Shy Guys Make Good Boys Pt. 01

You know, in hindsight, I really should have pieced together that her best friend was a kink friendly psychologist.

I remember staring at the message for a few minutes, remember typing out the reply, I'm not sure I can tell you that, and then remember imagining her face when I'd knelt to pick up her keys, the way she'd looked down at me with that calm look, a hint of excitement in her eyes. I deleted that message.

And wrote a real one. Want some of the phrases? Male chastity, leashes, training, behavioral modification.

After that, I'd had to masturbate with the thoughts it gave me of what she might do to me, of what someone like her might make me do in the realm of "behavioral modification". I'd come back to her answer, feeling like a teenager with butterflies in his stomach when he got the attention of his crush.

It'd been an emoji in the first message, one that made me grin, one that made me feel like I was on cloud nine, when it was an emoji that implied being horny. Oh, but look at you. You did do your homework and you're hitting on all of my own favorites.

That made me... insecure. So soon after the images of her looking down on me while I could smell her heat in that position, I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me insecure. See, the truth?

Now that I was talking to her about these things, it was driving my fantasies into a violent fury, and the end result was tethered in her. I wanted to please her. Even then, I already really wanted that. She'd just told me to hold her hand and I hadn't agonized over it.

It made me insecure to think of her having different kinky desires than I might have. I know it damn well doesn't make sense, but there it was. And I knew I wasn't a guy who was fully in touch with his emotions or whatever, but I did fancy the thought that maybe I had some kind of self awareness. Whatever self awareness was there even said that the reaction didn't make sense.

But it was there anyway. I scrubbed a hand through my hair and stared at my phone, thinking. And then I answered. I want your desires more than mine and... that concerns me in some ways. Those aren't all the fantasies but I can't deal with the rest at the moment. I want to tell them to you. It's just that right now, I'll be honest and say I haven't done anything like this, but I've wanted to. Badly. And I can't think past it very well.

Too much? God, I was supposed to be a writer in my spare time. Some writer I was. I couldn't words correctly to save my life when I was staring into the possibility of all my darkest dreams, the same ones that plagued me so badly they'd kept me single for a few years now.

Hell, they'd kept me damn near chaste lately. The humiliating truth? I couldn't escape how submissive I was. The worst part about that? I didn't even fully know how submissive I was but however much was there was something ingrained, something that affected me even in my most vanilla relationship attempts. "Where would you like to eat, honey?" "Wherever you would like, love." "What would you like for Christmas?" "I would like whatever is less stressful for you, baby." I craved to please my partners. In every way and that included in bed. It was why I'd first started to read erotica that involved being told what to do, if I'm honest.

There were a few commands I couldn't follow though. "Ryan... what if I wanted you to be rougher?"

I remember trying to, with a girlfriend who wanted me to try to choke her, but I wasn't sure what I was doing, and it didn't feel right. It'd messed with me, the thoughts that I couldn't please her like that, when that was something physically important to me.

Ryan... what if you're just crazy? That's how my thoughts went. It wasn't really a far cry either. A few friends of mine that knew about my Pop! Vinyl collecting addiction definitely thought that and, I mean, there were all the people who thought I was batshit over my love of Calculus and Statistics. I hadn't crossed into John Nash's A Beautiful Mind territory and that was something, though.

I moaned into a hand, a sensation of dread starting in my stomach when I thought of Sonya. What was the worst that could happen? I didn't want to think about that too hard.

Because the worst that could happen was that I'd find the most fulfillment when she showed me a few things about real submission... and then would never be able to go back to vanilla at all when I knew another option was there for me. I was already having a hard time in my relationships when I wasn't what I felt a guy should be. I wasn't assertive, wasn't decisive. I hadn't even chosen my own suit for my job interview. Part of me sometimes wished I was gay in any capacity, but that had been an experimental no go back in college.

She kept going, so gently, so soothing about having me confess to my goddess. It got worse when I started to think of those moments in that manner, when they gave me kinky visualizations of kneeling at her altar while she was crowned, sitting high in her throne, the small statured image of female confidence. I imagined her makeup being what it was at the Christmas party for those thoughts, too, when she'd worn something both classy and elegant. I knew from our messages and her social media that she was my age, 28, and she looked like she could be a pinup model, with her high cheekbones. She used her makeup to add emphasis to her features, something that made me shudder in desire.

