Exploiting a man doesn’t always mean exploiting his weaknesses. Sometimes, I like to exploit strengths too.
Bringing a powerful man to his knees is far sexier than just walking across a doormat that was already flat on the floor. When a confident, powerful man is sexually charged to the point of frenzy, but is held back – not by ropes or handcuffs or threats, but by his place beneath me in the power rankings… it’s a sight to behold.
Years ago, I remember the first time I was spanking my boyfriend at the time. He was entirely nude, save for a hood. I had him bend over and place his hands flat on the bed. For a moment, I just admired him. Daunting physical strength rippled through him. Not an ounce of extra fat anywhere, every muscle designed to do a job – a lethal, brutal job.
Power, power, power. It radiated from him. In mere seconds, he could have overpowered me and I don’t think it would have even raised his heart rate. But there he was, blind, bent over a bed, vulnerable and exposed and I was completely in control. That’s a high I can’t quite describe.
I gently caressed his smooth, perfect ass before the first swat. It was pretty light, but he was so horny he moaned and his hips jumped forward anyway. A few more times I repeated this… Rubbing his ass softly, then a stinging slap. Wet spots appeared on the linens every time his hips jumped and his cock made contact with the bed. I had a THING for his precum, so it was driving me wild to see.
He was aching and desperate. As I hit him harder and harder, I could see it began to take strength to keep himself bent over like that. His fingers dug into the sheets, his breathing came hot and ragged beneath the hood. I knew the sweet sensation of his cock being pressed against the mattress every time he thrust felt so good that he was having to fight himself to get back into position each time. He needed more. He needed much more than that and I wouldn’t give it to him. And that’s when things got fun.
That’s always the point when things get fun! So many times, in so many ways.
It doesn’t have to start with a spanking, it just has to start with ramping up unmet desires. Then… I make him turn on Beast Mode. But with a muzzle.
Is this what you want? To touch me, taste me, FEEL me around you?
Do you want what’s under these panties?
Well then… Rip them the fuck off.
He will. Of course he will.
I have an actual subset of lingerie that’s destined for one-time use because I WANT it to get grabbed and shredded. I WANT him to tap into his literally-rip-her-clothes-off fantasies. I want to have him indulge in consensual feral fucking.
Hold him. Pull him close. Slide sticky fingers into his mouth. Grab his ass, pull his hips into mine. Crashing together hard, almost painful, still not close enough.
I need you. I need you now. I’m so fucking horny it hurts.
Voice cracking. Not empty words. The physical pain from being this horny is REAL.
Hands never stop moving, kneading, stroking, squeezing. Hard kisses here, there, and everywhere – between every sentence. Nipping at flesh because the pressure of a kiss isn’t enough. NOTHING is enough. We need more more more. We need to drown in each other.
It hurts, it fucking hurts. I NEED you inside me. Right now. I can’t go one more fucking second without you. Fucking hell. Please, please, please.
And he’s a beast, caged. He knows I’m not actually begging, because he knows the next move is mine. The command hasn’t come. He’s quivering, panting, pupils wide and skin tingling. He needs it as badly as I do, but… He can’t take what he wants. What I’ve made him desperate for.
He has to wait, trapped inside this eternal moment. Everything he wants right in front of him, pleading with him to give in to his primal desire. Knowing that between the two of us, in this one context, I’m the only one who gets to give in to my primal passions and TAKE what I want. He surrendered any and all ability to do that, as every man lucky enough to get into my bedroom does.
He’s coiled, ready, needs to run, but the leash is in my hands. He could pull free with ease, but where would that leave him? Untethered, alone, abandoned. So he stays, jittery with anticipation, waiting, waiting, waiting.
This is not a democracy. We are not equals here in this space. We both want, we both need. But only I can act on it. He can only react, hope, pray to gods he doesn’t even believe in that I will tell him to do what he wants to do with every last fiber of his being.
I grab him by the back of the head. I don’t care if I hurt him. My nails dig into his flesh. He is mine and he will do what I want. He winces as I claw at his lower back with my other hand. I’m vicious, I want to mark him. Mine, mine, mine. I hiss through my teeth, against his ear.
Sweet release, that one command. The order he lives to hear. The one he started earning decades before he even met me. It takes a man a lifetime to deserve me.
Yes. Yes. YES.
There’s nothing like fucking a lust-drunk man who captivates my dominant attention, losing ourselves entirely in hot sweaty, sticky, exquisitely savage sex. Him holding onto the last threads of his upper consciousness solely so he can follow my directions and fuck me exactly. how. I. want. to. be. fucked.
Now you’ll have to excuse me, I’m going to plan a date night.
I may need new lingerie soon… 😉