The Treaty Ch. 03

Author's note: This is a prequel to the original story and not the next chapter. Hopefully, the next chapter of the regular story will get published in the near future. The timeline will eventually be more confusing than the one in X-Men movies, but I hope that you will enjoy each story as it comes out. As always, constructive criticism and comments are welcome.

The text message was simple, 'We're done, I wish you all the best.' I sent it and waited patiently for the reaction.

Truth be told, it wasn't the ideal way to terminate my relationship with Tobias, but my mind wasn't in the right place at that moment. I also didn't know where this coldness had come from; usually I was delicate and caring, not a cold-hearted bitch that dumped boyfriends with a laconic text. He had treated me superbly, despite my mood swings that took place a couple of times each week. My friends naturally thought I had gone mad when I said that I'll break up with him - one of them even asked for his number if I ultimately decided to go ahead and wrap up my relationship. No-one could grasp what I missed; I barely knew myself. What I did know was that dating Tobias had run its course; I genuinely needed to move on.

His reaction was surprisingly mild - it is possible he had grown frustrated with my shenanigans; I would have, if I were him. He said he understood what I was undergoing, which he didn't, and that I could reach out to him if I ever felt otherwise. When I deleted our chat, I was relieved, relieved that I wasn't wasting his time anymore, relieved that I didn't have to pretend I was content with my relationship, relieved that I could now hit on other guys without feeling guilty about it.

Two months went by and I was as lonely as ever. Work had taken its toll on me, and staying with my parents, who they had extended their stay in my area for far too long, had become unbearable; ever since I broke up with Tobias, they questioned every one of my decisions, even the length that I cut my hair. At least they were supposed to move back home in a short period of time.

In the meantime, I had been rejected twice by two guys I was into; the first was a colleague, about three years my senior, who politely turned down my offer for a drink claiming his schedule was hectic because he was pursuing a Master's degree; the second was a charming, well-built guy I met in the gym that frequently talked to me whenever we ran into each other - he claimed that he was already seeing someone, which didn't seem plausible since as far as I was aware, he lived exclusively in the gym.

Despite my profound loneliness, I was content with my decision to break up with Tobias - even though I dearly missed some of the specific aspects of our relationship, overall, it had been the right thing for either of us and thankfully, he didn't make any efforts to reconnect. Depending on my mood, I might have gone out with him again and when I'd break up again, I would have definitely broken his heart.

*

I invested countless hours in front of my laptop, even a whole weekend, from Friday afternoon when I got back from work to Sunday night when I went to sleep. I researched, I googled, I read. The internet is a treasure when it comes to sex: countless stories, videos, websites, books. Everything available only a click away. I was gradually becoming more reclusive, which clearly angered my parents; they thought I had to go out and meet someone, like Tobias, instead of staying locked in my bedroom. 'You are the sole twenty-three-year-old woman in the city that stays in every Saturday night,' my mother used to tell me every time I said that I didn't have plans for the upcoming weekend.

For weeks, I would only leave my private space if I had to get to the local locker and get a delivery that I didn't want them to put their hands in. They became persistent, so I tried going out for coffee, alone, reading books with erotica; the writing was sloppy, like in this story, and sometimes awkward, but I was hooked, as if I was keenly watching a guilty-pleasure soap opera. This didn't work either as the explicit sex scenes naturally aroused me and I couldn't touch myself in a café; I needed the privacy of my private bedroom and my vibrator.

I quickly realised that my apparent obsession with strong men 'enslaved' to their female partners was actually quite common - I used to think that men didn't have fantasies of female domination. The more I read about it, the more I wanted to dig deeper. A whole new world was presented in front of me, and I wouldn't leave until I had turned every stone in it. I hadn't mentioned any of these to Tobias; first of all, my erotic fantasies involved brutes gratefully accepting their role as my humble servants, not cute guys like Tobias, and second, I would have made him run away and possibly expose me to my inner circle - when he had learned that a common friend of ours enjoyed getting spanked by her boyfriend, a fetish which frankly is almost vanilla nowadays, he had called them out as perverts and distanced himself.

