Chapter 3: The Domination
Tim’s breath hitched, the raw plea hanging between them, thick as the scent of old books and cheap wine. His eyes, still brimming, held hers – not fear now, but a desperate, aching need. Awe at the power she wielded. Hunger for whatever came next. The wet trail of tears glistened on his flushed cheeks, stark against his pale skin. His jaw trembled faintly, a physical echo of the surrender etched onto his face.
Lindsay looked down at him. The sight sent a fresh jolt through her – Tim, her friend, strong and dependable Tim, reduced to this: kneeling, trembling, begging for instruction. The power that surged earlier wasn’t just intoxicating; it was settling into her bones, warm and heavy. It felt right. Like stepping into clothes that finally fit. The sting of Matt’s dismissal, the memory of her own clumsy fumblings, felt distant, washed away by the sheer, visceral reality of Tim’s submission.
She tightened her grip on the leather straps. The rigid silicone weight between her legs felt less alien now, more like an extension of her will. Her own breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the thin cotton of her band tee. A low sound escaped her, not quite a growl, but something primal, guttural, born deep in her chest.
"On the bed," she commanded, her voice low and rough, cutting through the heavy air. It wasn't loud, but it brooked no argument. "Now." She gestured sharply towards the unmade bed with the tip of the dildo, still slick from his mouth. "Face down."
Tim scrambled. He moved with a surprising alacrity, awkwardly pushing himself up from his knees. His movements were uncoordinated, fueled by urgency. He practically lunged towards the bed, the springs groaning in protest as he landed heavily on his stomach, burying his face in the faded floral comforter. His back was a taut, vulnerable arch, muscles rigid with anticipation. He lay still, breathing hard into the fabric, arms half-tucked beneath him.
Lindsay approached slowly. The fairy lights strung across the window cast dancing, elongated shadows that stretched across his prone form. She stopped beside the bed, looking down at him. The curve of his spine, the dip of his lower back, the tense muscles of his shoulders. The sight was both exhilarating and strangely intimate. She reached out, not with her hand, but with the cool, wet tip of the toy. She traced a slow, deliberate line down the knobs of his spine, starting at his neck.
He flinched violently at the touch, a sharp gasp muffled by the comforter. His body tensed even further, every muscle locked. "Face down, ass up. That's how girls take it." Lindsey uttered. "And you wanted to know what it was like to be a girl". She lined up the head of the big black dildo with his puckering hole.
The cool, slick silicone head pressed firmly against Tim’s entrance, an undeniable pressure. He froze beneath her, every muscle locking tight, his face still buried in the faded floral comforter. His breath hitched, a ragged, muffled sound lost in the fabric. Lindsay paused, feeling the intense resistance, the frantic clenching of muscle beneath her target.
She saw the knuckles of his hands, gripping the comforter desperately, turn white. A tremor ran through his entire frame. "Relax," she murmured, the command softer than she intended, laced with a sudden, sharp awareness of his vulnerability. She remembered her own awkward fumblings, the sting of Matt’s impatience. "Breathe out."
He sucked in another sharp, panicked breath instead, holding it. His spine was a rigid, tense line under the soft fairy lights. Lindsay applied more steady pressure, leaning slightly into the harness, feeling the leather straps bite into her own hips. It was a strange counterpoint – the resistance against the toy and the solid anchoring of the harness against her body. The silicone tip breached him, just barely.
Tim cried out, a choked, guttural sound muffled by the comforter. His body jerked violently, a spasm rippling through him. "Fuck! Linds, fuck!" His voice was raw, strained. He pushed back instinctively against the intrusion for a second, trying to escape it, legs kicking slightly.
"Hold still," she commanded, her voice regaining its roughness, pushing past the flicker of concern. She held him firm with one hand splayed low on his back, just above the curve of his ass. "Let it happen." She pushed again, steadily, ignoring the frantic tightening of muscle, the muffled whimpers vibrating against the bedspread.
The resistance was immense, like forcing a cork into a too-tight bottle. She felt the slickness – spit and perhaps the residual wine on her fingers – ease the slide only fractionally. Inch by torturous inch, the rigid plastic invaded him. His back arched sharply, a near-silent scream tearing from his throat as his body was stretched beyond its limits. Sweat beaded along his spine, glistening in the dim, warm light.
Lindsay watched, mesmerized and slightly horrified by the sheer physicality of it. His body was taut as a bowstring, trembling violently. He gasped for air like a drowning man eaThe silicone tip pressed against him, cool and unyielding. Tim tensed, his fingers clawing at the comforter, breath coming in short, panicked bursts. "Linds—" His voice cracked, muffled against the fabric. "Wait, I—"
Lindsay paused, but didn’t pull back. She could feel the resistance of his body, the way his muscles clenched instinctively against the intrusion. She leaned down, her voice a low murmur near his ear. "Breathe out." Her free hand settled on the small of his back, warm against his sweat-damp skin. "Or it’ll hurt."
