"Just let me change into something a bit more comfortable," Brittany began. "You," she commanded, "stay right there." Sam, her new toy, gave a slight, knowing grin.
Brittany walked from her living room to the bedroom, and practically giggled as she slipped the sweater off. She had met Sam at the bar, looking for a new sub to play with. She was still new to the scene, having just parted ways with her first partner, in that sense of the term, after six mutually enjoyable weeks.
Sam had instantly sparked her interest—he was tall, and well-muscled, but not overly so, and Brittany, being only five foot one, loved the idea of toying with a large man. She continued undressing, tossing her jeans off, and smiled as she remembered how deftly Sam had conversed with her. She loved his vocabulary, and use of language, and how his voice never rose above a soft, demur level, and never sped up. Even his speech, Brittany marveled, was the perfection of submission.
Tossing off her bra, Brittany took a moment to stroke her nipples, as if unable to take the anticipation of the coming play, and tilted her head, contemplating what to put on for Sam. She finally decided on a very skimpy leather corset that well-supported, but did not cover, her B-cups. She briefly considered bottoms, but, with a grin, slipped on only a strap-on, and her spiked boots. The toy was barely more than three strips of leather, holding up a relatively small, blue vibed dildo. Lastly, Brittany opened the drawer on her mantle, and removed the handcuffs, the key, and a few straps. Giving her nipples another stroke, she composed herself, stood up straight, and walked back to her plaything.
Sam was sitting on the couch, wearing only his black briefs, the rest of his clothing neatly removed and folded in a pile where he had been standing—his socks were even balled. He seemed as relaxed and calm as always, his beautiful, dark brown eyes as serene as ever. Seeing her enter, he stood up, and his smile broadened at seeing her garb. Brittany tossed the various restraints on the couch next to where he'd been sitting. Seeing his almost smug expression, she picked up the crop leaning against her armchair—the most daring prop she owned, an acquisition so new she'd never had occasion to use it—and waggled it in his face.
"Now, now, naughty boy, I told you to stay where you were. What am I going to do with you?" Brittany smiled as she scolded the six-four man. She rapped his right pect with the crop, lightly, and moved it to the underside of his chin, to push up his head, looking down at her. The moment she did so, however, his reaction took her utterly off guard.
His left hand flew to her right wrist, the one holding the crop, and ripped it to the side, as his right flew to her throat, wrapping around it, but not constricting it, yet. "Brittany, Brittany, so energetic. I adore such vitality, but, my dear," he brought her hand to his face, and kissed it, "know your limits."
For a moment, Brittany was utterly disoriented, her mind in chaos. It did not take long, however, for her to regain her composure. "Excuse you, you uppity worm, but sit back down!" she spat, pulled her arm, trying to free herself from his grip. In response, she felt herself grow lighter on her feet. For a moment she couldn't understand it, until she felt a slight pain in her neck, as he lifted her up by her head, like a doll. He didn't even need to pinch on her breathing even slightly as he did so, and Brittany would have taken envious note, if she had had the presence of mind to do so.
The look in Sam's eyes moved from calm to disappointed. "Brittany, Brittany, it is beneath you to be so rude. Now really, courtesy is a virtue our previous conversation indicated to me that you were quite capable of. To what end do you pursue such bombast and calumny?" he responded, his voice at once warm, and vaguely condescending. For three endless breaths, he held her there, still on her feet, yet part of her held aloft, before letting her down and releasing her hand. "Now, then," he continued, but she interrupted him, slapping him across the face.
His head didn't turn in the slightest in response, but his eyes darkened. Britanny, taking this for a sign of weakness at last, in retrospect enjoying the thrill of dealing with his insolence, as through it accented his powerful frame. "Much better, Sam," Brittany smiled, and, sliding the crop under the hem of his boxers. With a smile, she began to pull down. Her grin grew, as she stared at the first thick, short bristles that appeared, as his happy trail ended, and his groin began.
Because of her staring, however, her attention wavered. She didn't notice him move, until her hands were locked behind her, gripped in his two large paws. The crop fell to the ground. His arms pushing her around with the ease of a puck across an air table. He spun her around, and tripped as he pushed her onto the couch. His chest slammed into her, pinning her hands between her back and the couch cushions. A half second later, he leaned back again, and, almost by reflex, she flew forward, pushing against him, trying to throw him off her, for a short moment forgetting the size gradient that she initially found so seductive. She heard a loud click, and realized why he'd given her the space to come forward. She briefly pulled her arms against the cuffs, but such was nothing but futility.
He let go of her, and, with a tug of his broad arms, pulled the couch cushion out from under her. With a slight bounce, she landed on the top of the hide-a-bed, folded inside. Before she realized the significance of what was going on, he'd looped one of the straps through the hide-a-bed's handle, and tied it to her cuffs.
"What on Earth do you think you're doing? Unlock me now, damn it! This kind of disrespect will have consequences" Brittany demanded, still hanging on to the tattered remains of her power, even with her hands locked behind her.
With the same calm tone he'd held from the beginning in the bar, he explained, "My dear Brittany, what I 'think I'm doing' is ensuring the peace. How could I possibly show you an enjoyable evening, pet, if you insist on such resistance and aggression?" With these words, Brittany realized what the problem had been. She was too new to being a Dom to realize that his quiet manner indicated comfort, not acquiescence. Sam picked up the crop, and effortlessly began to twirl it in one hand, almost absentmindedly.
Her voice trembling, unsure of herself, having never played this role before, she whispered "I'm sorry." Abruptly, the darkness on Sam's face lightened into the glowing softness that seemed its natural state.
With a slight, deep sigh, Sam continued "Much better, my dear Brittany, much better. I know what I am doing, and I assure you, just accede, and you will greatly enjoy this evening." Brittany's eyes didn't move from his deep browns. The new territory was uncharted, but for reasons she couldn't understand—and didn't even realize were operating—she knew that he wouldn't let her down. His eyes would tell her what to do, she was certain—she hadn't even considered another possibility.
Twirling the crop, Sam went on, "Now, pet, you're not dressed quite right. This isn't appropriate attire at all." His hands reached down, and, biting her lip, Brittany watched him undo the bands on her strap on, and wriggled out of them, as he pulled them down. "You don't need such a vulgar device—it will serve no purpose, save to… how shall I phrase this? To interfere with your own pleasure," he finished, and drew the tip of the crop up her slit. She hadn't even realized she was wet, but the cold dampness that he drew in a line in her right breast, wiping the crop on it, told her she was. Brittany wanted to look down, to check how bad it was down there, how ready, but she somehow knew it would be naughty for her to break his gaze, so she sat quietly, and concentrated on listening.
