Switch It Up Erotic Story Of Heightened Sex Between Lovers

I've always been a sucker for a man in glasses. There's a kind of intellectual, dominant tone about them. Not angry-dominant, or strict, just casually… in control. A guy wearing glasses makes me feel young and naughty—as ready for a gentle telling-off as I am for a casual spanking. The same thing can be said of tiny, frilly pyjama shorts if I'm honest. I like wearing them because they put me in this mood: that of a naughty little tearaway, ready to be tamed.

But the beauty of glasses is that when you take them off, the studious and professorial demeanour suddenly disappears, and the wearer becomes vulnerable. Taking off the shorts can switch things up too. No longer the girlish ingenue, suddenly a grown, powerful woman. If I can be said to have a kink, it's this: the mix. The turnaround. The moment when the tables turn.

This morning provides the perfect opportunity for switchy sex. I'm lounging on the bed in these little frilly shorts, with Sylvan looking over the rim of his glasses at the way my smooth, long legs almost gleam in the morning sunshine. As soon as I get that shiver of longing I just think… yes. Right now. This is the kind of moment that cries out for this kind of play.

He kisses me, deep and long, while spooning me from behind. His big, gentle hands stroking and squeezing at my bum in those small silky shorts. It gives me a kick of that naughtiness that, for some reason, my heart's always chasing. The need to feel insignificant-yet-cared-for at the hands of a softly dominant man.

I remember on one of our very early dates before we'd ever even seen each other naked, Sylvan asked me—over the rim of a wine glass filled with a rich Merlot—whether I liked being out of control. His smile turned up on one side in a sly, challenging way. It was so arousing, that provocative little smirk, that I almost said 'yes' just on instinct. But although we had not yet slept with each other, we'd nevertheless promised to be honest with each other, so instead of letting my cunt lead my head, I paused to consider the question in more detail. Took a sip of my own wine and twirled my fork, ready to take another bite of the gorgeous cheesecake we were sharing.

"Hmm," I told him, making no effort to keep the playful hint of arousal from my voice. "Yes and no."

"Elaborate…?" He replied, leaning ever-so-slightly forward in his chair and putting one elbow on the table. He's always been the most attentive audience, although perhaps that's just because I give him such stimulating entertainment.

"I like being out of control sometimes, but I also like to switch that up a little. The joy of being controlled and used and…" I remember distinctly how I paused at that point, a tiny hint of uncertainty flashing at the back of my brain—is this too much?—but I trusted him. "…and used. Destroyed. Ravished. That is something I really relish."

He nodded again, maintaining that textbook composure, but I could see the flush rising in his neck, and I knew that the blood was flowing somewhere beneath the table too. I didn't rush the next part, though, because toying with him would make my point just as well as words could.

"But that isn't the only thing: I also like being in control, too," I explained. "As well as that drive to be soft and vulnerable, there's an equal-and-opposite need to switch it up sometimes. To be the one on top. I adore the contrast, you see. The satisfaction of flicking between weak and strong, bottom and top, the doer and the done-to." At this point, I slipped one of my shoes off under the table and snaked my barefoot up the inside of his leg, sipping my wine as I did so, mirroring his challenging smirk until it came to rest against where his cock was straining in his trousers. "Because if we switch it up," I explained to him, stroking gently with the ball of my foot and then harder as I felt him twitch in response, "then when we both come—together—I feel like we've really fought for it."

That, of course, was the first night that we fucked. Like I'd thrown down a gauntlet, and he was picking it up, we followed the tone I'd set out there at dinner: first, Sylvan was the powerful one, using his lips and tongue and hands to mould and control me to his whims then lift me up to heights of pleasure that had me sighing with joy. Then we'd flip, and I'd press him down to the bed, riding his cock like he was a toy—prepped and ready for my use. Then again, we'd switch back, and he'd fuck me so hard it was like the breath was being forced from my body. Then back again. And forth. And back… We finally fell asleep at five a.m., wrapped in each other's arms. Hot and sticky and unshakeably certain of our love.

I can feel the slight breeze that's running through the apartment, whispering up my thighs and tickling the cheeks of my bottom. Sylvan traces his fingertips over my skin, shifting my pyjamas slightly until I can feel the breeze on my exposed vulva too. Mmm, blissful. Gripping me tighter and kissing with more fervour, he offers the first neat slap to my wiggling behind. That's all it takes to send me into giddy-teenager mode: closed fingers, cupped palm, lovely smacky noises. The sweet stinging kiss of his hand and his steady gaze over the rim of those glorious glasses. He uses one finger to nudge them back up the bridge of his nose and smiles before spanking me again.