I resisted the temptation of making an account on Fetlife, but I finally gave in - honestly the chances of me encountering a submissive man in my vanilla life were little to none. I proudly set my role to 'Domme,' put together a few things about myself, stated clearly that I was looking for either a sub or a slave, and completed my profile with a charming picture of my hose-clad legs with the leather ankle boots my mother had gifted me last Christmas; if only she knew what I used them for. When my profile was finally ready, it was three o'clock and my phone notified me that I only had five-and-a-half hours of sleep before my alarm went off for work; I closed the lid of my laptop with a smile on my face, certain that within a few days, I would track down the submissive man I wanted.

*

FetLife is, in theory, a fascinating place; it's where people omit the veil of socially accepted behaviour and act out honestly, without the angst of backlash hanging over their heads. I liked this concept and, naively, I felt at home, actively engaging in public discussions. It didn't take me long though to realise that things weren't exactly as they seemed to be. First of all, the male-to-female ratio was ridiculous; I did expect men to have a stronger presence in a sex-related social medium, but I didn't not expect them to have the lion's share. In my region, three-quarters of all accounts belong to men; to an outsider, this might not look that negative for a straight woman, after all, more available mates naturally mean a higher probability of finding someone worthy. In practice though, it was terrible, as men turn desperate when the available pool of women is thin. Not only that, but also not all people are actually kinksters; unfortunately, many wolves are intentionally hidden in sheep's clothing: incels, abusers and other kinds of primates who disguise their shitty behaviour as 'kinky'.

Even though I did eagerly participate in meaningful conversations, the quality of the private messages I received was appalling. Empty profiles with a dick-pic as an avatar, wondering why I was turned off when I saw that; fetishists that sent me a preheated text, talking endlessly about their own desires, not giving a damn about mine; they 'hi, how are you' guys; and of course, the good old-fashioned dominant men who were at least forty-five years of age, had tons of experience and had convinced themselves that no woman is actually dominant - dommes simply hadn't found a true master yet.

I received on average twenty messages a week, fifteen of those went straight to the bin, I trolled two or three worthy of trolling and I exchanged more than one message with only a couple of the people that tried to get my attention.

Marcus was one of those people that caught my attention. He was neither laconic nor overly wordy in his direct messages, and, most importantly, he didn't have a photo of his dick on his profile. He actually claimed he had never even taken a dick-pic, which I wanted to believe desperately. He was witty and could make me laugh, even when we exchanged dry text messages. I quickly asked for his number which he eagerly provided - he was also positively surprised that a woman asked for his number first.

Marcus was a year my junior; he told me that he had been romantically involved with a dominant woman in the past but she was fifteen years older than him which meant that, even though the sex was great, their chemistry as a couple wasn't. I liked his face, his dark blonde hair and his beard would look lovely between my legs, I thought. He also told me he was much taller than me and fairly muscular - another thing that I liked; in my dreams, I always had a towering man as my slave.

We talked for hours and it seemed to me like we could be a match; not only we shared a load of fetishes but we also shared a lot of vanilla interests which made our conversations genuinely interesting. As I had asked for his number first, I let him ask me out; I enjoy being both the hunter and the prey. It took him about ten days to do so, apparently because of his shyness; he thought he might turn me off had he rushed.

We met for coffee a couple of days after he had asked me out. He did his best to sufficiently impress me, wearing a classic shirt in my favourite colour. I also made my effort, wearing a skirt and thin black pantyhose, which he had told me he was into, despite the fact that it was a rather chilly day. We clicked rather well in person too, and I slowly fell for him. He was imposing, his voice was deep, his humour was phlegmatic. I wanted such a person under my command and I made myself clear during our coffee, making plans for the future.

A couple of hours later, we paid -actually he paid- and left. He offered me a ride home and I counter-offered a ride to his home; I knew he lived alone. He seemed head over heels about my proposal, and he told me where his car was parked. I stood still though and didn't follow him. He turned back and I tapped my right heel nervously on the pavement, 'Won't you kiss your Mistress?' I wondered, and he reached down to give me a warm wet kiss; before we even met, he had asked me whether I wanted him to address me as 'Mistress' and I had declined, but now that we seemed like a match, not only I wanted it, I craved it.

