I have to accept the blame. Tara and I had a good friendship. I knew she did not have normal relationships with men. She liked being the dominant too much for normal to be a part of her sex life.
She was five foot eleven inches tall and a bodybuilder so she carried herself at a muscular one hundred ninety pounds. I was five inches shorter and thirty pounds south of her weight. We made an interesting sight when we went out for a friendly dinner or to catch a movie.
Tara was heavy into the FemMuscle Dom scene and only dated smaller males she could throw around. Our comparative sizes and her sexual interests led to her mistake.
I am the comatose laid back type. I never liked making decisions about unimportant things like restaurants or what movie to watch. There are very few things that I have ever been assertive about so Tara was the dominant partner, at least in her eyes. In her defense, she was except that it was by default and not choice. She took making the decisions in our friendship as my ceding control. She became more assertive, and I accepted it. She, from her view, understandably took this as a sign that I wanted her to 'dominate' our relationship.
It was a mistake of interpretation; the truth being that nothing I did with her was important to me.
She decided a consummation of our friendship was in order and that I should be the small male Sub to her FemMuscle Dom. She had never challenged me to the type of physical contest she liked with her men because for her it was a sexual experience. I had showed some interest in her activities. Sexuality is something discussed by people in a friendship so I felt obligated.
We were having dinner at a little Italian place that I introduced her to. She seemed extremely excited that evening, anxious and expectant. I could feel the tension but ignored it figuring that she wanted to talk about her newest conquest.
"David?" Tara said quietly.
I looked up from the vodka linguini I was enjoying.
"I'd like to ask you something?"
"Would you like to come over to my place tonight and mix it up?" she asked.
'Mixing it up' is what I had nicknamed the fights that she and her men got into. From what she had told me, it was a combination wrestling and fighting where she got to trounce the guy for about 20 minutes, then fucked him through the common levels of consciousness.
I put my fork down slowly. The situation had to be handled delicately. It is not every day that a friend asks to fuck you.
I had not considered it a real possibility. Tara was a beautiful woman. She had gorgeous shoulder length black hair with a hint of curl, olive skin, and deceptively soft brown eyes that finished off the picture perfect Italian woman. She was a big girl, but incredibly proportional. I was not a breast man, but she had high and tight cups between a C and D. I admired her thighs. There is nothing more attractive than firm, thick thighs, except maybe blonde pubic hair.
Obviously, it was not that I did not find Tara attractive. She wanted something I had been taught painfully never to give someone else; a situation I knew could only end ugly.
I tried to avoid the situation, but it got ugly.
"Tara, I'm not your type," I said quietly but very pointedly.
She did not take me seriously. Maybe, this whole FemDom thing has guys playing hard to get and needing to be convinced.
"Let me be the judge of that" she replied just as pointedly.
"I'm not into your scene, Tara," I told her. "At all."
She smiled at me, the cat stalking the mouse. I stared back; a real predator surprised at the cat's boldness.
"Tara, speaking as your friend, you do not want to do this."
She smiled dangerously, or what she thought was dangerous; her eyes sparked as she fought to keep her temper in a public place. Tara did not like to be balked.
"I know what I want David!"
I tried one last time.
I opened to her, allowing the smile I hid behind to drain. I looked at her through the flat dead eyes that watched me shave every morning. I let her into the place where she was a target that I would not focus on, because the target is irrelevant. I had lived beyond the horizon of her darkness before the training wheels came of her bicycle. I did not want to hurt Tara, but I no one crossed my lines.
She looked back, blind to what I was showing her. I could see the glow of expectation and desire around her. If I had not been challenged, I would have felt sorry for her.
"What are the rules to this encounter?" I asked.
"Winner takes all," she shrugged confident in her victory. I stared out the window.
"No quitting," she continued, "We keep going until someone gives."
She gave me a huge smile. Someone giving meant until someone was taken.
"When?" I asked with a nod of acceptance.
"We stay here long enough to relax, digest the food a little," she explained, "Then we go over to my place, down to my gym, and we mix it up until I win."
Her smile grew in confidence the quieter I became. I was holding down the rush of adrenaline. My body was trying to enter hyper-excitement. My senses heightened as I fought to control the instinct to do what I had been trained to do in that situation, kill her. I nodded and sat back relaxing. It would be an hour before we would move; I did not want to expend energy fighting my body. I pushed the plate out of the way. I had eaten enough in case it went longer than expected, but I did not want to be weighed down if it did. I sat and began the process of coming down. I relaxed every portion of my body individually the way I had done a thousand times. First, my mind thinking of something else, relaxing my facial muscles and forcing them into the rigor of death... My neck rotated left, right, back, forward, and then released the tension. Shoulders rotated forward then back. Biceps and triceps, forearms, and down to wrists. The hands are important so I flexed and released each finger. Back to the torso, taking deep breaths to stretch my lungs and the muscles in my rib cage. Abdominals, hip flexors, quadriceps, and hamstrings. I brought tension to my calves and released. Rotated my feet, and stretched each individual toe.
I sat quietly as Tara finished eating. Almost I was ready, I needed more though.
I had read it in a novel, a description of the attitude a monk exuded, 'serenity of purpose.' I reached for it, bending my body and will to one objective. My instructors had said we would find different ways to deal with the wait before the target gave us the shot. A lot of the other guys talked about different things. I had no need for tricks; I had plenty of experience waiting for my time to come.
I waited relaxed and ready.
I saw her at the edge of my awareness. She was burning energy in the anxious expectation of conquest.
She talked about a hundred different things, somewhere deep inside where I never looked, laughter echoed.
I listened to her, and waited.
Finally, she signaled the waiter for the check. When he came over, she paid. She smiled at me, another wasted show of domination. I followed her out of the restaurant, and into her car.
"Can you drive me home for a minute? I need my workout clothes," I asked.
"Sure," she replied I could feel her body revving up even higher.
I went up to my apartment, into my bedroom, and opened the drawer with my workout clothes. I changed quietly into a pair of black rowing shorts, and sweats. I threw my wallet and keys into a small waist bag and went out to her car. Before I closed the door, I felt I should make one last try.
"Are you sure?" I asked her.
She smiled and nodded at the door. I closed it and we drove to her place.
Tara owned a beautiful brownstone, and used all three floors of it. Her parents had money, and she was an only child. She owned an extremely successful gym, but the investment capital came entirely from her family, and there was no risk involved for her. Her parents had never gotten out of the habit of paying for everything. I could not blame them. Tara had been a late child, long after they had given up. Their adjustment to having given up was the only reason they did not completely spoil her.
The brownstone had a personal gym in the basement; no weights, just a Stairmaster for an aerobic warm up and mats for her preferred form of entertainment.
She opened the door to her house and pointed me toward the basement as she walked up the steps to the second floor. The first floor was her living room, library, den, and kitchen. Her personal space was on the second floor.
I walked down the steps to the basement, turned on the lights, stripped down to my shorts, and started stretching. I figured it would take longer than my martial arts matches or even the wrestling of my high school and college days.
I released some of my energy, revving myself up slowly, breathing a little faster, and then slowing down again. I kept my back to her when I heard her on the steps and beginning her own stretching.
After about five minutes, I heard her say "Ready?"
I turned around; Tara was impressive.
.... There is more of this story ...