Obsession Part 1 (Elric the Albino) (bd, fdom, rom, span)

 

Ever since first we met, I have done my utmost to convince you of your true worth.

I recall that day we ate lunch together in the Mall. I was fascinated by you. I was obsessed. By your independence, your distance, everything.

            I gazed at you across the table, and I knew with a certainty I had never known anything before, that I had to win your love, your trust. But you had been hurt before, and I knew you wanted to put that behind you.

            I never wanted anything so much in my life as I wanted you.

            Subconsciously, I knew there was no shortcut to your love and your trust. I would have to earn it. I would have to show you that love need not be synonymous with possession, manipulation, emotional blackmail, anger.

            And then that night when, alone with you in your room, I could stand the uncertainty no longer. God, did you know how my every waking moment was occupied with thoughts of you ? How could you sit there and say you weren’t sure of your feelings ? Couldn’t you see there was nothing left for me to give ? In a city hundreds of miles away from my nearest relative, out on a limb to an extreme degree. What more did you want of me ? How else could I convince you to love me ?

            I don’t remember what I said exactly, or what you said. But I know I hurt you with my bitter words. And we slept apart, as we had for so long; after all we were in your parents house. I couldn’t sleep. I knew I had to give up this deluded hope and go back home.

            I so nearly did. Christ, what if I had done so ? You wouldn’t have stopped me. There would have been no begging on your part to make me stay. That’s not your style. (And it’s one of the many reasons I fell so hopelessly in love with you, my darling). We would have gone our separate ways. Oh to think of it! How could I have gone on with my dreary life without you ?

            It must have been 3 in the morning or some other such ungodly hour when, unable to sleep, unable to endure my own company, I crept into your room, touched your shoulder and woke you.

            You woke easily, as one does from a troubled sleep. I could see the night had not been easy for you either. There was pain in your eyes, and helplessness.

            I told you I was sorry for what I’d said. You listened, holding my hand. I could sense the strong exterior crumbling about you, but I had not been expecting it. You started to say something. You wanted to tell me things, wanted to sort out your own feelings for me. But there was always that dreadful experience you’d endured, being with someone you hated for years, who used you relentlessly to deal with his own demons. When I’d said those things in anger, I’d been like him, you said. And it all just came back. You weren’t sure you could deal with it …

            And then a look of such pain and hurt came over your pretty face. And you cried. And I cried. And we held one another, tightly.

            I will never betray your trust, my love. I will never use you. I am not like him. I am me.

            From that night on, things would never be the same. We had had such a tumultuous initiation to love. Neither of us had ever experienced it before. I had experienced loneliness through actual isolation, and you had experienced the loneliness of a relationship without a future. We threw ourselves into it with abandon. We went everywhere together, did everything together. Spent whole days in bed, fucking each other’s brains out.

            God how your body fascinated me. You would lie atop me, naked, your perfect ass in my hands, your long, waist length honey blonde hair rippling down your back, creamy white skin, so soft. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

            We saw films, ate pizza, drank wine, debated, laughed, cried. I wrote poetry for you.

            I remember I washed every inch of your body when we showered. Kneeling before you, soaping the backs of your legs, your ass, your stomach, and you shampooing your hair (always an involved process). Working my way to your golden pussy. I was inexperienced, but by christ was I motivated to learn. I teased your clitoral bud with my tongue as you draped a leg over my shoulder, leaning back against the wall.

            Afterwards, you lay on the bed, a white towel around your waist, me kneeling between your ivory white legs and bringing you to another climax. I love it when you come. A flood of cunt juices drowning my face in your essence, your entire body feverishly hot, as you pull me up to kiss me and tell me in no uncertain terms that I have pleased you.

            And then, recovering within a minute, you are on all fours on the bed, presenting your ass to me, and looking over your shoulder your blue eyes say : “Fuck me”.

            I cup your grapefruit sized tits in my hand as I slide into you. I kiss your neck, shoulders, your hair.

            I fuck to please you, and therein please myself. You fuck to please yourself. You are my dream woman.

            I remember also when we went to a Classical Music concert together. I watched you dress. Is there anything as erotic as watching you dress ? Black silk stockings sliding up your creamy white thighs. Black lace brassiere, draped over your breasts. You turn face on to me and step into black lace panties, sliding them up to your hips, unfortunately for me hiding your pussy from view. You look at me with that self-possessed expression that I adore so much, the one that says you can never be owned by anyone, including me, but that I am yours.

