Guest blog: Show me you’re a good boy

Image by the amazing Stuart F Taylor

I don’t always ask guest bloggers this question, but I do usually like it if they tell me: is this story true, or a fantasy? I am happy to publish both: fantasies are often a super hot insight into the detail of people’s kinks, even if they can’t be fulfilled in real life. But I’m not ashamed to tell you that I have a penchant for the truth. I enjoy being the one who gets to hear people’s red hot fuckbrags. I like revelling in the knowledge that when someone’s writing something especially filthy, that thing actually happened to them in real life. Anyway. Today’s absolutely incredible femdom office teasing story pressed so many of my buttons, and so many of the buttons that subby men I’ve known in the past had too, that I had to ask him if it was true. You’ll probably be as horny as I was to know that the answer is ‘yes.’ Huge thanks to the lovely (and very good) anonymous writer. Enjoy.

Show me you’re a good boy

You never know when you are going to fit with a person – I think everyone has a shared fantasy, a set of things they want to do or have done to them by someone else, you just need the right circumstances to know what that is.

We were sat at the bar – close enough to lean in so no one could hear us over the music and very much close enough for those subtle touches. The ones you can’t quite work out if they’re overly drunk enthusiasm or slightly flirting.

We are work colleagues but she is in a more senior role, she is what I can only describe as beyond fierce, the sort of person who will cut you down with a single glance.

The sort of person I want to degrade me as a human.

For some reason, I’m just going to assume wine, I end up making a throwaway joke about milking – she pauses.

“Oh, so that’s your thing? That figures.”

“No, I mean… wait what do you mean you figured?”

She gives me that look and re-adjusts on her chair: “if not, then what?”

My brain is slightly melting with possibility: “why don’t we trade, we might finally agree on something?”

She nods and goes first. We spend the next few minutes both enabling and escalating the scenarios, like layers of delightful fuckery.

At this point, anything she is describing is an absolute yes, please, if we keep going I might have to excuse myself. She has clearly noticed I’m hard – the outline is a little too much. If anything she seems to be going for more and more things I’m responding to.

She leans away.

“I think I have a plan for you. If you’re a good boy, you might get what you want but not now.”

As we leave it turns out we are in the same hotel – I’m very frustrated. I half hope for a call or a knock, but instead I get an email invite for the next day simply entitled: Show me.


The next day I am shamefully early – this is a mix of nervous energy and anticipation. I’m not actually sure if this is her office or just a random room, I knock and hear a stern ‘enter’. I can’t tell if she is surprised I actually came or just preoccupied with what she has planned for me.

As I enter the room she is sitting behind her desk. Her look has driven me half to distraction: hair up, glasses, the sort of lipstick you want to ruin.

I go to speak as I’ve completely missed the chairs that have been removed but she cuts me short – “I didn’t ask you here to speak.”

She is leaning back in her chair.

“Now, show me.”

I’m eager to please, I’m already hard – not fully but enough – so I unbutton and then unzip. I slide my hand over my cock and pull my boxers down under it.

Because I’ve been told, I don’t really have time to overthink how I present my now massively hard cock. I pause as she is doing something with her hands under the desk. Inside I am begging for instruction and validation.

“Well… I think it is best you play for me.” I am a mix of relieved, delighted, and at this point furiously horny. I oblige – I start with shallow gentle strokes of my shaft. I can’t see what she is doing under her desk, but she is watching every stroke now.

“Stop now.”

Reluctantly I stop, but I’m desperate for relief. She gets up and moves to standing in front of me as if inspecting how hard I am. I am – nearly audibly – a whimpering mess as she starts to stroke her nails down my cock. Before I get a chance to focus, she whispers to me:

“I’m going to suck your cock now, and there is nothing you can do about it. Now don’t move!”

I like the mild threat and she is right, I am completely helpless. She moves to her knees and slides her tongue down my cock. I need it in her mouth. I’m needy to the point of agitation. She continues, with her tongue rimming my head, looking up at me.

She slides her nails back down my cock as if using it to guide me between her lips – I am completely broken at this point – thankfully she doesn’t stop. Her mouth is covering my head as she plays with my cock. She can tell I am close so she pushes it deeper. I start to shoot in her mouth, this seems to make her want to take more, swallowing as she goes.

She continues sucking – the ‘post cum blow job’ feeling is almost as good as the ‘I’ve just cum in your mouth’ feeling. She pulls back from my cock and takes one last look before getting back to her feet and returning to her desk.

“Good boy. You can put yourself away and leave now.”

And I do so happily. I stumble awkwardly away, still hard. Nothing more is mentioned next time I see her.

Until a week later, when I get another email. Subject line: Smothering.

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