'Will my Mistress follow me to my car?' he asked and graciously offered me his hand.

I was in total delirium and the same stood for Marcus even though he persistently tried his best to hide it. The dampness between my legs was rising exponentially and during our ride, I silently rehearsed the specific orders I had planned on giving him. Even the thought of his tongue parting my lower lips was electrifying; Marcus had continued addressing me as his superior since our gentle kiss and I was becoming impatient.

Earlier during the day of the date, I had paid a visit to my local pet shop and bought a fancy blue dog collar for Marcus and a matching leash. Although my family never had any pets, meaning I knew literally nothing about their accessories, I did a bit of digging before I walked into the shop, trying to avoid any awkward conversation with the usually eager-to-help shop assistants. I wanted to show it to him, but I was afraid that it might scare him off, what kind of weirdo goes on a first date with a dog collar in her purse after all.

*

Marcus' apartment was located in a neighbourhood popular with singles. The housing buildings from the 1960s located adjacent to one another had small flats and rents tended to be on the affordable side of the spectrum as the families had moved out to larger, more modern houses in the prosperous suburbs. The old shops had closed down for good but new, usually alternative, options promptly began to pop out every day - a friend of mine had suggested an excellent small brasserie two streets from Marcus' place.

We went up and anticipation was sky-high. He passionately kissed me when we walked into his flat and we decided to have a drink before we dive in; he didn't have any wine available but in such a fashionable neighbourhood there's always a liquor store open throughout the day. His apartment was typical for a bachelor: not many things around, a huge TV with a PlayStation plugged in, a couch in the middle of a mostly empty living room and a fridge full of beers. After a brief visit to the bathroom during his absence, I made myself comfortable in his couch and kicked my shoes off - he had admitted that he had a foot fetish, and I did so to trigger him.

Marcus served the wine he brought in wine glasses - I was genuinely surprised he had such a thing - and we sat on the couch for further discussion which could now turn kinky as now no-one could overhear us. The air was heavy with a mix of awkwardness and desire. We didn't say a lot of things and long pauses, with warm eye contact, followed each exchange. I saw the unbridled lust in his eyes on the way he looked at my plump breasts and at my feet; I bet he would have instantly obeyed any order that I'd give him.

But I froze. I froze for good. No matter how much I had practised in the mirror, or in my head, I couldn't put together a coherent sentence.

'You could rest your feet on my lap, Mistress,' Marcus offered and I accepted.

He began gently massaging them, on his own, and I closed my eyes, relishing the moment. His strong fingers worked magic on my exhausted soles. I stopped him, took off my pantyhose, and let him continue.

'Would you allow me to kiss them, Mistress?'

Reluctantly I agreed. Marcus seemed to enjoy this kind of foreplay and normally I would too, but I had been aroused since we left the café so it all seemed like a waste of time. Perhaps more than I needed to dominate him, I needed to get laid. As he was tenderly kissing my feet, which I genuinely liked, I saw the bulge in his pants growing.

'Let's go inside, shall we?' I proposed; the first words I said after a long period of time I acted as a mute.

His bedroom was equally simplistic as his living room, with minimalistic IKEA furniture and white bed sheets. I noticed the bed was prepared with precision - he expected, or hoped, to bed me before he came to the date. As soon as we climbed on the bed, I took off my skirt and grabbed him for a kiss. He looked puzzled, perhaps expecting the foreplay to continue. I also made a move to undress him as well to which he told me that I could have ordered him to do so; the guy humbly craved to be under a woman's authority.

'Why don't we simply fuck tonight, get to know each other better?' I offered and he agreed but not as enthusiastically as I expected him to; even so, I was relieved I could relinquish my duties as a dominant.

He licked me well, better than Tobias at least, but he refrained from using his fingers. In fact, he placed his hands behind his back, as if I had cuffed them, and he only did use them when I explicitly said so. Undoubtedly, he couldn't take charge of everything but on the other hand, I needed someone who could function without me giving him directions on every step of the way. Thankfully, he made me cum, twice actually, and when I praised his considerable efforts, he seemed proud.

