As you know, I wasn’t taking calls on the Fourth.

That’s because I was a bit busy with one of my friends. Let me back up a bit, and describe my friend for you. He’s tall and slender, with pale skin and dark hair. He’s got lovely green eyes and the most deliciously wicked grin. He’s very smart, intelligent and well spoken; his cheekbones are sculpted works of art, his abs make me drool and his cock would make Leonardo reach for his tools to capture it. He is divine.

Now, my friend has a tendency to take the world too seriously.

He gets stressed out really easily, lets himself get all wound up and drives himself to distraction. Poor guy! Sometimes he just works until he collapses, sometimes he turns to risky behavior to let off some steam (street louge, of all things!) and sometimes he seeks solace in a bar. I’ve been talking with him for a while about other things he could try to take the edge off, and for the Fourth, he finally asked me to help him out.

My stressed out friend came to me for relief.

It was clearly hard for him to put into words what he needed. But never let it be said that I’m an easy Mistress to manipulate. I waited, letting the pressure of silence work its magic on him, until he finally lifted his eyes and told me what he needed. “Pain and pleasure; a safe place to fall and finally be caught. I want to land somewhere safe for a change.” Now, that? I can work with.

I told him to stand at the wall for me, and not to move.

Hands spread on the wall, shoulder height, legs apart, knees bent. Nude. I put a blindfold on him, to heighten the sensations, and began. I used my hands first, across his skin, down his back and up his chest. I hugged his body to mine, back to front, and soothed him. I scratched my nails over his nipples, heard him draw breath in a not-quite-gasp. And then I used my tools on him. My flogger to raise his skin’s temperature, a heat and pressure across his back, his ass. A paddle to sting and make his sway, crying out softly. He began to breathe for me, panting and shivering. Sweat rose in the small of his back, his temples, and he moaned.

While I gave him sensation across his flesh, his body responded.

His cock stood tall for me, turgid and weeping. And yet I didn’t touch it. I’d told him when we began that he would have to beg for me, beg for my touch, my strappon. He’d laughed, and responded that if I could get him to beg, then he would be most appreciative. My fingers played over his heated skin, teasing him, drawing moans and sighs with equal facility from him. When my fingers delved into his cleft, he swayed his back, pushing his ass back at me. I leaned over him, whispered into his ear “Beg for me. One word is all it would take. Say ‘please.'”