What is Power Exchange?

A/N My first attempt at erotica, exploring D/s dynamics. A massive thank you to ThisNameIsntTakenYet, Ruger, visioneer and stuffedshirt_perv for helping edit my story into submission. All feedback gratefully received. Thanks for reading and stay kinky.

xxxxx

"I'm stuffed." I held my stomach, standing up. "Do you want anything else?"

Sam passed his plate to me. "No, Jonesy, you've achieved the impossible. I'm full."

With a warm smile I headed into the kitchen, hardly believing Sam had just appeared on my doorstep telling me to get the kettle on. We'd been friends for years, but like some sort of awakening, I had finally realised I wanted more than a friendship. We'd danced around each other for what felt like forever before I made my feelings clear to him. With that Sam disappeared, no more phone calls or meals out. It confused and hurt me. I assumed he didn't have the heart to say he wasn't interested. But that was in the past, he was here now and even agreed to stay for my hastily made bolognese. I put the kettle on, got two mugs out, and mused this was a positive sign.

"Coffee?" I called towards the lounge.

"Go on then."

My grin grew. The evening was almost over yet Sam seemed willing to stay a little longer. I tried to calm my nerves, to behave like the adult I am and keep the lovesick teenager underwraps. A personal history of dating disasters made the man in my home stand head and shoulders above the rest. His grouchy persona hid a compassionate soul always ready to be a shoulder to cry on after another failed romance. And what broad strong shoulders they were. With a killer smile and eyes that drew you in, Sam was hot. But he carried his own baggage, so baby steps were all I could expect. Tonight I didn't anticipate anything more than coffee before he left. I hoped if nothing else, our friendship was back on track.

I handed him the drink and retook my seat on the sofa opposite.

"Are you still interested in Dom sub dynamics?" Sam asked bluntly.

My mug paused halfway to my mouth. I'd mentioned it a couple of months ago, as a way of exploring character interactions in fiction. Sam had surprised me by announcing he was a Dom and involved in the BDSM community. After my initial shock I recalled the numerous times he had tried to raise the subject, and my joking, often callous, replies. But since I'd expressed my desire to spend more time with him, he had not mentioned it again. His question came at me from left field.

I reminded myself this was Sam, my good friend, and so I answered honestly. "Yes, very."

He placed his drink on the low table between us and met my eyes. "Have you decided what side of the slash you are yet?"

Unable to hold his enquiring gaze, I dropped my eyes and focused on the mug, tightly clasped between both hands. "Not really."

When he didn't speak I nervously looked up to see him appraise me, patiently.

This wasn't how I expected the evening to go. Taking a deep breath, I continued. "I can tell you what Clare thinks I am."

"Clare? You're English Lit friend?"

I nodded.

Sam settled back on the sofa, still watching me. "What does she think?"

I forced myself to look at him. "A broken sub."

His eyebrows flew up.

I took a sip of coffee. "I've learnt to take control and be dominant, kinda to protect myself." I chewed my lower lip, hoping I explained it right. "But deep down I want to please."

Sam chuckled, which didn't help my nerves. "And what do you think?"

"I guess she could be right, but, um, I don't know."

"Do you want to?"

It was my turn to look at him, confused. "Want to what?"

"Well one sure fire way to find out is to try it." His genuine smile made me relax a little.

"You offering?" I teased.

His face turned serious. "Yes. I can let you experience being a sub. Then you'll know."

I nearly choked on my drink. This had just gone from nought to sixty real fast. Cautiously, I glanced at him to see if he meant it. The relaxed posture, ankle casually resting on his knee, didn't give anything away. I couldn't speak.

"If you're truly a sub, I could probably get you into subspace without laying a finger on you."

Emotions fought inside my stomach. I wanted him to touch me, be with me, yet all he offered was a clinical experiment. Curiosity warred with disappointment. Could I submit to someone I trusted and was attracted to? Hell, I'd let enough abusive, cruel men walk all over me. Sam had heard all of it, seen the bruises and quietly listened to stories of the sexual exploits I had got up to with them.

He carried on, filling the uncomfortable silence. "You don't like the idea of spanking. Why?"

A sensible question and one we'd discussed when I first mentioned BDSM. Knowing I should answer him, I took a deep breath. "My dad was many bad things." I dragged my eyes up to meet his; I had to be honest. "He was a very violent man. Corporal punishment was his thing. I-I just can't see how that can be erotic." My cheeks flushed.