He exhaled shakily, his shoulders dropping slightly. She pushed forward, just an inch, slow but relentless. The tight ring of muscle gave way reluctantly, swallowing the tip with a stifled groan from Tim. His entire body stiffened, a tremor running through him. "Fuck—" His knuckles whitened against the sheets.
She stopped, letting him adjust. The fairy lights flickered overhead, casting shifting patterns across his arched back. His breath was ragged, uneven. She could see the way his ribs expanded with each inhale, the faint sheen of sweat along his spine.
"Still with me?" she asked, voice rough but softer now.
He nodded jerkily, face still buried in the bedding. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Yeah. Just—fuck, it’s weird."
A breathless laugh escaped her. "Yeah," she agreed, biting her lip. "It is."
She pushed deeper, watching the way his body opened for her, inch by reluctant inch. His sharp inhale, the way his thighs trembled. The sheer *strangeness* of it—her, in control, him, spread beneath her, taking it. The power was dizzying.
He gasped, a ragged, punched-out sound muffled by the comforter. His spine arched like a drawn bowstring. "Fuck, fuck, Linds," he choked, the words vibrating against the fabric, laced with pain and disbelief. His knuckles were bone-white claws sunk deep into the faded floral cotton. Sweat slicked the knobs of his spine, catching the soft, shifting glow of the fairy lights strung above them. The rigid intrusion felt impossible, a violation his body screamed against.
Lindsay paused, mesmerized by the violent tremor running through him. The leather straps bit into her own hips, anchoring her to the reality of this strange power. She remembered Matt’s bored sigh, the way he’d pushed her hand away. "You're terrible at this, Linds." Tim’s desperate whimper was different. It wasn't dismissal; it was a raw, visceral reaction to being taken. Possessed. She leaned her weight forward, infinitesimally. "Breathe," she commanded, her voice low and rough, echoing his earlier struggle with the dildo in his mouth. "Just breathe out. Let it happen."
Tim shuddered, gasping into the comforter, his body rigid against the impossible intrusion. "Breathe," Lindsay commanded again, her voice rough but insistent, anchoring him. She felt the desperate clench of muscle under her hand splayed on his lower back, the frantic tremor running through him. "Out."
He sucked in another ragged breath, held it, then released it in a long, shaky groan that seemed to vibrate the mattress. The tension in his arched spine eased, just a fraction. Then another breath, deeper this time, pushing past the panic. His knuckles unclenched slightly where they gripped the faded floral cotton.
Another breath. Deeper. Slower. His shoulders dropped. The rigid line of his back softened under her hand. His sphincter, a tight ring of desperate resistance moments before, yielded. The clenching spasms subsided, replaced by a slow, reluctant loosening beneath the steady pressure of the slick silicone head.
Lindsay felt the change – the sudden, profound give. A gasp escaped her own lips. "That's it," she breathed, almost to herself. She pushed forward, steady and firm. The remaining resistance melted. The thick shaft slid deeper, impossibly deep, breaching him fully in one smooth, shocking glide. Tim cried out, a sharp, choked sound muffled by the bedding, his body arching once more, not in fight, but in overwhelmed sensation.
She paused, buried deep, feeling the incredible heat and tightness gripping the artificial length, feeling the tremor that wasn't panic but pure, overloaded nerve endings. His breath hitched, then settled into a series of deep, ragged pulls.
"Fuck," he gasped, the word thick and wet against the comforter. "Oh fuck, Linds." His voice was wrecked.
The leather straps dug into her hips, anchoring her. The power was a live wire, singing through her veins. She remembered Matt’s bored impatience, her own clumsy fingers. Not now. Now, she was the force. The giver. The one in absolute control.
She pulled back slowly, the slick drag an obscene sound in the quiet room filled only with their breathing and the faint hum of the fairy lights. Tim whimpered, low and involuntary. She pushed back in, just as deliberately, filling him again. His entire body jerked, a sharp intake of breath hissing between his teeth.
He was tight. So unbelievably tight. And hot. She moved again. Pull. Push. A rhythm establishing itself. Slow. Measured. Deep. Each thrust elicited a muffled gasp, a choked groan, a full-body tremor rippling through him. His fists twisted tighter in the comforter, then relaxed fractionally as she sunk deep, only to tense again as she withdrew.
"Please," he groaned, the word barely audible, lost in fabric. Was it stop? Or more? The ambiguity sent a fresh jolt through her. The harness felt less alien, more like an extension of her will. Her own breathing grew ragged, matching his, a counterpoint to the slick, rhythmic sound of penetration. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades under her thin tee.
