I Told Him I Wanted Him to Dominate Me

There are things about me that people who know me don’t know. I’m twenty-six years old, I work in graphic design, I go running on Saturday mornings, and I cook well. At gatherings I’m calm, punctual, responsible. The girl who never surprises anyone.

What no one had known until that night is that as long as I can remember, I’ve fantasized about being told what to do. Not vaguely or romantically. About someone taking control of everything, telling me what to do and how to do it, about the decision not being mine. About having my legs spread and being used, about being forced to suck a cock to the back of my throat, about being called a whore in my ear while I’m being fucked. There’s something in total surrender, in saying yes before thinking, in opening my mouth and my cunt because I’m ordered to, that feels more erotic to me than anything else I’ve ever imagined.

Rodrigo found out on a Thursday in February.

We’d been friends for a year and a half, first through the same group, then on our own. He was thirty-eight years old. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a voice that never needed volume for people to pay attention. When he spoke, he paused in exactly the right places. When he looked straight at me, he had that way of being silent that made me want to speak just to fill the space.

I suggested we spend Thursday with wine and a movie at my apartment. That’s what I said. What I didn’t say was that for weeks I’d been preparing to tell him something I hadn’t told anyone.

I dressed carefully. I hesitated between the fitted black dress and something more comfortable, and I chose the dress. No bra. Fishnet stockings and low-heeled ankle boots I hadn’t worn yet. I stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary and decided there was no going back.

Rodrigo arrived on time. When I opened the door, his eyes dropped for a moment over my body before finding mine. That pause was long enough for me to know it was intentional.

—You look different tonight —he said, stepping inside with a bottle of red wine in his hand.

—Different how?

—You already know —he replied without turning around.

***

We put on the movie. I sat at one end of the sofa with my legs crossed and he settled in the middle. Close, but not too close. We drank the first glass with the screen in the background and neither of us paid attention to what was happening on it.

Halfway through the second glass I started preparing myself to say it.

Thinking the words was easy. Saying them out loud, to a real person, to someone who knew me, was different. I’d been keeping those thoughts locked away for so long that bringing them out into the open made me feel something like vertigo.

The moment the bottle was almost empty, I did it.

—Can I tell you something I haven’t told anyone?

Rodrigo muted the TV and turned toward me.

—Tell me.

I stared at the bottom of my glass for a moment before looking up.

—I fantasize about being dominated. Not just physically. About really obeying, about someone taking control of everything and me just following instructions. About being fucked however they want, about being treated like a whore when they ask for it. I’ve been thinking about this for years and I never knew who to tell. —I paused—. Now I do.

The silence that followed was so long that I felt like I’d chosen the wrong person, the wrong night, everything. Then Rodrigo set his glass on the side table.

—Tell me more —he said.

It wasn’t what I expected. I’d expected discomfort, a joke to lighten the tension, or badly concealed excitement. Not that calm.

—What do you want me to tell you?

—What exactly you want. In detail.

I swallowed and said it. That I wanted him to order me around. To tell me how to stand, what to do, where to put my hands, when to open my mouth. To make me suck his cock until I choked. To spread my legs and fuck me without asking permission. To decide when I could come and when I couldn’t. For authority to come from outside, not from within. I said it without pauses, looking at my hands, and when I finished I looked up.

He was watching me without looking away. When I finished, he nodded.

—That requires very specific trust —he said—. Knowing that when something isn’t working, you’ll say so, and that I’ll stop without questioning it for a second.

—I know.

—And you trust me that way?

—Yes —I answered—. That’s why I’m telling you and not someone else.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He kept looking at me with that focus that made me feel as if he were reading something written behind my eyes.

—Set a safeword —he said—. The one that means everything stops.

I thought for a second.

—Winter.

—Winter —he repeated—. If you say that word, I stop immediately. At any moment, no questions. As long as you don’t say it, I decide. Your body, your mouth, your cunt, your ass. Everything. Understood?

