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Mobile Adult Dating Story
Rose Anne is frustrated with her sex life, and her inability to find a man who can satisfy her. Clyde offers her a solution.
LIGHT MY FIRE Part One by Jigs
SPINSTER!! What a terrifying word to a female pushing thirty five without any male prospects. My name is Rose Anne Lombardi. I’m a damn good legal secretary, and I make a decent living for myself. I own my half of a duplex in a good neighborhood, and nice car all paid for. All in all I have a good life, but do I worry that my whole life will slip by without a mate? You can bet I do. Panic is a better word. Why then don’t I find an find an acceptable man and make him a permanent resident in my bed?
I’m not bad looking. I’m even sexy in a healthy Italian sort of way, and altho I may die an old maid, I won’t go into the great beyond as an innocent virgin. The first penis visited in my pussy fifteen years ago, and in the years since others have occasionally dropped in to say hello . I haven’t spread my legs for just anybody, but I admit I’ve lost count of exactly how many men have fucked me. Anybody can lose track of such details, and after all, a good Italian girl doesn’t carve notches on her bed post. My best guess is that I must have shared my bed with about ten to twelve men over the past fifteen years. With all but a couple of those, I have had a continuing relationship of one kind or another, but I was never close to marrying any of them.
As the days, months and years slip away without a husband, I can hear my biological clock ticking, and I am becoming ever more fearful that I may miss having a home and family. Well, O.K., I’ll admit a husband, a little white cottage, and a brood of rug rats, are not my only concern about what I am missing as time passes me by. To be totally honest about it, as much as I need a man who will marry me and give me his children, even more desperately I need a man who can light my fire.
A MAN TO LIGHT MY FIRE. That’s really what I have wanted since I was thirteen, but I’ve never been able to let go, get laid, and enjoy the occasion. You see, I was raised in a devoutly Catholic home of first generation Italian Americans, and was I educated by the Sisters of Charity in a parochial school.
My conservative parents and the good Sisters filled my head with a Christian morality imported directly from the old country. A good Italian Catholic girl is chaste and pure. Sex is dirty. Men are not to be trusted. Men only want one thing from a girl. A good Italian Catholic girl keeps her knees together and says no. A good Italian Catholic girl is always a virgin on her wedding night. A good Italian Catholic girl does the dirty deed only with her husband, and then only because it is her duty to the Pope and her husband.
Well, I was barely out of puberty before I began to suspect that I was being fed so much propaganda. My early experiments with my own fingers suggested that a girl chaste and pure was missing something..., something important and very enjoyable. I was backsliding fast, and willing to go faster yet, but a lifetime of cultural brainwashing is not that easy to ignore.
My body blossomed early. I’m no classic beauty, my Italian nose and mouth are too big for that, but my face is passably attractive in a sultry sort of way. I am tall and full bodied without being fat. I have big boobs with minimum sag, long sexy legs, and a nice ass..., an all together great body I’ve been told. Those are feminine assets that attract men as quickly pretty face or not. From the time I was thirteen I had lots of young (and some not so young) studs buzzing around me. I enjoyed all that masculine attention, and damn it, I tried hard to act sophisticated and send all the right sexy signals.
I fogged up car windows with passionate foreplay in every lover’s lane on the Jersey shore, but I just couldn’t muster the nerve ‘to-go-all-the-way.’ All my effort at being a hot chick earned me nothing but a well deserved reputation as a prick tease. Whatever my problem was, however, it was not anything physical. After my date brought me home all frustrated and doubting myself, I would masturbate, and I never failed to orgasm on my own finger.
What the hell was my problem then? The other girls at the Sister’s of Charity School were able to shrug off the sterile Catholic morality the Nuns handed out. All my friends were growing up quite normally, and one by one they were managing to get themselves married and fucked, not necessarily in that order. Why couldn’t I? Too choosy perhaps? Maybe, but not really. I just couldn’t seem to get over my hang up about having a man lay between my legs and actually stick his ‘thing’ in me. I had been warned about men, and what they wanted from me, until I was a semi-frigid basket case. Still, even as screwed up as I was, I wanted to get laid in the worst way. As tempting as the thought was, however, I just couldn’t bring myself to spread myself, lay back, and let some stud give me the delicious dirty business.
As it happened then, I was out of high school a full year before I finally lost my cherry. I was going on 20 years old, earning my own living, and still a reluctant virgin when Mr. Larry Kelly popped my hymen. He was maybe 45, married, prominent in the local society pages, and a wealthy client of the law office where I worked.
I had never met anyone as smooth and confident as Larry. He wined me, dined me, flattered me, and within two weeks, he had my panties off and was fucking me. Yeah, I was as easy as that for him, but don’t let that mislead you. It wasn’t altogether Larry’s skill and considerable experience as a cocksman that convinced me to let him stick me with his cock. I’m sure he thought of my deflowering as a seduction, and from his perspective, maybe it was. For me, however, it was more of an experiment.