I couldn't resist the temptation of taking him in my mouth but my body was on fire and he was not comfortable with me giving him head. I helped him put on a condom and with my pussy soaked from his oral service, I sat on fours and promptly invited him to enter me.

'I can't, Mistress. Can you ride me instead?'

'Why not?'

'It's a position for dominants.'

My head was blurry from my excitement and I chose not to argue with him. Clearly, we had a lot of things to discuss but that was neither the time nor the place. I did as he asked and allowed him to lie on the bed. 'Shut up and don't move,' I told him and he seemed more than happy to comply. In this position, which his mind was more appropriate for us, I utilised him as my dildo, moving my body up and down on his hard cock. He was in a delirium and so was I. I tilted my body slightly forward and my ample C-cup breasts got near his face, 'Lick my nipples,' I ordered with a somewhat dominant voice and he obeyed instantly.

I came twice as I fucked him but when I stopped, I realized he hadn't orgasmed. He argued that he had held himself back as I hadn't granted him the necessary permission to climax, but it didn't matter to him as his Mistress' pleasure was all that mattered. He asked if I needed to use the bathroom but, as I wanted to take a breath first, I answered no. In silence, he grabbed a fresh towel from the drawer and went for a shower; I thought he would invite me over but he didn't.

After he finished with his shower, I asked him for a towel as well so I could freshen up. He didn't say no but he seemed distant. I believed that once I got out of the bathroom, he would have made a charming gesture, such as refill our glasses with wine, cook for me or at least ask me what kind of take-out I would like. Instead, I found him on the bed with his briefs on, scrolling down his feed on Instagram.

I felt unwanted, perhaps I had disillusioned him with our eventual lovemaking but I couldn't possibly expect him to have such a big issue with it. I expected him to ask me to stay over but he didn't say the words and I couldn't possibly ask for it myself. I made up an excuse about having a family gathering at my aunt's place the next day so I had to go. He offered me a ride home but I had already called an Uber so our evening ended abruptly when the app notified me that the driver had arrived. I kissed him good night and he promised to text me the next day

During my ride home, I checked my messages on FetLife to see if anything popped out; it didn't. I was almost certain that Marcus wouldn't contact me and I had a bittersweet feeling about it; on one hand, I liked him a lot but on the other hand, we didn't seem to be on the same page on sex.

'We're here,' the driver told me, interrupting my thoughts that had absorbed me in the backseat of his car, 'You're paying with your card, so have a good night.'

'You too,' I said with an awkward smile and got out of the vehicle.

*

Marcus did text me again, in fact the same night, asking me to confirm that I had arrived safe and sound. I replied with a dry 'Good night', trying to avoid any further conversation. I bet he wanted to clear the air about what had happened but I was still conflicted and wanted to sleep on it.

Indeed, the next day Marcus wrote a rather wordy apology. He claimed I caught him by surprise when I asked him to fuck in a vanilla way as he hadn't done for a considerable amount of time; apparently, he and his previous Mistress had never fucked with no role play during their relationship. Doing it in doggy-style would create chaos in his head as he argued that it would be impossible to see me as his dominant once he had fucked me from behind; clearly, his ex-girlfriend/Mistress had created him lots of issues that affected the way he saw his relationships. He also emphasized how much he wanted me to command him and that if I use him as my slave, it would make him much happier than if we fucked with no power-exchange.

As a grown-up person, I enjoy when people around me are forthcoming and my interaction with Marcus was no exception. Despite some red flags I saw between his words, I wanted to give him a second chance, to see if we could meet somewhere near the middle. I came clean about my reluctance to order him around, attributing it to my lack of experience as a dominant - of course I didn't mention how horny I had been the previous night. He said he understood that one hundred percent and he was willing to help me find my mojo as a domme.

The next weekend, I was back in his place. We skipped the vanilla date part and went straight to the main course. I told him to come pick me up, which he eagerly did. From the very first minute in the car, I was neither romantic, nor playful but strict and demanding; I even scolded him for not addressing me as 'Mistress' and even though I informed him that I would punish him once we were home, he seemed excited.