When I'm over his lap like this, I can feel the steady pulse of his blood thumping into his big cock. It's a fabulous juxtaposition, that feeling. The controlled way he uses his hands to gently tickle the blood in my own body to the surface of my skin, while beneath those tight white boxers, his own is heading dickwards of its own accord. It digs into me, where my body crosses his, and I squirm to help it on its way to full hardness. Sylvan enjoys this position too, I know. He once described it as like having my whole body laid out for him—'smorgasbord style'. And it's like he can read my mind because just as that memory flashes into my head, he leans forward and kisses the neat curves of my bum at the top of my thighs. Shivery, dominant kisses, followed by a bite that makes me gasp. Playfully, he snuffles and grunts a little like he's a gourmand for my flesh. And I feel his cock growing even harder beneath my stomach, tipping me over to the point where I cannot ignore it any longer.

I flip over, then take a quick glance up at those cool, calm eyes—God, I'm such a sucker for those glasses. Still, in subby, teasing coquette mode, I give Sylvan a few delicate kisses on his inner thigh, followed by some nuzzling and licking on the outside of his underwear. What can I say? I like to savour the treat—isn't there something especially satisfying about burying your face in someone's erection before you've been allowed to even see it? A hint of promise, like a gift not yet unwrapped, combined with the narcissist's pleasure in knowing it's there because of you.

When he releases his beautiful dick, I get myself comfy between his legs and take the smooth, long shaft into my mouth. I'm aware that he won't just be pleased by the wet lips and tongue, but by the view too, so I wiggle a little and make sure he's still got a line of sight to those girlish shorts and the glimpse of my bottom poking out. He takes my hair in his hands, bunches it up and holds it out of the way—so gentlemanly!—allowing me space to work as well as keeping me in this delicious state—of being submissively smitten.

I want to stay in this headspace for a while—teasing and playful, enjoying being under his control almost as much as I'm enjoying trying to tempt him to let go of his own. The head of his cock is taut and sweet against my tongue, and I salivate as I swallow it almost whole. He's got an exceptional dick, has Sylvan. I know you're not really meant to say that. Dicks come in all shapes and sizes, and men are too often so nervous that theirs won't match up that any talk of a specific one being beautiful has become almost taboo. Nevertheless: Sylvan's cock is perfect. Just the right length, satisfying girth that fills but does not overcome me, straight yet with a hint of curve. Uncircumcised. Responsive. Quick-to-harden and ready to twitch when I tease it in just the right way.

His balls, too—I adore the way they respond to the gentlest touch. I can tell how horny Sylvan is by how tightly they cling to the base of his cock—like they're tensing along with his muscles in rigid anticipation of those first jerks of orgasm. Taking one in my mouth, I hear his gentle moans as I suck ever-so-softly. All the while, he's got a comforting grip on my hair, cupping the back of my head. Not pushing me down onto his dick, that would spoil the intellectual, gentlemanly dom thing he's got going on—more like guiding me on my way towards pleasing him.

Briefly, I tell myself that I could live here forever. Just in this moment right now. But my heart knows differently—the pain of that might be too much if it meant I never got to experience what came next. The switch.

Sylvan leans forward and goes to take down my silky, frilly shorts, and that's my cue: I sit up and straddle him. Positioning myself so his cock is directly beneath my now-bare cunt. See what I mean about not wanting to miss the next part? This transition is my favourite moment—when he's poised there just at the entrance, and I take charge. Use one hand to guide him in before sliding down, enveloping the marble-hard head of his beautiful cock. It takes time and effort to get all the way to the base—gentle bounces on his dick that lead to longer and longer strokes, getting him nice and wet until I'm able to slide all the way down and take him all.

Initially, his enthusiasm takes back over, as I knew it would, and he holds me still as he pounds upwards into me, making me grit my teeth and moan at the sheer hedonistic excess of it. By this point, my naughty-little-girl attitude has fallen by the wayside, replaced instead with a desperate hunger to have him rough and hard. All of him. Leaning back against his chest, I can feel the length and girth of him stretching me right out, thrilling each and every nerve ending inside me until my head swims. I don't close my eyes to concentrate. I think I close my eyes because at the moment, I've taken him all the way to the base. There's such a thing as too much sensation. Squirming on top of him so as to enjoy every ridge and inch of his prick, those are the feelings I want to maximise right now. Well, those and the aural delight of hearing him say 'oh yes yes yes' when my own greedy cocklust just happens to hit the perfect spot for him too. He grabs one of my breasts roughly, pulls me into him and grips the back of my head, as he did when I was sucking him earlier. I'm reminded again of the joy he gets from feeling like my body is a smorgasbord of treats—laid out just for him.

