Chemistry, or, How It Began

We’re at a party, the first party I’ve been to since W’s passing, actually. It’s a small gathering in a friend’s home. The playspace is in the basement. I’m sitting on the arm of a sofa, he’s next to me. I’m talking with someone else about being caned. A “proper British caning,” is the way I describe it. “I don’t know about a ‘British’ caning, but I give a pretty good caning,” he says. He’s someone I’ve known tangentially in the scene, though his wife’s presence has always been more conspicuous, and, indeed had caught my eye before. I had only ever noticed him doing electrical play, having intense discussions about technology, and once, hitting on someone in a very obvious fashion (it appeared to have worked, because they ended up together for a couple of years.) But – I had noticed him.

“Really,” I said, looking down at him from my perch on the arm of the sofa.

He has the most arresting eyes. Deep and soulful at times, but also sharp and discerning. Intelligence shines in them, but also a kind of mischievousness lurks there. Sometimes when I think of the way we play at times, when he is teasing me and hurting me and I am crying out, and I see that glee in his face, that mischievous glint in his eye, I am reminded of my kokopelli tattoo. Kokopelli, the mischief-maker, the trickster. I saw that glint there, that night, but also something more. Something that drew me to him in a way I had not been before.

I hadn’t played with anyone since W. I hadn’t wanted to. I wanted to play with him that night.

And we did. There were four implements, and even though I know there was at least one cane, it’s not what he did with the toys that I remember.

I remember his hand in my hair. I remember him pushing me against the wall in the dark of the basement, his body against mine. I remember the look in his eyes as he spun me around to face him. It wasn’t a long scene, just a taste, really. Just a taste, but I was addicted.



A first date. We’re in an underground garage, he’s walked me to my car. I’m in the driver’s seat, turned toward him, he stands between my legs. Then we are kissing, deep kisses that leave me gasping for air. And then his hand is on my throat and now it’s not his eyes that draw me, but his hands. In my hair, on my throat, on my breasts and waist, everywhere. And his mouth, his full, luscious mouth that I want to drink from forever. I think I will die from wanting to be naked with him, to feel his hands and that mouth all over me. I drive home with that ache and try to assuage it, alone, in my bed that night. But it’s an ache that I am beginning to think only he can assuage.



I arrive at his house for the first time. I am nervous. Hands shaking. Voice quavering when he answers the door. Chastising myself for my nervousness. His eyes are smiling, warm, but I see that glint there… He takes me by the hand and pulls me upstairs. To the guest room, the room that I will eventually think of as mine, though it’s been a long time now since that was the case.

He shuts the door and, without a word, pushes me against the wall. His hands are everywhere, his cock hard against my belly, urgent. I can feel a spot of wetness there, in his jeans. I am wild to feel his cock in my hand, in my mouth, and when he pushes me down to my knees, it’s not his hands or eyes that draw me to him this time, it’s his cock. The desire to take him in my mouth.

I do not so much take him, though, as he takes me. His cock is thick and insistent in my mouth, and then in my throat, gagging me before pulling away. I am not familiar with his rhythms, with the way he likes to have his cock sucked, so instead I simply open myself to him, and he uses my mouth. I am merely a vesicle for his desire, for his semen. But I learn his taste. I am already starting to learn his body, his cues, what pleases him, how I can please him.

I feel a pull in my cunt when he finally releases himself into my mouth, hunched over me, his hands holding my face as he thrusts and groans one last time. I sit back and look up into his eyes. The air is electric between us, charged with more than just sexual tension and gratification. We have not yet begun the dance that is D/s, but its pull is unmistakable and unavoidable. I know that this is where I want to be, at his feet. And that is where I remain, to this day.


(Image from this past weekend.)


(I really need to pay attention to the dates on these memes. I got this Wicked Wednesday prompt “Chemistry” in my inbox – apparently awhile ago. But didn’t realize it was old, and it started my thoughts buzzing (and my cunt throbbing.) So I wrote, and went to post it and – oops! Pay better attention, Jade! Oh well, the image above will take you to everyone else’s submissions – do click and take a look!)



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *