Dawn and Sir – An Erotic Story

Dawn Davis stopped her red Audi coupe along the curb on Ewing Street. The neighborhood was one of the oldest in the city, and the gentrification reflected early Greek Revival-style homes and a few, rare Gothic Revival residences. The neighborhood was ideal for a stroll on a warm late-summer evening with fireflies while the sun held off its setting well into the night.

Despite the safety of the neighborhood, Dawn was nonetheless uneasy. She and Sir had not met again, due to her business travels.

Sitting in her coupe, she was ready for more of Sir. She relished her time with him — although the images of her in action during their previous meeting had caused a near fiasco with her son’s friend.

She loved how Sir treated her, how he was in control, how she didn’t have to make decisions. Everything was out of her hands. It was a rarity. Lack of control was foreign. Yet, lingering fears of not managing a situation — particularly when Sir was involved — had settled in her belly, weighing her down into the driver’s seat. She wanted control or, at least, understand what was going on around her. She could then prepare.

Expectancy was bubbling deep in her stomach too. She recalled her shoulder-curling fears of the first meeting with Sir, but those fears had been smothered by the nice downtown apartment. It wasn’t a dump like she had honestly expected, even imagined. The apartment was quite the opposite. And, where she slipped off her pumps, there was the sign that read: Daddy knows best. It was calming — as much as she could be calmed in such a circumstance. She now was excited to return to meet Sir, so the apartment and message must have worked.

This time, Sir’s invitation did not list the high-end downtown condo as the meeting place. The location was here, at this two-story house on Ewing.

Ewing Street altogether was another type of place than the downtown skyscraper — completely different.

The apartment, where she had met him previously, was filled with bright sunlight from the wide windows and was swamped in poshness. It had only two rooms beyond the melded, open-air living room, dining room, and kitchen.

The Ewing house was a Tudor style. It had decorative half-timbering, tall windows, patterned stonework, and a steeply pitched roof reminiscent of Medieval English homes. The façade offered a dominant cross gable with a mini-gable-articulated door. It also had a tall, block chimney. An ancient oak shaded the yard and house, casting darkness over the place, blocking the light.

Dawn was reminded of green-faced witches, who lived in this style of house in children’s books.

Looking through the passenger window of her car, she knew this house must have a basement. She imagined it as dark and damp, a musty smell. A dungeon. The house roused fears of the darker side of sex. Chains, torture, imprisonment. Ball gags. The Gulag of BDSM. The place must have plenty of rooms and closets—large and small—to trap people.

Her foot accidentally hit the gas pedal, revving the powerful, V6 engine. Her body was sharing a subconscious message: leave, avoid becoming a prisoner of sex, escape the labor camp before going in. Yet she turned off the car. She puffed her cheeks, blowing out stress. Then she gathered her few belongings into her purse.

She stood beside the car and shuffled her skirt to her knees.

“You can do this. Remember how much you liked it before,” she encouraged. “It’ll be exactly the same, just somewhere else.”

The old-style front of the house put her further ill at ease. The doorbell gave three dongs in a deep arpeggio. The only missing pieces at the doorway were the crack of thunder and a streak of lightning slashing between heavy clouds. However, the evening was warm and in the last minutes before sunset. The evening smelled of cleanliness and peace of summertime.

The door unlocked and was pulled back.

“Greetings, Ms. Davis.” Sir grinned confidently. “Welcome! Come in, please.”

She stepped into the cramped foyer.

“I’m glad to see you again, Sir,” she said. She was proud to have remembered to add the title — his requirement.

She slipped off her mauve high-heel slide sandals below a small sign that eased her worries once again — somewhat. It read: Fathers are the earthly root of wisdom.

“Have a seat, Ms. Davis. I have Sauvignon Blanc chilled.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

She sat in a tufted barrel chair. She crossed her ankles and straightened her spine and stretched her neck to remain aloof and cool. However, she was feeling quite the opposite. She was wringing her hands in her lap.