It turned out to be an experiment that was less than successful. Eager as I was to try some real sex, the whole thing was disappointing, Not unpleasantly so..., just not all that I expected it to be. I liked what he did to me, and altho the world didn’t shake, some of it felt pretty good. Certainly, I was encouraged enough to keep trying for a better result.
“Damn,” I thought, “maybe I’m just off to a slow start. Larry has a well shaped, experienced, and suitably functional penis. Surely I can learn to get off on it.”
And so, I went back for more..., repeatedly. I had nothing to lose by trying. I was on the pill, and my reputation was safe. Larry was not only discrete by nature, he was very careful not to let anyone know he was fucking me lest the jealous bitch he was married to find out about me. Moreover, being Larry’s lover-on-the-side was a kick. He was handsome, rich enough to give me expensive trinkets, and he screwed me only at the best hotels. And, like I said, in my own semi-frigid way, I enjoyed Larry’s lovemaking. Sometimes he would bring me right up to the edge. I just never fell off the mountain screaming the way I was told a woman was supposed to. Larry was an accomplished lover and he did his best, but every time he put his cock in me I could hear the Sisters of Charity whispering in my ear, “no, no, naughty girl, dirty, dirty.”
With a young girl carrying that kind of a Catholic guilt as baggage, the poor guy never had a chance. Hard as Larry tried..., and he tried damned hard..., he just couldn’t give me the orgasm I wanted so badly. I understood where the problem was, and I never blamed him for my failure. Hell, I thought I loved the guy, and even tho not fully satisfied, I was inexperienced enough to be proud of being the mistress of a big shot in the social and financial worlds. I thought that at the least, an older lover with Larry’s experience should be able to teach me how to be a real woman. The truth was, however, for all his previous history as a cocksman, Larry didn’t really understand sex much better than I did.
There were a couple of times I think I could have made it with him if only he had used his tongue and fingers just a bit longer. I was far too shy and hung up to ask, but I needed him to put his mouth over my sex, his hands on my tits, and just stay there until I could build a climax. He never did that for me tho. Always way sooner than I could get off he would take his mouth and fingers away, and crawl between my legs and fuck my cunt with his cock.
Larry’s eagerness to have his cock in my pussy may have been just selfishness on his part, but he was otherwise too considerate a guy for that to be likely. More probable, he thought it was a reflection on his masculinity to bring a woman off by manual and oral manipulation. Its a shame, but a lot of men believe that. Anyway, Larry kept on banging me as best he knew how for about a year, and he never gave me the big O. Finally he quit trying and traded me in for a skinny little blond twit of a fashion model with a factory installed automatic orgasm.
It was pretty much the same story with all the others who I let fuck me, even Eddie Jerrit, who sincerely thought he wanted to marry me. I was thirty by the time Eddie came along. He was barely twenty, and I suspect I was his first piece of ass. Certainly, I was his first regular one, and he had no idea that I was faking my orgasms.
Eddie was sure he was in love with me. He wasn’t. He was in love with having a warm place to put his dick as a regular thing. Truth was, poor dumb Eddie didn’t have a clue about much of anything. He kept proposing, and I kept refusing. As bad as I needed a husband, I knew (even if Eddie didn’t) that I was I was only a young man’s fling with an older woman. Anyway, the time finally came when even dear sweet dumb Eddie began to suspect that my passion wasn’t for real. That he wasn’t actually a natural born, prime, Number-One-Cocksman, was more than his young ego could take, and he gave up on me, just like all my lovers have.
Now, don’t go getting the wrong idea. I may not orgasm very readily, but I’m not a cold fish either. My sexual responses have improved some with experience, and I surely do like having a man in my bed. I get goose bumps when a male finger or tongue probes my slit, and strokes at my clit. I love to have my nipples sucked, the longer the better, and it sure feels good to have a man on top of me with his weight between my legs holding me down. If the guy is really good, willing to take his time with lots of foreplay, and a dick that last and lasts, chances are I can grab an occasional weak orgasm. It just that I have never had one of those panting, screaming, earth shaking, mind shattering big O’s that my girl friends have told me about.
God, what I wouldn’t have give for just one of those. Indeed, what this little story is about is just what I was willing to give for one of those.
My most recent my sexual dalliance was with Alan Seger. When Alan began fucking me, he was a senior partner in a local law firm, and I was his secretary. Like my very first lover, Alan was older, and damn near a professional Don Juan. All the time he was dipping his prick me, he had a wife and at least one other mistress. I knew from the day I met him that Alan was a pussy hound with the morals of a Arab pimp. There was nothing permanent possible here, and safe from both scandal and commitment, I could accept our affair for what it was to Alan..., just a little meaningless nookie on the side in some sleazy motel.
