The Man

”May I touch?” He asks. It is my body he’s talking about, but he’s not asking for permission from me. He’s asking the man who has put me in this situation. And he nods, “of course,” he says.

I say he had put me in this situation, and that is partly true, but I have also set myself up for this.

His name is Dylan, after the author not the singer, and he is my Dom. Or maybe my Master and we just haven’t said it yet, I don’t know. But it is mostly his fault that I’m standing here naked in front of some man I don’t even know. Some man who is going to touch me.

I watch this man move closer to me and I might step back if I could, but I’m in cuffs, ankles and wrist, held in place by leather strips that attach to rings set in the floor for my ankles and leather straps dangling from the ceiling for my wrists. My legs are spread open so he will have easy access to all parts of me.

But he touches my breast. My left breast, lifting it on his palm as if weighing it. Then his thumb on my nipple, which is already getting hard, thrusting forward as if asking for attention. He licks his thumb first, and barely makes contact with the nipple. He touches the nipple gently and then pulls back, holding his thumb about a half inch away.

To my shame, before I can even think, much less stop myself, I have thrust my breast forward, the nipple reaching his thumb. Apparently that nipple does indeed want attention. I blush, and he laughs, moving his hand away. Heat rushes through my body, embarrassment, shame, and arousal mixing to make me squirm and my pussy throb.

He turns to Dylan. “She responds nicely. What have you taught her?”

Dylan shakes his head. “Not much. She’s naturally submissive, good with her mouth, and enjoys obeying. Gets hot easy. She loves being tied up, likes a good hard spanking. I haven’t trained her at all, just enjoyed her natural talents.”

Without warning, the man moves back toward me, one hand goes between my thighs and penetrates me so suddenly that I cry out. He probes with his finger, exploring the hot, wetness at my core. He withdraws the finger just as quickly and a whimper escapes me. He grins.

”Have you fucked her ass?” He asks, and I blush again.

”No,” Dylan shrugs, “it’s not a big thing for me.”

The man steps behind me, with one hand on my back, he pushes til I bend at the waist, pressing me down as far as I can go with my restraints. With both hands, he spreads my cheeks, exposing the tiny puckered entrance to the narrower passage. The he moves one hand away and I’m holding my breath, expecting pain, but he doesn’t penetrate me. He just touches me there, circles the little opening with his finger.

I hear myself making little sounds, little whimpers, moving my hips as if seeking more contact. Another rush of shame rips through me.

With one hand on my shoulder, he indicates I should stand up again. I feel a little dizzy, this is a lot to absorb.

”Virgin,” he says, “Or just really tight. If she’s been used there before, it was a long time ago.”

I’m suddenly aware that he’s really not talking to me, he’s asking Dylan questions and talking to him as if – and it hits me hard , as if – as if something, only then I don’t have words for it. What? As if I can’t talk, as if Dylan talks for – talks for me. And oh, my, I sway on my feet, what have I done here? I feel a bit panicky. And dizzy. What the fuck have I done?


There is a flurry of movement around me, an arm around my waist, and his voice in my ear, “Sit.”

When I hesitate, he says it again, pressing down on my shoulder with the other hand, “Sit now.” I bend at the knees, thinking I’m going to fall, but there is a chair behind me, so I land on that instead. Because of the way I had been bound, I am sitting with my knees positioned wide open, I can feel the texture of the chair, cool and smooth, against the lower lips of my pussy. My wrists had been attached to leather straps but held at waist level, they are raised now, almost above my head. But I am sitting, and not so dizzy, my breathing is slower.

Gratefully, I say, “thank you.” He glances at me, but doesn’t respond. To Dylan, he says, “How did you decide to bring her here? What did you tell her to expect?”

Dylan looks away and I know he’s embarrassed. I’ve seen that look before when he’s done something he’s not proud of. It worries me.

”Well,” he says, “I met her at the club. We’ve been dating and playing a little bit, she’s really into submission and I like being a Dom, so we’ve been getting along real good. But she wants to go deeper with it, and I don’t really know if I do. But I didn’t want to let her down. So I told her there was this man who trains subs and did she want to try that. She was all in – I heard about you from Sandra at the club,, so she gave me the number. So I called and set up an appointment and here we are. He shrugs. “I didn’t really know what to expect either.”

I listen to this and tears well up, but then anger is right behind that, and I don’t know if I want to break down and sob or break free and kill Dylan.

The man seems pretty angry too. Without taking his eyes off Dylan, he unfastens the links on my wrists so my hands are free. To Dylan, he says, in the coldest tones I’d ever heard, “So essentially you brought her here without a clue. You didn’t know what you were doing, so instead of informed consent, she’s been blindsided. Did you follow any of the preparation directions?”

”Preparation?” Dylan sounds baffled, and I sigh because that didn’t really surprise me. “Oh, in that email you sent,” he says, “Yeah, I saw that, well, I didn’t really have a chance to…”

“Stop.” The man takes one step closer to Dylan, who backs up two steps. “You’ve broken our agreement. Out. Now.”

Dylan hesitates, looking at me. “Leave? Ok, I guess… But – shouldn’t she come with me?” And do I get a refund?”

The man laughs, completely without humor. “No,” he says. “No she shouldn’t go with you. I’m not kicking her out, just you. And no, you don’t get a refund. I guess you ‘didn’t get a chance’ to read the non-refundable clause in the contract either. Go.”

Dylan looks at me like he expects me to say something, but I just look away. “Baby,” he says, “I didn’t see things going this way, I’m real sorry, but it looks like I gotta go. You ok?”

I’ve heard this line before, so I don’t even look at him, don’t give any sign I even heard him. I mean, I’m sitting here naked with a stranger and he’s leaving me here, how the hell would anything about that be ok?

“OK,” he says, “I guess I’ll see you later.” And the bastard leaves.

The man, whose name I still don’t know, takes an afghan from the couch and drapes it around me. It feels warm and reassuring and a few of the tears in my eyes spill over. He pulls a chair closer, turns it so the back is facing me, and straddles the chair. “So,” he says. “First of all, if you want to leave now, just tell me. I’ll give you your clothes, of course, and pay for an Uber to take you home.”

I almost nod, yes, I should just go home and die of shame. But his eyes are kind and I had been looking forward to this so much…

”Or,”he says, “you can stay. Experience what it would be like to train as a submissive with me. He’s already paid for a week, you are welcome to use the time.”

12 thoughts on “The Man

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