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I first noticed it in the throes of toe-curling passion. Every time I showed my gratitude—with a hip roll, a moan, or a breathless little squeal—Nick would work harder. Impossibly harder to please me. If I told him I liked something, he’d do it again and again, determined to perfect it.
It tracks. Nick’s a people pleaser through and through. Why would that be any different in the bedroom?
But then I started noticing it everywhere else, too.
I mean, everyone likes to be told they’re doing a good job. I’m sure everyone likes knowing they’re pleasing their partner in any capacity. But not everyone gets aroused by it.
He was excruciatingly embarrassed about it at first—bright tomato-red, his face burning, when he popped a stiffy just because I thanked him for picking me up from work in the rain. I thought it was because we hadn’t seen each other much that week, so I didn’t pay much mind. I only clocked it because he was wearing tight grey joggers and acting suspiciously shifty.
Of course I didn’t mind. I was flattered and it made for some great sex as soon as we returned home.
But then it started happening more often. Or maybe I just became more curious and noticed it more. But it was always praise that triggered the same physical reaction.
Praise of any kind. Apparently, he isn’t picky.
I kept it close to my chest at first, knowing it was his kryptonite. I used it sparingly. We’ve been insatiable since we met anyway—even more so since we made it official at Christmas—but it felt powerful to have a little something up my sleeve. Something I knew made him feel good.
I’d mention his love for praise to him every now and again, like little Easter eggs. It was something I was sure he’d realise eventually, but Nick’s a nervous Nelly at the best of times—he takes a little while to come around to things—so I’d been sitting on it.
Until today—
‘Char,’ Nick says as he tentatively walks through the lounge door.
It’s Sunday, and I’m propped up on the sofa with my laptop, trying to get ahead of my work emails for tomorrow. It helps with the Sunday scaries.
I stay at Nick’s most weekends now. We see each other sporadically through the week, and I’ll stay as and when I’m working from home.
‘Yeah, baby?’ I ask, eyes still glued to my laptop screen, clearly unaware of the seriousness of the situation.
Because when I finally look up, Nick is looming over me, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
‘I’ve been Googling,’ he says, eyes wide.
What the fuck could he possibly be Googling on a Sunday afternoon that has him looking like he’s seen a ghost?
‘I’ve told you before not to trust everything Google says,’ I reply with a playful eye roll. Research seems to be his thing, and trust me, we’ve survived more than one Google Spiral™ in our short months together.
‘I know,’ he replies, a slight twinge of guilt lacing his voice.
‘The last time you went down a Google rabbit hole, you told me we “weren’t meant to be” because our star signs didn’t align.’ That was a very long night.
‘I know,’ he says again, this time a bit sharper. ‘But this is different…’ His voice trails off. He sounds nervous.
Which, for him, isn’t new—but I’m not sure I like where this is going.
‘How different?’ I shut my laptop and set it aside. I pat the sofa cushion next to me, realising this needs my full attention.
‘I—I’ve discovered something about myself…’ He flops down beside me, looking utterly defeated.
‘That you like boys?’ I ask, biting my lip to lighten the mood.
The scowl I get in return tells me this is not a joking matter.
‘Now’s not the time, Charlie. This is serious,’ he says, shoulders hunched.
I turn to face him, our thighs brushing. I reach for his hand. We’re fully angled towards each other now, and I have to fight the small smile threatening to creep across my face. But I manage to keep it at bay—for this sensitive, spiralling man.
‘I think I have…’ He takes a deep breath. ‘I think I have a thing. For praise…’
I manage about 0.3 seconds of restraint before the laugh bubbling in my stomach escapes, spilling past my lips in a helpless chuckle.
He snatches his hand away.
Fuck.
‘I have a potential praise kink, Charlie, and you’re laughing about it.’
The scowl and stern tone is doing things for me, maybe I have a thing for being told off.
‘A potential praise kink?’ I echo, feigning confusion. I’m fairly certain if you Googled praise kink, Nick would be the first case study to pop up.
He glares at me.
‘Okay, okay,’ I relent, holding my hands up in surrender. ‘Right. You’re correct. This is a very important discovery.’
