I invited him for dinner. I finally took initiative and made the first move. He accepted and I almost yelled from the joy of it. When he arrived I continued the trend of control by having music already on and serving him a drink. Before he could even sit at the table I said “take off your clothes and sit in the chair. Don’t ask what chair, you know what chair. The chair closest to me”, and he just did.
I was so nervous I almost stumbled into my own chair, thankful I had already set out food down earlier. He’d always had control of our dates and now I wanted to show him how he made me feel, that mindless sense of comfort and fun.
“Now feed me and yourself from the same plate. Feed me my food and if your cock rises it’s okay. Don’t look at it. Don’t touch it. Watch your hand feeding my mouth, watch my mouth, my throat, back to your hand. Don’t touch your cock. Don’t look at it,” I instructed.
He didn’t look at it the entire time. I was so proud of him. This being his first time, him being such a masculine, strong personality I had been so sure he would.
I looked. I touched. He had so much pre-cum, I couldn’t help it. I adored it. I ran my thumb across his head several times just to hear him hiss from it, I slid my thumb in my mouth while our eyes connected. His deep emotional eyes and my stormy grey ones. Fuck it, I loved his eyes. His eyes made me want to write love stories, not fuck stories.
He was good, he stared at me the entire time. He stared in my eyes and glanced at my lips and at the food but he looked like a man dying. I wondered at myself if I should put him down. I even asked out loud if I should put him out of his misery and he whispered in his harsh wasted voice, “no”. He wanted the pain of it. He liked it. He was like me. He needed it.