            You turn around and reach for your brush but I have already anticipated you and soon I am standing behind you, combing your long hair. I am naked and my erect cock is just above your coccyx, my shaft chafing against the lace of your panties. The head of my cock is surrounded by the feathery ends of your hair. Your perfume (dolce vita, it drives me wild) surrounds me. You stare at me in the mirror with that same expression.

            When I have finished, you turn around, looking up at me (I am 6’2” and you are 5’8”), put your arms around my waist, and cradle your face into my chest. I love holding you this way. I kiss the top of your head, your forehead.

            I help you into your dress. A long, silky blue, indian style gown, a present from me. Ankle length, but semi transparent. Then you hold up your hair as I encircle your neck with a silver chain and clasp it. Finally, your shoes, black strapped sandals with 4 inch heels. I watch as you place your foot upon the footstool and ease your foot into it, toenails painted in blood red. Late afternoon sunlight streaming in behind you, silhouetting your body beneath the gown beautifully for a moment.         

            You glance at me and laugh. “Put some clothes on.”

            The music that evening is wonderful. They play Symphony No. 4 by Mahler. My favourite composer. Since I introduced you to him through numerous playings from my music collection, you’ve come to appreciate the emotional intensity of his music as well. It expresses some of the feelings I have for you in a way I could never communicate in words. It speaks of passion, obsession, yearning.

            No matter how much I get of you, I can never get enough. I yearn for more.

            We catch a taxi home, one long unbroken kiss all the way there.

            Once inside, the door barely closed, I fall to my knees. You reach down and lift the hem of your gown up to your waist. I am about to bury my face in your panties but you push the back of my head there anyway.

            You’re so wet as I lap your panty covered pussy lips. Fingers in my hair.

            Somehow we make it to the bed. We get out of our clothes and I thrust into you lying on top of you. When I’m on top, I like to keep my left leg straight, bend my right knee, and massage your breasts as I fuck you with gentle but rhythmic strokes. You dislike being roughly taken. What you want is a slow, sensuous fuck, with me sucking your earlobe, your breasts, kissing you everywhere, while I whisper in your ear of how I adore you.

           

            Those first few years I strove to open you up, free your soul. Get you to realise how beautiful you really are, how precious. Gradually, slowly, you began to see things my way. To become aware of your beauty, your sensuality, your gentle, loving nature. To exalt in all these things.

            I worked part time teaching. You finished your Ph.D. in Sociology. Soon after, you took a University position in research. My job became full time, and suddenly we were making $100 000 a year between us. Finally, we could afford to buy a home. We found a wonderful place for ourselves. Quiet, open. Polished wooden floors, homely.

A fireplace.

A big bedroom.

A big bath.

All the important things.

            We had come so far together. I had watched you developing into a more and more confident woman. The fact that you earned nearly twice what I did underscored that. And I had always wanted it this way.

The strength of our love for one another was greater than ever. But subtly, the dynamics of our relationship had changed. You had become more and more dominant, and I had become more and more joyously your devoted servant. You read those stories on internet sites written by men with D/s fantasies, and in most of them this change occurs very suddenly. He comes home one day to find her dressed up as a dominatrix and demanding that he scrub the floors, cook dinner, and lick her boots. Or he convinces her to tie him up, and she takes to the role so much she decides she wants to keep things that way.

With us, it wasn’t like that. Instead, over the years, you resisted my need to be dominated less and less as you became more and more self assured. I never even said I wanted it explicitly. But you knew. And whereas once you had been embarrassed (for me mainly) to see me on the floor before you kissing your feet, now it seemed far more natural that I should do so. I had taken on more and more of the housework; your hours were much longer than mine, so it was inevitable. With the exception of the cooking. You are such an incredible cook, and you like to be in control of that. You leave the associated menial labour to me – chopping, peeling, general preparation, cleaning up.

Nevertheless, there were a few moments that could be regarded as turning points of a sort. For years you’d been working out, unsatisfied at how easily I could beat you in an arm wrestle. After sex, we’d sometimes play around. I remember how I’d hold you off with one hand while you pushed down at me with all the strength in both your arms, giggling uncontrollably. But after five years of constant weights, that had all changed. Outwardly, you hadn’t changed greatly. More toned perhaps. But you’d always been slender and you’d always had a great body. The main difference was in your stamina, your energy, and your strength.

I guess I really started to notice not long after we got some gym equipment installed, and turned the basement into a home gym. Bench press. Tread mill. Weights. I would come in now and then while you worked out. Help you with your warm down. Or just watch. I loved to watch you lift weights. I began to notice muscles in your arms that I hadn’t noticed before.

Christ, what a sight. Lying back, in that skin tight white cotton leotard, lifting, up and down, up and down. Sweat lining your legs, your thighs. You quickly realised how turned on I was watching this. One warm summer day, during your weights training, you stopped, sat up on your elbows and looked over at me.

A sultry smile on your face. Reaching up, pushing the straps off your shoulders, and peeling down to your waist. Exposing those gorgeous firm tits. Nipples erect, showing your arousal.

Then you went back to it.

It was the first time you deliberately used the occasion to do something overtly sexual.

The next time took me by surprise.

I came back from work to find you lifting weights. Gone was the white leotard. Now you were in a red lycra leotard, almost entirely transparent, and red heels. I nearly creamed myself there and then. I came over and stood beside you, looking down at you. You stared up at me with that self possessed half smile.

“Get undressed.” You told me breathlessly.

I undressed before you, and stood to attention at your feet.

“You’re all excited about something.”

My cock was hard as.

You stopped lifting for a moment, and then lifted your foot and rubbed the heel against my shaft. Then you pushed the instep against my head and pinned it to my stomach.

You giggled. I groaned. I couldn’t stop staring at your pussy.

You stood up and walked over to a stretching bar. I’ll never forget the sexual tension of that moment. At the rear, the leotard was a g-string, leaving your firm, tight ass entirely exposed. You walked slowly, with measured steps. Ass swaying seductively. Then you reached the bar, turned side on to me, and lifted your leg up to hang it on the bar. I watched you flexing. You stopped looking at me, that lost in your own world look came over your face. For what seemed ages I stood there, just watching you.

You did the other leg.

You did some leg squats. Facing me. Turned away from me. When you faced me, your hair came down to just under your ass.

“God you’re beautiful Jane.” I said.

You closed your eyes and whispered “Sshhhh.”

I wanted to touch myself, but somehow I knew you didn’t want me to.

Then you got up, walked toward me. Stopped about a pace from me. Planted your feet apart a little, put your hands on your hips, and tossed your hair over your shoulder. Looking up at me with those arresting deep blue eyes of yours. There was a mirror that dominated the wall behind you. I glanced at it and the sight of you standing there before me, legs planted apart in that dominating stance, your long long hair coming down to your ass, just made me even more turned on.

No words were needed. I got down to my knees. I was so aroused I was trembling.

I looked ahead and saw an amazing image. Of me kneeling, framed by your slim white legs. I was about to look up at you, but I felt your hand on top of my head, pushing down gently but firmly.

I could smell the incredible combined scent of dolce vita and your pussy juices.

I saw you peeling down your leotard. Off your shoulders, exposing your creamy white back. Until it hung off your hips. Your hands fell to your sides.

“Get it off me.” You ordered quietly. I love how your voice, which is so quiet, gentle, almost hushed, can at the same time be so commanding.

I peeled it down off your hips, studying your cunt for a moment. You always keep it trimmed into a neat golden triangle about an inch and a half across. A small brown mole just under your left pussy lip that’s been there as long as I can remember.

You were wet, your pungent scent was all around me. I know you were really turned on by the dynamics of the moment too.

I slid it down your legs, then let it drop to the floor at your feet. You slid it away with your foot.

I bent down and kissed your red shoe. Funny how I knew exactly what I had to do. I licked the heel, swirling my tongue around it. I could hear your finger gently teasing your clitoris above me. Your breathing becoming laboured.

I started kissing my way up your lower leg, licking the salty sweat off it. One thing that has really improved over the years is your legs. They’ve become more athletic, sinewy.

You like to take your time with orgasms, so I took mine, although what I’d have loved more than anything was to fuck your brains out there and then. But then, this was a lifelong fantasy of mine come true. No whips, no chains, no corny phrasemongering. Just a sensual scene in which you were unmistakably in complete control, and the focus was entirely on your pleasure.

Up your leg, inside your thigh, your pussy juice running down your leg, giving me my first taste of you. I could hear you moaning softly, muttering soft oaths to yourself as I neared the underside of your heavenly sex. I busied myself with cleaning your essence off your inner thighs as you finger fucked yourself.

I looked up, despite myself, and saw your gaping cunt inches above me. Some drops fell on my face.

