I Was Her First

All I had to do was ask

There is something profoundly authentic about someone who has never done this before.

She’s always been good, never mistreated a guy. She treated them as equals, or even submitted to them because she thought that was all there was. And then, for the first time, she looks into the eyes of a guy kneeling in front of her, offering his body and soul for her amusement.

It was about a year ago, at a kinky techno party. There were hundreds of people, and to my amazement, most of them were young and attractive. I hadn’t been abused for a while, and I felt a dark craving building up inside me. But at first, I wasn’t sure if I really dared to go that way. It wasn’t specifically a BDSM event, and I was also there with friends — quite open-minded lads— but they had still never seen that side of me.

I’ve been to a few kinky parties before, and yet the entrance never failed to give me goosebumps. This time, I felt even more nervous than usual; perhaps it was because there were so many attractive people around me. I had a few drinks to calm my nerves.

I was dressed a bit gay-ish, as I didn’t want to risk being refused at the gate. My group drifted apart, which I was actually happy about, as it pushed me to meet new people. Most of the conversations were quite basic, but then I met a slender blonde girl, and we managed to move past the usual small talk.

I really enjoyed glancing at her leather high-heeled boots. They were so beautiful. Sharp and glossy, they made my knees feel weak.

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The music was too loud for a proper conversation, so I suggested we go upstairs to the “play room.” She said she’d be happy to, as she was curious to see what happens there, but warned me in advance not to expect anything, as she was in a relationship. I was fine with that.

We went upstairs and sat on a sofa. The room was relatively empty, just a few couples making out, as the night was still young. Our conversation gradually became more intimate, and I eventually mentioned I’m submissive. She was intrigued. She never met a guy like this, she wanted to hear more. I told her stories about the cruel things women had done to me, and I absolutely loved the look on her face as she listened with wide-eyed curiosity.

I confessed that I loved her boots. I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. They were so damn beautiful. Sharp and shiny, tightly hugging her slender legs. Elegant, but with a hint of sadism. I asked if I could touch them, and she let me.

Our conversation grew quiet. I couldn’t focus on anything else. She quietly observed me.

I asked if I could kiss them. She allowed.

I kissed them gently with all my admiration. She didn’t say anything; she just watched with fascination. She didn’t move much, only occasionally glancing at the other people in the room. I asked if she was enjoying it. She nodded.

“Would you like me to do anything else?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“You can do anything you want with me.”

“Give me some ideas.”

“You can slap me and see if you like it.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

She slapped me, but quite gently. I told her she could do it harder. The second slap wasn’t shy at all. I smiled. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. She wasn’t shy anymore.

“Did you like that?” I asked.

“Very much,” she replied.

“May I kiss your hand?”

She gave me her beautiful hand, the same one that had just slapped my face without mercy or hesitation. I kissed it like a gentleman.

I don’t remember our conversations, it was quite some time ago. But the images —those I will probably never forget.

I was lying on the floor, and her beautiful boots were digging sadistically into my stomach. She wasn’t shy at all. My fists were clenched as I endured her torture, and she really enjoyed pushing her pointy heels deeper and deeper.

Her eyes grew cold. Something about her had changed, and I was completely captivated observing that. She looked down at me with scorn, and it felt real. I looked up at her, eager to endure, to take it all for her amusement.

She called me up a few times and slapped my face without mercy. Then she held her hand to my mouth and made me thank her with a kiss. It became our ritual. I loved looking at her face as I did it. That cruel expression made me realize this was real. She had taken me exactly the way I had always wanted to be taken.

We never kissed. There was this gorgeous woman towering above me, doing all these cruel things, and she never even gave me a kiss. She belonged to someone else. I was her stress relief, her toy for the evening, but not clearly worthy of her kiss.

Maybe I could have her spit instead. A one-way kiss, in a way. All I had to do was ask. She spat right into my mouth. That beautiful, warm saliva from a mouth I’d never touch. I was lucky; I only had to ask once, and then she kept spitting all over me purely out of joy.

My face was wet, my body bearing the traces of her shoes, and all I wanted was more. It felt real. I wanted to be destroyed, annihilated by this beautiful woman who had never, in her whole life, treated a man that way.

I left her my phone number. I really hoped she’d reach out someday. Perhaps out of curiosity about the unusual man she’d met that night, or perhaps because she needed to unwind again and reclaim her toy. I didn’t hear from her for a month and almost lost hope. But then, out of the blue, I got a message:

“Not sure if you remember me. But I just wanted to say thank you for showing me a different side of myself I didn’t know existed before. That evening, I had no idea I’d have such an experience. But it was really hot, though unexpected. Unlike you, I had no clue that I had this dominant side in me. And that I could feel so natural and effortless in that role. I’m glad it was you who showed me there’s another side to things. And that I, too, can be different.”