My Girlfriend, a Professional-Dominatrix, Saran Wrapped and Edged Me in Her Dungeon
It was apparently Take-Your-Boyfriend-to-Work Day!
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Original illustration by Eduardo
Eve and I are currently in a period of having shockingly vanilla sex. It’s mainly missionary and doggy. We repeatedly say “I love you” while looking into each other’s eyes. (Gross.) If I cum before her, we whip out the VIM (Fun Factory’s wand), and I pinch her nipples and kiss her while she finishes herself off.
While I know this won’t be forever—sex with a long-term partner goes through waves—it’s where we are now. When I share this reality with friends, I see their perplexed faces, them processing the reality that the Boyslut and a full-time, professional domantrix have boring-ass sex.
It’s not that Eve and I aren’t kinky (though I’d argue she’s far kinkier than I); we are simply tired and lazy. Not to mention, I’ve been hesitant to ask her to Dom me as that is what she does for a living. As I’ve read on many a tote, sex work is work, and I don’t want her to feel like she’s working while having sex with me.
I also feared being on par with one of her clients. I am her boyfriend, not a client. I want to feel special and for her to see me as someone special. I voiced this concern when the prospect of us exploring kink arose. She assured me I wouldn’t be a client to her, and she’s incorporated BDSM dynamics sexually with past romantic partners, and it didn’t change how she felt about them.
And so, at 7 pm last night, I met Eve at her dungeon in Chinatown with little idea of what she had in store for me. (“It’s a surprise, but I have a feeling you’ll like it,” she said.) The only thing I had prepped, per her request, was to not ejaculate for a few days prior. I, in a miraculous feat of self-control, hadn’t cum in five days upon entering the dungeon.
The entire day, I reverberated, unable to sit still and struggling to write. I did a heavy leg workout, hoping to get this shpilkes, this excessive energy, out of my system. It didn’t work. I only felt more restless. From 5:45 to 6 pm, I paced around my apartment in circles, blasting Fleetwood Mac, Bob Seger, and Meatloaf.
In English, we don’t have a great word that simultaneously conveys nervousness and excitement. Wired, eager, jittery, and on edge—don’t quite capture the anticipatory elation. I felt like a kid on my first day of kindergarten or a racehorse at the starting gate, ready to burst out, which is, in part, how I ended up arriving at the dungeon fifteen minutes early. Luckily, Eve was ready for me.
The building was unassuming, squeezed between a Burger King and a little Chinese market. I entered the elevator and pressed the fifth floor, above the piercing parlor and residences. The elevator was like one from a horror film: slow and unsteady, with a flickering light and sporadic pops that sounded like a cable breaking. It paused between floors, resembling a forty-year-old man amid a midlife crisis who tried to take up running to better himself but soon found himself stopping every fifty seconds to catch his breath.
The door opened to Eve, standing in a revealing, distressed, black bodysuit, leaving just the right amount to the imagination. Her nipples were covered, but her breasts were overflowing. Her curves were out on full display.
“Hi, baby,” she said, giving me a hug and a big kiss.
Okay, this is the vibe, I thought to myself, letting out a sigh of relief. I wasn’t sure if I would enter to a greeting befitting of a sub (e.g., “get on your knees, you pathetic, tiny-dick whore”) or a boyfriend (e.g., what I received).
Eve led me through the main entrance—a simple L-shaped couch, a whiteboard with a calendar, an open sink with some dishes—to a room with blackout curtains, a dark couch, Saint Andrew’s Cross, massage table, human-sized cage, and thick sparring mat on the floor.
“I think I’m pretty familiar with your turn-ons and offs, but are there any boundaries I may not know?”
I sat down on the couch. “I mean, I think you know them all. I'm not one for much pain or hair-pulling that’ll strain my neck. And—” I saw Eve’s face as if I was saying the most obvious shit in the world. I stopped my nervous rambling and said, “Yeah, you know. If you do something I don’t like, I’ll just say something.”
“Okay, let’s get started by having you undress. Fold your clothes neatly and place them in the corner. I’m going to grab some water, but when I come back, I want you on the mat on your hands and knees.”
“Yes…” I paused. “What do I call you? Mistress?”
“No,” she said, giggling. “That’s too much.” (It’s the designated honorific for her clients.)
“How about Eve,” I suggested.
“That’s perfect. Okay, now get undressed and wait for me.”
I folded my clothing meticulously, every single corned perfectly matched.
I waited on my hands and knees in a tabletop position, feeling the cool draft from the AC against my twigs and berries. My goosebumps were as prominent as Michael B Jordan’s body mod bumps in Black Panther.
(For reference. Fun fact: Both my mother and I have had sex dreams about Michael B. Jordan.)
I really had no reason to be this nervous. I trust(ed) Eve completely. Then again, this was new for me. Yes, I’ve dabbled in kink, but my desires and adventures tend to lean more towards multiple partners simultaneously (orgies, threesomes, sex parties), anonymity (apps), breath play (done correctly), and brutal throat fucking (where we make a mess). I’m, like, if ain’t broke, don’t fix it—so I stick to my guns.
Eve returned, her Doc Martins clacking on the hardwood floor. She ran her long nails across my back, down the side of my leg, grazing my testicles, sending a shiver through my body.
“Turn around,” she commanded. I circled, remaining on my hands and knees.
“Take off my boots,” she said, flexing her leg before me. Just that one task overloaded my brain. I looked at her Docs as if they were foreign objects from another galaxy. “Zach, the zipper is on the side.”
“Yes, Eve,” I replied, coming out of my haze. I unzipped her boots and placed them on the corner of the mat.
“Now worship my legs.” I began kissing her toes, recently polished in blood red, making my way up to her calves. “Use your hands, too.”
I grabbed the back of her thick thighs, squeezing her flesh as I licked the front of her legs. Feeling her body comforted my own.
“Get up and lay on the table. On your back.” I lay flat on the upholstery, the high-density foam feeling cool on my skin. Eve placed a heavy-duty eyemask over my eyes, which sent me into the depths of space. Then she grabbed my wrists and put them into tight restraints. I attempted to fling my arms, testing their security, and maybe moved an inch. I wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.
I heard her snap a latex glove against one wrist, then the other.
“Breathe, Zach,” she said, sensing my nerves. “In for four, hold for four, out for four.” She lay flat on my stomach, like a weighted blanket, as I box-breathed, attempting to regulate my nervous system. “Good Zach, keep breathing,” she said as she shuffled around the table.
“Now spread your legs.”
“Yes, Eve.” I heard her squirt lube from a pump bottle, then felt the familiar tingle of a vibrating toy circling my ass. I kept breathing.
“You are tight,” she said, faking surprise.
“Always,” I replied.
When the first ball popped into my ass, I realized it wasn’t a plug but anal beads. With her free hand, she began stroking my cock. The wet latex against my shaft, fluffing me. The second ball popped in.
When I was fully erect, Eve took off my eyemask and mounted me in 69. She began sucking me slowly, and when I lifted my head to eat her out, she maneuvered out of reach, knowing how far I’d be able to raise myself with the cuffs.
She teased my penis head, gently sucking it before enveloping me whole. I let out a loud moan that she quickly muffled with her ass. I feasted between her cheeks, licking her asshole as she sucked. She popped the third and final ball inside me and continued to tease me, stopping right as sensations intensified.
When she suddenly jumped off and uncuffed me, my body felt wired, primed to orgasm.
“Stand up,” she said. “Feet together.” I obliged, with the anal beads still vibrating inside of me.
I heard the loud crinkling of a roll of Saran Wrap being unfurled. Eve started at my ankles and wrapped upward. She left my genitals and only my genitals exposed, then continued wrapping my belly and chest until eventually stopping at my neck.
“I got you,” she said, laying me on the massage table. Once on my back, I scootched upward, and Eve finished by wrapping my feet. I felt like a caterpillar in a cocoon, a very horny caterpillar.
While I had been tied up and handcuffed before, being swathed in plastic was different. My whole body was enclosed and, quickly, so slimy. With the sweat trapped, I felt like a slug. But I also like the feeling of being immobilized. It calms my anxiety. It’s why I like weighted blankets, a partner lying flat on me, or, presumably, being in a straight jacket.
Eve straddled my thighs, grabbed the shaft of my cock, and placed a wand on my frenulum. The vibrations in my ass were still going strong, and now, with the vibrations on my dick, I felt like a tuning fork.
‘Fuckkkk,” I said, squirming in the wrap. My cock was involuntarily flexing on its own, pulsing with the vibrations. I was so ready to bust. (Five [5!] days of abstaining. A man can only handle so much!)
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