Beyond the Edge
I didn't get out of there until five thirty, so barely had time to get home, grab a quick bite, shower, dress and make it to James' place for the designated hour. Luckily, I pulled into his driveway with ten minutes to spare. James did not look kindly upon tardiness and I didn't want to start off on the wrong foot. Not a good idea to piss off your Dom before a weekend of voluntary submission.
I got out of my little red Civic and approached the house, straightening my jacket and brushing mostly imaginary dust and dirt off my jeans. I had dressed casual sexy, not wanting to give the impression that I thought this a huge occasion-even though I actually did. I had waited months for this weekend, and it was almost upon me. To say I was excited would be a serious understatement.
I rang the bell and after a few moments the door opened. James Lucas stood there, in the flesh. In the absolutely gorgeous, dick-hardening, heartbeat-quickening flesh.
My eyes raked over him, taking in his handsome face with the slightly graying goatee, intelligent brown eyes, and those soft, curved lips that formed themselves into a welcoming smile. He tilted his shaved head slightly, conveying a sexy confidence and faith in his own intrinsic attractiveness. The man had presence.
"Hello, Sir." I murmured, my pulse increasing rapidly as I took in his muscular form clothed in black jeans and a burgundy long sleeved t-shirt, the dark red cotton of which outlined his muscular arms and chest.
"Come in, come in," he said, moving back to give me some space to enter. His face, hard and soft in all the right places, held enough slight wrinkles and creases to make it interesting and give an indeterminate quality to his exact age.
I did so, careful not to touch him before he'd given me permission. I knew the protocol now, and wanted to show him that I remembered.
I remembered everything.
"Here, I'll take your coat," he said, holding out his broad, beautifully masculine hand. I noticed how long and elegant his fingers were as I peeled off my brown leather jacket and handed it to him, our eyes meeting for a moment. The message in his went straight to my groin and I felt my dick start to react. Jesus, what he did to me.
"Come into the living room, please." He gestured towards the large room to the left of the hall. His voice sounded a warm tenor-melodious and smooth.
I preceded him into the room, hoping that he checked me out in my carefully chosen jeans and black Sex Pistols t-shirt. I'd found the latter at Value Village a few weeks ago and knew it would be the perfect club shirt, not to mention the perfect "meeting your Dom before playtime" shirt. Nothing beat retro punk wear, in my opinion.
I stood nervously beside the sofa, awaiting further instruction.
"Have a seat, Tate. And you can relax. We're meeting as equals here to discuss the weekend. You don't have to take on the sub role quite yet. When you arrive here next Friday, the situation will be different. But for now, we're just friends discussing an upcoming event."
I nodded. "Okay." I sat down on the couch and tried to relax.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asked as he poured himself some Jack Daniel's. "You know I don't permit any alcohol for my subs, but we're not quite there yet. If you'd like something, you're welcome to it."
I shook my head. "I'd better not. I have to drive home." I wasn't exactly sure how long our meeting would last.
He regarded me with a little smile. "I thought perhaps, after we discuss the technicalities, I could reintroduce you to my loft for a short session." His intelligent eyes conveyed lust and desire and mischief. "If you like."
Struck speechless for a moment, I wondered how to tell him that I wasn't really prepared.
As if reading my mind, he asked, "Did you shower before coming here?"
I nodded. "Yeah, but I didn't...prepare...in any other way." I knew that James liked his subs absolutely clean, inside and out, before they went into the loft.
He laughed. "Don't worry about that. We won't get that far today." He sat down across from me in the armchair and sipped his drink. "I usually don't drink before a session. But this will be a casual one, and I'm only having a bit. Are you interested? Or would you rather just wait until next weekend? It's entirely your choice, Tate. There's no wrong answer." He leaned forward. "Just tell me what you want."
I cleared my throat. "I want to go to the loft...tonight...when we're done here."
He nodded. "Great. Well, let's get to it then, shall we? How old are you? I've forgotten."
"I just turned twenty-seven," I said. "Last week."