Sam appeared to be immune to my discomfort. "And names like slut, you have an issue with them?"

I couldn't believe he had remembered my discombobulated ramble from months ago. My face heated more. "It sounds so...demeaning." I quickly took another mouthful of coffee.

"If I don't spank you or call you names, do you want to see?"

I cringed at the exposure of the conversation. Humour was my best defence. "See?" I challenged, with a forced grin

Sam laughed. The sound made me smile more genuinely.

"It's called a scene and you experience it." He sat forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "My aim is to get you out of your overly analytical head, so you just feel. Think of it as a holiday from yourself."

"I like holidays." I smirked back. Okay, this wasn't what I really wanted, but Clare said I shouldn't run from my vulnerability. Who better to try and be real with than a man I respected and liked?

"You say stop and I will." His tone softened. "I promise."

"Okay, I'm game," I said with as much confidence as I could muster.

"First off, you're not to speak unless I ask you a question. Do you understand?"

I nodded, putting my mug down on the table.

"I asked you a question." His tone became deeper. "I expect a reply."

I sat up, nerves tingling down my back. "Yes, I understand," I said slowly.

"And if you want the scene to end, what do you say?"

"Stop," I answered more confidently.

He smirked. "I'd prefer 'stop, Sir', but you're a novice so I'll let you off."

I opened my mouth to retort back, but closed it silently at his glare. If he was taking this seriously, I'd better try, too.

"Stand up."

Well that was an easy order, so I complied.

"Take those god-awful shoes off and put them neatly to one side."

I stifled a giggle, looking at my tatty plastic sandals. Slipping them off, and knowing he had no hope of making me go to that subspace place insulting my shoes, I was well beyond being offended about my clothing choices. Once the sandals sat paired beside me, I stood upright and waited.

"Now take the shorts off," he said impassively.

Oh God! Bridget Jones had nothing on the black, granny panties I had on. My regulation supermarket knickers were not intended for anyone else to see. Especially not Sam.

"Chel, those are so short it's not like I'm going to see anything more than I can now."

He was right. I fumbled with the button fly of the cut offs, praying it wasn't a faded, holey pair of panties underneath. Desperately I tried to remember what I'd dressed in earlier. Painfully and slowly, I drew the shorts down and stepped out of them, setting them on the sofa. A quick glance confirmed my panties were at least a newer pair and my shapeless t-shirt came down to my hips.

"The top next."

A lump formed in my throat. If this was subspace, I sure didn't like it. I felt like a cheap stripper.

"Jonesy, I've seen you in a swimming costume." He spoke in a firm but emotionless voice.

Yeah, a swimming costume with fancy strips on the side making me look thinner. Sucking in my over full stomach, I pulled the shirt off. My hands trembled as I folded it and placed it with the shorts. I clasped my fingers over my crotch. The move pushed my ample breasts together, but right now I didn't care. I needed to cover as much fat as possible.

"Hands by your side. I want to see you."

Tears pricked behind my eyes. I looked like an idiot - a fat idiot. And the complete lack of appreciation in Sam's voice didn't help. Instead of revealing a sex goddess he would fall madly in love with, I was a trembling, blushing twat. If I said stop he'd just go home. Forget our friendship; this wasn't worth the humiliation.

Sam seemed completely ignorant to my shame. "Underwear off, too."

I hung my head, shaking it, my ears burning. Now all I need is a pole, except pole dancers are desirable. I'm...disgusting. He could see that. How stupid, why would he want me? His experience and good looks gave him the choice of any woman. Why would he consider a loser like me?

"Why can't you show me your body?"

I couldn't reply; my jaw ached trying not to cry. I collapsed on the edge of the sofa and curled into myself, to hide my grotesque body. The light in the lounge felt harsh and unforgiving.

"I asked a question. I expect an answer."

How could he be so cruel? He knew me well enough to see my shame.

"I-I can't do this," I mumbled.

"You are an attractive woman, who hides under ugly clothes," Sam said, making me peer nervously across at him. "Most women would want a body like that and all red-blooded straight men would kill to touch it." The chuckle that followed made his statement sounds like a sarcastic joke.

"Yeah, right," I bit back.

"It wasn't a question," he said with a smirk. "Why do you think that? And I'll help you out, that was a question."

I blindly pulled my t-shirt over my head, before I sat up and looked at him. "You sound as enthusiastic as Shaun." I managed a weak smile, feeling better with more clothes on.