You had your middle and index finger inside you, your hard little clit between them. Rapidly massaging it back and forth.

Just then you reached down with your free hand, grasped me by the hair and lifted me up firmly, causing me to wince. With a shudder of your entire body, you squirted a brief flow of your essence onto my upturned face. Your legs were trembling and I reached out to hold them. I lapped up whatever I could gather of your nectar.

You pushed my face into your sopping mound, leaving me in no doubt that I should now clean you out. And clean you out I did, with joyous abandon, lapping it up like a starved dog.

After that, we showered, washed each other, my raging prick begging for release. You were behind me, arms about my waist, tits digging into my back, soaping my dick with long, smooth strokes of your delicate hand. I love the feeling of your hand on my cock. Your hands are so small, fine bone structure, delicate.

You started rubbing your breasts against my back, and then your pussy against my ass, kissing my neck. You know just how to wank me. When you get to the sensitive point just under the glans, you swirl your finger against it.

I groaned, bucked my hips, and blew my load onto the shower screen, with the image of you in a skin-tight red lycra leotard doing stretch exercises in my mind.

Certainly an intense moment I’ll never forget.

 

Not long after that, you received a professorship and I had to endure longer periods apart from you. We talked about moving to the US, but it would be hard for me to find work there. Still, we could easily make ends meet on the $75000 salary you were on alone.

You never tried to pressure me. I knew how important it was to you too. The academic who had supervised your honours research was there, and he had helped you work on your Doctoral thesis. He was internationally known in the field, and I knew that if we moved to the US, your career would leap ahead by bounds.

You told me once, “I don’t ever want to do anything that would put strain on our relationship, Steve. That will always come first.”.

 

Meanwhile, our sexual relationship continued to develop as you became more and more confident a woman. At 30, you were more beautiful than ever. I had to marvel at how much you had grown since that shy 21 year old girl I’d met all those years ago. And what made me so proud was knowing that I had had a big role in that transformation.

You know I will never rest, as long as I live, doing all I can to make you happy.

I attended a public lecture you gave once. It was fantastic. You made Darwinian science sound enthralling. I loved the barbed remarks directed at Creation Science !

 

We got one of those old fashioned bath tubs, the kind you can carry around. You’ve always loved baths. You wanted to put it on the balcony so you take long baths outdoors in the fresh air.

Our balcony overlooks a vacant stretch of hills, so there were no problems of prying eyes.

I would get the water ready while you did something else, like working out. After a while you’d come. The water would be ready and I’d have brought out a table with anything else you needed – oils, soaps, shampoos. A glass of your favourite red.

You would come in your white terry cloth robe, fresh from the exertions of your exercise routine. A glance of satisfaction to see everything was prepared, and then you’d stand before me as I knelt beside the tub and allow me to untie your belt. A brief glimpse of your perfection before you give me a loving tousle of my hair, then turn and climb into the tub.

I would wait on you all afternoon as you lazily read, masturbated, or just soaked. Help shampoo your hair, scrub your back, soap your legs and arms. Then you’d get out and let me towel you dry.

Waiting on you hand and foot like that was, and is, such a pleasure for me.

After the bath, it is time to shave your legs and pussy. This is a task that I have only been rewarded with after some time. At first I would just watch you, and you would glance up at me now and again and smile. When I asked if I could do the work for you, you were reticent. But at some point you let me try, and I performed the task to your satisfaction.

You sit in a wicker chair, and I do the front of your legs. Then your pussy, which I trim into a nice neat triangle. Then you stand up, turn around, and I shave the backs of your legs. At the end, I bathe you in oil of your choice.

Sometimes, you are a bit horny and when I start kissing and licking your ass, you grind your asshole into my nose, as I tongue your rosebud or lick the underside of your cunt. But sometimes you laugh quietly to yourself when I try, turn around, squat down eye level with me, kiss me lovingly, thank me, and leave me there with a huge erection.

 

We were having dinner at one of our favourite restaurants one night, when you handed me a letter across the table and asked me to read it.

It was from the Professor who’d supervised your thesis. He wanted you to come over and work with him. He had arranged a position for you at a prominent New York university. He wanted to write a book with you. He greatly admired the book you had had published recently.

The position was a professorship. $US 120,000 a year.

Jesus H. Christ. I looked at you in disbelief.

