“Stop, stop” you beg and I do, slowly, reluctantly, kissing your delicious pussy one last time. You pull me up to you. Your hands at my belt, then under my jeans, pressing them down off my hips. I arch and groan in the pleasure of it as you free my aching cock.
You roll me onto my back as your hand closes around my shaft. “God,” I groan as you pump my hard-on, feeling it twitch and swell even more in response to your touch. You move down my body with your mouth and your tongue flicks at the head of my cock and I gasp. You smile at how sensitive I am to your touch. Your mouth waters at the thought of my throbbing cock and you ease me into your hot wet mouth. “God damn!” I whisper feeling your wet mouth slide down the full length of me.
Your tongue flitters around the head and your fingertips caress my balls. You feel my hands at the back of your head, hearing my whispered gasp “that’s it baby” as your head bobs up and down.
God, I love watching you suck my cock! I don’t know what I love more, WATCHING you do it or FEELING you do it… You close your eyes and give yourself over to it. You feel my hips shift as I pump forward sliding my cock upward as your mouth descends down my hard-on.
My cock twitches and jerks in your mouth. I feel your fingertips at my ass and I feel your little moan vibrate on my cock as you rub your fingers in a small circle over my anus. Your wet mouth still sucking at my cock “fuck” I groan as I grab fistfuls of your hair.
You feel my cock swell and jerk and you know I am going to cum. I grit my teeth, trying to hold back as your wet little mouth slides down one last time. I groan in pleasure as I cum deep in the back of your throat. I cum hard, filling your mouth and throat with my hot, salty, cum. You swallow again and again, the back of your throat and your tongue milking my cock for every last drop. My abs shudder as my orgasm unlocks every cell in my body and for a few seconds…I am lost.
I slowly become aware again, feeling your lips moving up my body. Your hair tickling me as it falls over my neck. You lay on top of me, kissing me softly. I taste my cum on your lips and it is a huge turn-on. You whisper in my ear “God, I love sucking your cock!”
My arms hold you tightly as I feel the heat of your little pussy sliding along the length of my still-hard cock. I move you off me and maneuver over you. I kiss you hard, pulling the breath out of your lungs as my hand moves over your breasts and down your stomach and between your legs. You gasp as my fingers play over your lips, feathering between them. You spread your legs, lifting them, your thighs brush my sides as you open yourself to me.
You close your eyes and jerk your breath as I press against you, rubbing my hard length back and forth along your wet pussy, teasing you with its hard, hot fullness. I close my eyes reveling in the exquisite, wet smoothness rubbing along my cock.
You reach down between us, no longer willing to be teased and guide the tip of my hard-on against your pussy. I press into you slowly. You groan, closing your eyes and arching your back as you feel my cock easing into you, filling you. I know you love every part of it, the way it fits inside you, the curve of it hitting you in just the right spot, the hot throbbing you feel inside you.
I ease into you deeply. You look up at me, your bright green eyes never leaving mine, you slowly rock your hips back and forth, squeezing down tightly on my cock. I slowly move in and out of you. You sigh with pleasure each time I ease into you. I grit my teeth, literally fighting the urge to thrust wildly, deeply, repeatedly.
I love the look on your face, desire refined, hunger perfected. I grab your wrists and pin them tightly above your head with one strong hand. The other grabs your leg behind the knee, lifting it, allowing me to press deeper and more firmly into you. You gasp as the suddenness of my action and at the added length, and then you moan and bite your lip as I grind against you. You cum deeply and I feel the fluttering of your orgasm around my cock.
I can’t hold back, I begin to drive firmly into you again and again. Your tight, hot pussy is wet around my cock and each thrust is better than the one before. You feel my balls slapping against your ass and you free your arms from my grasp. I am too far gone to hold your wrists tightly anymore. I feel your fingertips brush between my shoulder blades, feeling the light sheen of sweat as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through me and I cry out.
I cum explosively and deeply. You feel the hot, thick spurts of my cum, the feeling of my cock twitching and jerking as I empty myself into you and it triggers your own orgasm. I feel you clenching me, once again milking me, draining me, claiming me.
I lower my weight onto you, exhausted. You lower your legs slowly, keeping me inside you. I feel the little after shocks of your orgasm around my still hard cock.
You kiss my forehead, tasting my sweat as I kiss your neck feeling your heart beat slowing. We lay together connected, the need satiated, but never met. The hunger satisfied, if only for a moment.
I look at you and the same problem begins again. Do I hold you, kiss you, tell you how deeply I love you, or do I wordlessly ease out of you, turn your over onto your stomach and explore your ass with my tongue? This thought never leaves me, “When I’m with you I am never really sure what part of me is in control…”
All I know is I am yours.
The End
Housesitting
Henry fumbled for the key. Why had he told his father and stepmother that he’d keep an eye on their house while they were away? After a long day at work, the last thing he wanted to do was drive half an hour out of his way to check in on plants and a spoiled cat.
Besides, there was no reason his stepsister couldn’t take care of things. Five years younger than Henry, Kirstin was eighteen, more than old enough to take care of the house she still lived in. “She isn’t home much,” Henry’s father had explained when he’d made the housesitting request. “Between her college classes and her job, she’s almost never around. Some nights she doesn’t even come home.”
Surely his father wasn’t naïve enough to think Kirstin was staying out all night because of work and classes. But Henry figured it wasn’t his place to break the news that sweet, innocent Kirstin was probably out partying. Or fucking.
Henry finally found the right key and opened the door. All the lights in the house were off. All except one. At the far end of the hallway, the family room light was on. Kirstin must have forgotten to turn it off. “Damn kid,” Henry muttered.
He headed down the hall. As he got closer to the family room, he heard noises. More specifically, sex noises. “She wouldn’t,” he thought.
