The coffee shop

[su****]

Our first date was at a café downtown. We had met through a BDSM app and had been chatting for a while. She had no real experience, but she had one very specific fantasy: she wanted to try pegging.

She was slightly shorter than me, with a medium-to-large build. She was kind, intelligent, and cultured—a music teacher.

The conversation was easy and pleasant, and before leaving we agreed to keep talking. And we did. Over the following days, we continued sharing our tastes, fantasies, and what little experience we each had.

I wasn't experienced either. The closest I had ever come to anything like this had been with my first BDSM friend, the woman who had introduced me to spanking. But even with her, things had never gone much further.

Eventually, we decided to take another step.

She invited me to her apartment one Saturday night.

I remember us sitting together on her couch, glasses of wine in our hands. We drank quite a lot. I kept finding myself looking at one of her shoulders. Her shirt had slipped just enough to leave it exposed, and I could see the strap of her bra.

At some point during the evening, she looked at me and said,

“I've spent the whole night imagining how you would kiss.”

“That sounds lovely,” I said. “I'd really like to.”

I leaned toward her.

She stopped me.

“No. I mean I've been imagining you kissing my feet.”

I felt the heat of embarrassment rush into my face.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It's all right. Kneel down and kiss my feet. Then I'll forgive you.”

Of course I obeyed immediately.

Partly because I genuinely wanted to kiss her feet, but partly because kneeling gave me somewhere to hide my embarrassment. For a brief moment, I had imagined that we were equals sitting together on a date, that I might simply lean over and kiss her like some confident, dominant man.

But that wasn't what this was.

I was the submissive one.

My place was to please her.

Fortunately, the floor was covered with a soft grey carpet, so kneeling in front of her was almost comfortable. I lowered myself and began kissing her feet.

During our earlier conversations, we had discovered that we had people in common. Her best friend had once dated one of my cousins.

While I was kneeling there kissing her feet, she picked up her phone and sent her friend a voice message, casually telling her that the two of us had met.

Nothing more.

She didn't mention that, at that exact moment, I was on my knees at her feet, kissing them.

But somehow I was very aware of the possibility that she could.

It hung over me like the sword of Damocles.

At first, my kisses were gentle and affectionate. Gradually, though, something more primitive began to emerge between us.

She started playing with my lips using her big toe, brushing it slowly across my mouth before gently pushing it between my lips.

“You like that, don't you?” she said. “You like opening your mouth and licking. I thought so.”

Then she stood up.

“Wait here. Don't get up.”

She disappeared into her bedroom and returned only a moment later carrying a small container.

Anal lubricant.

“Forehead against the floor,” she ordered.

She moved behind me and pulled my trousers down just far enough to expose my ass.

“So you like being spanked, do you? All right, then.”

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

She began spanking me, alternating between slaps and pulling my hair.

“So you like this,” she said. “And your family has no idea.”

Then she stopped.

“Stand up. Take off your clothes. Then get back down, face to the floor.”

A few moments later I was in the same position again, except now I was completely naked and slightly dazed by everything that was happening.

I heard her open the lubricant.

Not long afterward, she began fulfilling another part of her fantasy: penetrating a man with her fingers.

One hand worked inside me while the other pulled my hair or landed another slap against my ass.

“What a pretty little submissive slut I've found,” she whispered.

Then she seemed to remember something.

“I think you're missing something… That's right. You like sucking things too, don't you? Put your fingers in your mouth. Come on. I want both your mouth and your ass full, pretty slut.”

No one had ever spoken to me that way before.

I barely knew how to react. I simply surrendered to it, following her instructions almost automatically.

Then, suddenly, she stopped again.

She had another idea.

She picked up one of the empty wine bottles and held it in front of me.

“Open your mouth. Imagine you're sucking my dildo. Come on, pretty slut.”

I knelt there with my chest leaning against the couch, licking and sucking the neck of the bottle as though it were a penis while she stayed behind me, two fingers covered by a condom moving inside me.

The rest of the night developed its own strange rhythm: pauses in which we returned to the wine and talked almost normally, followed by moments when I found myself back on the carpet again, kneeling or lying beneath her, submitting to whatever new idea had occurred to her.

A couple of days later, she sent me a message.

She had new ideas.

She asked how my ass was feeling, whether it still hurt.

There was something fascinating about the contrast between the sweetness of the cultured music teacher I had met in the café and the wonderfully perverse imagination she revealed in private.

That first night was only the beginning.

Several more encounters followed, and each one seemed to bring with it some new form of mischief, ***, or delicious perversity.

[Ja****]

Nooo don’t leave things out it’s getting better 😱😁