"Shaun? I don't remember a Shaun. Which tosser was he?"

"Shaun is my sat nav's Irish voice," I smirked. "No matter what I say, he maintains his calm deadpan voice and tells me what to do."

Sam got up and came over to me. I dropped my eyes and stared at his feet.

"You think me seeing you undress has as little effect on me as your road rage has on Shaun?" His perfect Irish accent made me smile and nod but I didn't raise my eyes. "Stand up for me," Sam added quietly.

I'm not even sure why, but I did as requested, while still staring at his feet. He caught my wrist and drew my hand towards his groin. He cupped my hand over a firm erection, hidden by his jeans.

"You did that to me without even trying." He stroked my hand up and down the shaft through the coarse denim. "I know I said I didn't need to touch you, but I was wrong. Are you okay to carry on?" It was a soothing question, and feeling the effect I had on him gave me more confidence.

I looked up and nodded.

He dropped his mouth to my ear, making me shudder as heat bloomed between my legs. "I'll forgive you not answering me, but not the fact your shirt is on inside out," he breathed against me.

Instinctively, I reached with my free hand to grope for the label behind my neck.

"Let me help you with that," Sam murmured, planting light kisses behind my ear.

I closed my eyes and moaned unconsciously. His hands were on my sides while I stroked the firmness through his jeans. I didn't resist as he lifted my shirt up and over my head.

"You're going to have to let go of me if we're getting this top off."

I didn't think I could blush any harder. I snatched my hand away from his groin. Still cringing at my wanton behaviour, I was too distracted to notice Sam had unhooked my bra and pulled it down my arms. My hands flew up to cover my breasts; the overhead light suddenly seemed brighter, illuminating my body.

"Hands down. I want to see what's mine," Sam growled.

My eyes widened and I felt moisture gathering between my legs. Did he just say I was his? Here I was, almost naked - bar my rather wholesome panties - while he stood fully clothed. My stomach flipped with a lust I hadn't felt - well - ever. He was so close, the heat of his body radiated through me. I took a shuddering breath as I moved my hands to the side.

Sam stared blatantly at my breasts and licked his lips. The wetness between my legs bubbled, I daren't move in case he heard it. Telepathically, I begged him to suck my aching nipples, believing if I wished hard enough he would. Instead, he stepped back leaving me like an idiot, standing exposed before him.

"Panties off."

When I didn't move from my frozen stupor, Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. He pulled something from a pocket. My breath caught - it was a pen knife. He smoothly exposed the blade. I flinched as he moved closer.

"Keep still," he said in a low warning growl.

I felt bile in the back of my throat. With all the idiots I dated who could have killed me, the man I trusted approached with a knife. I couldn't run, he was between me and the door. If I did escape I'd have the indignity of running into the street naked. My eyes flashed around, trying to locate my phone. I needed to call the police. Would I be able to get help before I bled to death? Holding my breath, I felt faint.

Just as my knees sagged, Sam firmly wrapped an arm low on my waist. Before I could process, he used his other hand to slide the knife through the flimsy material at the side of my panties. Physically holding me on my feet, he repeated the other side, pulling the panties away and dropping them on the floor.

He planted a light kiss on my cheek and nuzzled against my ear. "Chel, if I let you go, can you stay standing up?"

Trembling so violently, I doubted it, but I nodded anyway.

"Ouch!" I squealed as he bit my ear.

"Yes, Sir," he said, releasing my sore ear.

"Yes, Sir," I whimpered.

"Good girl." He soothed my ear with his tongue making me whimper again. Then the magical touch was gone.

I gasped, and locked my knees so I didn't fall down. Sam stood a few feet away and stared at me. His eyes casually raked up and down my body; they touched me, burning where he looked. My eyes drifted down to the obvious tenting in his jeans; I glowed with satisfaction at my handiwork.

"Do you want it?" Sam chuckled.

I smiled. I knew what he meant, but tried to be coy. "Want what?"

He laughed loudly. "Jonesy, you sure have an issue giving up control."

I grinned back at him. I was naked, exposed and vulnerable, but I felt powerful.

"I can see I'm going to need to bring out the big guns." He continued to laugh.

God, I was so horny, I hoped that was a euphemism for him ramming his cock into me. Instead he calmly sat on the sofa and freed his erection. Fascinated, I watched him casually stroke himself. Fuck, I wanted that glorious cock, and to ride it until I screamed.