And those boots. The thought of those boots definitely made me confess more. She asked me things I wasn't into. Tell me the hard no things and behave yourself when you've been such a good boy so far. Don't withhold from me because you want to please me so bad. If name calling isn't a turn on, for instance, then tell the truth.

Name calling. I shuddered with more rampant fantasies. No, name calling is... good. It's good. Uncomfortably good. The sissy thing is a hard no for me, though. I was only sending a text but it was one that made me blush harder than I'd ever blushed in my life. Scat. Anything illegal. That's all I can think of though. But it might be due to ignorance.

She could tell when something bothered me, too. I don't know how she was that good at reading people, but she knew, even if it was over text and she didn't have my inflection. See, I knew she could tell because she rewarded me. Good boy. I know that wasn't easy. She sent me a devil emoji.

Along with a picture of her heeled boots that day, where her legs were crossed in an office chair. Well, one thing I know for sure already. You enjoy these.

It had taken me a moment to collect my scattered thoughts enough to adequately flirt back, to tell her those were my favorite ones yet and how much I really did love every last pair she wore. She'd teased me back. Even your compliments are already submissive, you good boy. All you lack is a little training.

Back and forth. Jesus, I buried myself. I couldn't even get much writing done at all anymore because when I went to write, my characters would be filled with too much of my insecure projections, too much of all the emotions I couldn't face. The writing was terrible and I had to rewrite five times before I got any of it correct, thinking that the readers who liked my stories were awesome and I didn't want them unhappy or displeased with me. I didn't like making people unhappy even in that capacity. Full circle. Fear chased fear and it infected my pen. Fortunately, it didn't touch on my day job.

Numbers were always wonderful that way. Their science never cared much about emotion one way or another. My story characters might have had to wait for a little while to tell me their story when my muse was a bit confused, but my spreadsheets remained quite organized.

Eventually, though, Sonya decided she tired of the distance. After talking, would you like our date night to have a scene where I show you more?

Oh, no. I was resigned by that moment. This was happening and I couldn't goddamned stop myself. I'm sorry if this is an infuriating response. I trailed my thumb around the edge of the phone, thinking of past girlfriends who would all think it was definitely an infuriating response. I would prefer your decision, Sonya.

My heart thundered in fear that I might displease her with some of these behaviors... and then it leapt when she answered. You're too much of a good boy for your own good. I'll have you know that I told a friend that I had an interest in a guy and she said, "Poor thing," on your behalf. I think she'd really pity you if she knew how bad it really is, baby. I would love to make the decisions, little boy toy.

I'm just not sure how much you'll enjoy it when I do. Friday. Six. I'll send you the address.

I was grinning, elated. She hadn't been infuriated or displeased! God, all that terror and all that thundering nervousness of answering those questions but she hadn't been irritated with my nonsense. It made me feel like I could wag a tail again.

And then the dread sank in. The rest of her words. One of her friends pitied me and she'd outright said that she was not nearly as nice to male subs as she was to female ones.

Ryan. Are you sure about this?

I stared at my phone where I hadn't even been able to effectively write some of this out of my system recently and the grin faded... and I moaned again instead.

Why was I like this?

--------

Sonya messaged me the morning of Friday and took mercy on me, while I still had thoughts of my orgasm from masturbating the night before, where I imagined how this might go, where I imagined her perfect pink lips and sinfully confident purr while she whispered, "naughty boy toy". And I was grateful for it when I would have been a mass of social anxiety when I started to realize what I was doing. For instance, if she'd left me to me, I would have gotten home from work to get dressed and stopped in a panic when I realized I hadn't considered what to wear to dinner with a Dominatrix after years of fantasies, stories, and freaking self denial.

Sonya flawlessly kept me in the subdued state of her "good boy", messaging me to say, I have certain preferences for my male subs and since I would like to talk about it more with you, I'd also like you to try some of those preferences. Wear the jeans you had on at the coffee shop, please, and a black collared shirt or a black v-neck. Tennis shoes, as well. It sets a tone when I would like it to be a more casual date.