‘It is,’ he insists, shoulders still tense. ‘I can’t just… ignore something like this.’
‘Of course not,’ I nod solemnly. ‘That would be wildly irresponsible.’
He squints at me. ‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘Only a little.’
He exhales sharply through his nose. ‘Charlie, I’m being serious. If this is actually… a thing… then I’d like to understand it properly.’
God, he’s cute. The naïve little lamb.
I tap my chin like I’m contemplating a complex moral dilemma. ‘Well. There is only one option.’
He straightens immediately. ‘What?’
‘Practical research.’
His brow furrows. ‘Practical?’
‘Mmhmm.’ I squeeze his hand in support, nodding.
He stares at me for a beat. ‘You just want to experiment on me.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I reply, scandalised. ‘I want to support you on your journey of self-discovery.’
A pause.
‘While maybe observing how you respond to targeted positive reinforcement.’
His ears go pink.
‘That sounds… reasonable,’ he says carefully.
It takes everything in me not to grin.
‘Yeah,’ he nods again, convincing himself. ‘That feels like the only way to come to a conclusion.’
Fuck yes. We will absolutely be coming.
An experiment and some very thorough praise-based research. The Sunday scaries have officially left the premises.
We chatted about it at length. We have a plan—and, much to my dismay, it doesn’t start in the bedroom. But if I have anything to do with it, it will certainly end there.
Nick’s cooking dinner, like he usually does. I’m not a foodie like him, but true to form, he loves taking care of me—and that often involves food. He’s ridiculously attentive to my likes and dislikes, and in the short time we’ve known each other, he’s mastered my favourite meals to a tee.
Better than I can cook them, which is mildly offensive.
I wouldn’t say I’m fussy. I just like what I like. And somehow he makes eating—nourishing my body—feel effortless.
And now feels like the perfect opportunity to let him know.
‘Smells delicious in here, baby,’ I sing as I pad into the kitchen. We’ve got chicken Milanese with spaghetti tonight, and my mouth is already watering.
Nick glances at me over his shoulder, stirring the pasta, flashing me a coy smile.
I make my way over and wrap my arms around his waist.
Rising onto my tiptoes, I press a soft kiss to the back of his neck, humming in approval.
‘I love watching you cook,’ I murmur, low and deliberately warm. It’s not technically part of the plan, but I really do love watching him in the kitchen. He always looks completely in his element.
‘Why?’ he asks, turning just enough to catch my lips in a quick kiss.
‘You just know what you’re doing in the kitchen, and it’s sexy,’ I reply, biting my lip. I give him one last squeeze before leaning back against the counter beside him.
It’s subtle at first—just a pause in the rhythm of the spoon against the saucepan. His shoulders square. His jaw tightens for half a second before he forces himself to keep stirring.
‘Sexy?’ he repeats, like he’s trying the word on for size.
I hum, watching him far more closely than I let on.
‘Mmm. You’re so competent and capable. It’s sexy.’
That does it.
His ears flush pink first—they always do. Then his neck. He clears his throat, turning the heat down a touch too aggressively.
‘I’m just cooking, Char.’
‘Yeah and you’re very good at it,’ I say lightly. ‘You always do such a good job.’
The spoon clatters softly against the rim of the pan.
I’m trying very hard to hide my smile. God, he’s precious.
‘And the food is always delicious,’ I add, letting out a soft, exaggerated groan of appreciation.
Nick shifts on his feet. One hand abandons the spoon entirely, brushing down the front of his joggers in what is clearly an attempt to adjust himself with some semblance of dignity.
I make a show of moving closer, leaning over to inspect the pasta sauce he’s suddenly stirring much faster than he was when I first walked in.
‘Nick,’ I say softly, testing it once more. ‘You’re doing so well.’
His grip tightens around the wooden spoon. A small sound escapes him—barely audible—but I’m finely tuned to it. I’m not missing a thing.
‘Charlie,’ he warns, his voice lower now. Strained.
I let him stew in it for exactly three more seconds before taking pity.
‘Alright,’ I murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. ‘That’s enough for now.’
He looks at me, equal parts flustered and grateful.