Meanwhile, I have a treat of my own. On top like this, I am no longer diminutive and spankable, I'm in charge. I'm the boss. I look down at Sylvan—peering at him over the rim of his glasses the way he did in reverse to me only a few minutes ago—and reflected in the look of lust on his face, I feel quite a lot like a God.

He takes off the glasses now as if to echo this change in dynamic—like he's reading my mind. We're more fluid now, playing back-and-forth with power, one minute me grinding on him like he's mine to use, the next holding still so he can make the best use of me. All the while in perfect harmony, reading each other and working together like we've practised a thousand times before—which we have, of course, except it's never felt like practice. At one point, I sit back, and his cock slides out of me, landing on his stomach with a satisfying wet smack. At another, he places one hand to my exposed clit, understanding instinctively exactly what I need to complement the sensation of me using my body to milk the pleasure from his dick.

A switch to a new position represents another change—fluid, easy, natural—as I position myself on all fours in front of him. His hands-on my bum steadying me, making it easier for him to slide the full length of his rigid erection all the way into me. I'm instantly transported back to the start of this delightful morning session: feeling little and vulnerable beneath his hands, like this fuck is a scolding for something I've done wrong. It's delicious. I can't stay quiet, so I murmur and moan into the bedsheets, allowing myself one mmm for each stroke of his cock as he slams it in deep. Like he's pounding the breath out of my ravaged body.

He can clearly sense my excitement because he picks up the pace too, adding his own chorus of 'mmms' to my own. I want to help him get there, to reach the plateau of orgasm, because I know I'm close myself, and it's always better—always the best—when we hit that summit together. Using one hand stretched behind me, I spread open my cheeks and instantly feel his thrusts landing deeper inside me. Slamming against the back of my cunt like he's knocking the wind out of me. It feels so good and so right, and so much like I am being destroyed.

This is the moment when it all comes together in my head, like a rush. The way he's switched back so neatly to being the one in control of my pleasure. He pulls out, and his cock is utterly solid—there is no way he can get harder, the skin is stretched so tight and I have a fleeting fantasy that I might even be able to feel the pulse when it's inside me. Sylvan flips me onto my back, and I give him a little playful teasing. Sideways smiles of the kind we exchanged over that dinner so long ago. The power of what we feel for each other hasn't changed one bit, and his dick is as responsive to me now as it was when I first slipped my shoe off and pressed the pad of my foot against it under the table. If I weren't so distracted with what's happening in the here and now, I could drift back on memories and maybe even taste that Merlot.

For now, though, I want to come. And then I want him to come too. He fucks me slowly at first, aping my teasing smiles with an almost mockingly slow rhythm. But he can't keep up this playfulness for long because he needs to climax too. Building speed, and power, he starts to fuck me more hungrily: long strokes for maximum pleasure, stretching me out until I'm so close to the edge I can almost feel those first few waves building in my crotch. I need something else to tip me over the edge, though, and I know that Sylvan's read my mind already. He pulls a vibrator out and applies it to my clit—ahhh, that's exactly it—then firmly and steadily resumes fucking me while the buzzing ripples through my hips and crotch. I sit up a little, straining my neck so I can watch how he powers into me, and the way his skilled hands apply the vibe to just the right place. Yes, oh yes, it's almost too easy for him.

"Do you like being out of control?" he'd asked me before we had ever had sex. And I'm so glad my answer was 'yes', because he so relishes these little moments when he manages to knock my poise away. When he can use that vibrator and his cock to tip me over the edge and out of control, and I come good and hard around him. Spasm after spasm rips through my body, and I know that the corresponding clench in my cunt is going to get him there too. Just the way I like it, now it's his turn to abandon all restraint and just let go. Give in to the sensations.

"I'm gonna come," he tells me, just in time, before pulling out to give us both the best view. His dick, so taut and red and solid and wet, briefly frozen at the point of no return: not quite coming yet, but too close to not orgasm at all. Hanging right on the precipice of orgasm, just before he gives in to the rapturous convulsions of coming. Then he spills over: his cock jerks once, twice, more, and he shoots thick cum from the beautiful tip. Shaft twitching spunk all over my waiting stomach. Eyes cast down so he can watch where it lands. His head is empty and his body is utterly spent. Sylvan—my Sylvan—who so likes to make me feel vulnerable and at his mercy—now panting and sweating and blinded by pleasure: entirely out of control himself.

Ends