A bear walks into a lioness den.

That’s the image that comes into my mind when I see him. He’s large and hunched over on the couch, elbows on his knees and face straight ahead. He’s likely reconsidering every life decision that brought him to this point. That, in itself, isn’t unusual. Sometimes, I have clients that get cold feet when faced with the actual possibility of following this through, but I don’t see regret anywhere in that intense expression of his. It would be more accurate to say that he looks like he is contemplating a life or death situation. Perhaps I should be concerned. With those large hairy arms, bushy beard and fierce expression, he would likely intimidate most other women.

I’m not most other women.

I lean against the doorframe and watch him for a few seconds before he notices my presence. At first, he appears distinctly uncomfortable, glancing around the bright pink room that I decorated like a decadent paradise with draped silks of pink and black. He looks trapped by all the domesticity, this wild animal that wandered into my boudoir. It should be funny. I think maybe he wants to bolt out of here, but he stays seated, hands clenching and unclenching.

You’re not going anywhere, my little bear.

I saunter in then, and his face immediately snaps towards me, eyes flaring in surprise.
And desire. It sends a shiver down my spine.
It’s a reaction that I should be used to by now, but that the magnificent creature wants me is exhilarating. I’m no shrinking violet myself, nearly six feet tall in heels, with curves…well, everywhere. Growing up, I always felt too big, too bulky, too much. I used to hide in big T-shirts and baggy jeans and nearly gave myself scoliosis from stooping so much, because I wanted to hide.

Now I embrace it.

I find that the world treats you how you view yourself. And I am simply an absolute gift, so I demand to be treated like one. In this brothel, my alias is the lioness because of my exotic slanted eyes and brown skin. That, and my penchant for leaving marks on my victims.

And he is one too, although he may not look the part. He is a powerfully built man; I can tell even though he is still in his button-down shirt with baggy slacks covering his heavy thighs. There is bunching in the middle of them, and I let my eyes linger brazenly, long enough to see him squirm ever so slightly.

When my gaze travels back to his face, I study the lines of it. He is not a man who smiles much, I can tell. I don’t like it. He should smile more.

I stride deliberately, until I’m standing in front of him, his face in line with my pussy which remains shielded by my dress. “My name is Catya. What’s yours?”

His eyes run down my body and back up. Face flushed and hands clench on his knees. He has to clear his throat to reply. “Knox.”

I smirk. “Your parents named you Knox?”

He blushes so sweetly before expressing his denial. He doesn’t meet my eyes when he talks. In fact, he seems to look everywhere else in the room but at me. “No. It was my nickname in the military because I’m…” He can’t seem to find the words to finish.

“Big and impenetrable?” I suggest.

He nods with another of those blushes.

I just want to eat him up. He’s so damn cute.

I sit beside him and see him flinch. He’s not used to this. I wonder what possessed such a handsome man to visit a brothel in the first place, much less ask for me. While I love eye candy as much as the next woman, it’s not the bulk of my clientele, and he doesn’t look like the type to need help in attracting women.

But he’s nervous all the same.

“Do you got a girlfriend Knox?” I ask. I rarely ask this to my other clients because I don’t want to know, but there’s something so compelling about this man. Perhaps it’s the combination of power in his body with the nervous restraint he’s exhibiting. Whatever it is, he makes me want to peel back his layers, see what makes him smile, what makes him cry.

What makes him scream.

He shakes his head in answer to my question, and the redness increases on his face.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

He flinches like it’s an insult, although I don’t mean it that way.

He shakes his head again.

I press my legs together as my cunt clenches.

A male virgin.

Rare, pure, untouched.

My pussy quivers and flushes with wetness. I can feel a stray drop trail along my inner thigh. I never in my life thought I would find someone like him and I want to devour him immediately. God, the things I want to do to him…

Patience. You don’t want to scare him away.

I consider him for a moment, wishing I could read his mind and find out what makes him tick. Why he came to visit a dominatrix of all things when he could simply have gone into any bar in the city? Why he kept himself for this long? I mean, all the military men I know of constantly talk about how much tail they got while stationed. Of course, all the military men I know are my brothers, and they are obnoxious at baseline, so they are likely not a representative sample. Nevertheless, a guy like this would not have a problem finding a woman willing to give everything to him, so why has he stayed single?

I ask him.

Time ticks by in the following silence. He keeps quiet for so long I know I’m not getting an answer.

Still, I don’t want to let it go. “You don’t know or you don’t want to tell?”
He finally speaks then, his voice gruff and hesitant. “I don’t….I can’t…. It’s hard for me to open up to people.”

I shift closer to him on the couch, until our thighs are touching. “Is there any reason?”
His fingers clench together. He glances at me out of the side of his eye. “I don’t… I just don’t know how to talk to people.”

God, why does that get me going? “You’re talking to me right now.” I tease.

I get even closer and I can smell him now, the subtle scent of soap and man. He clearly just showered before coming here, and the thought makes my heart warm. It shouldn’t. I mean, it’s common human decency, but you wouldn’t believe how many clients I have who come in without even that. The consideration makes me want to lick him all over, to rub my body all over him and imprint my scent on him. It’s a primal urge, one I don’t completely understand. All I know is the more it’s clear he’s holding himself back, the more I want to set him free.

More than anything, I want to see him smile.

He has deep frown-lines on his forehead. His face has been tense since he got here. I wonder if he has any friends or if people steer clear of him because he looks like the type of guy who would rob you on a cold, dark night and then stuff you into a nearby garbage can, like in those old-timey cartoons.
Instead of the type of man whose fingers blanch as they grip his knees the closer I get.

“Do I scare you Knox?”