And then I leave the kitchen before we have to rely on something other than dinner to keep us full tonight.
Dinner was civilised, though obviously I took great delight in telling Nick just how delicious it was. Humming after every mouthful. Dragging it out. And he liked it. A lot, if his subtle squirming was anything to go by.
But we’re snuggled up on the sofa now, full and exactly where I like to be most.
I’m tucked into the V of his legs, his arms wrapped securely around my waist. Every so often he nuzzles his nose into my curls, tightening his hold on me like he can’t quite get close enough. It’s genuinely heaven.
I can feel myself relaxing, zoning out of whatever programme is playing in the background, letting my head loll back against his chest.
He presses another soft kiss to the crown of my head and then rests his chin there.
‘I love it when you do that,’ I murmur, voice warm and almost sleepy.
‘What, this?’ he asks, doing it again—slower this time. His lips linger, trailing gently towards the shell of my ear.
‘Yeah. Feels good,’ I mumble, wiggling slightly in contentment.
‘I love making you feel good,’ he murmurs against the skin just behind my ear.
‘I love you so much,’ I say, full of soft, hazy gratitude.
His arms tighten instinctively.
‘I feel so safe in your arms,’ I add, just a touch more deliberate now.
There’s a subtle shift behind me.
A small, tell-tale twitch against my lower back.
Oh.
We’re definitely gathering some solid evidence.
‘Hmm,’ he hums, low and satisfied, kissing lightly down my neck.
I smile to myself.
The experiment is progressing nicely.
Nick is pent up. Coiled tight.
We decide on an early night—or rather, he decides.
‘It’s Sunday, after all,’ is his very reasonable excuse.
Yeah, yeah, Mr Nelson. I’m sure that’s the only reason you’re practically vibrating your way upstairs.
We’re brushing our teeth together because we’re a couple and we do that now. It’s disgustingly domestic. I love it.
He’s watching me in the mirror.
Trying not to.
But absolutely watching me.
I catch his eye and raise an eyebrow. I finish brushing my teeth, placing my toothbrush back in its holder, never breaking eye contact. He tries to steal subtle glances at me, but I’m determined to catch him in the act.
I lean back against the wall, waiting for him to finish. The second his mouth is free, I can’t help myself.
‘I’m so proud of you, baby,’ I say softly. Experimental or not, I mean every word.
He raises an eyebrow, seemingly in question.
‘Thank you for telling me about your discovery. That was really brave of you.’
I step closer as I pull my pyjama top over my head, tossing it into the laundry basket.
He exhales—loudly—his eyes dragging over me like he’s seeing my bare chest for the first time. I’ve grown used to it, but it never loses its effect on my confidence.
‘I love that you trust me with things like that, Nick,’ I murmur, rising onto my toes to press a slow, lingering kiss to his lips.
His eyelashes flutter. His hands find my hips instinctively, fingers tightening as he pulls me closer.
But I’m not finished.
I brush my thumb along his jaw, keeping my voice warm and deliberate.
‘I love that we can do this together, baby. Find out what makes you feel good.’
I bite my lip. God, he’s so hot like this—flushed, broad chest rising and falling. I have to physically stop myself from pressing my mouth along his collarbone.
He nods, looking at me like I’ve handed him the world, and he can’t quite stop himself from preening under my gaze, his chest rising just a little higher.
‘You’re so gorgeous, my love,’ I say sweetly, savouring the way his fingers tighten around me with every word.
‘And you’re all mine,’ I add, breathless now. This is doing something to me too. ‘You treat me so well.’
His grip firms as he steps me back against the wall. His eyes are glazed, the want between us thick and undeniable.
‘You’re the best boyfriend.’ I barely get the words out before he closes the remaining distance between us.
That’s the final straw.
He dips his head, lips hovering close to the shell of my ear. ‘Char,’ he whispers, but it comes out strained.
‘Yeah, baby?’ Our heavy breathing fills the small bathroom.
He rolls his hips against me, the firm line of cock pressing through the thin cotton of his boxers.
‘Bedroom,’ he says, voice low and decisive.
He pulls back just enough to look at me properly. ‘Now.’