At the doorway of the room, Henry paused. Should he grab whatever kid Kirstin was with and shove him against a wall, or just tell him to get the fuck out? Grabbing could be a problem; it might get him accused of assault. So yelling it would be. Henry looked into the room.
And saw his little stepsister naked on the couch, gasping and moaning as she fucked herself with a dildo.
Henry’s cock immediately stood at attention. Kirstin was gorgeous, he’d noticed that before, but her body… God, no wonder she was out all night sometimes. As though on its own, Henry’s hand rubbed his cock through his pants.
Fortunately, Kirstin’s eyes were closed. “Fuck, yes!” she groaned. “Oh, my god, fuck me!”
Henry went closer, careful not to make any sound that might let Kirstin know he was there. Her breasts were firm and round, a C-cup at least, Henry estimated. A thin patch of blonde hair surrounded her pussy. As Kirstin thrust the dildo in and out of her cunt, she tweaked her nipples. It was one of the sexiest things Henry had ever seen.
He couldn’t help himself. He undid his pants and grasped his cock. As he watched his sexy stepsister nearing her climax, he stroked himself toward his own.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Startled, Henry let go of himself. Kirstin’s eyes were open now; Henry had been paying so much attention to the dildo in her pussy that he hadn’t realized she’d seen him. “I could ask you the same question,” he said.
“I…” Kirstin laughed and looked at the dildo that still protruded from her. “Guess I can’t lie my way out of it. I was horny. Got a problem with it?”
“No, but I have the same problem.”
Henry went to her and took hold of the dildo. “What do you think you’re doing?” Kirstin demanded.
“This.” Slowly, Henry moved the dildo in and out of his stepsister’s cunt. “How does that feel?”
“You- you can’t-” Kirstin let out a moan. “Henry… ah, fuck! Stop!”
Henry let go of the dildo. “You want me to stop?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean, shit, Henry, you’re my brother!”
“I’m your stepbrother, sweetie. Not the same thing.” He pinched one of her nipples. “I could fuck you, and it wouldn’t be any problem at all.”
Kirstin slapped his hand. “It would if I didn’t want you to fuck me.”
“You’re lying there with a dildo in your cunt. You want to be fucked.” Henry pushed his pants down so Kirstin could see his cock. “Would you rather be fucked by a dildo, or by this?”
“Holy shit!” Kirstin wrapped her hand around his shaft as if to prove to herself it was real. “Henry, it’s fucking huge! You mean I’ve been living with this all this time and never knew it?”
Enjoying the feeling of his stepsister’s hand on his cock, Henry said, “I don’t think you would have been interested before. But how about now? Which do you want, Kirstin? Your dildo or my cock.”
“God, I’m such a fucking whore.” Kirstin licked his cockhead. “I want this.”
“Good answer.”
Henry pulled the dildo out of Kirstin’s cunt and tossed it aside. She giggled. “I hope I remember to pick that up afterward.”
“Might be kind of hard to explain if your mom or my dad found it,” Henry agreed. He knelt between Kirstin’s legs and lined up his shaft with her pussy. “Ready for this?”
“I’ve never had one that big. Fuck yes, I’m ready!”
Henry slid the first inch of his cock into her. “God, you’re tight!” he said. “You sure you can take me?”
“Give it to me, big brother!”
With one hard shove, Henry buried himself to the hilt in his sexy stepsister’s pussy. She screamed as the full length of his shaft penetrated her. Without giving her a chance to adjust, Henry began thrusting in and out of her. “Is this better than that fucking piece of rubber?” he asked.
“Fuck! Oh, my fucking god! Henry, fuck me!”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Oh, fuck!”
Kirstin screamed again, not in pain this time. Henry felt her cunt clench on his cock as she came. It was too much for him. With one last hard thrust, he emptied his balls into Kirstin’s wet pussy.
He pulled out and stood. “Feeling less horny now?”
“Yeah.” Kirstin grinned. “But it’s just a matter of time before I’m horny again.”
“You’ve got your little toy there.”
“Uh huh.” Kirstin grabbed his cock. “But I’d rather have this again. Good thing my mom and your dad are gone for the weekend.”
The End
Our Neat Triangle
I sat back against the arm of the black leather couch, watching the two girls on the floor in front of me. My seemingly unaffected stare watching their every little move. One of them my girlfriend, hair as long and dark black as mine, her lush curves hugged by the tight little tank top and shorts. The other, her girlfriend, and mine when I want her. Her long coffee colored hair up in pigtails that entice me with every swing of her head. I resist the urge to reach out and grab those pigtails and pull her to me. She’s wearing my favorite little, low cut nightgown. A dark blue barely containing her breasts within the cups, riding up over her ass, showing the matching little panties, as she reaches over grabbing a nearby brush.
Lilith and Delilah, my pretty little pets. Lilith is sitting in front of Delilah now as she brushes her hair. It’s such a small, everyday little act, but it makes them both all the more desirable to me. I love watching them together, it doesn’t even have to be sexual. Just knowing I can have one or both of them whenever I want is what turns me on the most. I shift in my seat leaning further back against the sofa, resting my head against my hand, my hair falling into my face a bit.
Lilith looks over at me when I move. She has the most beautiful hazel eyes, the turquoise of her tank top making them look a deep greenish blue. A grin slides across my face, and she blushes slightly looking away. After all we’ve done together it still amazes me that she blushes. Her innocent act veiling the dark temptress inside. In either role she is so fucking hot. When I first saw her, her innocence drove me to corrupt her. I couldn’t help myself. I could see the darkness in her eyes when we fucked. I knew I could bring it out of her.
She’s the one who found Delilah. Her taste in women is impeccable. Her and I love the same things about a woman, tall, brunette, beautifully curved, with a darkness inside. There was no innocence when it came to Delilah, she knows what she wants and exactly how to get it. For me it’s the best of both worlds, a seemingly innocent submissive, and a dark mistress taking what she wants with no regrets.
