My Submissive Begged Me to Crush Him

We spent two months talking without any rush, scattered messages, long voice notes, that kind of conversation that weaves itself together and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere until all at once you realize you already know someone. When we finally decided to meet, we chose a park near my place, neutral, quiet, no strings attached. He was out walking the dog, and I turned up as if I’d just stepped out for some air. All very casual, all carefully arranged so neither of us would be exposed if it didn’t work out.

His name was Damián, though by then the name was almost a detail. He wore faded jeans and a thin vest hanging off his shoulders, all skinny, as if a gust of wind could fold him in half. He had a scraggly little beard, somewhere between blond and red, and a pair of intense blue eyes that lit up when he looked at me for too long. He rolled himself a cigarette with nervous fingers while I took a can of beer out of my bag, and we started talking about everything and nothing, laughing at stupid things to hide the tension.

At some point he let the dog off for a while on the grass and then we stopped somewhere to pick up some fast food. The idea of going to his place came up without either of us fully suggesting it; we just found ourselves walking there, a little country house on the edge of town, with an empty, peeling pool in the yard. We sat in the dry bottom of the pool, the food bags between us, and kept talking while we ate. It took us a while to break the ice, but it broke, slowly, like everything that really matters breaks.

“Do you want to see the inside of the house?” he asked, and there was a tremor in the question he was trying to hide.

“Show me,” I said.

We went down the hall and ended up in a room that seemed meant for something more than sleeping. It had a huge mirror leaning against the wall, from floor to ceiling, and a dim light that made the scene almost unreal. We took our clothes off unhurriedly, still with that courtesy of the first few minutes, and climbed into the sheets to warm each other, skin against skin. I looked at his cock when he pulled down his briefs: slim, pale, not too long, already hard with nerves, the pink tip peeking out of a taut foreskin. He blushed right up to his neck when he realized I was looking at it without bothering to hide it. We didn’t last long in that warm, polite position, because he, in a low voice, asked me for something that gave away everything he’d been keeping quiet for months.

“Would you mind putting on the heels?” he murmured. “I’d like you to be at least a head taller than me.”

I got up, slipped on the heeled sandals I’d almost deliberately tucked into my bag, and went back to the bed. I held him from above, wrapped him up, and looked down at him. The height difference changed everything. He shrank in my arms, as if he wanted to disappear inside me. I brushed one breast against his face and he opened his mouth at once, going for the nipple like a hungry kid. I let him have it, shoved it all the way in, and felt him suck it with clumsy desperation, barely nipping at me, moaning softly while his little cock rubbed against my thigh, leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum on my skin.

“You love feeling small and short,” I said, not as a question.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered, and the word came out loaded with a desire he could no longer hide.

***

I sat on the edge of the bed and stretched one leg toward him.

“Unbuckle my sandals,” I ordered.

He knelt at my feet with immediate, almost devout obedience. But before touching the buckles, he had an impulse he couldn’t even control: he grabbed my foot with both hands and brought my toes to his mouth. He started sucking them one by one, slowly, then ran his tongue over the whole sole, from heel to toe, like a dog that has found something that belongs to it. His eyes were closed and his breathing was ragged. With one hand he was holding his cock, stroking it lightly, gripping it at the base as if trying not to come already, just from sucking my feet.

I leaned back on my elbows and let him go on for a couple more minutes. There’s no rush when you know you’re in control. He worked his way up over the arch, the ankle, the calf, over my legs that I hadn’t shaved, because he’d asked me not to in one of those long voice notes in the middle of the night. The rough texture against his tongue seemed to drive him wild. It felt absurdly good to be traced like that, licked like an ice cream melting, while his curious hands searched every fold of my body. When he reached the inside of my thigh he stopped dead, blatantly sniffing me, burying his nose in my hairy cunt, breathing in as if he wanted to keep me forever glued to his pituitary gland.

