Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

The other day I tiptoed into the bedroom while he was napping in the afternoon. He was naked. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead in the baking June heatwave. His chest hair stuck to his skin and he had a slight frown on his face, as if – in his sleep – he was trying to solve a difficult problem. His cock stood out hard and proud away from his body, almost straight up in the air, inviting me to slide down onto it and fuck him in the sticky haze of summer.

I’d gone in with intentions of waking him up gently: maybe taking off my clothes and sliding into bed beside him. Stroking him gently and kissing away the droplets of sweat on his face. Soothing sleepy murmurs and offering ice-cold Coke. But his dick was so hard and inviting that all I’d planned to say disappeared from my mouth. My gentle, loving words evaporated, and someone else’s voice spoke to him instead.

“Wake up. Look at me. Look how fucking hard you are. Were you dreaming of something good?”

He fumbled himself awake and gripped his dick and murmured. Something about porn before napping.

It was so hard and so inviting.

He doesn’t often ask me to be dominant, which is lucky because I’m not exactly a natural. But earlier in the week he’d asked me if I could ‘be more Domme’ sometimes. And that day his cock was so firm and satisfying, and he was so drowsily lazy, that I suddenly felt like I wanted to take control.

Be more domme. Be more domme. Be more domme.

As I’m thinking about what to do, I try to conjure images of times I’ve been haphazardly dominant in the past: doing sensory deprivation or making him wear my knickers, or simply preening and showing off in front of him while denying him the release I’d usually be so eager to give. But it’s tough, being domme. And everything I imagine doing ends with a pratfall or unsexy fuck-up.

I sucked it for a while while I pondered what to do, and eventually went for the wuss-out option: buying myself time so I could become more domme a bit later. I wet his cock with as much of my saliva as possible, savoured the shiny-taut-hardness of him and waiting for him to murmur ‘please, harder….’ and then I stopped.

“Up! Get dressed! You don’t get to come until later.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he obeyed, but it was.

There’s something about today. Something about the sunshine and his shorts and the heat and the taste of Soleros on my tongue. I can’t get his erection out of my head.

So hard. So inviting. And I’m being more domme, so it’s mine.

I’m already lying on the bed when he steps out of the shower. Dressed for the sticky season, in t-shirt but no knickers. When he sees me in the room, he groans in frustration, and lies down on the bed beside me, pawing lazily at my naked thighs and looking at me with pleading eyes.

“It’s so hot. I really want to fuck you but it’s just too fucking hot,” he tells me. And he’s right.

“You’re right,” I concur as I straddle him. “It’s far too hot to fuck. So you’re not going to move.”

“What?”

“You’re going to lie there, on your back, with your dick nice and solid for me, and you’re going to let me wank with you. Put your hands above your head, keep your legs straight, and do not move a fucking muscle.”

Already he’s responding – smiling, arching his back involuntarily to push his cock up closer to my cunt as I hover over him.

“No,” I say sharply, like he’s a dog. I press his hips down on to the bed, firmly, and order him to stay. Then I lean forward and pull up my t-shirt so I can smother him with my tits. His skin is still cool from the cold shower, and his dick’s almost reached its peak, satisfying state. I grind my clit into the head of it, as he moans and fumbles with his lips to find one of my nipples to suck.

Be more domme. Be more domme. Be more domme…

I’d usually be delighted by the extra attention, but with my domme hat on and this stranger’s voice coming out of my mouth, I find I’m irritated by his presumption.

“No. Stay still,” I order, and then grab both his wrists and pin them behind his head, maintaining eye contact and the steady, wet grind of my clit against his cock. Harder now, clamping it tight between my cunt and his hipbone. Rubbing myself on it in smooth, tingling strokes – taking my time. Making everything slick and wet before I even think about sitting on it fully. I can feel him trembling, wanting to push back against me, but I order him again to stay still.

“Does that hurt?” He nods, yes, and so I pause. But when I’ve given him the chance to nuzzle my tits a little more, his cock twitches and he offers a meek “please keep going though…”

And NOW I feel more domme.

I grind harder, press my nipples into his face and order him to bite them.

“Harder – harder. The better you treat me now the more likely I am to sit on it. Not until you come, of course, but until I do.”

I slide up his dick and hover there with the tip just inside the entrance to my cunt, and I make him whimper and beg for it before I slowly slide right down. I fuck him hard for just a minute – not long enough for him to come, but enough for me to build up a thin sheen of summer-in-London sweat that drips down my face and onto his. I order him to suck my nipples harder, and keep his hands to himself, and stay-the-fuck-still don’t you dare try to fuck me.

And I am so hot and so horny and so desperate to come that it’s no longer hard to be domme – it’s natural. Making him come is less fun than just doing this for me, right now. So I grind instead of bounce, over and over and over. Rubbing my clit against him and clenching my cunt tight around him and pressing my tits into his face until he’s dripping sweat and gasping for air.

His dick feels more mine than it ever has before, when I order him not to move or twitch it. When I tell him to stay still and silent as I take what I want from him: grinding, squeezing, rubbing, digging my fingertips deep into his flesh. The feeling of his mouth, warm and compliant and biting my nipples as hard as I order him to. When he sounds desperate and whimpering, I pause.

At the top of a stroke, I stay still and test to see if he’ll thrust upwards into me. He moans, twitches, but doesn’t move. And by now the beads of sweat are running down his face – some his, some mine. It’s hot work, heatwave fucking. My t-shirt is drenched and clinging to my skin even as my cunt clings tightly to his dick, and beads of moisture trickle down between my tits.

I’m going to come like this: like a Domme. Staring straight into his eyes as he whimpers and begs to fuck me. Riding him like he’s something that I own, dismissing his need like it’s never been important.

Fucking him like there isn’t a heatwave. Using his cock like it’s mine.

After I’ve come, I tell him he’s a good boy, and he glows. But that compliment is not an excuse to start taking liberties – fucking back up at me with powerful hips and a cock that’s desperate to squirt. I push him back down, using my feet to clamp his thighs to the bed, and I can feel his muscles juddering with the effort of holding back.

“No.” Firm.

“No?” Pleading.

“No.” Final answer.

I order him to stand at the end of the bed, naked and squeezing his dick. All big shoulders and tense arms and dripping – dripping – sweat. He has nothing more than a thick, fat cock and a raging hunger to fuck me. I pick a dildo and a vibe from my bedside table and start hand-fucking my way to another orgasm.

“Look at me. Touch yourself so I have something to wank to. And while you’re touching yourself, talk to me.”

“What…” Pause. Whimper. Shuffle. Whimper. “What do you want me to say?”

“Tell me where you’d like to come. Pretend I’m going to let you.”