I remember when she first brought Delilah home. Barely getting in the door, hands and mouths all over each other. Delilah was completely oblivious to my presence. I sat there enjoying the show before me. How could you not enjoy two beautiful women going at it like tigresses in heat. Lilith pushed her back against the door, sucking at her neck. When Delilah’s eyes opened for a split second she noticed me. She pushed at Lilith getting her to stop. Lilith explained who I was, and she was still unsure. I smirked to myself, watching her eyes continually scanning over me. I curled my finger at the both of them. Lilith came over sitting against my side on the couch. I seen the conflict in Deliliah’s eyes. Wanting to please Lilith, unsure of what to do, wanting me.
She gave into the call of the both of us, dropping to her knees and crawling over to my feet. Such a hot little bitch from the start. She kneeled between my legs, and I knew what she wanted. I sat back as Lilith slowly unbuttoned my pants, letting my already hard cock free. She stroked it a bit as Delilah watched licking her lips. She looked up at me, as if asking for permission. A slow dark grin slid across my face, and that was all the prompting she needed, taking the head into her mouth. I moaned low in my throat, as she worked my cock, Lilith reaching down playing with her hair.
She looked so hot sucking my cock. Her pretty little lips wrapped around it, expertly working her tongue against me. Lilith’s hand moved from her hair sliding up my chest. She was already turned on, but I knew this was making her pussy soaking wet. I reached over sliding her shirt up, cupping her breast making her moan into my ear. I shuddered slightly, the sound of Lilith’s voice making me all the harder. My hand slid down Lilith’s body, slipping into her pants. I growled as my finger slipped into her soaked pussy. Delilah slowed a bit, noticing what I was doing to Lilith. Her hand worked my cock, as she flicked her tongue over the tip, her eyes glued to my hand in Lilith’s pants. I slipped it out bringing it to Lilith’s lips, and she greedily sucked at my finger. Delilah panted as she watched, I looked back down at her, my dark stare making her shudder. Wordlessly she went back to my cock, sliding her tongue along it before taking back into her mouth.
Lilith whimpered besides me, her hand sliding down into her pants. I moaned as Delilah worked me harder, my hand joining Lilith’s in her pants. I drove two fingers into Lilith and she gasped, moving hard against them. I was so close, as was Lilith. Delilah sucked hard, taking all of my cock again and again. I felt Lilith start to cum around my fingers and that drove me over the edge. I came so hard, shooting down Delilah’s throat. I felt Delilah shudder. I grinned darkly knowing she had cum without even touching herself. The entire situation too hot for her to handle. Any man would have given anything they had to be in that position. I grin to myself, as my attention drifts away from my momentary daydream and back to my girls.
Delilah starts braiding her hair now, meticulously working the stands into a French braid. She gets the braid halfway done, and glances over at me with an evil glint in her eye. She curls the braid around her fist tugging Lilith’s head back, making her moan softly. A dark grin slides across my face as I watch. She tilts Lilith’s head to the side, sucking at her neck, making her squirm with pleasure.
I can’t help but slowly get hard watching them. The beauty of the picture before is every man’s fantasy. Two gorgeous woman pleasuring each other, knowing exactly what they do to me. The beauty of that second only to having them both on me. Each pleasuring me in their own unique ways.
Delilah let’s her hair go, sliding her hands down Lilith’s back. Reaching under her shirt, her hands lightly caress Lilith’s back. A unique erogenous zone that turns Lilith into whimpering mass of pleasure in seconds. Delilah’s nails softly raked down Lilith’s back, causing her to whimper softly. The sound sends a tiny shiver straight through my cock. Her right hand remained under Lilith’s shirt sliding around front cupping her breast. Getting more turned on by the moment, Delilah growled softly pulling Lilith’s head back with a sharp yank of hair. Growling against her neck, I see Lilith’s body shudder, Delilah’s teeth sinking slightly into her neck.
A pair of dark demons they are. They know what they do to me, even with the slightest moan or whimper. Delilah the darkest of them both, taking delight in the way she turns to both of us on with the slightest touch, the smallest sound.
Delilah pulled Lilith’s shirt over her head, both hands now on her breasts. Her mouth in constant movement on Lilith’s neck.
“Fuck Delilah, feels so good.” Lilith moans arching into the touch.
Running her nails back up Lilith’s back, Delilah grabbed her neck pushing her head to the floor. Lilith’s cute little ass up in the air now, Delilah’s hand rubbing her though the thin layer of her shorts.
“Mmm so fucking wet. You love what I do to you don’t you.” Delilah turns her head back towards me, a dark grin on her face. Her eyes darken even more when she notices my hand sliding over the bulge in my pants. Turning back to Lilith she leans down whispering against her neck.
“Jean is so fucking hard right now. Mmm you know how bad he wants to fuck you?” All Lilith could do was moan in response, pushing herself back against Delilah’s hand. Delilah yanked the shorts down, bringing a hand down hard across Lilith’s ass.
“Dirty fucking whore. Turned on by the thought of him fucking you, when I’m the one touching you.”
She smacked her ass again, “You’re mine right now bitch.”
Delilah’s words send a shudder down my back. God I fucking love them. I can resist no longer, I have to touch my cock. My pants are too painfully tight. I slid my black silk boxers down, moaning softly as my cock is freed. My hand slowly slides down my cock, my focus back to my pretty little pets.
Delilah has Lilith turned over now, Her long hair splayed over Lilith’s body as she sucks at her nipples. Lilith’s eyes, a dark jade, stare at the hand moving on my cock. She looks up at my face, biting her lip, moaning Delilah’s name. I grin darkly down at her, and she cries out at Delilah bites at her stomach, working her way down Lilith’s lush curves. Delilah is on her hands and knees now, her hot, round ass, seducing me with every movement. I’m convinced, although she’s deeply entranced by Lilith, that her movements are not so innocent. She knows exactly what she is doing, knows how much I need to fuck right now.