Before I can respond, he lifts me effortlessly, large hands holding me up. I let out a startled laugh—half yelp, half delight.
Then I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom.
He tosses me onto the bed with a force I’d only ever trust from him. I don’t know how he still manages to be somewhat gentle when the size difference between us is frankly ridiculous.
He crawls up the mattress, caging me in like he can’t wait for his lips to find mine.
He practically purrs when he starts kissing me. It begins frantic, need-driven, all urgency—then slowly deepens, the pace shifting as our bodies fall into sync, chasing closeness and friction.
I’m already painfully aware of how hard I am. If this praise experiment doesn’t speed things along, I’m not convinced I’ll last.
We kiss for what feels like forever—because it’s our favourite thing. It’s freeing. Intimate. Our mouths move together in a rhythm we’ve perfected: slow drags of tongue, soft nips at lips, wandering kisses that trail along jaws and back again.
Delicious.
Nick pulls back just enough to breathe before his mouth drifts to my neck—pressing, lingering, before continuing the journey down my collarbone then across my chest.
I make a soft, helpless sound beneath him, completely undone by the contrast of warm, plush lips and the faint scratch of day-old stubble against my skin.
Then he peers up at me, our eyes locked as he makes his way down to my groin. He presses firm kisses across my hip bone and I squirm as he moves across my lower stomach. It tickles, and he knows it because I can feel the quirk of his lips in satisfaction.
Then he’s toying with the waistband of my boxers, nuzzling against my hard length. This is all for him—he’s taking his time because he enjoys it.
‘That feel good, baby?’ I ask as he drags his lips along the hard outline of my cock. Then he nibbles lightly at the tip and I quiver.
‘Oh fuck,’ I manage as it knocks the breath from me. I know most people would be wary of teeth or whatever, but with someone as skilled and in tune as Nick—
‘So good, Nick. Oh my God,’ I huff. Like I said. He’s skilled. And he knows it, because I catch his eye and he’s watching me and all my reactions.
Then he pulls away, and I love the cocky side of him that comes out when he knows he’s done a good job.
‘Did you like that, Char?’ he asks.
Because he knows I did. I’m already teetering on the edge and he hasn’t even pulled my pants down.
‘Of course I did, darling. You’re so skilled.’
It’s not hard to lean into this praise thing. I think this is like most of our sex sessions, if I’m honest.
I’m already a little breathless, but I think I need to take charge for a moment. Get this moving.
‘I think you should get on your knees, baby,’ I say, biting my lip as I prop myself up on my elbows.
He’s hanging on my every word, like a puppy waiting for a new command.
‘We both know that’s where you really excel.’
He doesn’t waste a second. He shuffles off the bed and then he’s on his knees, waiting for me to stand in front of him.
Interesting.
I mean, he’s no stranger to this position, but there’s something different about him now. A little more deliberate. A little more aware.
I stand in front of him, and he’s looking up at me.
Is he waiting for a command?
‘Do your thing, baby,’ I gesture lazily. If he wants a command, he can have one. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, this all feels very new.
He looks up at me, eyes blown wide with lust, as he reaches for my waistband and slowly pulls my boxers down. His gaze travels down my length and I almost groan at how beautiful and attentive he is.
‘You look so good, Nick,’ I whisper.
We’re both a little dizzy from the moment, it seems, because we just watch one another. I give the subtlest nod and he leans forward, tongue darting out to catch the bead of precome at the tip, and we both gasp.
It feels unusually intimate.
Like time has slowed down and we’re both revelling in this new intensity between us.
He’s not really one for talking, but I think I’d like to hear a little more from him today.
‘Tell me how good it tastes,’ I ask.
A blush dusts across his cheeks instantly. He hesitates before mumbling, ‘Tastes like you, Char.’
He manages it, but I just keep staring at him. He slowly licks around the tip, like he’s trying to distract me by keeping his mouth busy.
I don’t look away.
He pulls back slightly, almost like he thinks he’s in trouble, then tries again.
‘I like the way it tastes… salty on my tongue,’ he says, leaning back a little as if gathering himself.