"You're drooling, little girl."

I quickly licked my lips and blushed even harder, if possible.

"Now are you going to tell me what you want?"

I briefly considered just saying yes to his closed question, but ignored that thought. If I did what he asked, he might give me what I really need. "I want your cock." I paused to meet his eyes and smirked. "Sir."

"You're a tough nut to crack." His hand forced its way between my legs. I saw stars. "Still defiant when you're clearly begging for it." The hand pulled away and Sam held it up, displaying juices from my sopping pussy, webbed between his fingers. Slowly he dipped one finger in his mouth and sucked noisily. "Delicious."

I screwed my eyes up and hung my head with embarrassment, as he stood up. A hand grasped my ponytail and firmly pulled my head back. His fingers traced around my mouth.

"Open. I want you to taste how gorgeous you are."

Nervously, I complied, swirling my tongue around his invading digits, eyes still tightly shut in shame.

"I've never heard it called a broken sub before, but your friend is right." His voice was gentle and soothing. I opened my eyes to see him smile warmly. "Your body says you're excited, yet still you fight. Relax. Just feel."

I was still sucking on his fingers when he used the hand holding my hair to guide me back to sit on the sofa. He pulled his hand free from my mouth and pushed my knees apart, kneeling on the floor between them. I glanced surreptitiously at his cock standing proud through his open jeans. I chewed my lip, bemoaning the loss of his touch in my mouth.

He carefully pushed strands of hair behind my ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

Hypnotised, I couldn't form words. Instead I shook my head, hoping I didn't upset him by my silence.

He rested his hand over my exposed pussy and applied firm pressure. Sweet relief flooded through me.

"Close your eyes."

I did without question and shuddered, feeling warm breath against my stomach. I quickly tried to suck it in.

"Relax." Sam licked my trembling stomach. The heel of the hand between my legs rocked tantalisingly slowly. "Stop thinking and experience instead."

I cried out in ecstasy as his mouth closed over my pussy. He pulled my legs up over his shoulders and began feasting. A darting tongue hit my clit and I thought I would explode, Then it was gone. He nibbled and sucked around my engorged lips, only the occasional bump of his nose on my clit giving a hint at the relief I craved. His tongue lapped at my juices, delving and probing deep. I tried to rock my hips to get more friction, but his hands held me still.

He sat back and I whimpered at the loss of his incredible tongue. Tentatively, I opened my eyes and grimaced at the sight of my legs pulled apart, hooked over his shoulders, and him smiling just inches from my dripping pussy. The fact he was still fully dressed formed a lump in my throat. From this position I couldn't see his cock and I felt like a cheap whore lying there.

"What are you thinking?" His breath tickled over my swollen clit, making me clench involuntarily. When I didn't answer he rested a thumb directly on it. I gasped. "If you want to cum tell me what you are thinking."

If I didn't get release soon I was going to burst, but how do I answer him? His thumb lightly stroked, sending a shudder through my body. I held my breath preparing for the inevitable orgasm. But he wouldn't give me enough to take me over the edge.

"No!" I cried out as he removed his thumb altogether.

"Tell me what you're thinking then."

I couldn't tell him I was a slut - a whore. But I had to say something. "I want you. Please don't stop."

"That was a measured answer. Don't think you can fool me." He grinned wickedly.

I briefly wondered if my hair would catch fire, my ears burned so much with embarrassment. He rose on his knees and leaned forward so his cock lay on my stomach. His mouth dropped to my ear. I cringed smelling myself on his face.

"If you are honest and tell me what you're thinking I will slowly kiss my way down your hot little body." He ground his leg between mine making my pussy pulsate. "I'm going to stop at your beautiful breasts and worship each one until I've had my fill."

My wetness must be soaking through his jeans and I was shocked when I didn't really care.

"Then I'll massage your stomach with my teeth and tongue until every nerve ending is alight."

I tried to grind against his leg. I had to cum. Sam stopped me by shifting his weight, crushing my movement.

"When I reach your hungry clit I'm going to make it cum so hard you won't remember your name."

"Please," I whispered, like a wanton slut. Tears pricked behind my eyes; I was so dirty and cheap. So vile, I'd fuck anything, any where, just to be allowed to cum.

Sam's face was so close to mine, I thought he'd kiss me. Resting his lips lightly against my mouth, instead he asked again, "What are you thinking?"