Continue next page ………
Delilah dips her head, sliding her tongue against Lilith’s clit.
“Ohh fuck…“Lilith reached down grabbing tightly onto Delilah’s hair. “Yes… Mmm like that.”
Lilith looked up at me once more. Her free hand working her breast, tugging at the nipple. The look in her eyes, and the scent of them both, drove me from my seat. Kicking my boxers aside I kneel behind Delilah. My hands sliding over the smooth silk of her panties. I grip her hips, pulling her back, letting her feel just how hard I was.
“Mmm Jean,” she whimpered as she looked back at me, her lips covered in Lilith’s juices. “You wanna fuck me? Huh… Wanna fuck me while I fuck Lilith?”
“Fuck yes..” I growled, pushing her back down.
My hands roughly yanked down her pretty blue panties. Her scent overwhelming me, her pussy so wet against my cock. I rub the tip back and forth over it, as I see her doing the same with her fingers to Lilith.
“Yeah, fuck that pretty little pussy, Delilah. Make her cum while I make you cum all over me.” My voice a low growl, as I can barely restrain myself any longer.
She thrusts her fingers deep inside and Lilith arches off the floor.
“So wet, Mmm so tight.” Delilah moans, as she deliberately rubs herself hard against me. I grip her hips and thrust deeply inside her soaked pussy. She’s so fucking hot and tight around me I nearly cum at first thrust. Pausing only a moment I regain control, thrusting into her with the same rhythm she’s using on Lilith.
“Yeah, fuck her Jean. Mmm so fucking hot. Take that pussy… Uhhh shit.” Lilith’s head falls back, Delilah finding the perfect rhythm.
“Mmm Lilith, you gonna cum for her?” I watch Lilith’s hand disappear under Delilah. I know she’s working her clit, wanting to badly to cum.
“Yes, that’s it, rub that clit.”
I reach down my hand sliding it down between Delilah’s legs as I start to thrust harder, faster. Reaching her clit I work it in rough circles.
“Mmm wanna cum for me don’t you Delilah?”
“Fuck yes Jean… Uhhh god.” Delilah moaned, as she held her fingers deep inside Lilith, knowing exactly how she liked it right before she came.
“Uhh yes… My pretty little sluts gonna cum for me? Mmm make me cum for them?”
“Oh Jean yes… Mmm you heard him Lilith, you fucking cum for him…for me!”
Delilah’s words alone threw Lilith over the edge. She came hard arching off the floor, crying out. Sparking Delilah’s own orgasm, She came so fucking hard, her pussy clenching so tightly around me. I growled, my head falling back as I came again and again, spilling deep into Delilah.
Lilith was the first to move, moving slowly out from under Delilah. I gently slid out from Delilah, letting her softly move to the floor. Lilith’s eyes were on my cock, still semi erect, covered in mine and Delilah’s juices. On her hands and knees, she crawled to me.
“You wanna taste it don’t you?”
“Yes, please… Fuck I want it so badly.” Lilith response a begging plea, making me hard once more.
She crawled right up to me, dipping her head, slowly licking my cock from base to tip. Growling at the taste and Delilah and me. I shuddered as she took the head into her mouth, my hand sliding into her hair. I looked up through hazy eyes and saw Delilah sitting back against the couch, her fingers sliding into her pussy. She brought them up to her lips, and I knew she was imaging my cock, and she licked them clean.
“Fuck…” Was all I could manage as Lilith quickly took me deep into her throat, savory every flavor. Delilah’s dark eyes focused on mine, as her hand moved back down. Her legs spread wide, I watch her working her clit.
“Mmm yess, love watching her suck my cock don’t you. You dirty bitch.” I grin darkly. Sliding my eyes back to Lilith who was eagerly working my cock. Her hands coming up to cup and roll my balls. I lost control then, unable to resisting, I came again, shooting down her throat. Through my cries I heard Delilah crying out, her own orgasm taking her, feeling the shudder of Lilith against me, cumming without a single touch. She slid away from me, panting softly as she crawled over, snuggling against Delilah. I grinned, hearing their satisfied sighs as they sat together.
So beautiful tangled together, glowing with love for each other, for me. I slowly got to me feet, offering my hand to them both. Unsteadily they both reached their feet, sliding into their perfect fit at my sides. I slid my arms around their waists, leaning down, kissing each one of them, slowly and thoroughly. I led them to the bedroom, all heading our separate ways. For Lilith and Delilah the bathroom and the shower. Me, I cleaned myself up and slipped into bed. I smiled to myself hearing their giggles of delight in the shower. I leaned back against the headboard waiting for my pretty little pets to return to my side, and my bed, for the night, and forever.
The End
Last story for tonight and will continue on Tuesday night . Thanks for reading the stories here .
Steady
Picture the stockings they call “fence net” made out of metal and fashioned into seats for a Greyhound station. I’m sure it’s leaving a red lattice on my thighs and ass. My education hasn’t even started yet. I’m waiting for a bus that will bring my Owner near for the first time. My head is clear; I’m reading my book and not just pretending. Something beautiful comes through about erotic love in Freud’s writing. The bus is late, but I don’t mind. Mostly, I’m enjoying the feeling of calm, of not being terrified like I’d anticipated. I’m already in substate, maybe already wet. I cross my legs and lean forward, marveling at the way the words on the page make any sense, considering what’s about to happen. This is what makes sense.
And then I’m aware of someone standing very still and facing me, just a few feet away. I look up at him for what feels like a long time—I don’t want to leap into the arms of the wrong man. But it must be him. I stand up and it’s like taking an elevator to get to my good posture. I float and take the steps to get to my Owner, recalling his answer in email to my question, “How shall we greet each other?” Like the long parted lovers we are. He never makes a false step.