He smiled. "Happy Birthday."
He brought out the contract he'd prepared. We went through it page by page, discussing my hard and soft limits, goals, fears, strengths and weaknesses. We spoke about the safe words and hand signals I would use and that there would be no punishment for safe-wording. It simply meant the session would end immediately. There was no reason it couldn't be resumed soon after, if mutually agreed upon.
It didn't take that long. By the time we finished, my arousal level had gone from Code Orange to Code Red. This matter-of-fact discussion of the intimate details of various Dom/sub scenarios, implements of pleasure and torture, and ways of using them, proved very effective. Thank goodness he had suggested a short session, because if he hadn't, I'd have had to drive home with an aching, leaking cock in my pants. I'd need to be careful though, and follow his instructions. Because I knew it would amuse him to send me home in this state, or a worse one, if I didn't please him. Even though he'd said this would be a casual session, we'd still be playing as Dom and sub, and I knew exactly what that meant.
"Well, I think that's everything." He had me sign in a few places and then put the papers into a large manila envelope. "I'm just going to put these away. Why don't you meet me upstairs? Keep your clothes on but take your shoes and socks off. You don't have to kneel on the floor but I'd like you standing next to the spanking bench."
I gulped as my dick throbbed in anticipation. "Sure."
He left the room. I took off my shoes and socks and put them near my jacket in the hall. Then I padded quietly up the circular stairs to the second floor, down the hall past the guest bathroom, and up one more flight until I reached the familiar double doors. I tried the handles. They were unlocked so I pushed the doors open and entered James' converted attic room.
Not the typical dungeon that you would expect-dark and dimly lit and filled with frightening implements. The airy space gave forth a different vibe. The two uncovered windows looked out from the second floor room onto open fields at the back. Natural light shone in through a skylight in the middle of the ceiling, illuminating everything.
I knew James' tastes. If he wanted to place someone in darkness he would blindfold them. But he wanted to see everything. He wanted to see the sunlight glinting off the sweaty skin of his sub, to see it glancing off the steel of the cage on his sub's straining cock. He wanted to see the sparkle on a dewdrop of moisture leaking from his sub's captured penis. He'd told me that he found all of it beautiful.
Instead of a massive four-poster bed, like I'd read about in fictional playrooms, a simple, sturdy bed frame and mattress stood against one wall. Bigger than king size and covered with expensive looking sheets, it became a focal point, but didn't overshadow the rest of the room. There were obvious places to attach wrist cuffs or ankle cuffs, and even some eye hooks on the wall above the head of the bed.
A mesh swing device hung from the ceiling to the left of the mattress. It looked mighty comfy, made from soft ropes and hung like a hammock. But I knew the torture that could be dealt out there-teasing and toying that had you screaming in frustration before he'd let you come. It frightened and excited me at the same time.
On the wall to the right of the mattress stood the typical St. Andrew's Cross. Painted dark brown to stand out against the sand-colored walls, it looked quite modern and high tech. There were eye hooks everywhere, it seemed, so that a person could be attached to the cross in all sorts of different ways. There was even a spot that would hold a dildo in place so a person could be restrained and impaled at the same time.
Against the far wall stood a couple of bondage benches, and a kneeler that could be pulled out and used when needed. Above these hung floggers, paddles and crops of varying sizes and materials.
In the very centre of the room, where I knew he'd probably positioned it before I arrived, stood the spanking bench.
I walked over to it, admiring its simplicity and workmanship. Made of solid oak, with leather pads where the sub's knees and ankles would be positioned, it looked like a strange upside-down chair. There were four stand-alone supports, one for each knee and forearm. All the supports were fitted with bindings to secure the sub in place.
I glanced over at James' selection of crops and paddles, then back at the spanking bench. I had listed being spanked as one of my favorite things to do in the loft, and I wasn't lying. For some reason, an older, sexy, dominant guy whacking my ass with a crop or a flogger or a paddle sent me to the moon.