“All I want you to do is think it over,” you said, holding my hand across the table. “If you don’t want to do this, then we won’t. I’m happy here. I’m happy as long as we’re together.”

There was no doubt in my mind.

“There’s nothing to think about, darling. We have to go. Just think of what it’ll do for your career.”

You sighed. “Steve. This isn’t a bedroom game anymore. If we go, we’re going into the unknown. And what about your career ? What about your life ?”

I shook my head. “I don’t have a career. And my life is nothing without yours.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not true. What about your writing ?”

I’d made a lot of abortive attempts at writing a book.

“I’ve got at least as much hope of finishing my book there as I have here.”

“What about your family ?”

“I’ve lived a long way from them for ten years. Being further won’t make much difference. And with this sort of money we can visit regularly anyway. I’ll get a part time job I’m sure.”

In the end I convinced you it was what I wanted too.

It was a bit painful leaving. Something in me knew I wouldn’t be coming back to live for a long time. It cut both our mothers up for sure. But I knew we were doing the right thing. This was your dream. I had my own, sure, but they were just as pursuable there as here.

We settled in easier than I’d thought at first. They took care of a lot of stuff – accomodation (a wonderful apartment in the heart of town, way bigger and plusher than anything we’d ever lived in), working permits and visas, and a host of other annoying paperwork. You started work fairly quickly after we arrived, leaving me at home.

Not since we’d first met had being apart from you been so hard. But I threw myself into turning the new place into a home, making life comfortable for you when you got home. I even learned some new recipes ! I got in lots of piano practice. Added a bit more to my book. Went shopping and bought you things.

One day I was passing a specialty clothing store. On impulse I went inside and looked around. I’d seen shops like this before, but this had a range that left any others I’d seen for dead.

I’d hinted at my fantasies about female domination to you before, but we’d never tried this stuff out. I gazed at the corsets, boots, whips, paddles, cuffs, masks, and clamps in fascination. I kept picturing you in the outfits. Then I tried to think about something else because my dick was getting pretty hard.

The next thing I knew it, I’m standing outside with 2 boxes full of stuff. Jesus. What if you said you didn’t want to do this ? Oh well, what was done was done…

I went home, put them in a secret place, and forgot about them for a while. You were so busy at the time. But you were doing something you really loved, and when you got home, although you were tired, you invariably wanted attention.

Then, a few weeks after I’d bought that equipment, the turning point came. I came home after seeing an evening movie one Saturday night. You were away for the weekend at a Conference in Boston. I wasn’t expecting you back until Sunday evening. I got home, in from the driving rain outside, and hung up my coat in the hallway.

A scent. The smell of lavender. You loved essential oils.

It was dark, but here and there were candle burners on tables. I knew you were home. On the table I found a note, with a single red rose laid across it. I picked it up and read it. It was written in your neat, flowing script.

“I’m waiting for you darling. Come into the bedroom when you are ready. Don’t say anything. Take off your clothes, put on the blindfold at the foot of the bed, kneel there, and await my arrival.” Signed with an ornate J. The letter smelled of dolce vita. I breathed it in and I got a little hard at just that.

If only I had known what awaited me.

Our bedroom afforded a wonderful view of the city. I came in to find the rain had stopped outside, and the moonlight bathed the sky otuside in an ambient glow. There were a couple of oil burners, one of the bedside table, one on the dressing table. There was soft music playing on the stereo. Laid back jazz/soul. Just below and to the left of the window, the fireplace with a good blaze going steadily. A single wicker chair before it, and a footstool beside that.

At the foot of the bed I found the blindfold. I undressed and put it on. I knelt, and waited.

I waited for what seemed like an hour. I think it was an hour. I thought about us. About how lucky a man I am to be with such a wonderful woman. I thought about what this all could mean. What were you going to do with me ?

And then, when I was about to give up hope you would ever arrive, I heard the door open. Or did I ?

I listened. Silence again.

“Jane ?” I said aloud. I had forgotten the dictum in the note about not talking

And then I heard footsteps. Very slow. Measured. High heels. But a heavier heeled sound than I was unfamiliar with.

My heart beat loudly in my chest. I fought the urge to take off the blindfold.

Then, the unmistakable scent of your perfume, and oh, Jesus, the unmistakable scent of you.

You were right near me.

Something hard and cold touched my right shoulder, and trailed across my chest as you walked past me.

I heard you giggle softly.

Your hand, clad in what felt like a leather glove, touched my head and grasped my blindfold.

