“I want a leash around my neck.”


This was a confession. She’s not particularly submissive, but neither is she very communicative. She’s finicky, bossy, a little whiny. She can count the number of orgasms she’s had with a man. Most were with me. Her orgasm depends on enormous cooperation from all in attendance. It has rules:

No talking (requests or commands are communicated urgently, petulantly, with her hands)

No breathing (as she gets closer, she stops breathing for longer, and scarier, periods of time)

And for God’s sake, no penetration. Once the threshold of her cunt’s lips has been crossed, by finger, cock or toy, she won’t cum. It’s as simple as that.

“I want you to yank me to you.”

This seemed eminently do-able.

The next time I saw her, I greeted her with a kiss. “Strip, slowly, for me, please.”

She did: first, her shiny black pumps. Then, the gauzy cotton blouse that hung over her breasts. The always too-tight, always too-short skirt that covered her meaty, muscular hips and ass. The bra – a gorgeous black strapless one from Agent Provocateur – fell from her smallish breasts. The black silk thong. And she was nude.

“Now kneel.”

She kneeled.

Gently, I looped the leather strap around her pale, delicate neck. I tightened the buckle just a little. I gave a tug. It worked.


I turned and started to walk across the room, leash in hand, slut, crawling, in tow. She followed obediently, but in the ten or so steps to the armchair, I gave two quick yanks to bring her closer.

At the chair, I turned, faced her, and sat.

“My shoes?”

She removed them gently, first the right, then the left. She placed them neatly to her side.

“My socks?”

She did the same.

“I want to feel your fingers on my legs.”

Her green eyes were looking up at me, hungry. Her mouth formed a little pout. She was impatient, not enjoying being told what to do.

She didn’t like being owned, even for a moment.

“You want to stop?”

She looked at the floor and slowly, slightly, shook her head from side to side.

“My legs.”

She ran her fingers up my calves, tickling, squeezing, through my jeans. She caressed and rubbed my thighs, squeezing hard with frustrated anticipation.

My jeans grew tight, my cock swelled. She grazed its outline, but I shook my head. Not yet.

I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans. That felt a little better.

She teased my thighs some more, the sensitive part toward my hamstrings, the stronger, firmer part near my quads.

Again, she grazed my cock, her eyes fixed on mine, imploring.

I eased my cock over the edge of my briefs. I grabbed her hair, but gently. I slowly brought her head forward, as her red lips parted, and her eyelids fluttered. As her mouth reached me, her tongue pressed first against the bottom of her mouth, then up, against the bottom of my cock.


Her lips closed on me, gripping me. Her tongue started swirling in her mouth, under, around me. Her eyes opened wide, she lifted them toward mine, and the corners of her very full mouth turned up, slowly, in a grin.

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