“Ma’am. Queen. Amazon,” he kept whispering between licks, as if praying a litany.

I spread my legs and pushed his face into my cunt. He stuck out his tongue and drove it in hard, burrowing between the lips, finding my clit with clumsy enthusiasm. I grabbed his hair and corrected the angle without saying a word, and he learned fast. He started sucking my clit with his lips, drawing me in, while he slid his tongue in and out of my hole. His scraggly little beard got soaked, and saliva and my juices ran down his chin and wet his neck. I closed my eyes and let him lick me, squeezing his head every time he hit the right spot.

At some point he sat up and climbed on top of me, still with that mix of hunger and reverence. He rubbed his body against mine slowly, and I could feel his little cock pressing against my groin, trying to get in without daring to. He started with his questions.

“Have you had men stronger than me? More masculine? With a bigger cock?” he asked, and it was obvious the answer he wanted wasn’t the one that would comfort him, but the one that would sink him deeper.

“Stronger, bigger, with more stamina and cocks a hell of a lot thicker than yours,” I told him in his ear, suddenly grabbing him in my hand and squeezing without an ounce of tenderness. “What you’ve got here is a little toy, Damián. You’re not here to compete with them.”

He shuddered all over and let out a sharp little moan when I squeezed harder. That sentence thrilled him more than any caress ever could.

***

I closed my legs around his waist and squeezed. He tried to wriggle free, more out of instinct than desire, but he was completely trapped between my thighs, caught, forced to move only a fraction at a time, millimeter by millimeter, at the rhythm I allowed. I guided his cock with my hand and took him in myself, little by little, feeling his breath break when the tip forced its way through my wet lips. He was tight with nerves, and he was so tense that I swallowed him whole in one controlled thrust of my own, not his. I looked down at him, that skinny, surrendered face, and knew he was going to spend his best minutes exactly where I chose to put him.

I started moving myself, pinning him between my legs, making love to him at my pace. He tried to thrust upward and I stopped his hips with my heels. His little cock went in and out following my cadence, not his, and he moaned like a female every time I clenched my cunt around him and squeezed him inside. His eyes went glassy and I could feel his whole body starting to tremble too soon.

“Don’t even think about coming,” I warned him, pressing two fingers hard around the base of his cock until it hurt. “Not until I tell you to.”

He bit his lip and held on, red as a tomato, while I kept riding him. I let him go only to guide his head downward.

“You know what you need to do,” I said.

He went down without protest and started working his tongue where I needed it most, slowly, with a devotion that seemed like the only thing he was truly good for. His hair was soaked with my juices and his own, because my cunt was overflowing with what he’d just left inside me without actually coming. I made him lick all of it, without disgust, swallowing the mix of flavors. I let him work, one hand tangled in his hair, keeping the beat, slowing him down when he got too fast, pulling him closer when I wanted more. Every time he tried to lift his head to catch his breath, I kept him there one second longer, reminding him who was in charge. I rubbed my cunt all over his face, smearing him, and he stuck out his tongue obediently like a thirsty pup.

When I could no longer stand that position, I moved him aside and changed the game. I sat on top of him, straddling him, and felt his whole body tense with expectation. I grabbed his cock, rubbed it over my wet cunt lips without putting it in, back and forth, and felt it throb between my fingers, swollen, red, ready to burst. I touched his skinny chest, his ribs, while I went up and down very slowly, barely brushing him, playing with his desperate need to get in even a little. I didn’t let him. He pushed his hips upward, searching, and I pulled back just in time, smiling. I spat on the tip and smeared the spit with my thumb over his purple-glazed head.

“You can’t handle me,” I told him, and it was true in every sense.

I was strong on the inside and he was so delicate, so on the verge of breaking, that the mere idea of crushing him turned me on. On one of those times I let myself drop all the way onto him, giving him all my weight at once, and at the same time I speared myself in one hard thrust with his cock all the way inside. I felt the air leave him and, instead of complaining, he let out a moan of pure relief. I fucked him like that, crushing him, not letting him move a single muscle, riding him slowly but squeezing my cunt on every downstroke, milking him from the inside.