I stood staring at the bench, imagining James' practiced strikes until my cock grew so hard I thought it might rip through my jeans. Then I heard his footsteps on the stairs. My knees went weak. It would have been easier to kneel, but I stood beside the spanking bench with my eyes on the floor as I heard the doors open.
I heard him chuckle softly. "Oh, yes. You look wonderful standing there, waiting for me," he said huskily, and I felt my cock throb. He closed the doors and locked them, then came closer. I saw his bare feet and the bottom of his black jeans. He took my chin in his hand, tilting my face up so I could look him in the eyes.
"I thought a nice spanking might be a good place to start with you." His brown eyes had darkened to almost black.
They delved into mine, seeking out the most secret parts of my soul, as I sighed and said, "Yes, Sir."
I expected him to tell me to strip, but instead he told me to get up on the bench. I wondered if he would keep me clothed today. I really didn't know what to expect.
Once I got up there and he'd bound my calves and forearms, I felt his hands on the fly of my jeans. I moaned, that light touch from his fingers already driving me mad.
"Easy, boy...we haven't even started yet." I sensed a smile in his voice.
He unzipped me and grabbed the waist of my jeans and black boxer briefs, pulling everything down past my hips. Since my legs splayed out a bit, he couldn't get them any farther down. For some reason, this made me feel more vulnerable than if I'd been completely naked. I struggled in my bonds and glanced back desperately.
James saw me and gave me a stern look. "Eyes forward, Tate. You know the rules."
I did as directed, trying to calm my breathing as I felt his large hand caress my right buttock.
He tsked. "Looks like you need some work before next weekend. I like my boys smoother than this. But it will do for now..."
Oh Christ. I'd forgotten about James' predilection for smoothly shaven men. It had been awhile since I'd been for a waxing. I blushed with shame and embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Sir," I murmured.
"It's okay. This was an unplanned session."
Suddenly his hand disappeared. Then I felt it come down on my ass cheek, hard. He spanked me three times, in the same spot. I groaned. It was so long since I'd had this...
"You like that, don't you?" he said softly, caressing the other buttock and then landing three successive slaps to that side.
I moaned as my ass swayed from side to side with the joy of it. Suddenly, I felt his warm hand on my cock. I cried out in surprise and at the wonderful feel of it.
"Oh, yes. You do like that. Very much, eh?" His voice came silky and soft from his throat, as if he were trying to seduce me, when he already had me very much at his mercy.
"Tell me." A harder edge crept into his voice now, which I loved.
"I like it," I said.
"I like you spanking me, Sir," I murmured, embarrassed. My voice went real deep when I was unsure of myself.
"Where do you like me spanking you, Tate?"
"On my ass, Sir."
"Do you want me to do it again?" I felt him close by and heard his quick breaths. This affected him too.
"Spank me again, Sir," I said quietly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Spank me again, please, Sir," I spoke louder, feeling the blush creep up my cheeks.
He chuckled, landing a few more blows on my vulnerable bottom. "Your skin pinks up so nicely, Tate. You have a lovely complexion."
"Thank you, Sir."
"And what would you like next, hmm? Crop? Flogger? Paddle?"
"Whatever pleases you, Sir."
"Any of those will please me. I'm giving you the choice."
I thought for a moment. "Paddle, please, Sir." Might as well go for the gusto.
"Very well." He walked over to the wall and selected a small flat wooden paddle from the rack. My heart started to race as I realized what I was in for.
He came back over and showed it to me. "I'm going to paddle you ten times with this, Tate. Then we'll see how you do. Maybe I'll paddle you ten more times after that. Then I'm going to play with your cock until you come. Does that sound nice?"
I moaned, it sounded so fucking incredible. "Yes, Sir."
"I thought so. This is just a bit of fun. You do realize that the sessions next weekend will be much more involved?"
"All right then. Let's go."
He moved into position and soon I felt the first blow land-painful but nothing too bad. He went slowly, gradually increasing the force of the blows, so that by the time he got to ten, my breaths rasped and my ass throbbed pleasantly.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
"Excellent. Would you like ten more?"