“Keep your eyes closed my love.”

You gave me a tug on the blindfold to make me face a different direction (the window on the other side of the room ?)

I closed my eyes. The blindfold came off. It was strange after all that time feeling the cool air on my face.

Your steps receded.

Then they stopped.

Silence for a minute or so.

“Now … open your eyes.”

I opened my eyes. I was bleary after all that time blindfolded. I looked up across the room, and saw you, dimly, standing by the window. You seemed to be wearing a long, flowing black robe, very silky. There was something in your hair. A glass of wine in your hand.

“I’m so happy here, Steve. I love the work I’m doing. You’ve made so many sacrifices for me.”

I was about to speak, but then I remembered what you’d said in the note. I bit my lip.

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I could see that it was a flower in your hair. Perhaps a rose. Yes, I’d bought you a bunch of roses recently.

You set down your glass on the table nearby, turned away from me.

“I know you love me. I know we’ll always be together.”

You slid out of the robe. I gazed dumbfoundedly at the image before my eyes.

Your legs were clad in a pair of inky black leather boots that looked very familiar. Four inch stiletto heels. Your body encased tightly in the black lace teddy and garter piece I’d bought you years ago, my first erotic present to you. About your slim waist was a broad black belt. Hanging off this were a pair of handcuffs, and at your right hip a riding crop.

 Black leather gloves came half way up your upper arms. They looked familiar too.

You were standing beside the fireplace. Between your parted legs the fire burned steadily, showing quite clearly your silken cunt hairs, wet with your anticipiation.

You turned to look over your shoulder at me, and smiled like nothing out of the ordinary was happening here.

Then you turned to face me. I looked at the walking wet dream in front of my eyes. You had put on a little makeup. Red lipstick. The teddy pushed your tits up, presenting them like ripe fruits, barely covering your nipples. Your gorgeous pussy framed by the straps of the garter belt.

You’re dreaming this, Steve. Wake up.

That rose in your hair was a lovely touch. A look of virginal innocence coupled with the severe black leather, the blue eyeliner, the whip hanging off your belt.

My heart was beating furiously, my ears were hot, my mouth was dry, my cock was aching like hell. I wanted to jerk off at the sight.

You ran your hands over the tops of your boots. “You didn’t hide these very well. But then, maybe you wanted me to find them huh ?”. You threw a knowing smile at me and laughed.

“Mmm, they feel nice.”

I watched you walk over to place your foot with careful deliberation upon the footstool. You ran your hands over your leather-clad thigh. Eyes closed, you reached up to pull down the lace teddy a little to free your tits, and cup them in your gloved hands.

Sweet Lord, what a sight.

Your finger inserted itself between your swollen cunt lips and made circular movements around your clit. A soft whimper escaped your lips.

You stopped, took your foot off the stool, and came to assume a commanding stance, hands on hips, a sultry, deadly serious look on your sweet face. There was a brief silence that seemed like ages as you stared at me intently in a way I’ve never seen you stare at me before.

Somehow I knew you were taking this fantasy of mine very seriously indeed.

I had to keep reminding myself to breathe.

You reached down and pulled the riding crop from the side of your belt, and shook it out onto the floor next to you.

“Do you really want me to use this ?”

I gulped. I nodded.

Your expression was back to its familiar soft, gentle, and caring nature.

“Are you sure ?”

I nodded again. I had never been more certain of anything in my life.

I could tell that, although you were aroused by the feeling of power you had, you didn’t want to hurt me.

But my eyes implored you.

You gestured toward the bed with a nod of your head. “Kneel at the foot of the bed facing me.”

I crawled over and knelt at the foot of the bed. After a moment you started walking toward me. I saw you approaching, like a calculating tigress stalking her prey, until you were standing right over me.

Without thinking (I swear I wasn’t trying to get punished), I lovingly cupped your incredible ass in my hands and buried my face in your bush. After feeling heaven for but a brief moment, there was a searing pain across my naked back.

I jumped back, knocking my head against the bed posts.

“I don’t remember telling you to touch me.” You pointed out evenly.

You reached out, held onto the bed posts, and put a leg either side of my head. All I could see was your beautiful wet pussy above me.

“You wanted to be my slave. And so slave you will be. Start with my boots, and slowly work you’re way up.”

I knelt right down and my tongue found the smooth leather of your boot heel. This is where I had always wanted to be. This is where I belonged.

You masturbated as you oversaw my work. Breathing heavily. You were as aroused as I.