She adjusted her stance, bracing her knees against the edge of the mattress. The piston motion became firmer. Faster. Less deliberate exploration, more claiming. Thrust. Tim cried out, not in pain but in pleasure. Thrust. A guttural groan tore from him. Thrust. His body bucked, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the comforter. The scent of sweat, old paper, cheap wine, and something new, something musky and intimate, filled the air.
She watched the muscles in his back and ass flex and release with every drive, the way his hips lifted slightly to meet her on the downstroke, an instinctive, desperate seeking. Her hands, slick with his sweat and the remnants of lube, gripped his hips hard now, pulling him back onto her thrusts with bruising force. The power wasn't just control anymore; it was a raw, physical hunger, a need to see him break further, to feel his utter surrender in the relentless slide and drag.
His gasp was ragged, torn from him as her thrusts hammered deep, the thick shaft stretching him impossibly full with every brutal push forward. The initial shock had burned away, replaced by a desperate, overwhelming heat coiling low in his belly. Sweat plastered his brown hair to his temples, dripped onto the faded floral comforter beneath his cheek. His fingers, no longer clawing the bedding, dug into the mattress, seeking purchase against the relentless rhythm shaking his entire frame.
Lindsay felt it too, a primal thrumming beneath her own skin. The harness straps chafed, a sharp counterpoint to the slick, hot slide as she drove into him. It wasn't just control; it was possession. Seeing him writhe, hearing those guttural cries ripped from his throat – it obliterated Matt’s bored sighs, her own past fumblings, everything. Power sang in her blood, fierce and intoxicating. "Take it," she growled, her voice unrecognizable, rough with exertion and dominance. "All of it."
Tim moaned, a long, low sound that vibrated through the mattress. His body wasn't just yielding now; it was reacting. A subtle shift beneath her punishing grip on his hips. Instead of just absorbing the force, his muscles clenched around the invading length as she pulled back, a hot, demanding pressure that made her gasp. Then, as she surged forward again, he pushed back. Not away. Into her thrust. Meeting it.
The change was electric. It wasn't just her force anymore; it was a collision. His hips lifted, seeking more depth, grinding against the harness base as she buried the dildo fully. "Linds..." he choked out, the word thick, wrecked. "God... yes..." His back arched higher, presenting himself, demanding. The raw hunger she’d sensed earlier wasn’t just passive acceptance; it was an active, aching need.
He pushed back again, harder this time, timing it perfectly with her withdrawal, impaling himself deeper than she could drive him. The leather straps dug sharply into her skin as his force met hers. His breath hitched, then exploded in a ragged, desperate cry. "Fuck me, Linds!" The plea wasn't passive. It was a demand, raw and urgent, ripped from his core. "Just... fuck me!"
The shift was seismic. He wasn't just taking it; he was chasing it. Driving himself onto the rigid silicone with a ferocity that stole her breath. His hips rolled, grinding, then pistoning back hard and fast. Lindsay braced, her own rhythm faltering for a heartbeat as the sheer force of his movement threatened to overwhelm her balance. The power dynamic tilted, vibrated on a knife's edge. He was using her, using the toy, to shatter himself.
A fierce, possessive pride surged through her, hotter than before. He was breaking open under her, for her. She tightened her grip on his sweat-slick hips, nails biting in, not to control his movement, but to anchor herself against it. She met his frantic pushing with a deep, grinding hold, letting him fuck himself on her, watching the desperate arch of his spine, the tremors wracking his thighs. His movements grew more frantic, less coordinated, pure animal need driving him.
Then, his head snapped up from the comforter, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream before the words burst out, hoarse and ragged with want. "Ride me," he gasped, the command mangled by desperation. "Linds, ride me! Use me!" He bucked wildly, trying to force her to move, to match his frenzy.
The raw, begging command ignited her. It wasn't a plea for her to stop; it was a demand for her domination to be absolute. "Ride?" she snarled, the word thick with dangerous intent. Her hands slid from his hips, one planting firmly between his shoulder blades, pinning his upper body down against the mattress. With the other, she grabbed a fistful of his hair near the crown, wrenching his head back sharply. The action forced his spine into a deeper, more vulnerable arch, lifting his hips higher. She leaned her weight into him, using the leverage, her own hips snapping forward with brutal precision. "You want ridden?"
He cried out, a sharp, high sound cut off as she slammed home, deep and unyielding. His body jolted, pinned between her hand on his back and the force of her thrust. She held him there, immobilized for a agonizing second, stretched impossibly wide. Then she pulled back, almost completely, letting him feel the agonizing emptiness before driving forward again with piston-like force. "Then take it!" she commanded, her voice a guttural roar that echoed in the small room. "Ride my big black cock!"