He peers up at me with that soft, earnest expression that absolutely wrecks me. His eyes grow heavier as he takes me back into his mouth, moving slowly. He takes me all the way in. It’s teasing, but I know that’s not the goal. He’s just present. Focused.
When he pulls away again, his voice is quieter.
‘I love the way you feel,’ he says, clearly searching for approval. ‘You fill my mouth up so nicely.’
I let him continue.
‘I love feeling full,’ he adds as he takes me back in. I’m holding back a whimper. Then I watch his stretched lips glide up and down my shaft. It’s hypnotic.
My knees want to give way. His mouth is so wet, and the sensations that dart through my body every time his lips make contact leave them buckling.
I reach out, my fingers tangling in the dusty blonde strands of his hair.
‘You’re so good at this, Nick.’ The praise comes tumbling out. My groin tingles and tightens simultaneously from the glorious feeling of him around me—my whole cock engulfed in his tight, willing mouth.
‘So good. Feels so good. I love hearing what you like,’ I babble.
I’m losing some resolve now, my hips thrusting in small, tight movements, searching for more.
He knows, because he reaches out and holds my hips still. The warmth and firm grip of his fingertips burn into my skin.
‘I love this. Love telling you how good you are,’ he groans around me in response, and the vibrations nearly tip me over the edge. He’s getting sloppier now—he’s… oh, fuck yes. He’s enjoying the praise.
‘L—love this, so much,’ I choke out, my lips quivering, my stomach taut as I hold onto my climax. It’s coming—the waves lapping at my insides, threatening to pull me under with every pass of Nick’s mouth.
His grip tightens. He’s drooling. It’s messy and so fucking good.
‘Show me, baby. Show me how much you like the praise.’ He peers up at me, lips still busy.
I gesture down to his hard-on with an obvious nod. I’m flustered, my fingers roaming through his hair faster, searching for purchase. I want to tug and pull—but if I do that, the control will have me spilling down his throat.
Then he gets what I’m implying. His hand leaves my hip and darts down to his groin, and he shimmies his pants down with one hand. The eagerness is so fucking hot.
Then he’s stroking himself. He is hard—so fucking hard.
‘Love watching you pleasure yourself, baby.’
And he lets out a whimper of satisfaction and relief around me, like he’s been waiting for permission to touch himself.
We’re both lost in it—his mouth, his hand, my hips—moving in a haphazard rhythm.
I’m mewling, so breathy and needy above him. He’s going to town, lips working overtime.
‘Oh baby,’ I groan. ‘So good. So skilled.’
I’m so pent up, so ready for release.
So is he, by the looks of things—fucking into his fist. Then he takes the other hand from my hip and holds the base of my cock and that’s it.
Oh fuck, that’s it.
His lips and hands working in tandem.
‘Oh Nick. I love you so much,’ I babble, incoherent. ‘Best head I’ve ever had.’
He groans around me, his eyes watering as he works to take me impossibly deeper.
‘That’s it, baby.’
Deeper.
‘Keep going, baby.’
Faster.
He pulls off. ‘Fuck, Char,’ he manages huskily—then another pass of his lips.
‘Keep going.’
I hit the back of his tonsils. A little gag at the back of his throat sends a shiver through me.
‘That’s it, baby.’
Who the fuck am I?
‘Take it all.’
He does, in fact, try to take it all.
‘Oh fuck.’
A swirl of his tongue.
‘So good.’ I’m whimpering.
I’m there. I’m on the fucking edge. So is he—he’s groaning… the vibrations, the tongue, the messiness, fuck.
‘Baby,’ I say sharply, just as my orgasm hits.
‘You are such a good boy.’
And with that, my hands tighten in his hair, gripping impossibly tight. He groans, throatily.
Then he jolts forward onto my cock like it’s involuntary, and—fuck.
He’s coming over his fist as I’m spilling down his throat.
My good boy comment clearly tipping him over the edge.
All the evidence we need.
Fuck yes.
Then I fuck his mouth gently as he works himself, and we’re both floating and thrusting through the remainder of our orgasm.
That was so fucking good.
He really is the best boy.
