[F4M] What we actually are; not what we are supposed to be

Society creates defined roles for every type of people. This is true for you and I. When we are in public, with our friends, with our families, assumptions are made because of how we are. How we look.

They see you, a tall, well-built, firefighter. A physical symbol of American masculinity. Then they see me, a slim, petite thing with no signs of anything but submissiveness and femininity.

But you and I both know the truth that they don’t know about us. The truth of how we actually are when we are alone. When we are in the private sanctuary that is our home.

That’s when you let go of a role society has enforced on you and be your true self. The moment the door shuts behind us, you know exactly what to do. You know to get on your knees in front of me, and instead of honey, or dear, the correct word is now Mistress.

Funny thing is, even when you’re on your knees, we are at eye level. An outcome of more than a foot in height difference between us. But you and I both know that size isn’t an accurate indicator of who holds the power, the dominance between two people.

There wouldn’t be much questioning if your destined role was that of dominance, but instead you choose to submit. You choose to submit to me, someone who you can easily pin down and take with one arm without breaking a sweat.

Which brings us to here, at present time, with you kneeling in front of me. You look up at me; your hard eyes soften into a gentle anticipatory look. In my hand already holds something that signals who you are. A steel collar of the highest quality, custom made just for you. I remember the day I put this on you for the very first time. A single tear tacitly rolled down your cheek when you heard the click of the padlock. You understood then that on that day you are forever mine.

You eagerly present your neck to me, ready to wear the collar that you put in sweat and blood to earn. With a click, I can see your body relax, relieved to have finally shed the stress that comes with conforming to a role that isn’t you.

I inform you that tonight I am flogging you. I instruct you to shed your clothes.  You acknowledge me with a yes Mistress, then proceed to strip and place your clothes neatly in a corner. I put a slim chain leash onto your collar and you know instantly to heel and follow me. As you crawl, you move with the grace and strength of a tiger.  Not an ounce of fierceness is lost just because you are on my leash.

I lead you to the suspension ring. I disconnect the leash from you, and walk over to grab the soft leather cuffs. You automatically present your wrists for me, and I wrap the cuffs around them, then snap them onto the ring. I take a flogger in my hand, and with a flick of my wrist, the falls hit your skin with a firm thud. You know to thank me for it.

Again and again, the leather falls of the flogger strike your back with vigor. Your cock hardens under my touch. You grunt, you growl, you moan in response all while never forgetting to say…

Thank you Mistress.

Your responses fit exactly how you look. It would be surprising to some, but we both know being the submissive doesn’t mean being meek and weak. Because Strength and submission isn’t mutually exclusive.

Your strong back blooms into a gentle pink after a long bout of flogging from me. I decide it’s time for you to be rewarded.

I uncuff you and motion you to come to bed with me. I finally strip out of my silk dress, and your eyes fill with amazement. It still happens every time, despite the years we’ve been together. I lie down on the bed on my back. I am wet with need from our play, and your cock is straining for relief. I give you a look, and you gently position yourself on top of me.  You know to beg for anything beyond this. You look at me with pleading eyes and begging words, all the while droplets drip from your cock onto the sheets.

I smile, and force you to wait longer just to watch you squirm a bit. You whimper, looking more desperate than ever.

I finally give you permission and am met with an enthusiastic thank you. A second after I feel your cock enter me and fill my cunt. Moans erupt from both of us as you thrust in and out of me. People may question why you would be fucking me like this if I were the dominant.

We know it’s because your job is to please and pleasure me. Why would I want to exert any effort for sex that comes with being on top? What isn’t more dominant than having a small girl instruct and command you to fuck her exactly the way she wants it? What isn’t more submissive than the fact that despite all the advantages you hold, you are there to please me, and that’s the only reason you are fucking me the way you are doing now?

I command you to go faster, and harder. You do just so. In a few minutes, I can feel my orgasm rolling towards a peak. From your hard breaths,  I can tell you are on the edge. You restrain yourself, knowing that I will always be the first to come. A couple more thrusts and an orgasm finally overtake my body. With that, I command you to come, and with a grateful thank you Mistress, you give out a loud growly moan as you finish inside me.

We roll over and I curl up in your arms. You hold me as I whisper good boy and praises into your ear.

Even now, this scene still speaks opposite of what is happening here. A tall well-built man holding a slim petite thing. No matter, because we know where you belong.

Under my feet.

Under my control.

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COPYRIGHT THE_COOLIDGE_EFFECT 2016