There is a man in my underwear and I am turned on by it. They are not lacy or fancy, but he looks delicious in them.
He is 6'4" and a builder with an after work drinks body. Barrel chested and still smelling faintly of bitumen, seeing him standing there waiting in a pair of my Hello Kitty cotton knickers is compelling. Not because I think he is less masculine in them, but because he does.
He looks unsure. This man, who is the loudest of the loud when he's in the pub with his workmates, looks like he is waiting for me to compliment him. I have never seen his cock look so shrivelled and small and when my eyes, which have been trailing over him reach it, he knows that is what I think. He goes to cover himself.
"Hands by your side."
He complies.
"Turn around so I can see you. Slowly."
He is so slow, so eager to please me, that he loses his balance for a moment and nearly falls over. He straightens himself and I smile at him.
His eyes glaze with tears. Gratitude? I think so. I have the power here, all of it. All I would have to do to destroy this man right now is laugh. I know it and so does he. He is afraid, for how could he go back to being the Big Man in the pub? That is what they call him. Big Man. The woman want him and the men want to be him. That is how I will torture him. I know now.
"Stand there. Do not touch yourself. Do not touch me. Do not get hard." The last instruction is pointless but it will make him concentrate.
I lie back on my sofa and pick up my phone. I show him who I am dialling. His best friend. He answers.
I tell him I have always wanted to try phone sex, would he be up for it? "Yes? Oh, how wonderful. Tell me, tell me what you would do if you were here."
I put him on speakerphone, look at the man in my underwear and put a finger to my lips. His quiver and his eyes say pain. While his friend tells me all the frankly filthy things he wants to do to me, I am stroking my breasts, caressing my nipples while the man in my pants does not know whether to be annoyed, humiliated or turned on. He is suffering. I can see him desperately trying to think of anything else than me now stroking my own clit while I pant and moan for his friend, anything so he doesn't get hard. He fails. I notice. I shake my head at him. I carry on bringing myself off.
I beckon him over and run juice covered fingers over the top of my knickers, tracing his by now very big and very hard cock. He stifles a groan as his friend reaches his own orgasm, loudly, proudly as a splat hits his keys. I thank him and hang up.
This man in my underwear is breathing heavily now, his cock straining to free itself, his fingers twitching to bury themselves in my hair while he buries his dick in my throat. This is a man used to taking the lead, but tonight he has promised to let me lead him and be my servant. He knows that I will torture him and that I can decide not to fuck him at any time, but the chance of it is enough for him to agree to my terms. The cheeky grin at pulling on my knickers is long gone now and he has, while I have been on the phone with his best friend, abandoned any illusion that he has any control at all.
Big Man. Brought down to size.
I walk around him, inspecting him and trailing my fingers over his body. He quivers and his cock gets even harder. There is now a wet patch where his helmet is and he looks down guiltily.
"You have nothing to be guilty about. You are supposed to be enjoying this." I tell him and a solitary tear runs down his cheek. I lick it off and his cock twitches violently.
"Want to put it in me?" he nods in affirmation. "Want to slide it in, lose yourself in my hot, wet, cunt?" He groans, and I see something in him break. He will do whatever I tell him to.
I reach down and pick up a dildo. Not too big, but not exactly small.
"Let's get ready with this first eh?" I run it over my mouth. His exhalation is very much in tune with the nodding of his head.
He thinks it is on now. He thinks he is going to watch me fuck myself with a dildo. He thinks that this part of our interaction is reverting back to the Male Gaze, that he is going to watch a show entitled Performative Sexuality. That he will watch me turn him on then pin me down and fuck me. And to be honest, on another day he might.
But this man is in my underwear and I have him exactly where I want him.
So I go behind him, and pulling just the back of my knickers down, expose his arse and bend him over facing a mirror.
"Oh darling, you didn't think this was for me did you?" My face is a challenge, reminding him there is a safe word he can use at any time. His is determined, he has come this far.
Pouring lube all over his ass and rubbing it on his now quivering asshole, I put a condom on the dildo in my strap and slide it in. Slowly to start with, pushing the reflexive boundaries of this tightness until I feel it start to relax. When he starts to push back on me, eager, I ramp it up. Thrusting, pushing, insistent. Over and over and over and then I hear him whispering. I am about to punish him for it when I realise he is saying thank you on every stroke.
I switch on the vibration and watch him in the mirror. I tell him how pretty he is as I fuck him, how beautiful as the buzzing brings me closer to orgasm too. I hold his head up with one hand by the hair as I cum hard and he watches me, thank you, thank you, thank you on his lips.
In one fluid motion I slide out, spin him round, push him onto the sofa and climb onto his cock. I come again as he does, the heat and moisture of a cunt that's still pulsing and my plastic cock bouncing off his belly sending him over the edge. He cums deep inside of me and my whole vulva shakes, my vagina gripping him tight, squeezing every last drop from him.
I flop beside him on the sofa and somehow find the strength to push him to the floor. I open my legs wide.
"Use your tongue. Clean up your mess." I smile as he happily lowers his head and complies.
There is a man in my underwear you see. And I am not done with him yet.
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