Somehow as the years went by, sex became easier for me when I could get it down and dirty like that, thumbing my nose as it were at the Sisters of Charity. Alan was a great lover, at least that was the consensus by a whole army of women whose opinion was based on personal experience. I too enjoyed his bedroom technique, and he occasionally he even got me off. Like the others, however, he never gave me that overwhelming shattering erotic climax that I have heard so much about.
Unlike Larry Kelly, however, Alan was also cheap, and notorious for screwing his secretaries in more ways than just with his dick. Not only did he always take his women only to the cheapest, most tawdry, disgustingly dirty, hotels and motels for his hanky panicky, he also wouldn’t pay a decent salary to his secretaries, even one that was sleeping with him.
Eventually, just as did all the other secretaries he fucked before me, I left him for a job that paid a living wage. One I was gone, I was out of sight, out of mind, and quickly off Alan’s busy cocksman’s schedule. That was about six months ago, and I haven’t had man in my bed since. I must admit that I have missed Alan’s hard working penis. Poor pay or not, maybe I wouldn’t have left if I had known how horny I would be without him.
I was on the third set of new batteries for my vibrator when out of the blue, Alan called me for a date. I was momentarily all aflutter, but it turned out that Alan wasn’t calling because he hungered for my body. No, some young buck right out of Law School had joined his firm, and Alan, the natural born pimp that he is, was trying to keep the young guy around with sex instead of money. He needed me to get his kid lawyer a date with a cute young blond thing in the office where I now worked.
That wasn’t very flattering reason for renewing old acquaintances, but I thought, ‘what the hell?” So what if Alan Seger is a worthless piece of shit! I knew that after the children went home, he would take me straight to bed where he would play with my tits and fill my pussy with his cock. I had been sleeping alone for too long, and I really needed somebody to do that for me. So, in my desperation I agreed to pimp for Alan’s young stud.
Except that when I finally met the young stud, Clyde Horner, I couldn’t help but drool a little. He was younger than I, but not by as much as Eddie Jerrit had been. A twice decorated Marine platoon leader in Viet Nam, this Clyde was certainly no green kid. At almost six feet four inches tall, and 240 pounds, he was too much like a big amiable bear to be called handsome. His appearance tho, was as misleading as his unlikely name. Handsome is one thing, and masculine sex appeal is another. Hidden behind that hick name, his ‘aw shucks ma’am, I’m just a country boy act’, and delightful southern accent, was just about the sexiest man I had ever met.
Alan took us to the best and most expensive local bistro for a four star meal and a great floor show (all on some client’s expense account I’m sure). The four of us ate, drank, laughed, and danced. We had just the very best kind of evening. All the while, however, my mind was on what would happen later. Clyde would probably wet his cock in the pussy of the blond bimbo I had provided for him, and I was green with envy. I could only hope she wasn’t as smitten with Clyde as I was. Maybe she would be stupid enough not to let him fuck her on the first date.
Eventually my evening went just as I had known it would. After dinner we split up, and my old boss took me straight back to my place, and fucked the bejabbers out of me. With my legs wrapped around Alan’s waist, I tried to pretend that it was Clyde Horner’s dick I had in my cunt. With the help of that fantasy, I had a small orgasm, but I couldn’t help but wonder what my dreamboat was doing at that very moment. Was his head between the legs of that snippy bitch licking her blond pussy? That picture in my mind’s eye was enough to ruin my evening.
The next Monday the slut was non-committal about that part of her blind date, but she had a smug satisfied smile on her face that I didn’t like. Three weeks went by, and Clyde hadn’t called me. Damn! Damn! I thought the way I had gushed over him in front of Allen would have given him a hint about how hot I was for his body. Maybe he was too busy fucking that little blond whore. Well, if he wouldn’t call, there was only one thing left to do. I would throw myself at him shamelessly. Faint heart never got fair lady laid. .
And so, one Friday morning at work, too horny to care what he might think of me, I put my pride on hold and called him. I was so coy on the phone it was sickening. I suggested that if he was free after work I could meet him at Doc’s Place for a drink. This was a pretty outrageous thing for a good Italian Catholic girl to be doing, and I held my breath when my offer was met with a long silence on the other end of the phone. Then to my huge relief, he said he would meet me there at five thirty.
Doc’s Place is home base for the swinging singles set of our town, particularly right after work on a Friday night. For a couple of hours Clyde and I were a part of the swirling crowd, exchanging sexy pick up lines and bawdy talk with the horny Friday night regulars at the bar. We had an number of good belts of Jack Black, and properly loosened up, the two of us walked romantically hand in hand down the street to a steak house. After more drinks with dinner, we wound up back at my duplex where I opened a fresh fifth. Like I always say, ‘candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker’!
Sure enough, before long he had me laid out on the couch with my blouse off, and my bra down around my waist. He took his shirt off too, and it did feel soooo good when his strong arms hugged my breasts against his hairy chest. Soon thereafter he had his hand up my dress and into my panties. I tried hard to put on a proper front. Even when he stripped off my panties and stroked my bare pussy, I was still struggling, and saying ‘no-no-no,’ the way a good Catholic virgin should.
