Teach Me

The sensual relationship between dominant and submissive begins

Many of the events in this short series of stories were recounted to me by an experienced Dom, and are based on his relationships with different women. I have applied some artistic license to what he recounted, added a certain amount of fiction, and condensed his stories to feature a single submissive.

Names, dates, locations, professions etc. have been changed to protect the naughty and the characters are fictional.

I am releasing the first part of this story free but just as you get to the part where the really sexy action starts you are going to hit a paywall. If you want to read more about an intensely erotic dominant and submissive relationship you will need to become a paid subscriber.

After each lesson Erica writes to her husband and tells of her experiences. Her letters are free to read. The First Letter

Paid subscribers can read Painted Stripes, The Mistress’ Pet Show and the Donnington Chronicles all of which are on similar themes.

She is wearing a short skirt that shows off her slender legs. Long, straight dark hair enhances her slim frame making her look more girl than woman. I sit back in a chair as she perches on the edge of her sofa, leaning forward, elbows resting on her thighs, her fingers entwining in spaghetti like patterns as they move.

“I wanted to ask you something.” She looks at me.

I nod but say nothing, sensing her unease. The unspoken question hangs in the air of the living room in her neat little terraced house.

Erica has lived a few doors down from me for a while now. We have chatted a few times. I told her I was a writer and, when pressed, my writing name but I never talked about my books. This is the first time she has invited me into her house.

“You are… more mature, more experienced,” she looks down at the floor between us.

“Thank you for not saying older,” I smile. She is what, in her early thirties? And I am in my fifties. I suppose that makes me mature.

“You know about these things,” she looks up at me again. “You write about them. I’ve read some of your stories.” She takes a breath. “About sex… about the more,” there is another long pause, “the more interesting things you can do during sex.”

“You mean the kinky side,” I shrug. “What would you like to know?”

“My husband, I love him but he takes me, lying on my back. It is nice but I want more. There is love, tenderness, but there is no connection.

It is as if a dam has broken, words pour from her, about her listless sex life, her husband’s long periods working away. Finally, the flood slows, becomes a trickle and stops.

“So you want me to give you some advice on kinky things you can do to spice up your love life?”

“No,” she looks directly at me, a glare in her eyes. “I want you to teach me, to show me. I want to be submissive.” She bites her lip like a naughty schoolgirl. “I want to be a good wife, but I also want a man to take me the way my husband does not.”

“And what does your husband think of that,” I ask, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.”

“He has agreed.”

I raise my eyebrows, that is a shock.

“There is one condition. He has said that my vagina is his and that your penis should not enter there.”

“Enlightened and not very enlightened at the same time,” I mutter. I stare at her “And what about your ass, your mouth?”

For the first time her eyes sparkle. “He never uses them so didn’t think to mention them.” She tips her head forward and then looks up at me wide-eyed from under her fringe. “So I guess they are open to you.”

“What you are suggesting is based on trust. You barely know me, how can you trust me?”

“We have talked. I am a good judge of character. I have read your books.” She looks and there is a determination in her eyes. “And I know where you live.”

I laugh, but she does not smile. She is waiting for my answer. I sit forward in my chair.

“You consent to me using you. To obeying me as your Master?”

She nods.

“Say it girl,” I snap

“I consent,” she says quietly.

“Say, I consent to you fingering but not fucking my cunt, fucking my ass and my mouth and using my body for your pleasure, Sir. If you are going to behave like a slut or a whore, you should use the language of one.”

Slowly she repeats what I have said.

“Do you know what a safeword is?”

“I do not want one. I want to experience everything.”

“You will have one whether you want it or not. You may be a good judge of character but I don’t want to be accused of going too far.

She nods and says “Elleanna,” under her breath.

I sit and look at her. Her body is still now. She is on that cusp where she is unsure whether I will rage at her suggestion and fly out of the room or fuck her there on the sofa. I consider my words carefully. “And what makes you think that I would consent to take you as a submissive? It seems to me that you are nothing but an ungrateful slut who is being disloyal to her husband.”

She looks down at the floor.

“Stand up when I am talking to you.”