—Understood —I said. It came out lower than I intended.

He took my glass and set it beside his on the side table without taking his eyes off me.

—Stand up.

***

I stood up in front of the sofa. He stayed seated, looking up at me. That difference in perspective, me standing and him seated, choosing to watch me, had something about it that felt more intimate than any physical contact I’d had before.

—Take off the dress.

The heat climbed up my throat. I reached for the side zipper and pulled it down slowly. The dress fell to the floor. I was left in fishnets and the underwear I’d chosen that afternoon: a black set of fine lace that showed through at the edges.

Rodrigo looked at me without hurrying. Examining, openly, without the discomfort people fake to seem polite. His eyes moved over my tits strained against the lace, over my stomach, over the dark wet patch already beginning to mark itself between my thighs, in the triangle of my panties.

—You’re already wet —he said, not as a question, as if stating a fact—. And I haven’t even touched you yet.

I felt my face burn.

—Turn around. Slowly.

I turned slowly and stopped when he ordered me to. I stood with my back to him. I heard him get to his feet. His hands came to my shoulders first, then slid down my sides with calm, unhurried pressure. He unfastened my bra without hurry and let it fall. He brought both hands around to the front and took the weight of my breasts, squeezing lightly, pinching my nipples between his thumb and forefinger until a gasp slipped out of me. He rolled them slowly, tugging them, twisting with just enough force to make it hurt a little and feel so, so good.

—Lean over. Hands on the back of the sofa.

I bent forward, putting my palms on the back of the sofa. The position left my ass lifted, barely covered by the lace of my panties. I felt his gaze pinned there and I didn’t know what made me wetter, the silence or what was coming.

His open hand traced my back to my hip. A long, deliberate caress that ended when he lifted his hand and brought it back with decision. The slap sounded dry against my right cheek. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t uncontrolled either. It was exactly enough for me to understand that the conversation was over and this was something completely different.

I made an involuntary sound, somewhere between a moan and a protest.

—Still —he said.

He did it several more times, alternating cheek to cheek, alternating also with touches I hadn’t expected, sliding his fingers inside my soaked panties, brushing my parted cunt from one side to the other without quite sinking in, changing the rhythm every time I started to get used to it. When I moaned too loudly at one of the slaps, he slid two fingers between my lips, pulled them out shining, and held them in front of my mouth.

—Suck.

I opened my mouth and took them in fully. He pushed them in to the back, against my tongue, and made me suck them like they were something else. I tasted myself, thick, salty. When he pulled them out, a strand of saliva hung from my lip.

—Good girl —he said.

Those two words went straight through me.

By the time he took my hand and led me to the bedroom, I wasn’t thinking in words anymore. Only in what I felt and what was coming next.

***

He laid me on my back on the bed and stood there looking at me. The little light coming through the blinds illuminated half his face. There, standing over me with that calm he never lost, he was exactly what I’d been imagining for years.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

—Yes.

—Do you want to keep going?

—Yes.

He undressed without taking his eyes off me. When he opened his shirt I saw the broad chest, the flat stomach, the trail of hair running downward. When he opened his pants, his cock came out hard, thick, marked by the vein along the top. My mouth dried up just looking at it. It was bigger than I’d imagined, and I’d been imagining it for weeks.

When he lay down beside me, his hand traveled over my body from neck to hip, studying. When it reached my breasts, it paused. He took them carefully at first, then with more pressure, pinching my nipples until I arched my back against the bed, reading every reaction before continuing.

He lowered his mouth. First my neck, then my collarbone, then lower. When he reached my nipples, he alternated between tongue and the pressure of his teeth in a way that made my back tense involuntarily, unable to control the gesture. He bit, sucked, pulled the already hardened tip with his lips until he made me moan.

—Don’t move —he ordered against my skin.

I tried. I didn’t quite manage it. My hips rose on their own, seeking contact he wasn’t giving me.