The moment of truth came, however, when he opened his fly and pulled out a ten inch hard-on that he obviously wanted me to suck. I was impressed. It was as big as any cock I had ever seen in the flesh, but I don’t do blow jobs, at least not on a first date. Rather than suck his cock, I quickly gave up on preserving my fictional reputation, and suggested we adjourn to my bedroom. By now, his hard cock was sticking straight out his fly like the jib of a big four masted schooner. He didn’t resist a bit when I took a firm grip on that thing and used it to pull him up from the couch and toward my bed. In our drunken stagger down the hall, his fingers found the zipper on my skirt and the last of my clothing dropped away before we ever reached the bedroom door.
Naked as a jay bird, I took a seat on the edge of my bed trying hard to be a sophisticated woman of the world, but really a little flustered by my nudity, and by the huge penis that was bobbing up and down right at my eye level. It was plain that Clyde still wanted that blow job I had avoided back on the couch, but I busied myself taking off his shoes and pants. Before he could again make an issue of sucking him, I once more grabbed his cock, and pulled him to me. As I fell backwards I spread my legs, and he fell quite naturally in the saddle between my raised knees..., right where I wanted him.
As much as I liked where he was, I went through the motions of protesting my innocence one last time. He put a quick stop to that by grabbing my wrists and forcing my arms back over my head and holding them there. On my back like that with this big strong man on top of me, I felt like I had been captured by some sexy barbarian who would soon fuck me as his prize of war. I would not have admitted it at the time, even to myself, but as things later turned out, this was exactly what I had wanted all along..., a barbarian who would pin me to the bed, spread my legs and use me, not by my consent as a woman, but by his right as a male.
Clyde was every bit as delightful a lover as I imagined he would be. Even tho a little drunk, he was still careful and conscientious about his foreplay. He sucked my nipples for the longest time (something that I enjoy very much) before turning my arms loose and moving his head down into my crotch where he spent equal time with his mouth on my pussy. God, but he felt good. Any normal woman would have gotten off on that talented tongue, but I couldn’t quite make it even tho I pretended I had. Of course before we fucked, he wanted me to reciprocate in kind. He pinned my shoulders with his knees, lifted his hips over my face and pushed his big hard-on against my lips, pressing me to take him down my throat.
I just couldn’t do it. Thanks I guess to the good Sisters, blow jobs just haven’t ever been my thing. I have occasionally sucked on the dick of a steady lover, but only reluctantly, tentatively, and usually very briefly. Once, when Allan absolutely insisted, I sucked him to completion, but when he finished in my mouth, I couldn’t bring myself to swallow his jism. All that salty goo turned my stomach, and I gagged, then spit it out. That, I quickly discovered, is a turn off to a man.
Oh, damn men all to hell anyway! Who cares what they want! I certainly wasn’t going to give this guy a blow job on our first date, sexy barbarian or not. I turned my head away, and despite Clyde’s insistence, I refused to take him in my mouth.
If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. He acted like he understood, and if he couldn’t have my mouth, he damn sure meant to have full use of my pussy. His hips were soon back between my legs and that monster member of his was prodding and poking at my slit. I was pretty wet by then, but I knew something that big shoved up my twat was going to hurt me if I didn’t help. I reached down between us with one hand to guide the big plum head of his hard-on into my cunt, and I spread my legs as wide as I could, trying to make it easy for him. It took a minute of two, but he was persistent, and with a constant pressure, his great rod gradually split me open.
My God, but he was HUGE. Never before has my poor pussy been so stretched. He just kept pushing, prying my cunt apart. Deeper and deeper he went until he reached a place inside me where none of my other lovers have ever been. Then his hips began to move, driving his prick in and out, and with each stroke I could feel that great male piston rub against my clit. I hurt some at first, but I was so marvelously filled that my pain soon turned into an ache for more..., altho for more what..., I couldn’t exactly tell you.
At one point his big hands once more seized my wrists and stretched my arms to the top of the bed. None of my previous lovers had ever made me feel so helpless, my arms over my head. my pussy pinned on his cock, I was his to use. Why did this man make me feel so..., so..., taken. Somewhere deep in my ovaries I could feel an orgasm alive and growing, but as always, except for a small quiver or two, it remained hidden back there, never quite coming out.
None the less, Clyde worked long and hard (if you will excuse the pun) to pleasure me, and although I never did have anything more than my usual weak little cum, I put on what I thought was an academy award performance of a woman in a continuous climax. After his ejaculation in my cunt, he continued to lay on top of me for the longest time, his softening cock still inside me, soaking in our juices. He kissed my lips, eyes, throat, and breasts, as if to thank me for what I had given him. It all felt soooo good that right then I didn’t even care that I hadn’t had the climax I had been waiting a lifetime for.
At long last, however, he rolled off me, and we lay there in the dark enjoying our after sex cigarettes. After a while, however, he raised himself on his elbow, looked into my eyes, and said, “you didn’t get off did you?”
