He hit the roof!

Well, the ceiling …

One question I am asked quite often is what is the youngest man I have played with. If I ignore some of the fumbling and sucking that went on in my early teens, the honest answer is seventeen, a seventeen-year-old schoolboy. I’ll explain.

I was at a local charity event with my husband. I wasn’t dressed sexily, although as you can see from this photo taken that evening, I was wearing patent boots. To be honest, it was rather a boring event and perhaps that’s why I’d had rather a lot to drink.

A fresh-faced lad came over and introduced himself as Robbie. He’d also had a lot to drink, too much in fact. He said he’d seen me around the area a few times and wanted me to know that he considered me to be the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. He described seeing me some time before in a particular supermarket in a leather skirt and high heels boots and said from that moment on he’d be completely obsessed and thought about me every day.

All I could do was laugh and say it was very flattering to hear this. It was fun flirting with a lad still in the lower sixth form of a local school and as the conversation went on, he used words from which I deduced he was very interested in mature, dominant women. I don’t remember exactly what he said that evening – as I’ve said, I was pretty drunk – but it was about my being stern and my husband knowing his place and he thought I was clearly commanding and someone who demanded obedience.

I probably shouldn’t have but I acknowledged that I am rather dominant and like men who do as they’re told. He asked if I ever dressed in a style to assert my dominance and I admitted that I sometimes wear thigh length boots and love them and that I have quite a collection of PVC, leather, uniforms and the like. At this point he looked like a puppy with his tongue hanging out. Then I mentioned the magic word “whip” and he was almost bouncing up and down in his chair with excitement. “You have a whip?”

“Several”, I confirmed. “Two riding crops, two bullwhips, one long dressage whip and a cane and, of course, handcuffs, a gag and a leather dog collar and chain leash.”

We had even more drinks, and the conversation turned kinkier. He asked if I ever use my whips or handcuffs with my husband and I explained that he’s not really into the pain thing but that I do occasionally do such sessions with other men. He was beside himself with excitement by now. “Doesn’t your husband mind?”, he asked. “No, not at all. He knows I enjoy it. And, anyway, he does what he is told.”

Now he made his move: would I do a discipline session with him? He was willing to pay whatever I demanded; it would be an honour. He wished to serve me, do work for me, clean my house and so on and on.

Now at this point a light came on in my head and I sobered up a little, as it suddenly struck me that this lad lived locally, went to a nearby school and while I didn’t know his parents personally, I knew who they were and chances were they knew friends or neighbours of mine. So I tried to ‘back off’ and said it had been fun chatting to him but it was all a bit of harmless fun and I had no intention of doing a Miss Whiplash session with a boy. “Why not?” he pleaded. “You’re too young, and you’re too local” I told him “And I don’t want people I know gossiping about me.” He begged, he pleased, he offered me his savings but the only concession I made was to take his email address and promise to send him some photos of me in some domina outfits for him to “enjoy”, on the promise he would keep them strictly private. The next day I sent him some – I can’t remember exactly which ones but along these lines.

I received a series of emails from him begging me to reconsider and to give him the greatest thrill of his life by agreeing to a domination session. Of course, I politely told hm it was simply out of the question and I shouldn’t have told him the things I did, blaming too much wine.

But all the time, the idea kept going around in my head and I couldn’t shake off the idea of having a young lad, horny and full of virile spunk, lying at my feet. As is usual, I told my husband of my dilemma: lots of reasons not to do this – too close to home, being the major one – but admitting that the idea was giving me a thrill. He was very clear: he thought I should do it as a one-off and only with a very firm agreement that it must remain our secret.

For weeks and weeks, I thought about it and I continued to receive his emails pleading with me for just one hour with me. I kept saying no but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head and I came to realise that if I didn’t do it, I would never be able to stop thinking that maybe I should. So, eventually, hesitantly I said I would, provided he agreed it was a one off, that he’d never request another meeting and we’d probably never meet again and that he would not breath a word of this to anyone. No bragging about this at school on Monday! He readily agreed.

And so I did it. We waited to a weekend when his parents had gone away to Paris, so there was no chance of being disturbed and I went to his house in ‘plain clothes’ and a long overcoat which concealed my outfit, just in case any of his neighbours spotted me. When I took off my coat and he saw what I was wearing, I thought for a moment he might faint, as his face went white and his mouth just opened and closed but no words cam out until, finally, he said “awesome!”

I wore a PVC suspender belt and PVC quarter cup bra, fully fashioned stockings (naturally!) and thigh length, high heel boots, long PVC gloves and a PVC mini skirt and PVC jacket, each item in black. I brought with me my long dressage whip and a riding crop, smuggled in under my long overcoat, and a pair of handcuffs in my pocket, should I need to restrain him.

I won’t go into all the ins and outs of what we did but he had told me he wasn’t looking for a heavy punishment session, or severe whipping, more one of domination and control, so I quickly had him on the floor kissing and licking my boots. After a while, and as I became more and more aroused, I opened my jacket and ordered him to suckle on my breasts. He took a few mild strokes from both whip and crop too and one or two slaps across the face. For the finale, I told him that I intended to masturbate him and drain all of his young, healthy sperm from him. By this point we were in his bedroom and I handcuffed him to his bed and got to work. I worked him up and down towards his climax but I wanted him to suffer through delay and denial and he began to plead with me to finish him off. He was made to beg while I edged him, before I was willing to grant his wish.

When I did, an extraordinary thing happened, as his first spurt was so strong, so powerful, it actually hit his bedroom ceiling. Now, I should add here that his room was quite small and the ceiling not particularly high but bloody hell, I had never seen a cum shot as powerful as that, as it flew past my face (just) and literally hit the ceiling. He had four more very large spurts, all of which hit me and then there was a pause and I thought he was fully drained but after a pause, he began spurting spunk again, albeit with decreasing power until his fluid just poured and then dribbled out over my PVC gloved hand.

It was a wonderful experience and he was so thrilled he could barely speak. He stuck to our agreement and never emailed me again asking for a repeat session. However, each year to this day I receive a Christmas card from him with a short note and he is doing well. I wonder if he has a domina in his life.

If I am being completely honest, I felt two slightly contradictory emotions for some time after the session at his house. While it had gone perfectly, I did feel a degree of guilt about dominating and masturbating a schoolboy, especially one living so close to my own home. But on the other hand, I kept thinking about his ejaculation and I talked about this with my husband. At first, I was tempted to contact him again and suggest a hand relief session or maybe oral, as having a cock explode like that in my mouth and having to gulp down so much semen was an idea that excited me and still does. My husband asked if I might not prefer to invite him to our house and get him to ride me one afternoon, and pump me full of seed, the idea of a very young spunk filled stud inseminating a housewife much older than his mother was something which we both found very erotic.

But caution ruled the day and I parked the idea and gradually the temptation to revisit faded. Sometimes it is better to leave things as they are with wonderful memories after a perfect encounter. But I will never forget seeing his spunk fly past me and later dripping down from his bedroom ceiling.