Just like we’d expected, we kiss without speaking a word. My mouth opens over his, feeling his lips before I ever saw his sexy smile, and I lean into him, on the spot… I think to myself, ‘This is the way he tastes, this is the scent of him, his body…’ None of it registers—he’s still not real. Nothing feels like my life or my dreams. I’m happy.
When the kiss ends—there is only so long a kiss can go on before it must be taken elsewhere—I think we say hello. I’d already met his tongue with mine. I don’t remember anything but his arm around my waist and mine around him, the sub in substate leading the way out the doors into bright daylight to the taxis around the corner and feeling like I’m walking drunk on stilts in my four inch heels. Though I’m most myself dressed like this, it’s a rare occasion I find myself dolled up. Not sure I’d want to be. I think I save being myself for special occasions.
Our gaits don’t synch, but nothing is awkward. It just adds to the giddiness. He’s speaking and his cadence is a lot like our footsteps—it’s beautiful, but my ear is one step behind. His accent… I would learn it’s called Mancunian, and also, to try not to refer to him as “British.” Simple words trip me up. A few months later, I can understand most of what he says on the phone. In person, I don’t need to catch every word to know what he means, interpreting his various subtle smiles. I’d assured him before meeting that the accent wasn’t a fetish. So much has changed.
We get in the taxi and I give the address of the hotel where I’d made our reservation. I melt into the side of my new Owner. He’d expressed a desire to take a taxi as a prelude to our time alone in the room, wanting us to arrive with me already a bit disheveled. I liked that idea and made sure to find a suitable hotel far enough from the station that we could enjoy each other in the back seat just the right amount of time. We only had a few hours. That’s true today: I see my Owner, who is now also my Master, for six hours a month. If you’re not a straight, you don’t have to ask me how that could be worth it.
He doesn’t “molest me” in the cab like he’d threatened in email. He notices he’s still wearing his sunglasses and apologizes—it’s important to him I look in his eyes. I can’t withstand too much of that yet. We look out the window instead as he holds me and I press against him. He’s taming me, putting me at ease, and for someone who first caught my eye as a “strict disciplinarian” he’s very gentle when he wants to be. By the time we arrive at the hotel, I hadn’t had a moment of hesitation. Here we are, the site I chose for my submission to the one with whom I’d been writing for exactly two months and a day. I know that little detail because he has a romantic streak and told me just how long it had been since he said he felt I was worth Owning.
I hadn’t wanted to be Owned, just wanted to play, but I liked him too much to give him the “I think we want different things.” At the time, I was sure we did, but he wrote so fucking brilliant—he’s the writer, I persist just to please him. I was in contact with men who were intelligent, seemed sane, seemed to need the complement to what I did, but the compelling, charged words in my inbox were from a man with experience who wanted the person I was becoming. It was an ego high, but I was scared of him. It was clear he was authentic and understood BDSM from the inside out. That was what I wanted, but I couldn’t go that far. Authenticity and just playing around are incompatible goals, my Owner’s patiently shown. He’s also explained it, in attentive letters. In his hypnotic, complicated voice. But this is my project now—to tell it to him so transparent even a stranger might understand. He likes it that most people won’t. He doesn’t let me forget that part of what he Owns is my mind, all of my thoughts. Though it was my idea to write, I’m not free to stop: He demands a full account of my memories.
It’s funny now to read, “I couldn’t go that far.” I’d gone far, in terms of pure risk, like a time I let a man drive me into a dark parking lot in the wilds between here and LA. With me in the passenger seat, back down, he put my feet up on the dashboard in severe metal ankle cuffs and my hands in bondage mitts attached to a collar. I knew I didn’t even trust him, just hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much if he decided to gut me. I didn’t get off on the fear or the risk—I just mention it as testament to the strength of the need. Genuine fear, I learned, arouses just a flood of poison chemicals to the brain and ‘fight or flight’ isn’t much of a high when neither are an option. I was completely unharmed, but shaken by the lengths to which I’d go to feel correct. I had accepted myself as a submissive and a masochist and had given up on normal dating. These days, even just making small talk is near impossible while knowing I’m someone’s sex slave. Not like I ever had that ability.
I didn’t want to fear someone in the way I did in that car. I wanted to submit because I’m intimidated by a man only because he’s just what I want. If I had to be a boy, I’d want to be you. The fear I will always feel for my Owner is the dual fear of happiness and losing it. Don’t keep me, don’t go away. I am not afraid of him, but he can still shock me: With his innocent reactions (maybe feigned) to my desires, he surprises and with the perversity that spills from his mouth on our prolonged journey to the peak of vice he gets me breathing hard imagining the future. But I’m ahead of myself. We aren’t even in the room yet.
I handle the check-in at his request because he’s told me that hotel clerks don’t like the look of him. He does look like a bit of a trouble maker. It’s smooth and there are so many versions of how we find our way upstairs I like to think we just floated upwards. I can see us feeling each other up a flight of stairs and also the way we fit together reflected back in a shiny elevator door. Doesn’t matter, we’re through the threshold and the room is fine and it’s ours. The bed has the iron headboard shown in the picture, which is a relief. It has a plain white duvet, which pleases my aesthetic sense, though we stripped that quickly after his razor blade slashed it right away (feathers)—funny, he didn’t carve me until it was almost time for us to part… I remember laughing delighted we’d already started destroying the room before we got started.
Continue next page …….
He paces a little. Not nervous, but it makes sense: He’d said his style was speedy and active and I stand still, my energy draining away into total passivity as he sizes up the setting. Not pacing. Closer to prowling. I enjoy watching him move. I get a sense he’s resolved something and he doesn’t make me wait long at all before he sits at the edge of the bed—even when he sits down, it’s speedy—and instructs me to get over his knee for my spanking. Sliding across his lap is like sinking into a warm bath and the firm slaps to my ass are truly the kisses of long parted lovers. I’d been playing for weeks, meeting a couple of different men to administer spankings, but this is what I hadn’t had yet. Deep submissive feelings. I knew he was special, and that was why I got a room: I didn’t want him in my home, where I’d casually let others come to pummel me. These days my own bedroom is the “punishment room,” but I couldn’t have known that then. I should have. I think he did, but humored me and my hotel whim.
