Controlling a Beautiful Man

4 min read

Photo by Jens Lindner on Unsplash

I had to admit — would and could admit — to being an admirer of a man with a good penis; myself, of course, included. Not that I ever compared mine to those I had encountered, even in the course of events with my good lady Mrs. Bladedigger. Each was different and stood on its own merit. A man had to work with what he was given.

My admiration wasn’t only in a sexual way though. Please allow me to explain. While women may look at the opposite sex with singular if not blind interest, as is their nature to do so, and not considering myself to be anything but heterosexual, I thought it peculiar perhaps but altogether not a bad thing to enjoy the look of a fine erect cock. It reminded me of a rocket ship or some tall wondrous tower, each filled with mystery and spiraling up towards the heavens. Maybe it was just the fact that I too had one of which I could be proud, and what man wouldn’t be able to spot a fine dick and say so, or at least nod and admit to himself what he had seen?

Our recent experience with Mr. Sadik from Beaucoup Chaussures stuck with me. I was liberated enough to think highly of the skill with which he handled his own manhood, the length and duration of pleasure that he could give himself without the slightest inkling of haste, and his encouragement of me to do the same in front of another male, (i.e. himself) without feeling nervous or awkward. I can admit to being both of those things, which I felt was only natural considering my inexperience.

Now actually touching another man’s penis, while the next logical step for me, considering myself an explorer and like the Mrs. to not shy away from or shun experience, any experience, was still a huge leap. I had no plans to do so, ever, but as it turns out, one cannot predict what kind of a circumstance one would find oneself in that might call for such a venture, and so it was in essence unwise for me to say what I would never do. Me and my love Mrs. Bladedigger lived by the motto never say no to a good thing before you know it’s a bad thing.

So, the circumstance did finally arise. I had a bit of an issue to solve with Mr. Paul of the band Kissed Her for standing the Mrs. up; while everything seemed as smooth as could be in our domestic arrangement, and having been given an apology from Caspar for missing dinner, which the lady accepted, I was still holding out on forgiving him. No, dear reader, it wasn’t jealousy, for if I were jealous I would want him far enough away from my Lady that he should never see nor touch her fine frame again. But there was an injustice here that had a still unknown appropriate reaction that would tighten the thread that was dangling from it. Or maybe just snap it off. If I was completely honest about it, I was very angry with him for so many reasons, many of which I didn’t have words for. Ultimately though I would find out what the main reason was, and it was as ugly as he was beautiful. Sometimes desire disguises itself as anger, like when you tease the girl you like in grade school.

Yes, he was beautiful. From the band’s website it was not possible to get the whole measure of the man, as it were, but when our guest finally appeared at our home for dinner, I could instantly see what Mrs. Bladedigger saw in him: a rough but feminine, kept yet masculine quality. He had obviously worked on his style for some time, to the point where it was second nature to him.

I guess I was trying to show him who was boss, both in the house and in nature. By making him come — controlling his orgasm — I had triumphed. I was his dominator, his superior. It wasn’t about him trying to release me at all. It sounds a little dismissive and for that I’m sorry, but the beasts of the jungle behave the way they behave for a reason. Maybe I was a wolf or some other animal, telling him to stay away. So I took him, played with him, brought him to an ecstatic orgasm and left him wondering what it meant and if it would happen again. If I did nothing but confuse him I would be satisfied with my efforts.

This is our secret too I told him with one hand on his bulbous member and my other under his chin. He was demure, sensitive. He welcomed if not anticipated my dominance of him. Let him go home with his hip clothes and record collection and think about standing her up again I thought, because he wouldn’t know what hit him the next time he messed with House Bladedigger.

His pants down around his ankles, I grabbed his large cock and fished it out of his underwear. I pulled on it forcefully, certainly, as I would my own. There was love, of course; I admired him and the item of his keeping that I currently possessed. I pressed my lips against his throat. I thought about what I had said to him. Too. Meaning what? What did I mean? I meant my relationship with Harmony of course. The secrets were piling up. I kissed him and sucked on his neck, his bearded throat, until he came all over my hand and the garage floor. I stroked him until it was all out — again with the care that I would my own — leaving him dumbfounded.

“You’ll go in there and pretend this never happened,” I said. “But you’ll know it did. I’ll know it. And you’ll behave and never disappoint her again, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes sir,” he panted.

“There there, don’t worry Mr. Paul, everything is good,” I said. “Everything is great actually. It’s just that when you don’t show up, it reflects poorly on me. And that just can’t be. See?”

“Yes, yes I do,” he said. “It wasn’t my f…”

“A man never makes excuses or justifies his behavior,” I said. “Even if it isn’t his fault. Especially when it isn’t his fault. He’d rather go to the gallows than blame someone or something else for his failures.”

“Right…quite right,” he said. “I’ve never come like that before…I want to thank you for whatever you did for whatever reason you did…I really like you. Even more than…”

“Go in the house and get ready for dinner,” I said. What a babbling fool, I thought.

This is an excerpt from Mrs Bladedigger Spots a Foul, part 2. Read more here

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