“A little,” he says, and it surprises me he admits it. Even more so when he adds, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

I start. I don’t expect for him to be so upfront with his words. They sound like they’ve been forced out of his throat, like he wanted to hold them back but just couldn’t. I’ve received many compliments over the years, in far more creative fashions, but nothing quite gets me going as that line said in that voice, with that pained expression.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

He misinterprets my reaction and immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to swear.”

I smirk. “You know who I am, right?”

He nods.

“And you know exactly what I do?”

He nods again.

“So, why would you think a bit of swearing would offend me?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. That doesn’t mean I should subject you to my rude behavior.”
God, he is adorable.

Are you kidding me? Do they actually make guys like this or is someone just yanking my chain? Because my clit is so fucking hard right now I can feel it throbbing a little heartbeat in between my legs.

That’s it. I can’t take the waiting anymore. Time to get this show on the road.

“Take off your shirt,” I order.

His body jerks and his eyes go to mine, a desperate desire in them. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again and shakes his head.

I cock my head, more curious than offended. “You understand who I am right and what you’re here to do?”

He begins a nod, but stops short when I trail one nail over a vein on his neck. He stills.
“Say it.”

“A dominatrix.” It’s said in a reverential manner most people reserved for deities.
“Yes. But I will not force you to do anything you don’t want to do. You’re in charge of everything that happens here. If you like, we can just talk this entire session.”
He hesitates, but then refuses with another head shake. His eyebrows furrow even deeper and he seems to steel himself for something, because he takes a deep breath. Then, his hands reach up to his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly. So slowly that, if he were anybody else, I would think he’s doing it on purpose to seduce me. After the shirt is unbuttoned all the way, he pulls it off his arms in one fluid movement.

I admire him for a moment because he is magnificent. I have seen nothing like him. He’s certainly muscular, but not in the super defined way of a gym addict. His muscles speak of strength rather than mere aesthetics. It speaks of a man who has lived a hard life and bore the scars to prove it, but also didn’t worry about the concentration of proteins in his meal.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do…” he says, and my heart melts.

I get up, coming around to straddle his lap. “That’s the beauty of it, Knox. You don’t have to do anything.”

I kiss him on the neck first, grazing my lips over his Adam’s apple and feeling him swallow. Goosebumps break out all over his skin and his hands lift as if to touch me, but I give him a gentle bite.

“No.” I caution. “No touching.”

I feel him swallow again, and a gasp escapes his lips as I continue licking at the side of his neck. The thrum in my clit urges me to go faster, but I want to take my time with this one, even as I feel his breathing ratchet up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hands clenching some more like he wants to grab me, but he’s holding himself back because of my order.

Good boy.

I want to reward him, so I slowly start gyrating in his lap. He releases a guttural groan. I can feel him beneath me, an already hard bulge in between my legs. When I move next, he strains against me and I feel him nudge my clit. I moan.

Shit, I might be enjoying this too much.

I need to pull back because this is not for me. It’s for him.
I back off of his lap and sit beside him instead, watching his face flushed with pleasure, expression slack. I put my hand on the side of his face and he leans into it imperceptibly. There is a vein on his forehead, the line a representation of the tension running through his entire body. He’s straining, trying to hold himself back from this. I can feel him squirming and any moment now, he’s going to ask me to stop.

“What do you want, my love?” I ask him, and his eyes get even darker.

“Lips.” He bites it out like a curse and then looks away.

“You want my lips?”

He nods.

“You want me to kiss you?”

He nods again. “Please.”

He grimaces when he says it, as if he can’t believe his own audacity. I want the expression gone from his face.

I normally don’t enjoy kissing clients, but I love a man who can beg so prettily. I grasp his hair with my hands, making sure he can feel the strength in my hands as I pull.

Then I put my lips on his.

It’s not a dainty kiss for first-time lovers. Our connection far supersedes our familiarity. He already knows who I am and I make no efforts to hide just how horny he makes me.
The kiss is wet and needy. My tongue ravages every corner of his mouth. At one point, I’m sure I knick on his tongue with my teeth before sucking on it, pulling it into mouth. He groans, hips digging into the sofa cushion, before thrusting up in the air as if he was seeking more sensation, more everything. His tongue curls around mine. His hands came up to my neck, pulling me closer. I should punish him for that, but I’m just so lost in this, I don’t have a mind to. I wonder why I dislike kissing in the first place.
Moans are dropping from his lips as the kiss gets even sloppier. We’re like two wild animals dueling for dominance, but I will win. I know I will because of who I am, and because of who he is.

I wrap my fingers around his thick neck, only lightly choking, although mentally, I’m permitting him to only breathe me in. For a second, I think I’ve gone too far. His hand comes up to my wrist and I’m about to pull my hand away, but he forces it to remain, tightening my grip on his neck. Harder, he seems to suggest. I give a testing squeeze and he releases a sound of an animal dying as he fucks the air one last time.
Suddenly, I’m being pushed back onto the couch as he storms up and heads towards the door. Everything about his stance screams panic.

“Stop!” I order. If he leaves now, I know that I’ll never see him again, and I can’t stand the thought of it.

He’s standing still, his shoulders shaking.

“Turn around.” I put every single bit of authority I have into that voice. It’s my “Domme” voice or, as my less kinky friends would call it, “my hard ass bitch” voice. Usually, I don’t find that I need to use it, because my clientele are typically very obedient. They are here to be conquered, after all. But I use the voice now and wonder if he’ll take off despite my orders.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he turns around, his face pained with humiliation.

The front of his slacks are wet and desire hums through me at the realization.

He came from a simple kiss.

I nearly come myself at the thought.

He’s perfect.

Untrained, but perfect.
“We’re not done,” I tell him, and his eyes widen at the promise.
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