Rodrigo lifted his head and looked at me patiently.

—What did I tell you?

—Not to move.

—And what did you do?

—Move —I admitted.

He took my wrists and held them against the mattress above my head with one hand. The other kept tracing my body, taking his time, with none of the urgency I felt inside.

That was what affected me most about him. The calm. There was no rush. Only total attention.

When he lowered his hand between my legs, he did it gradually. He started over my underwear, pressing with his fingers through the fabric, watching me push my cunt against his palm without realizing it. When the fabric was already soaked through, he moved it aside and slipped two fingers in slowly, curling them forward with precision, seeking that exact spot that made my mouth open without sound. He moved them in circles, in and out, listening to the wet sound my soaked cunt made around them.

—Listen to yourself —he murmured—. Listen to the sound you make.

I closed my eyes and didn’t hear it, I felt it. The splash of his fingers opening me, coming out shining, sinking back in. He changed the rhythm several times until I stopped trying to anticipate and simply stayed with what I felt.

He lowered his head between my thighs. He moved my panties aside with his teeth and then with his hand, and when his tongue closed over my clit I gave an involuntary jerk against the wrists he was holding. He licked me slowly, with his lower lip pressing against me, moving the tip of his tongue in a steady rhythm. He slid his fingers inside me again while he ate me, curling them deep, and I started shaking in a way I’d never shaken before.

—No —he said, pulling his mouth away just as I was about to come—. Not yet.

I moaned in frustration. He laughed softly against my groin.

—You’re going to come when I decide.

He went back down. He brought me to the edge again. He cut it off again. Three times. By the fourth I was already begging, with words I didn’t recognize in my own mouth, moving my hips against his face, pleading for him to let me finish.

By the time he asked me what I wanted, I said it without beating around the bush and with the most direct words I had. That was part of the agreement too, even if we hadn’t spelled it out: surrender included saying things without hiding behind half-words.

—Like this? —he asked, lifting his fingers, sinking them in again.

—More —I answered.

—More what?

I had to say it plainly.

—Fuck me. Put it in me. I want your cock inside me.

He smiled faintly, never taking his eyes off mine.

—Something else first.

He let go of my wrists and knelt on the bed, his hard cock pointed at my face. He didn’t need to say anything. I turned, propped myself on my elbows, and opened my mouth. He slid in slowly, measuring, but once I had him all the way in my mouth he took me by the nape and started moving. Not rough. Firm. The tip hit the back of my throat and I worked not to cough, breathing through my nose, swallowing the saliva building up in my mouth.

—That’s it —he said—. With your tongue. Look at me.

I lifted my eyes to him with my mouth open full of cock and he held my gaze, his hand steady behind my head, setting the pace. Saliva ran down my chin, dripping onto my tits. When he pulled his shiny cock out of my mouth, a strand of saliva connected it to my lips.

—Good girl —he repeated.

And he slid it back in.

He fucked my mouth himself, moving my head, using my mouth without letting me control anything. My panties were soaked, my clit was throbbing, and he hadn’t touched me there in several minutes.

***

When he penetrated me, he did it slowly, giving me time. He turned me onto my back, spread my legs with his knees, and sank in centimeter by centimeter, watching my face. One hand on my hip, the other holding my wrists against the mattress. I felt my cunt open around him, felt his cock making room at its own pace, until I had him all the way inside and I didn’t know if I could breathe.

—All of it —he said—. All the way in.

—Yes.

He set the rhythm himself from the start and every time I tried to change it he stopped me with his hands or with a single word.

—I decide the pace.

The effect of that sentence was immediate and completely disproportionate to how simple it was. My cunt clenched around his cock and he felt it.

—You like that —he said, thrusting hard all at once—. Me saying it.

—Yes.

—Say it.

—I like you saying it to me.

—Saying what?

—That you decide. That you decide when, how, how much.