Her heart skipped when the cork popped. All the memories of missteps and faux pas rushed back to her. Inappropriate questions, forgetting to say “Sir,” being sent to the bedroom to repeat the rules aloud while facing the wall.

Sir appeared from around the corner to the living room. He was smiling. He held two wine glasses by their stems. She accepted a glass, thanking him. She sipped and remained silent but smiling. The condensation cooled her jittery hands nicely.

Sir eased into the matching barrel chair a few feet from her. He crossed his legs.

“I am glad you reached out again. I was unsure if you would,” he said. Sir resettled into his chair. “I believe we connected previously.”

“I enjoyed — loved — our time together, Sir.”

“You liked the images too?”

“I was so glad to get them, Sir. They were so unexpected, A special gift, They’re my digital secrets, I’ve looked at them and looked at them. Our experience last time was so life-changing and enjoyable, It let me lose control, to not be in charge, I needed that, I have to remind myself that I don’t have to have the reins all the time… Sir.” She stopped speaking abruptly, knowing she had blathered on.

Sir’s eyes were studying her and he was letting her babble.

 When she had reined in her mouth, Sir simply said, “I am glad you enjoyed the images and our meeting.”

Dawn smiled and darted her eyes downward. “Yes, Sir.”

Sir shifted slightly in his chair. He brought his wine glass to his lips.

“The first time with me is gentle, calming. I prefer it that way.” He grinned like a loving father. “My intent is for you to get to know me and for me to get to you know.”

“We should know each other,” she agreed, and added quickly, “Sir.”

His slow, knowing demeanor and tightened lips conveyed that he recognized Dawn’s near-misstep. He eased his mouth though.

“Have a sip of wine, please. It will ease your stress.”

His voice was deep, and he spoke so smoothly. The sound comforted her. He was a loving father. He seemed to have that love and earthly wisdom that few people possess.

She drank the cool Sauvignon Blanc, as if it would keep her mouth quiet and mind chilled.

The two sat in silence for a moment. She looked at him.

He wore casual tan linen pants and a fresh-print button-up. The design of the shirt was a blur of reds and yellows, the colors of heatwaves on a weather map. He was tanned. He still wore his gold bracelet that contrasted with his tan. He had strong hands and manicured fingernails.

His home smelled of potpourri. There was a lingering scent of lime, rosemary, and vanilla. Her chest raised as she inhaled the flavor. The mix further eased Dawn’s nerves. It diminished the fears of dampness and mustiness of a dungeon and brought forth crispness and innocence.

After their quiet pause, Dawn asked, “Is this your house, along with the apartment downtown?”

Sir tsked his tongue and turned his head. “Have you forgotten one of my principle rules?”

She gasped. “I am so sorry, Sir. I just…”

“I don’t give grace after an initial meeting. My rules are simple enough that they should not be forgotten.”

“Consequences?” Dawn’s voice cracked. The sudden jitter in her hands swished the wine to the rim of her glass. The legs of the wine slowly slid down the glass.

She felt a warmth and a tightening at the base of her neck.

“Ms. Davis,” Sir said and paused, letting her name echo in the room and ring in her ears. “Yes, there are repercussions. I cannot let you do as you please. It would not be right. Rules are important, central to what I do. By not requiring an action to rectify a mistake, you, in fact, are being disrespected.”

“What do —” she stopped herself immediately and put the wine glass against her lips.

Sir grinned with impishness.

The contours of his face worried Dawn. All the calming effects of the potpourri and the effects of wine disappeared like steam over boiling water.

She became concerned about what Sir would require of her as recompense for the infraction. Last time, he had her standing in the corner, like a schoolgirl, repeating his rules aloud. But he had essentially said he was kinder last time. How unkind would he be in this meeting? The images of a dungeon in the basement roused her mind.

“Have you been out with anyone lately?” he asked.

The simple, off-topic question surprised Dawn, because she expected her punishment to be meted out immediately.

She fumbled her answer. “Yes, I had dinner with a man from another firm, Sir. Only dinner. Nothing more.”

