Exploring for the first time is a minor shame.

"Are You Up for Some Humiliation?"

I have to read it again.

I responded, "In what manner?"

He hadn't told me before that he had ever experienced a humiliation fetish. He wasn't a dominant man to me.

His reply was "Preferably towards you," he said.

Ah , he wanted humiliation.

Although he never said it to me, I could see the logic in his words. To make him jealous, he had wanted me to take photos and videos of him with other men.

As I was walking towards his house, I thought about it.

I wasn't certain I had it in myself. I was very submissive. However, I was just beginning to experiment with being a top.

The week before, I had tied up a man, blindfolded and edged him. He begged me to stop, so that he could cum. As I stroked his cock, I enjoyed the pain in his voice.

Slow and fast. Fast and slow.

I have never seen a bigger sexshot than that one. His cum was everywhere: in my hair, on my face, on my tits and on him.

It made me feel strong. He was at my side and could not do anything.

I began to believe there was a sadist in me. The sadist wanted to play.

Humiliation was a different experience. It was something I had never done or seen anyone else do.

Rain fell, pouring from my raincoat's hood. He was younger than I; his 25-year-old age was my 33-years. A police officer.

He was powerful at work. He wanted to give up his power behind closed doors. To give it to another.

I understood it.

Humiliation at number 14

"You can tell us about the last man you fucked and how he was better than me and my limp, small dick."

"Like I've seen your dick small, limp."

"You will today."

As I wiped the raindrops from my eyes, I laughed to myself. I wasn't sure.

He lived in a 1-bedroom apartment located just off the main road. I was surrounded by metal gates. I pressed the number 14 button and waited.

I was alerted by the buzzing sound that indicated that the gate was opened.

I pushed the gate and walked up to his house. I again pressed number 14 to open the door. He waited expectantly at the door to his apartment.

Despite it only being April, he wore white shorts with a shirt and a tee shirt.

It was also a cold April. I had heard him tell me that he wore shorts throughout the year. He showed up at 3am in shorts when I invited him to a February party.

He led me down the hall to his bedroom. He stood at the foot of his bed, looking down at me with his arms at his sides.

It was my cue for control to tell him what to do.

Getting humiliated

"Take off your clothes," he said.

He pulled his tee shirt over his head. His chest muscles began to twitch a bit. He bent down and pulled down his shorts. I saw him naked in front.

It was already difficult for his big dick. It felt like it was saluting me.

It's not as soft or limp. As I thought.

I asked him to get down on the couch and he obliged. I asked him to be attentive at the beginning. I was ready to accept the humiliation.

I grabbed a bottle of oil from my bedside table and put it on his cock.

Next, I wrapped my hands around the thing, slowly moving up and down. I moved faster until his breathing became more irregular and his moans were louder.

Then, I suddenly stopped.

He groaned.

Slowly, I started to stroke his top again.

"Wow, that's such a poor little dick," I said, and then I shook my head, pitifully. "Do you really think that you could ever delight me with this?"

He mumbled, "No miss. I don't think that I can."

"I've never been with a man with such a small dick. I'm so disappointed. It's really quite sad. You aren't even a man. "How could you possibly give me what I want?"

As I spoke to him, I was slowly stroking his cock. Each time I said something terrible to him, he moaned more. His legs began to shake slightly.

"I had sex with a man before I got here. He was a strong man. He knew how to get me wet. "When I'm with You, I'm dry as a pistachio nut nut."

No more than some skin

I could see he was getting close to cumming. I stopped stroking.

"I don’t want to touch you anymore. It's just a piece of skin. You are so ashamed of yourself."

"I understand, Miss. It's a shame. It's a shameful dick. It's skin.

"I may not even allow you to cum. I'm not sure you deserve it."

He mumbled, "That's up for you to decide."

As he laid down on the mattress, his cock began to twitch. I'd never seen him harder before.

I thought he would enjoy the frustration of me not letting him cum.

"Maybe, I'll just leave it here, my arms full and aching, wishing that I had finished you off."

He groaned louder, and he did it again. He would likely explode if I touched him again.

"Do you believe you are worthy to cum?" I asked.

Miss, it's not true. I should probably be in pain. Maybe I would be more deserving if my dick were bigger.

I said that I was happy to agree with him. I stroked his cock once more, taking care not to stroke too fast. I wanted him to ask for it. To ask me to allow him to cum.

I got up and took off my shoes. Before I left the room, I glanced back at him.

"Maybe, I'll let You Cum later Tonight, on Video for Me. Maybe."