunk to think. It didn't keep me from envisioning him making love, or just being the dom I now sorely craved. In either case, I ached to be his.

He exited, and I carried those thoughts with me onto Squishy. His scent still lingered there. With a dreamy head and the comfort of an alcohol-induced buzz, I removed my crop top, eased back, and let my fingers induce sensual feelings across my body while dreaming of being Damian's slave. When my tender fingers reached my clit, the lightest touches caused a long, effusive orgasm to shutter throughout my body. It eventually subsided, and I grabbed an afghan and drifted to sleep in Squishy's loving folds.