“Dinner with a competitor. That is intriguing. May cause a dust-up.” He then became silent and only studied her.

Dawn was unsure if, or how, she should answer.

The tension heightened between them.

Her eyes moved around the room. The dark wood support beams were bare along the peaked ceiling. He had fashioned the interior in light, warm colors to highlight those beams. A single window was behind her and was covered by a heavy curtain.

The fireplace was built of heavy, dark stones with a cast mantel. The wood inside the fireplace was charred but hadn’t been used since winter.

A chandelier overhead was wrought-iron barn metal and formed in a Castile style. It had two tiers spiked with wax candles. None were lit currently, but they obviously had been lit before. To Dawn, the chandelier matched the notion of a dungeon. Does he have these chandeliers in each of his places? There was one in the apartment, which seemed out of place. Her mind brought up images of people chained to it, black masks over their head, arms handcuffed.

She could not take her eyes off the light fixture. Sir recognized her upward stare.

“The chandelier is nearly a hundred years old,” he said. “It hanged in a Medieval castle in England. I saw it and purchased it immediately.”

Dawn nodded. She took a drink. To her, an ancient chandelier from a castle demanded the presence of a dungeon. There had to be one somewhere. Together, the pair generated fear and conjured apprehension about the unseen and the what-could-be or the what-already-is.

Her foot tapped the floor. All she wanted was to know her punishment for the misstep. Knowing, she could prepare herself, stead her mind.

When her thoughts returned, Sir was waiting for her. He was sitting still and wore a wry grin.

“Welcome back,” he said. “Does the chandelier bother you?”

Dawn tried to smile lightheartedly. “No, Sir, but our meeting is still … still has me nervous. I think of all these bad things happening. I apologize, Sir.”

“Bad things? What ‘bad’ would I do?” Sir asked.

“Ball gags, coarse ropes, latex hoods. Oh god! — spreader bars!” She shivered, “… Sir.”

Sir grinned jovially — more jovially than Dawn had seen before. She began to  worry — a speeding heart and pump of perspiration along her hairline. She drummed up a reason to leave suddenly.

“I have all of those items you mentioned, but, understand, distance makes what we fear even larger than it is,” Sir said slowly, almost threateningly. “Would you want a tour?”

“Sir, I believe I have a meeting with a client about a bridge project. I’m sorry, but I have…”

“Ms. Davis,” he said harshly. “I am not here to torture you or beat you. This is only about release—your release—from the pressure you yoke to yourself. Change your thinking. Have another sip of wine. We can have a walk to acquaint yourself with my home.”

Sir stood. He reached out his hand to Dawn. “Come with me, my darling. You’re safe. You will always be safe with me.”

Dawn set down her glass and took his hand.

He raised her up. When she stood, her knees were wobbly, and a shot of pressure zoomed up her spine.

He and Dawn passed through a round-top doorway beside the fireplace. The hallway was dark. The left side was a wall of stone, which was the rear side of the fireplace. The opposite wall of the hallway was lined with dark wood.

They came to the first wooden door. Sir grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. Inside was a lone child-size bed with majestic head- and footboards and covered in pink princess bedding and blanket.

Sir opened another door to a room. Dawn saw a single dull, metal pole in the center of the room. It was bolted to the ceiling and the floor. There were two iron rings welded high on the piece.

The hall had two more rooms. One room had a single wooden chair in the center of the room, and the other had a long unpadded masseuse table.

When Sir opened the door at the end of the hallway, she got scared. It was a stairway down to, of all places, the basement.

She suddenly stopped and tried to tug her hand away. “I can’t. I think I need to leave. I’m sorry, Sir.”

Sir denied her departure. “Trust me. I am not here to torture you.”

She gave it.

With each step down, Dawn became more nervous and jittery.

Feeling her remaining hesitance, he stopped on the stairway. “Do I look like a torturer?”

Dawn stiffened, standing a foot taller than him because she was two steps higher.

“I want to show you the good things. I trust you will enjoy yourself—if only to realize how wrong you are in your fears.”