He pushed deeper, slower, watching my face come apart with every thrust. He let go of my wrists to take my tits, squeezing them while he kept fucking me, leaning down to suck one nipple without breaking rhythm.

He turned me face down and kept going. He lifted my hips with one hand, leaving my face pressed into the pillow and my ass raised. His cock went in again like that, even deeper, at an angle that made me scream into the pillow. One hand on my nape, not pressing, but not letting go either. The other on my hip, controlling every movement. He started to fuck me hard, with sharp thrusts that made me bang against his hips, the sound of flesh on flesh and my soaked cunt slapping wetly filling the room.

He slapped my ass without pulling out. Then again. Then he ran his fingers through my cunt, brought them to my other hole, and moistened it with my own juices, pressing the pad of his thumb lightly against it while he kept fucking me.

—One day —he said, without pushing it further, and I let go of any objection because just hearing it made my whole body clench.

He spoke little during this part, only what was necessary: my name when he wanted me to look at him over my shoulder, a brief order when he wanted me to change position, my name again in a different tone, lower, when he was close to finishing. He told me to put my hand on my clit and rub it while he kept thrusting, and he made me say out loud when I was about to come.

—Now —he said—. Now. Come.

I came with my face buried in the pillow, with a sound I didn’t recognize as mine until after it had already come out. My cunt clenched in spasms around his cock, and I felt each contraction tear a low groan from him. Rodrigo kept moving through it, slower, letting it last, pushing deep every time I trembled. By the time he stopped my legs were shaking and I didn’t know exactly how much time had passed.

He asked if he could finish inside. I said yes.

He grabbed my hips with both hands and sped up. The last thrusts were hard, deep, almost violent, and I felt when he came, felt the pulse of his cock against the walls of my cunt and the warmth of his load spilling inside. He stayed there, on top of me, breathing hard against my nape, not pulling out yet, letting me feel all of it.

When he finally withdrew slowly, I felt the warm semen run down my thigh. I didn’t wipe it away. He turned me onto my back gently and looked at me for a long moment before saying anything.

***

We stayed silent for a while I couldn’t measure. He lay on his back and I settled against his side. Outside, it was raining. That background sound that makes the inside feel quieter, more separate from everything else.

—How are you? —he eventually asked.

—Good —I said.

It was the first time in a long while that word meant exactly what it said.

He ran a hand through my hair, not speaking for another minute. Then:

—What you told me before, that you’d been thinking about this for years. Why hadn’t you said it sooner?

I took a while to answer.

—Because there are things that, when you say them out loud, stop being only yours. And I didn’t know what to do if the reaction was the wrong one.

—What would the wrong reaction be?

—Enthusiasm without understanding what it means —I said—. Or the opposite: treating it like something weird that needs to be handled carefully.

Rodrigo nodded slowly.

—Neither of those —he said simply.

I lay there for a while looking at the ceiling, listening to the rain outside.

—Was this what you imagined? —he asked.

I thought about years of fantasies without any concrete form, the times I’d tried to explain to myself what I wanted without finding the words, the difference between imagining something in the abstract and that thing actually happening with someone who knows what they’re doing.

—Better —I answered.

Rodrigo turned toward me and watched me for a moment.

—This doesn’t work well as something you do once and leave there —he said—. If we keep going, we do it with time. Understanding how it works between the two of us specifically.

—Is that a proposal?

—It’s a condition —he replied.

I smiled against his shoulder.

That night I barely slept at all. But not because of the kind of insomnia I was used to, that background noise that had accompanied me for years and never quite went away. It was different. It was the first night in a long time I stayed awake for something I wanted to keep thinking about, not something I wanted to avoid.

At four in the morning, with the rain still outside and Rodrigo’s body still warm beside me, with the semen still drying between my thighs and my cunt pulsing dully, I understood that what I’d been looking for wasn’t that complicated.

I just needed to say it out loud.