Ravanys's Confession

When I was 21, I was definitely not new to dominating. I had been sexually active for a few years as a teenager, not because I'd been seduced into it as an innocent girl but just because... I think I've always been a sort of sexual predator. I've always looked at things that way. And I LOVE sex. Everything about it. Positions, smells, the feeling, the exhiliration, orgasming, denial, tease, bondage, the visuals... And in sex, I have power. And at this time in my life, I was at the Wild Dog Night Club, where I always was, every Thursday and Saturday night, but tonight it was Ladies' Night, with a special entertainment by the New York Chippendales performers. Male strippers. I love... male strippers.

No matter how you try to paint it, these men love their job. They're enthusiastic, passionate, completely free, enjoying themselves thoroughly. Women feel the same way, unleashed from their usual societally-pressured submissive attitudes, getting to be naughty and fun and indulgent all in one glorious evening. And it was on one of these evenings that I first got a taste of how wonderful humiliation could be.

I never approached men at this bar, but every time I walked in, the crowd would get just a little quiet at the bar, and a few would turn around and just smile. I am a nice looking woman. I would always be wearing very tight jeans, cowboy boots, a VERY expensive western hat, one of the belt buckles I had won from barrel racing or horse showing, and a button down, crisply ironed shirt. I would always sit in my little corner, and someone would eventually buy me a drink and come on over. It was just like the Dominion, only the table was my yard, and it would become clear quickly what behavior was necessary to keep and hold my attention. Tonight, there were only ladies in the bar, and I lingered near the back of the crowd with my feet propped up, sipping on an apple martini with a white Resistol on. The music was blaring and my girlfriends were screaming, waving money, and I was enjoying every moment of it.

Each one came out and danced, and they'd always end up working their way back to me. Always with the eye contact. Always showing off. There's something that happens sometimes – I can't even describe it properly – when a truly dominant woman looks at a man she can control, and he knows it without any words being exchanged. It's erotic. Powerful. And that's what happened when “Nick” came out for his set. He was about 5'9”, broad shoulders, black hair, incredibly handsome, with a very sizeable package. It barely fit into the small string bikini he wore, and I could tell he was utterly pleased with himself.

He came right near to where I was finally, and I smiled winningly at him. He was dancing for the other girls, but his eyes were completely fixed on me. It was almost embarassing, and my girlfriends were falling over their drunk selves trying to point out his interest. “Heather... he's looking at you! Oh... he's coming for you!” they said. And he did. He came straight over and finished his set, dancing for me. There was heat in his gaze, and when I tried to pay him, I slid out a crisp 10-dollar bill and reached down to offer it to him. He pushed my hand away, and he leaned forward and said, “You're so beautiful, it's payment enough.” And with that, he was gone.

After the show, I went to the bar. I was getting ready to leave, and was not really surprised to see the handsome, now fully dressed Nick exiting out of the room. “He's coming over here,” I thought. And I inwardly chuckled. It wasn't as if I didn't want him. He was more handsome than any of the other men I'd ever been with. And certainly more well endowed. I turned around, though, and took delicious pleasure in pretending I hadn't seen him, and that I wasn't interested. He leaned up against the bar, “Whatever she wants,” and then said, “Hi... I'm Nick.” I turned around, leaning back as if offended he'd gotten into my personal space, “Nick. Wow. I didn't recognize you with all of those clothes on. Perhaps if you'd get naked again, we could reacquaint ourselves.”

Nick blushed, which I thought was quite ironic, considering his occupation was an erotic performer. We sat and talked that way for a very long time, me teasing him, pretending to be disinterested, and him loving every moment of it. He asked me if I would please come back to say goodbye, for he was leaving for the next town in just a few hours. I told him I would if he begged me to.

He laughed, turned red, and said... (and I love this) “Seriously?”

I just nodded, not kidding in the slightest.

He sat his drink down, got on his knees right there in the bar and said, “Pleeease come back and say goodbye to me, Heather.”

So I did. Begging always does it for me.

When we got to the back room, he wrote down his New York telephone number and asked if I'd call him sometime. This was before they had cell phones, of course. I told him I might.

Then I looked at him. And he looked at me.

I said, “Kiss me now, before I change my mind.”

And he did. He rushed at me, kissing me, fumbling like some high-school sophomore, knocking my hat back and pushing me against the wall. He was completely erect beneath his pants, pressing against me, and he tasted like his mixed drink he just finished and some very nice cologne. I reached down and squeezed his cock and chuckled out of the kiss, “Oh, my goodness, Nick, I would have thought you weren't hard ALL the time, but I guess you can't help yourself, can you?”

His face reddened, “I can't.”

I looked at him sternly. Power and loathing came upon me as I pushed him away, suddenly aware of the power I had over him. “You held it all that time. Nice. I bet I could make you cum so fast, your head would spin.”

He laughed and choked, “Heh. You'd be surprised at how much I can hold back.”

I said, “Really?” And then I glanced down, “Pull your pants down, Nick.”

And he did, of course. His cock was hard. And very large. There were veins bulging, running down the length of it with a purplish, angry head, turgid and so very needy.

I reached down, pulling my shirt out of my pants and unbuttoning it. I threw it off to the side, and barechested, I walked over to him as if I was going to kiss him again, my lips parted, his body anticipatory, hot, his cock twitching almost comically. I then lowered my body slow down his and pressed my breasts against his cock, letting them slide up and surround it.

One single time.

And that was enough to send Nick completely over the edge. His voice was tortured, “No wait!” and he gasped, jerking away from me, his cock fumbling in his hands and spasming uncontrollably, cumming all over his belly. I raised up with a smile, sliding my finger across my breast at the first drop of cum that had spilled there and walked over slowly, sliding it across his lip, “Yummy,” I said, and then, “I told you so.”

I put my shirt on, turned around, and walked away, leaving him standing there, groaning, “Oh God.”
The door closed behind me, and I went to get my next drink, floating in a pretty little top space for the rest of the night.