Her mouth gave a wince and half-smile at once.

Downstairs, Sir led Dawn with a gentle tug on her hand when she slowed. Dawn nibbled on her fingernails on her right hand.

The ceiling was low, and the support beams for the first floor were visible, crossing the hallway horizontally. The floor was a dull concrete. The concrete was not smooth, like a sidewalk, but was rough. 

They passed four doors before Sir stopped. He grabbed the small door handle on a flimsy wooden door.

“This, my dear, is for you.”

He pushed open the door.

The color of the room was rich, red velvet because of the soft carpet, heavy curtains, and the painted ceiling. In the center of the room was a grand chair. It was a matching red.

She turned to Sir.

“The chair reminds me of Mick Jagger. You know, the Rolling Stones’s lips and tongue logo.”

He smiled. “Go inside.”

The carpet was spongy and soft. Her toes seemed to be walking on marshmallows.

“Have a seat,” he said.

She pressed her hand into the cushion. The chair was plush and velvety. She glanced back at Sir, who was leaning calmly against the door frame. Dawn turned to sit, but Sir stopped her.

“Naked, Ms. Davis,” he sing-songed.

The lovely woman undid the buttons and shed her blouse. She loosened the zipper on her skirt and let it slip to the carpet.

She then started to sit.

Sir corrected her. “Ms. Davis, all the way.”

“Oh, sorry, Sir.”

She unclasped her bra and then shimmied her panties down her thick thighs. She stood naked in the red room. The red light cast shadows over her body’s creases and curves.

“Now, please, sit.”

She settled into the chair. The fabric rubbed softly against her butt, elbows, hands, and her calves.

She saw Sir step onto the carpet and come to the chair. He lifted her hand, as if he was about to slide on a wedding band, and set her hand on a cool, polyester armrest. He then secured her wrist with a leathery band.

“Feel okay?” he asked.

Dawn only nodded, fear nearing once again, but she remained in control of her fears.

Sir suddenly tightened the band. She felt the pulsations in her wrist, as it cut down circulation. He secured her other wrist as tight. Then he tucked a tress of her hair behind her ear.

“Do not worry. You are safe with me,” he said. He rubbed the back of his hand down her cheek.

He took each ankle and secured them individually. She felt pulses at four points of her body, as well as her chest and her temples. She was comfortable but constrained. Sir knelt beside the chair. He patted her forearm. Then he cranked a bar, which was on the side of the chair. It raised the lower portion of the chair. Soon her ankles were higher than her head. Next, Sir further adjusted the lower portion of the chair, so her legs were spread.

He smiled down into her eyes, as he strapped down her thighs. The band squished into their fleshy thickness. The tightness caused a sharp streak of pain.

“You are mine, my darling,” Sir said. He slid his hand down her left thigh. At her hip, he moved right and guided his fingers through her bush. She jolted as he grazed her pussy.

That lightest touch brought her body close to orgasm already. In all her fears and Sir’s constant surprises, she had forgotten how sexually primed she was.

“Sir, please, I need you,” she said. “I have wanted you for weeks. I haven’t been with anyone else. I have been waiting for you.”

He paused his constrictions briefly.

“I trusted that was so. I am the one providing you with peace and relief. No one else is doing that for you.” He reached over her, brushing her breast, and pulled over a strap. Its roughness felt like a seat belt in a car. There was a metallic clack as it locked across her upper chest. Her breasts were squished, making her nipples jut out.

Her ankles, thighs and wrists were strapped to the chair. She inhaled as much air as the belt over her chest would allow.

“Sir, keep me safe,” she whimpered. “Make sure I’m…” She didn’t finish.

“Yes, darling. I always think of you first.”

He drew his fingernail through the center of her chest and to her deep bellybutton. She giggled and twisted. He moved his finger lower. It stroked her brown hair. He brought his finger as close to her clit as possible without touching it.

Dawn began to beg.

“Please, Sir, put it in me. I can’t wait much longer.”

“You will wait, Ms. Davis. I am not ready. You are not ready.”