Well what could I say. I started to lie and claim that I had, but one look into those deep blue eyes of his, I could tell he would know I was lying.
“No I didn’t, I almost never do,” I admitted.
I have never discussed my sexual problem with any of my former lovers, or anyone else for that matter. I certainly didn’t have any intention of baring my soul to this semi-stranger the first time he banged me, but somehow I couldn’t keep my distress bottled up inside me anymore. It all came flooding out, all about my parents, the watchful Nuns, how guilty I was about wanting and enjoying sex, and how ashamed I was to jump into bed with him like this on our first date.
I could see a little smile break across his face as I went on with my story, and finally he said, “Things don’t have to be this way. If you will trust me, I can change all that for you.”
“How,” I asked. “In God’s name, how.”
“Easy enough, if you will go along with it” he answered. “You were taught by the Sisters of Charity that sex is dirty. You were taught that sex was for procreation only, never something to enjoy. You were taught to feel guilty about the most normal and natural urges. You were trained to never allow a man to be in control because he would take advantage of those urges. All that, every bit of it, contradicts every instinct mother nature gave you at birth. Your recovery from those crippling lies is simple enough. You must be reprogrammed to give yourself up totally to your male lover. With that new mental attitude your body will respond the way mother nature meant it to.”
“But, how will you reprogram me?” I asked. “What’s the catch..., and what do you mean ‘If I will go along with it?’ If its so easy, why wouldn’t I go along with it?”
“Well,” he began, “undoing a lifetime of training will require a change in the way you look at men, and your acceptance of some things you might find unpleasant at first. It will be much of like learning to eat broccoli after a lifetime of hating it. Specifically, the essence of your reprogramming will be to deny you any choice about when, where, and how, you have sex. You need to turn all control over to a lover firm enough to insist that you give him your body as his toy. You will be his concubine without any choice in when or how you have sex with him.”
“That is the key, you have no option, not choice, and hence no guilt. In your retraining, your lover can not be your partner. He must be your master. You must learn to submit yourself to him, and worship his penis, in the same absolute way that harem girl submits to her Sultan. That is the natural role of the female when taken by a man, and that kind of submission is the key to unlocking those orgasms you haven’t been able to reach.”
“Harem girl, concubine, submission...., you are flat crazy,” I told him. “That isn’t making love, that is rape, pure and simple.”
I waited a moment before I added, “I don’t think I would like being raped.”
“No, it won’t be rape exactly...,Oh, in the beginning some physical restraint may be necessary to the retraining. That may not be as bad as you now think, however. Have your ever been stripped and tied to the bed helpless to stop your lover from doing whatever he wants to your body?”
I was shaking my head, incredulous at the idea (but perhaps just a bit titillated by the picture that popped into my head.)
“No, you haven’t? You don’t know what you have missed. A woman is by her nature a man’s sexual plaything. Tied like that, the rope is an aphrodisiac perhaps, but nothing else. You see, it is not the rope that holds the woman’s legs apart..., It is her and natural sensual desire and submissive nature that binds her to the bed. It is being helpless and taken, hard fucked by a male warrior, the way male and female have cohabited for thousands of years, that makes her resistance or escape impossible. The feminists will tell you that is the way animals do it. Well, we are animals, and we make ourselves unhappy when we try to be something else.”
“Suppose I don’t like being ‘taken and hard fucked by a male warrior?’ Can I change my mind? What if I want to be turned loose?” I asked.
If I am the one who reprograms you, anytime you want to quit, you can. I will give you only the one chance, however. If you do quit on me, I’m out of your life forever. Don’t think about quitting. Think about how great it will be if I can prove to you that I am right. I sincerely believe that submission to me, or to someone like me, is probably the only chance you have to escape your hang ups. Give it a fair test to turn you on. One good taste of what real sex can be like, and you will never quit.”
“Well...,” I said doubtfully, “Lets say this game of yours does turn me on. Do you mean to tell me that an orgasm or two will overcome what I have struggled with for a lifetime?
“Oh no,” he answered, “There may be pangs of shame and regret. Probably for a very short time, there will be. For a while the good Nuns will stay in the back of your head telling you that anything that feels so good must be sinful. You’ll get past that tho. Not only will you not want to slip back, I will not allow it. At the first sign that your guilt is returning, I will wash away your sin with some prompt sensual punishment. With punishment comes penitence! With penitence comes redemption! The Pope knows. It has been Christian dogma for two thousand years that sin is inevitable but completely acceptable if the sinner is properly punished for his or her transgressions. You know the bit. You grew up with it..., confessional, penitence, purgatory, all that stuff.”
“Punishment?” I mused. It had never occurred to me before that I might ever let myself be punished by a man. But this guy is talking about slavery. Slaves are chattels. They are expected to obey and please their owners, and they are punished when they do not. I had read a good many trashy novels that had been very explicit about how harem girls were whipped if they failed to pleasure their masters or otherwise resisted their bondage.
