“Maybe I’ll lock a collar around my pet’s neck this weekend. Keep you naked and well-fucked. Hand-feed you.”
His eyes practically roll back in his head as he moans and goes deeper on my cock.
Fortunately, the psychologist in me is able to take the reins and help me hold back as I study him. I love this about playing with power exchange dynamics. I love finding which buttons to press, seeing what switches to flip.
In this moment, I completely own him.
The trick is to figure out how tokeephim.
Elliot’s cock’s hard and dripping, so I use my foot to tease him and play with his balls, which starts him squirming and trying to rub his cock against the top of my foot. I love every reaction I’m drawing from him.
There’s not a toppy bone in his body right now. This is a well-known secret, though. A lot of guys—and gals—who are massively in-charge Alphas during the day turn out to be submissives in the bedroom. It’s how they shut off their brains and keep from going crazy. Especially elected officials and high-level appointed officials. A desperately needed mental vacation from their normally intense daily lives. Nothing wrong with that.
I, on the other hand, am a Dominant all the time. My mental vacation comes in the form of doing dirty and despicable things to a willing victim.
Willingbeing the key word.
I mean, I really enjoy a struggle snuggle but it has to be consented to in advance. Some domineering assholes claim to be “dominants” when they’re actually abusive.
That holds zero interest for me.
No, if I wanted mindless adoration with zero personal opinions, I’d get a dog.
Of course, I might be getting ahead of myself. By tomorrow morning, I might be hating Elliot—or he might hate me—and that would be the end of that.
Except thisfeelsdifferent.
Really different.
New-relationship energy and shiny-object syndrome notwithstanding, even the psychologist looks at this, nods, and tells me to go for it. All the brain chemicals currently stirred up aside…
Something about Elliot isdifferent.
Not just his looks.
Not the fact that he’s a congressman.
There’s…aconnectionthere.
I stare down into his blue eyes, my thumbs stroking his cheeks.
It feels like maybe I finally found the person I was meant to be with.
Which also means I might be on the road to getting my heart well and truly broken like never before, although I desperately hope not.
“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you this weekend, my sweet pet,” I murmur.
If a man can melt into a bathroom rug, Elliot does. That’s something else—that this soon I’m able to talk him into subspace. I’ve had good rapport with partners before, but this is well beyond that.
Dangerously so.
Because if I decide I don’t want this after all and he still does, that leaves me in a bit of a sitch.
Except sometimes Ilikeriding that edge. Nothing in his body language so far has said “boiled bunny,” so I’m going to keep pressing the gas until I have to slow for a curve.
By the time I finally get him up off the floor fifteen minutes later, yes, he’s definitely deep in subspace again, and while he can’t quite deep-throat me, he made a damned good effort at trying with no persuasion needed on my part.
That bodes well.