Our frantic climax is a juxtaposition to the soft nuzzles and gentle strokes of our post-orgasm bliss.
We’re laid in bed, touching every stretch of skin we can get our hands on, fingers stroking, lips pressing gentle kisses wherever they can reach. It’s perfect.
We’re hot and sweaty, floating on a cloud of endorphins.
‘Nick,’ I croak. I think I’ve lost my voice from all the talking.
I mean, I know we like to get a bit chatty, but I think that was a lot even for us.
‘Yeah,’ he purrs, nuzzling his cheek along my chest like a cat. He’s so cute.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ I ask tentatively. I think it was clear, but it’s always good to check in.
‘Obviously,’ he says with a dreamy chuckle. ‘But I think I love this aftercare more.’
He presses into me, trying to get closer and closer.
‘Aftercare?’ I ask. The formal word has my ears pricking with curiosity.
Then he stills, and I can feel the flames ignite in his cheeks.
He just nods subtly, like if he stays still he’s invisible and I won’t question him any further.
I want to probe, but I leave it. I’m just as floaty as he is. I think he sucked my soul out of me and blew it straight back in. I feel fucked—in the best way possible.
‘I think we can definitely confirm you have a thing for praise,’ I say softly, my fingers twiddling with his fringe.
He just nods. I’m not sure if he’s embarrassed or just enjoying the comedown.
‘You practically blew your load when I called you a good boy,’ I say. There’s a hint of playfulness in my voice, but not too much.
He pulls away from my chest and peers up at me. His blushing little face could have me chubbing up again if I wasn’t so spent.
‘I—I liked it,’ he says nervously. ‘Like, a lot.’ There’s almost surprise in his voice.
I bite my lip. This is so hot. Like a dream come true.
‘Would you like me to call you a good boy more often?’
He nods.
‘Thank you for telling me, baby.’ I lean down awkwardly to press a kiss to his lips, and then we kiss, tongues moving gently, hands smoothing over planes of skin.
We settle back against the pillows, just enjoying being in each other’s arms. Then his lips start to move like he’s afraid to say what’s on his mind.
We’ve come a long way in our relationship, and he’s definitely more confident in his wants and needs—but he still stumbles sometimes.
I thread my fingers through his in reassurance and let him take his time.
‘I, uh… I liked you taking a bit of, um, control when I was on my knees waiting,’ he finally manages.
‘Me too,’ I agree. It was hot. I’m still curious, though. I know we had the kinky advent calendar at the start of our relationship, which was a bit of fun, but our sex life—although brain-meltingly hot, in my humble opinion—is still pretty vanilla.
He looks a bit taken aback and then smiles, a toothy grin. He’s happy.
‘Nick,’ I squeeze his hand.
‘Yeah?’ He nuzzles back down onto my chest.
‘When you were researching about the praise thing…’ He shifts slightly.
‘Did you, um, research anything else?’
He freezes.
There’s silence, like he’s holding his breath, willing the moment to be forgotten. But I squeeze his hand again—a reminder that we’re safe and can talk about these things.
So I state it rather than ask this time.
‘You’ve been researching more than just praise, haven’t you?’
‘I may have looked at… adjacent topics.’
‘Adjacent, huh?’
He’s flustered, the way he’s moving subtly, squirming almost. God, I love catching him out.
‘Well, you know what Google’s like,’ he tries for nonchalance, but his voice is strained. ‘It kind of led on to, like… control. Dynamics. Maybe a little bit about… other stuff.’
Interesting.
‘Oh yeah. Google can be like that,’ I say breezily, not wanting to spook him.
I place a kiss to the top of his head, and he lets out a long, overdue breath he’d been holding.
I let my free hand drift lazily up and down his arm, keeping my tone light.
‘Maybe we can do some research together.’ I’m always down for trying something new, and I’m intrigued to see the depths of Nick’s research. If his newfound hint of submission is anything to go by, he was clearly inspired by what he saw.
‘I’d like that,’ he says quietly.
He looks up at me, and we’re both smiling—feeling the start of something new, mischief flickering between us
‘It means more practical experiments,’ he adds with a smirk.
‘Oh no.’ I add. ‘What a shame.’