“No way,” I answered. “We are back to rape again”
“Not at all,” he responded quietly. “Rape is by definition is forcing a woman to have sex. The submission I am talking about may not always be entirely voluntary, but it is never actually forced. There is a sensual pleasure in sexual submission that easily overwhelms the woman and makes the force imposed upon her by the male both reasonable and irrelevant.”
“A harem girl may have no choice but to sexually service her Sultan, but that doesn’t mean she is being constantly raped. To the contrary, as time goes on, her feminine libido is heightened by her erotic bondage. She can not help but dwell on the way she is used, just as you will, and those mental images set fire to cunt, just as they will yours. In the end, she will beg for her Sultan’s cock just as you will surely beg for mine. A woman who begs to be fucked is not being raped.”
“Certainly,” he continued, “You if you do not submit, then I must see to it that you do, but that is the natural order of things between male and female. A woman is a receptacle for the male penis. She can not truly “make love” to a man without giving herself up to him unconditionally, as his slave if you will, for at least that critical moment of copulation and orgasm. Conversely her own sensuality, and her own pleasure, is dependent upon that very surrender of her body. I will, therefore, enforce that surrender.”
“The erotic signals between male and female are very ancient and deeply engraved on our genes. Every woman who has ever felt the weight of a real man on top of her knows that. Rudolph Valintino couldn’t act a lick and his plots were absurd. What made him a star were the erotic day dreams of his female audience about a lusty if unlikely nomad who captures them, carries them off, and then uses them for his pleasure. Don’t you shake your head at me. Do you remember how you felt when I held your wrists over your head as I fucked you?”
“Well, not me,” I protested, “and the way I felt had nothing to do with your holding my arms.” I had to stretch the truth some there if I was to be convincing. “I for one, don’t day dream about lusty nomads, and I’m not going to let myself be abused for some man’s pleasure.”
“Oh don’t tell me that,” he fired back at me. “I know better. I saw something quite different in your eyes as I held you down under me. Unless you surrender yourself to your man’s pleasure, you can never really have any of your own. There is no other way. If you are to rediscover your natural, but seriously repressed, instincts, someone must make you do all sorts of shockingly sexy things the good nuns said were dirty and demeaning. True, you are likely to be embarrassed, shamed, and humiliated, but the one thing you won’t feel is guilt. How could you be guilty? Your Sultan will simply be enforcing his will on you, and as his concubine and slave, you have no choice but to do as you are told. You are, therefore, fee to enjoy the eroticism of what he makes you do. Give it a chance is all I ask. I promise this is an idea that will grow on you.”
“But,” I protested, “This is Twentieth Century America. You are not a sultan, and I am not a harem girl. Nor do I think I want to become one either.”
“Oh but you do,” he continued. “Tonight you turned away and refused to blow me. To have serviced my prick with me straddling your throat would have been too servile, too humbling, too politically incorrect. You can’t handle that now, but you will learn. Sucking a man’s cock is a damned erotic thing for the woman as well as the man, and the more she humbles herself that way, the better the sex is for both of them. Why is that so? Because a woman with a mouthful of cock is the very symbol and essence of surrender and submission, that is why!”
“I have just never liked to suck a man, that’s all,” I interjected defensively.
“I’ll bet you don’t,” Clyde went on, “but that dislike isn’t in your nature, it is in your head, put there by the good Sisters. The real truth is that a woman is never so female as when her lips are stretched around a great big penis. Until now, foolish social convention and prudish Christian doctrine have caused you to deny your natural instinct for successful sex. The price of that denial has been your inability to orgasm. Your first step toward having the orgasms you want is to get on your knees and sincerely beg me for the privilege of sucking me off and swallowing my cum.”
“Why you male chauvinist pig,” I called him, interrupting his arrogance. “I will never do any such thing. No woman should have to degrade herself like that in this day and time.”
“No,” he replied arguing the point, “now you are taking politics. I am not advocating female submission generally, but only in bed. Politics, social culture, and economics have little to do with the natural order of things. Sex, and the relationship between male and female while in bed, are something else entirely They are old and ingrained by thousands of years of experience.”
“Political slogans and agendas about equality between the sexes don’t apply to the bedroom. Some feminists will not admit that because they are every bit as screwed up sexually as you are, while others are afraid that such an admission might be misunderstood as a retreat from ‘the cause’.”
It is sad that for most professional feminists, the picture of a woman on her back with her legs spread begging her man to fuck her is too servile to accept even if limited to that one and singular application. There is no point in even commenting on what Gloria Steinhem thinks of a woman on her knees giving her man a slutty blow job. Yet, aren’t those the two places, on her back or on her knees, where the woman almost always ends up when having good sex? But is that really bad? Is that really anything more than nature at work? Sex is a very old game, and it has its own rules that do not change with the fads of the society we live in. Gloria may have a point about equal pay for equal work, but what does that have to do with penises inside vaginas?