Just the text for my clothes made me think, Uh oh. Because it sent hot arousal flooding through me, along with a deep appreciation for Sonya, that she would be so considerate and give me these kinds of commands. And, of course, that thought made me shift in my seat at work, in discomfort as to how much gratitude I felt for her, goddess that she was.

Even so, I was second guessing all of this when I reached her door, when I held a present for her. It wasn't a date kind of present or anything like that. It was more of my thanks that she had spoken with me about things that no one else ever had, that she had made me realize I might not be so alone, but standing at her door, a lot of insecurities overwhelmed me again for a moment. What was I doing? She was stunning and I was a bloody data scientist with all the presence of Bruce Banner and a lot of issues dealing with desires I couldn't face.

She had obviously faced them. She had obviously walked all over those desires and made them heel to her whims, something that made me smile to think about.

I froze when her door opened, when she caught me, and then stayed frozen with the sight of her.

Her eyes sparkled with wicked teasing at having found me like an idiot outside her door, but even better? She had dispensed with her suede boots and her classy work attire. She had her hair in a high, strict ponytail, long and straight down her back where her chin was lifted as always and she wore a tight fitting strappy halter dress, one that was sinfully short. Her hands were clad in latex, elbow length gloves.

And her knee high boots were leather ones, shining so that my mouth watered. "I briefly considered starting with our dinner date first. You'll have to forgive me a brief moment of selfishness, little boy toy, but all those conversations made me excited, too.

"And I thought you could use a bit of incentive to persuade you to stay." She stood to the side, her smile that of my personal demoness, her stature still that of feminine royalty. "Won't you talk with me, Ryan?"

She claimed she wasn't a sadist and I abruptly prayed to god that was true. If it wasn't, I felt like I might have been in real trouble.

I felt like I'd have had to learn to suffer really quickly if that was her pleasure. I couldn't keep from taking her hand, even while I wondered if I wasn't crazy. Christ, I had told her I had fantasies of my own chastity... and she had those, too.

Sonya laughed lightly at whatever my face must have looked like when she closed the door behind me. "Of course, I think I might have overdone it a bit. That look on your face has a way of making a girl feel all the more confident, love. And what's this?" Her touch was discreet when she trailed a latex covered finger up the back of my hand where I held her present.

Right. Gift. Thank God, gift. It was something else to think of, something to pull me back to reality. Jesus, I was an introvert but I thought I'd gotten over these awkward moments years ago. "Oh. It's a present." I paused, gathering my thoughts for the correct words. "Just as a thank you, I mean, for having talked with me about..." I couldn't finish the rest of the sentence.

She took mercy on me and gently touched my wrist while I tried to think through the hard on she gave me with that sleek latex stroke. "You're very welcome and too sweet by half, good boy. But don't think presents will make me go easier on you." My eyes shot to hers with a fear that it might come across like that, but she was only teasing. Instead of the concern, white hot arousal spiked through me when the threat registered. It did distract me from the shyness when she opened the gift bag and lifted out her present.

For a moment, she blinked, but then I got an expression from Sonya, one I would learn to enjoy more than sunshine. It was a rare expression, you see, although I wouldn't realize it until later. Sonya, as I had already started to pick up on, was a reserved person. She was always distantly polite and she read her audience well, giving them what she realized they needed for a response. For the first time, I got something that wasn't any of that. It was a full grin across her face, rather than her flirtatious smiles that were as much to soothe me as they were an expression of her pleasure.

It made her look younger and the gift spoke as much about her. During her bookstore proposal, my anxiety had been at a high, which meant I had been hyper aware of her. So when she'd paused in front of one of the bookstore's snowy fox stuffed animals, it was something that had stood out for me. She had trailed her fingers through its fur and gone on because of course the Mistress Sonya wouldn't buy something like that for herself. Her laughter made me grin, but she raised her eyes to mine with a spark of mischief, setting the little fox on her entryway table. "Wicked boy toy. Come here."