“Feel me. You’ll know I’m ready for you. I’ve waited so long. I’ve been faithful, intent, Sir.”

He dragged his finger out of her bush, over her belly and circled her brown nipple. She caressed the flesh being squeezed by the belt. He roughly massaged her nipple. Then he leaned forward and nibbled on it.

She exhaled when his lips covered this part of her body. Raising up to look at her, his warm breath was sensuous on her skin.

He leaned down again and suckled her other nipple. Unexpectedly, she jolted as his finger fondled her pussy. She hadn’t noticed its slow move downward with everything else happening.

The restraints and belts holding her down no longer mattered to her. Sir’s sexual attention overrode the throbbing pulsations and concerns about her bonds. Her mind was ferried to a different plane—caught between pain, desire, and pleasure. Goodness encircled her. She was sitting in, laying on, strapped to that same goodness. Then, there was the onset of orgasm, a flood of sweetness, distant though it was.

Dawn watched Sir moved to her feet. He touched her knees. He kneaded her thighs above the straps.

“When was the last time you had a face in your cunt?” Sir asked.

She answered in a gasp. “Long time, Sir.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

She nodded. Her face scrunched in a mix of emotions.

“Have you wished it would happen again?”

She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

He reached back and grabbed her feet. He pressed his thumbs into the arch of her feet.

“I get the feeling that you prefer a large cock over a fast tongue.”

She dug her teeth into her lips. She said nothing.

“I would ask what you prefer, but you’re in no position to answer. You get what you get.”

She remained silent but biting.

“You might need a smack on your face with a hard dick.” He strode from her feet to her face. His hand gripped the length hidden beneath his clothing. She darted her eyes between his masculine façade to his manliness. She had not seen his dick since it was last in her mouth. And that seemed to her years ago.

Her fingers scrunched into fists.

“Please, Sir. Just something. I need something. Please.”

“Very polite, my darling, saying ‘please.’” He turned her head aside and patted her cheek. He loosened his pants.

She gasped when the light fabric dropped to the floor. Before her, level with her eyes, was the bulbous head of his penis—the penis she had been waiting to feel. She swallowed the pooling saliva in her mouth. She flicked her tongue, like wooing the erection closer.

He shifted forward and let its tip touch her tongue. She flicked faster and began to lap to draw it closer. Finally, he pushed into her mouth. Her cheek bulged out as he drove hard. He pulled out of her mouth. His dick was drizzled with Dawn’s spit, some of the saliva dangling off the length. He gave her a quick pop on her cheek.

He moved to the end of the chair. He situated himself between her legs. Her face brightened in anticipation.

He had not fucked her yet. At their first meeting, he had already determined it was too soon. This, their second meeting, his cock was aligned with her cunt. She was too excited. A quick touch and her body would break into orgasmic goodness.

He eased himself in, but she was so slick and waiting that his dick pushed deep, forcing her to grunt. He rocked back and forth, and in seconds, she had lapsed into pleasure. Their slipperiness made the sex easy and subtle.

Dawn tightened herself for Sir’s sake. She wanted to bring him to the ecstasy that she had already entered. Dawn watched his body tense with the thrusts. His shoulders pulled back, broadening his chest. The speed of the thrust increased, and his muscles constricted to her delight. Finally he pulled out and shot his cum over her belly.

He rushed around her and touched the last drool of cum from the tip of his dick onto her outstretched tongue. She brought in her tongue to lavish the goo.

As he propped himself up against the wall, she enjoyed the waves of pleasure splash over her, as well as basking in the mental joy of making this man cum with the visual proof all over her belly. Even more, the subtle aftertaste remained on her tongue.

Later, the garage door raised, and the shiny red coupe pulled inside.

Dawn set down her purse and tote bag on the kitchen table. She noticed the package in the middle of the couch. She rushed over to it.

“I can’t believe it arrived already.” She shoved her fingers into to hole to rip open the package but paused. She first called, “Brandon! Brandon, are you here?”

She heard no answer, so she tore open the package.