I didn’t know what to say, and the silent tension in the room was so thick I could almost stir it. Finally, I asked, “and if I do agree to all this, what will I be letting myself in for? Tell me, exactly what you will do to me?”
“Simple enough,” was his quick answer. “At first I will tie you to your bed. Once you are helpless, I will play with you until you orgasm. You will find that the submission I have compelled has made easy what you have always found to be difficult, even impossible. Bound, without any reason for guilt, you will want more. Like a horse gradually broken to saddle, before I am done, your obedience will be voluntary. Soon thereafter you will do all manner of sexy, erotic, dirty things beyond the imagination of those Nuns who haunt your conscience.”
“Indeed, there is a danger here that I ought to warn you about. Sex is addictive. Your servitude that began as a charade, only a pleasureful game, may, and often does, become a reality. Being unfamilar with real sexual pleasure you may confuse desire with romance. If so, at the end of your retraining you may indeed become my concubine, my cunt slave, bound to me not be by ropes and chains, but by your desire for my cock that you have mistaken for love.”
I said nothing, and Clyde continued, “Therein lies the catch. When I take away your hang ups, I take away your ability to control your own sexual persona as well. You would not be the first woman to find herself hooked on cock. Indeed, few women return to the icy world of full independence after they have been well fucked. Still you must always remember that however good we may make each other feel, we are not in love and are not going to be.”
“I don’t know about all this,” I stammered. “I don’t like to be abused and I’m not going to be anyone’s slave, not even in a game.”
“Well,” Clyde responded, “its entirely up to you. That is a caution to which I certainly concur. You should consider the matter carefully. Perhaps I am wrong and submission really isn’t for you, or perhaps I am just not the right man to see to it, but I sincerely believe it is the only solution to your Catholic guilt. If you are willing, my guess that you can quite easily, probably on the first night, have one of those big time orgasms you want so badly, but it is up to you.”
“And, if I refuse, what then?” I interrupted to ask.
“Well, perhaps you will change your mind later. I am certainly in no hurry, and I really don’t care one way or the other. Until you decide, we will continue to have friendly dates. You know the usual things, dinner, the movies, then a little heavy petting on the couch. I will not fuck you again, however, until you have sincerely begged me to do so. It would only reinforce the hang ups you already have if I let you use my cock without submitting to it.”
“Well,” I broke in again, angrily accusing, “Well! You’re certainly an arrogant S.O.B.”
“Not at all,” Clyde answered. “Please forgive men if I come off that way. Its just that to be successful, these things must be done in a certain way. Even your agreement to be reprogrammed must be choreographed just so. ”
“And how is that, Clyde? How should I signify my agreement to your snake oil psychiatry?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“If and when you decide to submit, Rose Anne, you will greet me at the door in the nude. You will have ready the training tools I will need..., a big dildo, a couple of vibrators, a limber switch I will use to punish any disobedience, a scarf for a blindfold, and a half dozen or so four to six foot lengths of soft cotton rope..., a good quality indoor clothes line will do fine. Then, as my harem concubine, you must allow me free access to your body. My requirement that you greet me in the nude is essential to that access, and to teach you that no matter what the Nuns told you, nothing in sex is really shameful. I intend to enjoy your body from the first moment of my arrival. Even as we have before dinner drinks and after dinner coffee, and as you serve our meal, I intend to make full use of my privilege by playing your boobs and pussy.”
“Good God no, I won’t do that. I won’t. I can’t let a man treat me like that. I just can’t.” I was almost breathless in my denial.
“Ah, but I think you will!” Clyde went on as if I had said nothing. “Every woman has wondered what it would be like to be the abused prisoner of some commanding stud. It is such a sexy thought. A naked woman, all ablush, her legs trembling, as she permits an arrogant fully dressed man to play with her nipples and finger her clit. Submission like that can be so terribly exotic. How could you resist trying it? What better introduction into an evening of raw satisfying sex might I offer you? Think about it. Anyway, there are good reasons for what I demand:”
“First of all, my terms for your surrender are humbling enough that I can be certain your decision to accept them is meaningful and sincere.”
“Second, your humiliation is the shock treatment that will loosen the grip of the Sisters of Charity. You have been theirs up to now. If I am to take over, you must affirm that NOW I OWN YOU. When you are serving my dinner naked even tho I am fully dressed; when you spread your legs in order that I might run my finger up and down your slit as you pour my coffee; then there will be no doubt that it is I, not Mother Superior, who is in control.”
“Third, you will need something to think about as you decide what to do. Right now you are positive that you will never do any such thing, but you are intrigued at the possibility. There is something so damn tantalizingly sexy about the picture. Tomorrow and the days after you will dwell on that scene in your mind’s eye. You will wonder. What might it be like to be naked, trying to put my plate down before me while I caress your thighs and breasts, or perhaps run a hand between your legs?”