Over my Owner’s knee, I gasp and purr. He stands me up abruptly and puts his hand in the crotch of my panties to check my wetness. “Already?” he asks. I look at him, a little ashamed, and find his expression to be half knowing, half innocent. I realize now it’s because of this quality in him I chose a cherub for part of my tattoo about his Ownership. Sometimes I think I’m the one with the true depravity, the kind that clings and stains… troubles me in the soul. He beats it out of me with a sweet, amused smile on his lips and in his dark blue eyes. He’s made me re-learn words like ‘perverse,’ ‘depraved,’ ‘whore,’ ‘slut.’ I delight in his use of them and with him they mean something pure, but I still privately contain their conventional charge. The way most people think of a “whore,” I still think of myself, though I melt when he calls me that, and even more when he says “slut,” which I don’t consider as harsh in meaning. I just like the “harsh way we deepen our vowels,” as he puts it.
I don’t have enough respect for women. And, at times, I hate myself. I have never confessed that to him because I feel it would make him rethink Ownership: Who would feel pride in subjugating someone who hates herself? Then again, he knows me better than I know myself and his ego’s sturdy, so the thought must have crossed his mind. I hope he doesn’t want to fix me or think I expect him to (would be nice if it were possible), but he can administer all the correction he wants. Though he has created for me an image of the “good whore” I can be, I thought he must know no one cums from discipline unless she has behaved badly… We don’t agree on this point, but, Owned whore I am, I have to be truthful. A person does cease to be worth possessing when she starts to pretend.
It’s a blessing and a challenge to be Owned by a feminist. I have to act stronger than I am and I also feel petulant sometimes that he got right into my psyche like he had x-ray vision. Being sub to him could be my greatest pleasure in life. He wants the strength I draw from belonging to him to inspire me in other areas, but I think I don’t let it yet. I can’t become so dependent that my art, that everything comes from him because it could end with him, too. Some things must be done on my own, though once when I was depressed he told me my life was no longer my own to even think of taking. That was the most incredible thing anyone has ever said to me. I wonder if he knows…
I realize I’m dealing with a very unusual, possibly dangerous person, and he’s pure. And purely Dominant, to my delight. (“Switch” is a deal breaker for me; I respect all orientations, but I need someone I couldn’t ever imagine submitting.) I stop feeling shame. He tells me he’s pleased I hadn’t overstated my enjoyment of impact play. It was perhaps false of me not to tell him the flow of fuck juice started when he kissed me, maybe before, maybe just at the thought of meeting the one who’d written me such tantalizing letters, promises of subjugation so confident, effortless. He doesn’t let me down when he orders me to kneel on the bed. “Head down,” he says. Gentle, but I know he means it. He doesn’t even raise his voice. I put my head down and don’t resent it one bit. I honestly don’t remember how he disciplined me. I assume it was with his riding crop after I’d taken the welcome spanking from his palm, but my brain had locked on his instruction to kneel and then the sound of those two words, “head down,” like that was the most appropriate, natural thing… I’ve been criticized for as long I can recall for keeping my head down, slouching. With him, I stand as straight as I can and it’s no effort. It’s also an incredible release to have reason to bow my head. Throughout the stripes to my upturned ass, I think I was enjoying my downcast gaze.
The next thing I remember is my Owner coming into view at the foot of the bed. I’m on hands and knees across it, like we unconsciously meant for me to watch the door: Someone must intrude on this! Can we really be allowed…I watch him carefully and he asks if it would embarrass me if he takes off his shirt. I don’t understand the question, but realize I’ve told him I am very shy. Not too shy to want to see my Owner’s body, but he couldn’t know that yet. I don’t know if it makes me more of a prude or more perverse that my Dom half naked behind closed doors increases my submissive feelings. For a sub, I’d had a lot of rules, all of which are gone now, and one was no sex. I knew I’d want to get him off to thank him for the punishments I need so much. I didn’t expect I’d be happy to shed the dressed Dom / naked sub image. I liked the formality of the way I’d played before because of the distance it created between me and a partner: I was down in substate, he was high above. A man with his clothes on kept an intellectual dimension alive in the course of play. I was afraid of losing the rules and slipping into another messy vanilla fuck.
He doesn’t lose any Dominance, but gains some, as seeing his bare skin bewilders me. I feel like I could kiss him and pet him like an ordinary lover. Only we would know it was BDSM—with his permission and for his pleasure. I was already undressed down to my panties, stockings, heels—everything black, of course. I’m a traditionalist. That he wants to be together with me in a little nakedness is welcome. It’s the end of summer and still hot in the daytime. He’d begun to sweat, he said, and did I mind…. And then after I mumble something stupid there he is, shirtless, black riding crop in hand, my ass still stinging. I admire his masculine build and visible strength; I’m small and soft and we fit perfectly together. My head meets his chest and my breasts fill his hands like I was made to be his fuck pet.
He says it’s time to put the collar on me. It’s a wide bondage collar, pliable leather, too big for my neck, but the act of lifting my hair for him to fasten it is a vintage moment and one that led to a wrong idea: It humbled me to think it was soft with previous use, but why shouldn’t it be? Just a play collar, after all. I only learned the other day that I was wrong. No other sub wore this one first and I like to think I broke it in over the years he’d kept it hidden with the sheer force of my intention. I fantasize he’ll one day give me the locking kind and throw the key into the ocean. Until then, I wear this one both with him and on my own when I need him.