"Yes, Sir. Please, Sir." I heard the desire and need in my voice.
"All right. Count this time. You can safe-word if you need to."
I counted as each blow landed on my poor bottom, each one sending pain signals to my ass and pleasure signals to my cock. How that worked I really had no idea. I just knew it did. By the time James landed the tenth blow I think I could have come, hands free, with another strike or two. And by my reactions, he knew it.
He spoke with obvious excitement in his breathless words. "Oh yes, you really do enjoy that, don't you? If I'd kept going you might have just come on your own, eh?"
I nodded. I didn't want to speak. I wanted to come, so badly.
Suddenly, I felt his clothed form press against my throbbing backside as his arm came around me. His hand circled my leaking, twitching cock. I cried out and struggled, so desperate to thrust into that warm grip. But he didn't let me right away. Instead, he watched me pant and whine and struggle for a few minutes before he started moving his hand back and forth on me slowly. I made a desperate sound as I felt the pleasure build.
"That's it." He spoke as he leaned over me and jerked me off. "What a good boy you've been, Tate...what a very good boy..."
I yelled, feeling my cock spasm in his hand as I shot a thick and copious load all over the floor. It lasted a long time as James kept up his slow, firm stroking and because the buildup had been so intense.
Finally, my body stopped shaking and I felt a languid peace come over me. "Thank you, Sir," I sighed.
He gave my ass a light slap, making me wince. He came around to stand in front of me, holding out the hand that was coated with my seed.
"Clean it," he said hoarsely. Our eyes met as I lapped up my own spunk. The intimacy of the act was startling as this powerful and very attractive older man watched me clean my own juice off his hand. Heaven.
He undid my bonds and told me to pull up my pants. Then he made me kneel before him.
"Undo my jeans."
"Yes, Sir." I did so. He wore no underwear, so his cock stood thick and hard before me. I made an eager noise in my throat as I glanced up at him.
He clasped his hands behind his hips and nodded, thrusting himself forward. I didn't need any more prompting. I took him gently in my mouth, cupping his balls with my hand, and swirled my tongue around him.
"Fuck, yes," he murmured. "You are so talented in this department, young man."
I groaned in lieu of saying thank you and took him deeper, swallowing as much of him as I could.
He hissed and groaned. I knew it wouldn't take long. He gasped and growled as I sucked him, letting me know what he liked and what he really liked. Before long I had him on the edge and I doubled the force and speed of my throat work. Suddenly he grunted. I glanced up to see his expression barely change as his juice spurted into me. He watched me from under hooded lids as I struggled to swallow his release.
Once he finished I let his cock slide out of my mouth and licked my lips, daring to give him a small smile.
He grinned back at me, tucking himself up, and said, "That was lovely. I'm glad I was able to give you a little taste of what's to come next weekend."
"Yes, Sir. I can hardly wait, Sir," I said.
We gazed at each other, both of us thinking about all the possibilities for our next visit to this room.
Lying in bed that night, trying but unable to go to sleep, I thought about how I had originally met James.
A friend introduced me to the well-known Dom. A friend that I'd "played" with a few times and who thought that James might be able to give me more of what I wanted than he could. James had initially been a little cold toward me, until my friend told him I really enjoyed cum play and filthy language. At that point he said he'd give me a go. He invited me for an "interview" and once I completed his requirements for a comprehensive STD screen, I joined him for an introductory session.
It had gone well. I behaved myself and demonstrated a high level of pain tolerance and a definite affinity for bottoming as a sub. He'd been impressed and told me so. He liked my body very much, and told me that too. He suggested I put my name down on his waiting list. That had been four months ago.
And now my turn had come. I would spend Friday evening, all day Saturday and all day Sunday with the Dom of my dreams. He would send me the information and preparation instructions by email so that I knew what to expect.
I already knew what to expect-a weekend of extreme kinkiness and submission at the powerful hands of James Lucas.
How the hell would I get any sleep this week?