beauty, fiction, love, lust, sex, Sir, women

Sir 2.0 Fit

The torment comes when you’re away from him. When your thoughts keep you awake at night, wondering where he goes and what he does when he’s not here with you. The quality and texture of his thoughts.

What if you walk into one of those rooms and it’s not him stood there?

What if this connection exists only in your body? The riot of endorphins and hormones that emerge when he touches you, talks to you.

When he hurts you.

The absence is a death by a thousand paper cuts. You hide it beneath a bland expression, a deft sense of engagement that shows in the smiles you give, the conversations that hum and burble around you.

It is when you hear your name called that you feel most alive. The possibility of change, of surprise has a way of unnerving you but you obey.

You are a good girl, after all, aren’t you?

Yes, you are.

His good little girl.

You do other things to pass the time. The solidity of the needle in your hand, the concentration required to make art of it relaxes you. It allows you to go into nothing, the place that he takes you to when he touches you. You work until your fingers ache. There is a strength in you, in the waiting. In the night, your fingers go to your sweet spots, and you fire off orgasms, imagining his fingers or his mouth against you. His cock hitting all the right places with each thrust.

Your name is called and you go to him. You shower and change into a black nightie with red satin bows at the shoulders and black hold ups. Cuban heels in red suede and fur. You look at yourself in the mirror, looking at yourself and wondering what he is going to do.


The massage couch is made from memory foam and PVC leather atop beech. He stands there as you walk over to him. He tells you to get on the couch, facing him and you do it. He turns around and smiles at you.

‘I’ve been thinking about you all day, little girl.’

You flush with delight. The gentle hunger in his voice sings to you, low and sweet.

‘I’ve missed you, Daddy.’

He pulls out a length of velvet rope from his back pocket, bites his bottom lip and walks over to you.

‘I’m going to show you how much.’

He tells you to lift your arms above your head. He kisses you softly on the lips before he wraps the rope around your wrists.

‘You look so fucking beautiful tied up, little girl.

You shudder at the look he gives you. The gentle animal called to the surface by the sight of you. Tears come to your eyes and you turn away.

‘Check in?’

He wipes the tears from your eyes with the ball of his thumb. You look at him and smile.


He gives a short nod and leans forward to kiss you.

‘You’re missing me.’

You nod, relieved that he gets it without having it explained to him.

‘Will you kiss me again, Daddy, please?’

He smiles and comes towards you, mouth slightly open as he brings his hand to rest against your shoulder. You dart forward, slipping your lips over his and squeezing your eyes shut. What restraint there is, comes from him. His will. Within that space, you are able to let go, be in your body as a seething, living thing and also apart from it. Feeling not thinking.

You pull your mouth away, closing your eyes so you have the courage to give voice to it.

‘Will you spank me, Daddy, I’ve been bad.’

He took a deep breath.

‘I’ve been touching myself without permission.’

He shakes his head and glares at you.

‘Then I’m going to have to discipline you for that.’

He walks around to favour his right side and pushes your thighs apart. He channels the meanness, the playful arrogance and controlled urgency that goes straight into you. He is gentle with much the same intensity but sometimes you need the warrior in him to come out and fight your demons. To use you as an act of exorcism, and to be loving within that act.

He spanks your pussy whilst looking into your eyes. There is no shame within him, no guilt and it opens you further to him, a flower tasting sunlight never blooms as fully as you do at the sting of his hand.

‘Thank you Daddy.’

He strokes your thigh.

‘Good girl. I think you need another, don’t you?’

You nod and grin, giggling as a wave of endorphins intoxicates you. He comes forward and the bright pain sings through you again and you gasp as you fall back against the table.

‘Oh, thank you Daddy.’

There are tears of relief. You twist on the couch and look at him, drunk with pleasure and pain.

‘What were you going to do to me, Daddy, before I told you I was naughty?’

He smiled and came forward.

‘Anything I want but there was one thing in particular.’

Your breath grows quick as he goes over and retrieves a squeeze bottle.

‘I want to put my hand inside you.’


He comes over and kisses you.

‘We have all the time in the world, little girl, there are no clocks or obligations. You are free to feel anything you want with me. This is a safe place and we will go as slow as you need to, okay?’

You nod and he goes to put on a pair of latex gloves.

He looks at you as he squirts lubricant onto his hands. The slick, wet sound of his application makes you flutter. He comes around and leans over, kissing you as his fingers press forward, stroking you, soft but sure as he opens your labia and strokes small circles around your clit. He slides a finger inside you an inch and you gasp. Your thighs clench with the electricity of it. He kisses downwards, finding your erect nipples through the material of the nightie. You feel wanton and glorious, riding the slow, rolling waves of pleasure that echo through you.

You lose track of time, measuring it only by the intensity of his touch and the slow, patient advance of his fingers inside you. He splays two fingers an inch apart, drawing them in and out in time with the rhythm of your breath. You whimper and he moves his fingers inside you a little further.

Each stroke floods you with sensation, but he pauses to apply more lubricant, reading your body better than you have before now. When you feel him bring a third finger into play, the pressure increases, becoming something sublime in its tension. He has three fingers inside you, you can’t imagine four.

He does not hurry. He checks in with you, and each time, you whisper green. You are within your boundaries even as you push at them. He knows the call to adventure that breathes within you. He pulls out slowly then bunches his fingers together, applying more lubricant with a reverence and care that makes you ache with the pressure of release.

He looks into your eyes, asks if you are ready.

‘Yes, Daddy.’ you say.

Each inch is pursued with a surgical care. He uses the thumb of his other hand to massage around your clit, keeping you connected to the moment. There is a slow, deep intensity that builds within you. A true fullness, a test of your capacity to receive the hand of his love inside you.

He moves that final inch forward, and it takes your breath. He whispers what a good girl you are and begins to graze his slick thumb against your clit.

‘Can I come Daddy?’

He smiles and says nothing but keeps circling around your clit. It sends up tiny bursts of shock, hardening your nipples and rushing to your head.

‘Please Daddy.’

His silence is his answer. There is thunder building within you and a test of your capacity.

‘Please Daddy, can I come?’

You feel yourself starting to come. A ray of sunlight that dreams of becoming lightning, a breeze that wishes to be a hurricane. A ripple that would be a mighty wave. You are coming apart at the seams but you must show him that you’re a good girl.


You say it over and over, punctuated by little exclamations, but the rhythm builds and you start to shudder with it before he looks at you and gives you permission.

With his hand inside you, and his thumb against your clit, you are charged with the light of a furious, scalding ecstasy. Everything fades away, then returns charged with the abandon of surrender and the pleasure that you derive from it. An act of transgressive devotion with a man who knows what you need without having to explain it.

Your entire body throbs with the fulfilment. Your unspoken ravenous appetite is liberated from self-consciousness as you fly and fall together. He does not waver, withdrawing with the same care as he entered you and then after removing his gloves and wiping his hands, he returns to you. Holding you as you drop, but this time it is not as far and not as fast. You lay there in his arms until you are yourself again.

Before you leave, well are able to leave, he slips you a small device. A last generation phone.

‘You’re not supposed to have this, but I want you to have a way to contact me when we’re apart. I won’t always be able to answer but I am there if you need me. ‘

You look at it and kiss him again as he holds your face in his hands.

That night, you sleep with it in your hands. You dare not switch it on, but you know its potential and it ushers you into a deep and welcome sleep.



One thought on “Sir 2.0 Fit

  1. Pingback: Weekend Omnibus | MB Blissett

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