He takes the leather cuffs from his wrists and puts them on me. A nice touch—he wears them without looking at all like a sub, just Punk, but on me, they make clear I’m his sub. They are also too big, but I won’t get free and that’s what matters most. He tells me he’ll make more holes so they’ll be tighter next time. It’s like a perverse version of the enjoyment a girl feels in wearing her boyfriend’s jacket.
Continue next page ……..
He ties me face down with a length of rope connecting each limb to a corner of the bed frame. I’m relieved he likes the look of my underwear enough to leave them on me—he’d made me shave completely for him and being naked is one thing, but naked and spread wide open would have been more than I could take. Within one or two more visits, he’d spread my cunt and take his time studying me. He won me quickly by not expecting anything other than respect. And by knowing my thoughts before I do; I’d protested the shaving and he, being more of a feminist than me, knew where I was coming from, but did get me to admit I do find shaved pussy more appealing to the senses. Now I wouldn’t want anything to separate my Owner’s gaze or fingertips and my bare labia.
Standing behind me, he runs the crop lightly down my spine, over the skin above my stocking tops. My cheek rests on the sheet and I strain to watch him, but I can’t see him. He brings the broad tip of the crop to my lips and instructs me to suck and make it wet. The idea of my own spit being used to increase the pain I will feel arouses him. “So pretty,” he remarks about watching me work the leather square in my mouth as if it were part of him. But I can’t be getting spoiled, looking into his eyes while demonstrating my lewd ideas: It’s time I was corrected and he’s behind me again. I hear the fierce slicing sound, feel the stinging shock of impact, then the spreading warmth of the welt.
He leans over me, covering me with his body without touching. The leather brushes my face as he uses the tip of his punishment implement to push back my messy hair. It’s important to him that he sees all my reactions. His tongue slips in the corner of my mouth and I kiss him with devotion. He rises again to thrash me until he can see I am in pain, then soothes me again with his sensitive mouth. He alternates between making me anticipate the arrhythmic blows to my sore flesh, that sound of the crop on its way into my skin that makes me catch my breath, then the kisses and explorations of his perceptive hands. I feel bliss. I’m still intimidated by him, but completely at ease. I already trust him enough to know I will never have to use a safe word—we don’t have them on principle because if I ever tell him to stop, I will mean it. I don’t think I ever would. He sees how much I can take. When I’m under his control I’m in his care and never feel as safe as I do when restrained by him. Even this first time. With trust, I can give up on enduring pain and surrender to it. It’s lessened my threshold, but increased my awareness of the experience. Less is more.
We kiss until he finds himself getting too relaxed. He unties me just long enough to put me on my back, arms above my head attached to the head board, legs tied wide apart. He sees me watching his every move as he leans over me to tie the ropes and he grins. On impulse my head jerks up—I’d been enticed by a drop of sweat at his temple. I ask permission to lick it, tell him I want to taste his sweat and he indulges me. It’s not even salty, just fresh water. He asks if I’d also like to taste his pre-cum. The answer is an immediate, “yes, Sir” and I enjoy the sight of him standing by the bed, undoing his belt, opening his trousers. It is deeply gratifying to see his underwear is moist, too. I feel shy to openly look at his erection as he uncovers it, but I’m too attracted by the outline it makes behind his black underwear to look away. He touches his fingertips to his leaking cock and brings them to my lips to feed me his juices. My God, the taste of him. It must be obvious from the look on my face I want more, and he tells me he is going to fuck my mouth after I cum for him.
I feel deliciously ashamed and exposed as he squeezes and pets my soaked crotch. He’s stretched out beside me and his skin is so warm and sweet. The sexual smell he gives off brings an animal lust into my awareness. SM play is meant to be erotic—it’s my core erotic life—but I was also looking for distance within the play, rituals and traditional rules to help me feel in control enough of myself to enjoy it. I felt I had to be in control in order to lose my mind in submissive delirium. This was more like sex; though bound and under the control of my new Owner, my desire for this man was not under control. It was something more than what he could inflict on me to fulfill my masochistic needs that had my breasts aching for his attention and my cunt clenching in intense physical longing.
This was not what I’d gone looking for and I was lucky he insisted on forging a strong intimate bond with me. Otherwise the BDSM dynamic wouldn’t work, he’d explained and I did know he was right. It’s not enough to submit to the acts of painful pleasures. I had to submit to someone, someone who was not at all shy to tell me he expected every part of me to belong to him, even my mind. Someone who’d told me his Dominant skills were surpassed only by his modesty. It was this person who was now sliding his hand under the elastic of my panties, exploring his slippery, fresh-shaved property, finding my clit raised and aching as my bright pink nipples. I look in his eyes, study every detail of his face to keep them until my eyes close involuntarily in pleasure.
He strokes my clit in a motion as perfect as my own masturbation on those dark sleepless mornings I fantasize about being tied down, just like this, and forced to cum. This orgasm would not be difficult to force, he was so skilled with my body. I had never had this as part of BDSM play. Other Doms—there had not been many—had not wanted to use my pleasure to dominate. On the one occasion a partner had put a finger at the opening of my cunt after I was wet from a beating, I told him, “Please, no.” I didn’t want him, wasn’t submissive to him except on the surface when we played our roles. At this moment, I am not playing and the way my body responds to his touch proves I am his whore. He rubs me harder and I grind against his finger, paying for it when I catch my flesh on his sharp nail, but I can’t stop. I hear myself begging him not to stop, babbling about God, saying ‘please’ over and over. I don’t know him well enough yet to know if he would tease me. I wouldn’t be able to take it; I feel desperate for relief from this terrible pleasure that, when I hear him ask, “Are you going to cum for me?” turns into ecstasy.