Tim gasped, the force of her thrust punching the air from his lungs. Her grip in his hair was a searing anchor, yanking his head back, exposing the desperate arch of his throat as her hips pistoned forward. "Yes! Fuck!" The word tore out of him, ragged and raw, lost beneath the slick slap of silicone driving deep, the creak of the worn bedsprings, his own choked cries. His world narrowed to the brutal invasion, the impossible stretch, the burn transforming into a white-hot coil tightening low in his belly with every punishing stroke.
Her command still echoed – Ride my big black cock! – fueling the frenzy. He pushed back against her, meeting each slam, grinding against the harness base, chasing the pressure, chasing the fire threatening to consume him. The fairy lights overhead blurred into streaks of gold. Sweat stung his eyes, mixed with the salt of earlier tears. The scent—musky, intimate, sharp with exertion—filled his head. His fingers scrabbled uselessly on the slick comforter. Every nerve ending screamed.
Lindsay watched the muscles in his back and ass ripple and clench, felt the desperate pull of him around the toy every time she withdrew. Power, raw and intoxicating, surged through her harness-strapped hips. She saw the tremors intensify, heard the pitch of his cries shift from pain and effort to something frantic, keening. He was close. So close. She leaned her weight into the pin on his back, drove harder, deeper, locking him in that vulnerable arch. "That's it," she snarled, breathless herself, the leather biting fiercely into her skin. "Come on. Take it all. Come."
It hit him like a physical blow, stealing his voice mid-moan. His entire body locked, rigid as stone beneath her hands. A silent, open-mouthed gasp, eyes wide and unseeing. Then an explosion of pure, shuddering sensation ripped through him, centered deep in his core, radiating out in blinding waves. It wasn't localized; it wasn't his cock. It was a deep, internal detonation, a pulsing, electric current rocking his hips, spasming his thighs, clenching the muscles gripping the dildo in an almost painful vise. A low, guttural groan vibrated from his chest, long and trembling, as the intense, blinding waves of pleasure washed over him, leaving him shuddering.
He collapsed forward, boneless, face buried back in the damp comforter, gasping, his whole frame trembling with violent aftershocks. Lindsay held still, buried deep within him, feeling the incredible fluttering pulses around the toy, the heat radiating from his skin. She slowly released her grip on his hair, her hand sliding down to rest gently between his shaking shoulder blades. Her own breath came in ragged gasps.
The tremors subsided gradually, leaving him weak and spent. He lay utterly still except for the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by their harsh breathing and the faint, persistent hum of the fairy lights. Lindsay carefully, slowly, withdrew the toy. He flinched minutely but made no sound.
After a long moment, Tim shifted slightly. He twisted his head, resting his cheek on the damp cotton, blinking up at her. His hazel eyes were dazed, unfocused, pupils blown wide. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. A deep flush covered his neck and chest. He swallowed, his throat working. His voice, when it came, was a wrecked whisper, thick with utter confusion. "Linds?" He paused, his brow furrowed, a look of profound bewilderment crossing his exhausted features. He glanced down instinctively at the mattress beneath his hips, then back up at her, disbelief warring with the lingering haze of overwhelming pleasure. "That... that was... but... where is it?"
He pushed himself up weakly onto his elbows, twisting to look more deliberately at the sheets beneath him, at his own body. Nothing. No familiar wetness. Just sweat and the faint, musky scent. Utterly perplexed, the haze of pleasure receding to reveal pure, uncomprehending shock, he stared at the dry spot on the comforter, then back at her. "I came. I swear I felt... it was... huge. Like... everything. But... nothing came out? How?" His voice cracked, completely lost. "Seriously. Where is it?"
Lindsay met his bewildered gaze, the fierce dominance momentarily replaced by a flicker of her own surprise and then, slowly, a small, understanding smile touched her lips. She reached out, her touch surprisingly gentle on his damp shoulder. "Inside," she murmured softly, her voice rough but no longer a command. "It happened inside. That's the point, dummy. You just had a girl's orgasm." She paused, seeing the utter incomprehension still etched on his face. "The really, really good kind." She gave his shoulder a light squeeze, her own breath still uneven. "You okay?"
Tim blinked slowly, processing, the dazed look slowly shifting into something like stunned realization. He looked down at his own body again, then back at her. "Oh," was all he managed, his voice small. He lowered himself back down onto his forearms, resting his forehead on the comforter. A shaky breath escaped him. "Okay. Yeah. Okay." He was silent for another moment, the only sound their mingled breathing and the distant hum of the apartment. Then, muffled by the fabric, came a faint, incredulous whisper. "Holy shit."