“Perhaps, however, I am not giving you the complete story. Do you know what will happen when I am finished with my meal? Well, let me fill in the dots for you to think about! I will tie you to your bed. While you lay there on your back spread-eagled and helpless, I will tease you with my hands and mouth. I will French kiss you, suck your nipples, lick your neck, and nibble on your thighs. I will plunge my tongue into your every hole, your mouth, your ears, your pussy, your ass. I will bite your clit and put hickeys on your boobs. I will finger fuck you, dildo fuck you, and vibrator fuck you, until your pussy is in spasms. I will play with your body and your mind until you are racked by orgasms the like of which you have always wanted but never had before.”
“But a single orgasm will not be enough. I will be pitiless. I will keep those orgasms coming, one after the other, until my having my cock becomes your obsession. You will not refuse to suck me then. Indeed, you will beg to do so, and you will willingly swallow my cum too.”
“Can you imagine what it might be like Rose Anne? Can you see yourself on the bed? You are tied arms up, spread eagle, and naked. I am sitting astride your breasts. As my fingers tickle the pits under your arms, my hips are thrusting my dick forward toward your raised head. By straining your neck with all your might, your lips just barely capture the tip end. Your neck muscles ache from exertion. Never the less you nibble and suck eagerly upon just the taste of penis I allow you to have.”
“Finally I offer you more of my male meat, and you suck on the full head, locking your lips behind the glans. No! No!! You are too greedy. I pull my hips away. My still soft member slips from your lips. The salty acrid taste of my pre-cum stays in your mouth reminding you of your loss. You whimper in distress and protest at losing my cock. You beg me to fuck you. I may or may not do so. After all, this is only the beginning. Your training will go on for many nights. Always, I will be he one who decides when and how and by whom you get fucked. I am confident, however, that in the end you will free yourself from your Catholic guilt, and that it will be my pleasure to fuck you often..., and very much to your pleasure also I might add.”
“And, when the time comes that you have totally surrendered, I will shame you regularly so that you do not relapse into old habits. It will not be easy for you. I will insist that you use your sexiest female wiles to earn my cock in your cunt. I will make you crawl naked to me, and beg to be fucked in your cunt, in your mouth, and in your ass. I will strip you bare and make you dance for me, masturbating and flopping your big tits in time with the music. You will be my sex slave, my toy, I will do with your body as I please..., AND YOU WILL ENJOY IT ALL IMMENSELY. ”
“My God! You are crazy,” I interrupted. I couldn’t think of any other response to such an outrageous proposal.
“No, I’m not crazy at all. How can you know what real sex is like if nobody shows you? You must think on these things. Consider what sweet tortures I will subject your helpless and naked body to. Consider what it will be like to sit astride my thighs with my penis buried in your cunt as I reach for and squeeze those big sensitive jugs of yours in my two hands. Consider how good it will feel to bounce up and down on my rod until a great orgasm washes over you. Consider being on your hands and knees, your full breasts dangling beneath you, jerking and swaying with every stroke of my dick as I dog fuck you. Submission is serious and humbling, but think on it, the rewards are considerable.”
I just sat there, my mouth open, wondering what to tell this mad man. Of course I wouldn’t do those things. I just couldn’t. But Clyde’s description had been so vivid. From somewhere deep in my imagination the first incomplete pictures of sweet little Rose Anne in a sexual frenzy began to flicker in my mind’s eye. A quiet voice in the back of my head was whispering to me how good it might be.
“Try it Rose Anne, what do you have to lose? Nothing else has worked,” the voice told me.
While Clyde dressed to go home, we hardly spoke. I was struggling with the images of being tied and teased to an endless orgasm, and he was content to allow me to do so. Clyde kissed me hard at the door as we said good night. His tongue probing my mouth made me hungry to have it licking my pussy again. He said he would be back on Friday evening a week from now. We would go to the movies he said..., unless of course I wanted to do something different.
‘SOMETHING DIFFERENT.’ Those words hung in the air, pregnant with possibilities. How clearly in that moment I could see myself naked and tied face down in my bed, a running vibrator shoved into my wet pussy, and a dildo up my ass, preparing me for the butt fucking I have been promised when his football game is over.
I was so engrossed in wondering what if it might be like that to be a sex slave, I could hardly do my work as the days slowly passed until the next Friday. All those dirty pictures that Clyde had planted in my mind came flooding back, along with others equally sexy that were created by my own imagination. Every evening, as soon as I got home, I masturbated in the shower.
I left work early Wednesday afternoon and dropped by a hardware store and a sex shop to buy the equipment Clyde said I was to have. By no means had I decided to give in to his extraordinary experiment with my body, but I thought I ought to be prepared if the last minute should catch me still on the fence. By Thursday, my nerves were shot and I was beside myself. Friday morning was no better, and my nervous exhaustion became worse as the day wore on. The appointed time was almost here. Clyde would be at my door at seven this evening. How would I great him?
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