There is a moments pause and then she springs off the sofa as if the seat had suddenly become hot and stands in front of me, head bowed, arms straight and her fingers entwined just above the hem of her skirt.

“I think you need a lesson in how to be less selfish.” I look around the room. There is a small dining table against one wall. “Bend over the table.”

A few seconds pass whilst her brain works out what I have just said. Outside there is the distant purr of traffic as the world continues on but in this room it is silent, holding its breath, waiting. She looks up at me for a moment and then the command reaches her legs. She walks over to the table and bends across its top.

I stand and turn to walk up the stairs, leaving her restrained only by her desires, the anticipation of a thousand thoughts as to what might be about to happen flashing through her mind. On the landing, there are doors to a bathroom and two bedrooms. The largest is neat, tidy and clean. A double bed with a pink duvet stands in the middle and there is a dressing table against one wall. On its top is a wide black hairbrush with a flat back. I pick it up and descend back into the living room.

“Raise the hem of your dress up to your waist.”

She wriggles on the tabletop as she bunches up the material to reveal two round cheeks bisected by the thin, see-through white V of her panties. I hook my fingers into the band around her waist and yank them down to mid-thigh.

“Spread your legs.”

She moves her feet apart until the elastic bites into her thighs.

“You have strayed, you have been thinking of your own pleasure, not of your husband’s.” For a moment I find myself sounding like a nineteen-fifties vicar. “You will pay the penalty.” I bring the back of the hairbrush down onto her left cheek. It is only a light tap but she flinches.

“Are you ready to receive your discipline?”

“Yes,” her voice is an almost inaudible hiss.

“Yes, Sir,” I say as I bring the brush down harder. There is a satisfying crack as her flesh flattens.

“Yes, Sir,” her voice is clear.

I smack the brush down with a steady rhythm, alternating from cheek to cheek. She gasps, wriggles and writhes at each contact. One hard stroke sends a crack echoing around the room and her body arches. Her sharp intake of breath hisses between clenched teeth.

The pearl white rounds of her behind are now blushing, reddening with each stroke as if being warmed by a fire. I pause for a moment and then bring my palm down flat with a satisfying smack. I feel her smooth skin as it ripples beneath the smack. There is a resistance, a firmness that becomes supple under my hand.

I relish the feeling realizing that it is the first physical contact we have felt since I entered the house. My palm descends again. She has wriggled shifting her position. Her right hand is no longer resting on the table. Like a snake her arm is extended beneath her and, standing back, I can see fingers pressing against the open lips of her pussy and moving like a pianist playing a slow melody.

“Stop.” I bring my hand down again. “You may not come until I give you permission.

She freezes, every muscle tense.

I bring my hand down in a slow, unrelenting rhythm. Her flesh feels as if it is hardening, my palm bouncing off round cheeks that feel like footballs, inflated to the point of bursting. My hand stings and I long for the riding crop lying unused in my house but both of us are relishing the sensations of flesh against flesh.

I step back. Her behind is glowing red, the imprints of my fingers patterned across her skin. “Stand up.”

She rises slowly from the table, the skirt slipping down over her behind.

“Lift your skirt.”

I sit in a chair and admire my handiwork. Her bottom is like a ripe fruit, firm and red, hanging tantalizingly in front of me ready to be plucked. “Turn around.”

She shuffles around bringing her legs together as she faces me and the panties fall to her ankles. Her mons is smooth and white, nestling between slim girlish hips. Her long hair hangs straight, curtaining her face as she looks down.

“The spanking brought you pleasure as well as pain?”

She nods. “Yes, Sir,” her voice is a quiet whisper.

“Strip.”

She drops her skirt, pulls the thin material of her top over her head and discards it on the floor as if it is a piece of rubbish that is no longer needed. She kicks aside the knickers. Her breasts are small, pointed as if someone had pinched at the rosy nipples and pulled them out into two peaks.

“You may make yourself come,” I say, watching her intently.

“I… I have never…” she freezes, mouth open, eyes wide.

“What, you have never masturbated, never played with yourself? Am I going to have to teach you that as well?”

“No, Sir, I know how to, it’s just that I have never.” She stills again for a moment. “Never with anyone watching.”

“In which case I will enjoy watching all the more. You may sit.” I point to the floor.