“There’s fifteen kilos between us,” he whispered, almost voiceless. “I love feeling crushed by a woman. Fuck me, fuck me…”

“Then stay still and take it,” I replied, and settled over him as comfortably as if I were settling into my own armchair, his cock buried to the hilt and my dead weight on top of him.

***

That was when he started talking, the way men do when they feel safe in their smallness. He began confessing fantasies I hadn’t even asked about, his cock still buried in my cunt, throbbing every time he said something more humiliating. That he’d like to be even smaller, small enough for me to carry him in my arms. That he was dying to know more about my other men, the strong ones, the ones he imagined better endowed, with thick, veiny cocks that would break his mouth just to look at them. That his dream was to be present at one of those encounters, not as the star, but as the little lapdog who cleans up afterward, the decorative keychain hanging off the purse, never enough. That he’d like to suck another man’s cock in front of me, swallow another male’s load, and then come lick the semen from inside my cunt with a dirty face.

“That’s exactly what you are,” I told him, stroking his face with something that almost felt like tenderness while I slowly got up and pulled his cock out with a wet sound. “My little keychain. Small potatoes. A useful little mouth and tongue, and a toy cock that doesn’t count for anything.”

He closed his eyes as if I’d given him heaven.

He asked me, begged me, almost pleaded with me to sit on his mouth. I did. I settled over his face, with my knees on either side of his head, and let the full weight of my cunt rest on his mouth. He started licking like a madman, sticking his tongue out as far as he could, taking me in, sucking my clit, slurping, swallowing. He gripped my hips with trembling hands and pulled me down, asking for more, deliberately choking himself, seeking that dizzy rush of not being able to breathe. I rubbed my cunt all over his face, back and forth, dragging my tongue over his lips, over the hole, over the perineum, not leaving a centimeter dry.

I started moving on top of him, fucking his face like it was another cock, grinding against him with no care at all, and I could feel the orgasm climbing inside me, tightening, until it finally let go all at once. I came all over his mouth, soaking him, squeezing his head between my thighs, clutching the headboard, moaning out loud without a trace of shame. He swallowed everything, every drop, panting under me as if his life depended on it.

When I felt his whole face drenched, when I knew he had no pride left tucked away, I granted him the only thing he could be allowed that night.

“Now,” I said, “do it yourself, with your hand. Jerk yourself off like the little boy you are. That’s all you deserve tonight.”

And he obeyed. He grabbed his cock and started hammering it with his hand, fast, clumsy, without rhythm, while I stayed seated over him with my cunt pressed to his mouth and he kept licking me nonstop. In barely half a minute he shot a huge load, thick ropes that spattered up onto his skinny chest and stained his beard, while a sharp, almost crying moan escaped him, smothered against my cunt. He came like what he was, beneath me, entirely at my mercy, and I stayed still a moment longer, feeling his exhausted tongue pulse against my flesh.

***

Afterward we lay there in silence for a while, him catching his breath, me stretching out slowly like someone who’s gotten exactly what she wanted. The huge mirror gave us back the image: me standing, still in my heels, and him curled up in the sheets, his soft cock stuck to his thigh, his belly smeared with his own semen and his face shining with my load, looking up at me with a mixture of gratitude and shame that I found delicious.

I dressed slowly while he watched me from the bed, unable to ask me to stay. I picked up my bag, adjusted my clothes, and paused for a moment in the doorway of that room that smelled like a slaughterhouse, cunt, and dried semen.

“That’s my little keychain,” I told him, not quite turning back. “We’ll see each other again.”

And I stepped out into the cool night knowing those two months of words had been worth it, and that he would stay awake for a good while longer, still tasting me in his mouth, thinking about when he’d next be lucky enough to be so little for someone like me.