I lie in his arms gathering myself back together. I say “Thank you, Sir” and he tells me there is no need to thank him for doing what he wants to do. He enjoys Dominating me by making me cum for him, seeing me lose all composure. He says he should probably be punishing me more, but that I get so wet when he does that he can’t resist returning his fingers to my cunt. He reminds me my body belongs to him and he’ll play with it how he wants to. If he wants me to be his helpless fuck puppet, then that is how he’ll use me, subjugate me, and let me know I don’t belong to myself anymore. So I should not thank him.
I kiss him instead, with unashamed devotion, like a zealot. I’m allowed these displays of what he finds to be unseemly eagerness. It’s part of my slavery, showing my love for him, which I do best with my tongue. Whether reaching up for his neck to force my kisses upon him or kneeling to lick his feet, it’s a compulsion to keep my mouth in contact with my Owner’s body. He doesn’t deny me this way of my expressing my gratitude that he found me, claimed me, and holds me down through orgasms until I forget my name. He calls me Possessed. It’s what and who I am. It’s in the movements of my tongue sliding between his lips to find his again in my awful greed.
Continue next page ……
This is how I’m kissing him, in restraints, without restraint, when he tells me it’s time I should be punished again. He leaves me for a moment to get a candle and matches from my contribution to supplies, and is swiftly back by my side, a look of smug pride flickering as he pictures how he’d going to decorate me. We search each other’s eyes as the red wax melts to be poured over my pale skin. He holds the candle close to my body so the wax doesn’t cool as it falls over me, and my Owner does look decidedly gleeful spilling wax all over me in prolonged bursts of pain. And he insists he’s no Sadist! The dry wax is making a skin that pinches mine as I struggle under continuous new doses. At the same time, the burning sensation recedes to leave a warmth alive in my skin. I’m aroused again, wanting him to stroke me and fuck me. He’s hard from controlling me, causing me pain near to my limit and then leaving me aroused and defiled in hundreds of red droplets. I know what he’s thinking.
I had brought the candles after showing him a picture of me in a similar condition. He commented on the look of contentment I had, all splattered and spent, and said he would want to recreate that experience. He did find one thing to be lacking and said if it were him painting me like that he’d want to cum across my body, adding his own spunk to complete the composition. I remember this and know I will soon be receiving my baptism into my new status.
Baptism was his word. My happily atheistic Owner knows just how to exploit my Catholic fetish. He only mocks it gently: Anything encouraging me to kneel is mostly alright with him. My hands clench in my restraints because I want them around his erection. I want badly to serve him, make him orgasm as he’d done to me for most of the afternoon. To know what he’s like when lust overtakes him.
He straddles me, knees near my breasts, and grazes my mouth with his smooth cock. He’s my first uncut man and I take my time shamelessly exploring with my tongue and my gaze, each chance I get. I’m fascinated by the sensuality of delicate skin where there has always been a scar. I adore how foreskin keeps his cockhead succulent, and then the sight of it slipping down as he fills with blood, like a slow seductive blink. My unseemly interest is puzzling to him, but he accepts it as another way I was a virgin to him. I tell him something inexcusable like, “Sorry! That’s just really cool.” And he assures me he doesn’t mind indulging me with novelty.
My Owner tilts his hips to enter the mouth open to suck him. I see him close his eyes before I close mine to concentrate. He moves slowly between my lips, letting me try everything I might have learned in the past to please him now. He moves deeper into my throat and handles me harsher. We leave ordinary oral sex for the forced fellatio he’d promised in one of his first messages. He’s got me by the hair, nice and secure and orally fixed in place. He’s using me like his property and I couldn’t be happier, even when I choke slightly. I can tell he’s getting close… He leaves me gasping when he pulls back to masturbate above me. I watch only out of the corner of my eye—sudden modesty interferes. I don’t know if it’s properly submissive to watch my Owner stroke himself, so I miss instruction in how to please him. His heavy cum falls over my tits and neck, runs down my ribs. I look up at his face, glistening with sweat and lust, a flush of pink in his cheeks—my cherub with the razor blade. He murmurs something as he touches the splash of semen in my hair. That was unintentional, he says. I don’t mind and wear it with pride, hidden in my tangles.
Our time is almost over. He has to return home. We begin to consider this rude interruption from reality and he undoes my restraints. My arms snap around him the instant I’m free. My mouth is raw from kissing, but I am determined to do more damage and so is he. He asks if I am ready to be marked with my new name. While he gets the blade, I surrender on my stomach like I’m awaiting a massage. My relaxed state evaporates after I feel the razor split my skin. I do my best to hold still for him, but feel a bit faint. It’s not like I haven’t been cutting on my own for years. He soothes me just like a doctor performing a needed procedure and does not give in to my whimpering. I never want him to stop but need for this to be over soon… too many letters, each consisting of three or four slow, straight cuts. Then he goes back over it! “I know it hurts, but I want it to be right,” he says. When it’s finished he takes a photo and hands me the camera so I can see it still fresh and bloody. “Possessed” in an arc over my upper back. It looks just right, the way he carved it, a part of me to meld with the other scars, birthmarks, bones. His hand is steady. I trust him. I have not cut myself since; it’s for my Owner to do and after his work on my back, doing it on my own would be as useless as trying to give myself a passionate kiss.
My head is spinning with the high of what’s been accomplished. I submitted to my Owner as completely as I could our first time. Every subsequent visit offers a new way to submit and feel Owned, like a door I don’t notice until it’s time to walk through. We both knew it wasn’t normal, him taking a razor to my back the first time we met, but it was something we had to do because we wanted to. I bask in the intimacy he taught me to want; being together with someone in the present moment is unusual for me, though my Owner demands it of anyone he’d possess. He cleans me with peroxide and helps me to stand. I’m on my knees again before long. I can’t help myself.
The End
Good Night To All And Sweet Dreams
Bro Birdie & Bro Teebs, thanks for the very sexciting stories…
Wishing all of you a prosperous new year!!!
Bro birdie8819,
Thanks for the stories! Only you faithfully posting stories during CNY. Great job!!