Girl on the Net

Today’s guest blog is another fabulous team effort, by two writers who wanted to capture the intimacy, excitement and hotness of their first BDSM date. Please welcome The Petite (her) and The Giant (him), who met online when he came across one of her fantasies, and offered to help her fulfil it. Belt, BDSM, anal and more. A glorious first encounter told from two perspectives: she begins the story, and his contributions are indented and woven throughout.

Our first BDSM date

One thing life has taught me is that it’s nearly impossible to remember some moments of your life perfectly, no matter how much you want to. Sometimes it protects you, but sometimes you’d give an arm (the less-used one maybe, but still) to be able to remember every single minute of a day. The first time I met my Dom/lover, now that is a day I’d give both arms to be able to remember in detail. But I guess it would hamper my ability to attend to my pleasure and his, and then where would we be? Nah. Better to cling to the random flashes of memory I’ve treasured for the last four years.

I’m stepping out of my car, in a desert street of a remote village somewhere in Eastern Normandy. I’m expected by a thirty-something lady in her mother’s house, where she lives. She’s alone right now, since she asked her mother to leave for the day. This is not my first BDSM date, but I’ve only had one before. That gives me responsibility, since it will be her first, and I will be the dom. How did I end up here? Thank you for asking.

I was musing on FetLife and stumbled upon a short post: a cashier was telling a vivid story about how often the old women of her village tried to match her with their son/grandson/any man around her age. And how their business plans all mentioned how nice and kind that guy was. She politely declined, while wishing she could answer truthfully: “I don’t want nice, I want someone to rail me like they mean it, grabbing my hair and fucking my ass!”

Unfortunately, I’m quoting from memory, since she deleted that post. But it did exactly what she expected: raised my interest enough to contact her, and after a few weeks of messaging, meet.

It’s a Thursday morning, around 11 o’clock. I’m standing in my living room. Well, my mom’s living room because I live with her. But she’s not there. Just me for now. And I’m cold. I’m nervous. I can’t wait. I’m scared. I want to cancel. I want him to be here already. My hands are shaking. I hear a car parking in the street. I know it’s him. A knock. I take a deep, deep breath and I open the door.

So here we are. I stopped my car on the way to put on my nicest shirt, and before walking to her door I hid a riding crop inside the right arm of my coat. Too long to hide inside my bag of tricks.

She opens the door, I say hello and offer a hug. In her ear I whisper: “See, I’m real. You still up for what we said?”

Huge, that’s my first thought. He’s tall, very tall. I knew but I didn’t know. The storm inside my skull reaches dangerous speeds and I need to puke but then, suddenly, it falls silent. He’s hugging me. He feels good, safe, warm. He smells right. I finally can let go and I do. Brain silent, muscles relaxed, I’m floating already. So when a warm whisper reaches my ear, ordering me to strip naked, I obey. Of course I obey.

She agrees and I follow: “Get naked. Now. On your knees.”

While she obeys, I look at my surroundings. A small room, with a sofa, an armchair and a low table. I make her kneel in front of the low table, elbows resting on it.

There I am, naked in my mother’s living room, eyes on the couch I know she’ll sit on later to watch her shows, on the table where her nightly glass of milk will rest next to the book she’s reading these days. There I stand, a not-so-strange stranger behind me, and I feel safe. I don’t know if he can feel it but I’m his already. So when he asks me to kneel and lean on the coffee table, I do. When I hear his belt clicking, the sound arousing instead of threatening this time, I breathe slowly and I wait. And when the leather of that belt hits my ass, spreading fire all over my body, I smile and I relax and I thank a god I don’t believe in for finally bringing me what I’d been craving for years. My whole body sighs: finally.

“You ready?” She nods. I remind her of the safe words we agreed upon. Yellow for slow, red for stop.

The first whip of the riding crop on her generous ass startles her. I’m happy she didn’t see it coming, hidden in my coat. I pause and lower myself near her. “You okay?” She nods again.
From my bag I grab a collar and a twin set of fabric handcuffs. A few seconds later, her ankles are linked and her hands are tied to the collar, behind her neck. And the flogging starts anew.

Once again, I’m amazed to witness someone who loves getting whipped. That’s so not my thing. But ever since a partner asked me to, I just have to wrap my head around the fact that some people really like it, and that I’m happy to oblige!

“Is it what you expected? You like it?” Nods again. Good.

The belt keeps on falling, ever harder. I can tell he switches to different tools after that but my ability to think is long gone by then. I’m all body, no mind.

When I feel that her ass is reddened enough, I order her to move in front of the armchair. Before the next step, I check how happy her body feels. Well, wetness isn’t always proof, but wet she is!

That’s interesting, but I still have to bring out the lube, because her first ever flogging isn’t the only first on the menu. My experience with first dates is usually 50/50: I’m always excited, but sometimes meeting a new partner messes up with my ability to get hard. Today is a good day, the condom wrapping around my cock very easily. And after a few tries, she can see for herself how happy I am to be here, and to be her first ever anal partner. I remember her writing, and grab her hair. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

I’d roll over and offer my belly to his fangs like an animal if he needed a show of trust. But since he’s human and I’m a very special brand of bitch, I show my trust by going on all fours and trying to relax while he invades the very last part of my body left unexplored. And again. Finally. The desperate, rushed, clumsy fumblings of my past lovers are brushed away by what is offered here. Offered, taken, stolen. Who knew sodomy could feel so holy?

And so the riding crop gets to deserve her name, because much riding happens. Her ass is delicious, her shouts even more, and I match them when I come hard inside her.

We’re both sweaty, happy, and kneeling on the hard tiles of the room floor. I grab her phone, open the camera from the lock screen and take a picture of her face. I want her to keep a reminder of her happy face and her smeared makeup!

“Is there a bed we could lie on?”

“Upstairs.”

“Great, let’s go.”

“Could you untie me?”

“I could. But I won’t.”

And so she went. Before you picture me as a dangerous monster, let me assure you that I held her all along, as she was struggling one step at a time. I wanted her to struggle, not to fall a full flight of stairs. And then on her bed, I finally got to rest, cuddling her while she was still tied up.

The rest of that first encounter is very fuzzy to me but I was so high on pain and pleasure that it makes perfect sense. I only have snippets of what happened next. A flash of me climbing the stairs to my room very clumsily. His laugh, so warm and so new to me. Conversations. Toes in my mouth just before or just after his cock. The taste of semen, relished for once. A hand in my hair, sometimes tender, sometimes cruel. Teeth sinking in my skin. Fingers sliding inside me. The realization that after all I’d said about wanting nothing but sex, I was meeting a lover as much as a Dom. The fear and the relief. The pleasure.

It’s still Thursday. Three pm. I kiss him goodbye and climb out of his car to go to work. My ass is black and blue and hurts so fucking deliciously. My whole body aches. I look high, eyes so red it’s obvious I’ve either smoked or choked on a cock not long before – and everybody knows I’m not a stoner. I haven’t had time for a real shower so I can catch his smell on me whenever I move. I’m a mess but I’m happy. And I’m proud. Satisfied. Finally.

I’ve been a happy, proud and satisfied mess ever since.