I laughed all the harder, broken from fear for the moment with how pleased she was, when she grabbed me by my hair, tugging me alongside her, and her smaller stature ensured I had to bow my head for her to better hold me, but the playfulness of the gesture soothed over all the self loathing I'd been having an issue with. Combined with her happiness, it was intoxicating.

And then I saw the hard backed chair in the middle of the floor and paused so that she pushed me forward with a wicked smile and I ended up falling back in the seat, heart suddenly going haywire. "Sit down so we can talk, baby."

It turned out that repressed desire had a powerful amount of control, especially when I looked up at Sonya and realized I might have seen the soft side of her for a moment, but she would make sure I remembered the Dominatrix more. Her eyes glittered with intent and she didn't really give me much of a choice. She was smaller than me, yes, but she was sure in her motions where I was so insecure in my own desires.

It was about the time I saw the riding crop, the cuffs, and the blindfold that everything really started to sink in. The sensation only intensified when she watched my expression with a wicked gaze of her own. "Tell me the safewords you chose again, Ryan."

Just talking. My mouth was dry with the realization that I had finally found myself in a scenario where I would need a safeword, where I would be discussing this at all.

The goddess, Sonya. People always asked how things ended up the way they did. To hear her tell the answer was something fascinating for me later, when my own perspective was nothing like what she would reveal. For me, the truth was that she was that good and that careful. She soothed with a touch of latex pleasure, a kind of Novocain that numbed even me so well I would be willing to sit in that chair. "Red and yellow," I managed.

"Good boy."

I moaned and lifted when she stroked a latex clad hand up my cheek, waves of heat crashing through my abdomen, ones that were filled with images of kneeling to get her keys when I'd been misbehaving. It turned out that I knew a lot based on reading and writing.

And yet, I was somehow totally innocent to the sensations of what it would be like. I had to misbehave in front of a goddess to learn and I was a blank slate for her to work with.

--------

"You were also a good boy for me with the safety rules I gave you, yes? Someone knows where you are right now and when you'll call them?"

I stared down at her hands where they so delicately wrapped my wrists in leather cuffs. It was a strange thing, that I had looked up these images and even actually had watched a video or two when I felt really bold... or drunk. So I knew what they looked like. But the sight of them on my wrists specifically made me shiver in a bit of shock. "Y-yes."

"First, let me fix your manners. It's 'mistress' to you when you bow. Be a good boy and try again for me, won't you?"

My eyes snapped to hers and the flush at my neck burned hotter. My voice sounded so very far away when I answered her. "Yes, Mistress." Was it just me or did the world somehow seem slowed all of a sudden? My mind took in every small detail even while my thoughts went far too fast. The rush through my ears felt like the crescendo to the guitar intro in Dire Straits' Money for Nothing. I exhaled with that word of her title still tingling on my lips, but Sonya smiled in approval.

"Good boy. That was pretty. Respectful, too. You'll find I can be at least a little kinder to respectful boys. Now, show me your phone. Prove it to me that you sent the message with the address."

I flexed a hand in the cuff - they feel a little badass - and the action seemed surreal, but I lifted my phone for her with the message to a friend of mine. She met my eyes so easily, with all that security, and I was the one who looked away first, my eyes lowering back to her boots, so that she chuckled and scratched behind my ear, as if I were a dog. Her touch was just as delicate when she checked my phone. "Good boy," she whispered, kissing my knuckles. "Always be safe for Mistress."

Jesus. I shuddered, but my voice escaped me on its own again. "Yes, Mistress."

I was so hard that it was painful and she hadn't so much as sexually touched me. It didn't get any easier from there either, when she twisted my wrists behind me by the cuffs, chaining them together behind the chair. "I'll be kind and leave your ankles free for now, so long as you keep them at the chair legs like so." She fixed me so that I was spread slightly, although not overly wide, not uncomfortably, but definitely enough for just a little bit of vulnerability. What was worse was how methodical and calm she was, how she stroked my hair back after she got a collar. Her voice was breathy at my temple, when she gently kissed me. "A few basics, for some atmosphere. Besides, a man in a thick, leather collar just does something for me. It feels like having leashed violence under my fingertips."