Hours may have passed as I gradually wound my way up your legs. You were in no hurry. You savoured every moment. I had reached your boot tops when I looked up hopefully.

But you were engrossed, massaging your tits, eyes closed.

“Lick my cunt Steve.”

I began delivering long, loving flecks to your searing pussy. You wedged your clitoris between your index and middle finger, and began frantically rubbing it.

“Lick … my asshole. Don’t touch me.”

Your asshole tasted delicious like the rest of you.

I heard you groaning. I was surrounded by you. Your hands were twining my hair roughly.

Then I felt you yank my head back firmly and lift my jaw upward to look into your lovely eyes.

“Get on the floor and lie flat” you breathed down at me brusquely.

I lay down looking up happily at my Goddess.

With calm deliberation, you placed your hands on your thighs and then squatted right down over my face. It was getting hard to take this teasing, but I knew I was entirely at your mercy and that is what I wanted.

I stared up at your face, despite wanting to study your beautiful cunt forever. Your face and arms and legs were lined with sweat, and you were breathing hard. Placing your fingers around your clit again, you said breathlessly :

“I love you Steve.”

And then you calmly, methodically, squirted a stream of warm pussy juices all over my face.

I cannot begin to describe the eroticism of that moment.

And you began to giggle. You were holding onto the bed, your body trembling as yet another orgasm racked your perfect form.

Another sweet squirt of pussy juices onto my face.

 

Part 2

 

We'd been overseas for well just under 2 years. In that time, you'd taken up two new pursuits : horse riding and martial arts. The horse riding didn't surprise me, but when you first started attending tae-kwondo classes that threw me. After all, you'd never been particularly aggressive. But I soon began to realise that you liked the way tae-kwondo could help you focus your pent-up frustration and stress.

The fact that you were incredibly fit when you started made things pretty easy for you. You'd been doing fairly intense gym training for about eight years when you started.

When you first asked me to be your sparring partner, I agreed, naively thinking I could adequately defend myself. I was quite wrong. My sluggish reflexes were no match for yours. There was nothing particularly sexual about these sessions at first. You just wanted to keep practising, particularly when we went away to our retreat in the country, a place we'd bought so we could go some place to unwind - rolling hills, woods, tranquility and nobody but us. At first I avoided too many sore balls and bruises, but that was only because you were being easy on me and you were still learning. Then, gradually, you got better, and you eased up on me less. You had come to know the full extent of my need for punishment at your hands, and so I think you felt ok about doing your worst.

One weekend we went away to the retreat. It had been a particularly stressful period for you. You were working on another paper, the most important one yet in your career, and the stress of meeting the deadlines involved had taken its toll on you. That was why I'd suggested we go away for a while after you finished, and you'd happily agreed.

We got there and unloaded our stuff (well, I unloaded it, while you went outside and gazed at the wonderful scenery from the balcony). I watched you while I unpacked in the kitchen. Your back was to me, and you were wearing a white sundress and brown strappy sandals. Your hair was red - you'd dyed it recently again. You stood holding onto the railing looking out while your dress fluttered around just above the back of your knees. Legs parted, your head tilted back slightly, you breathed in the fresh air deeply.

I realised I'd not been doing much packing for about two minutes and my dick was hard as steel, but I managed to get myself back into it. You turned back to look at me and smiled, that mysterious, knowing smile I know so well. It means, "I have something planned my little boy, and you are a pawn in my devious scheme." We had watched a film a while back called The Weatherwoman. It was a cult Japanese film about a weatherwoman who takes over from the regular one and decides to boost ratings by flashing her panties at the end of the weather report. So you took hold of the hem of your skirt and flashed your sheer white laced panties at me and laughed. I told you I loved you, and finished my work.

Over the last couple of years, I'd learned (finally) to cook. Traditionally, this had been your territory, and one you did not really want to rescind. But eventually I convinced you to show me some of your favourite recipes, and I found I was quite a good cook when I put my mind to it. Maybe not quite your standard, but good nevertheless. I was stacking the fridge and had just turned around when I found myself looking to your feet and your lithe white slender legs either side of me. I was about to look up, but you put your right heel on top of my head and gently but firmly pushed down.

"So - what are you making for dinner ?"

"Ah ... chilli con carne ?" I offered hopefully.

"Mmm sounds nice. Maybe if its really good, I'll reward you."

It had been over two weeks since we'd last made love. You'd had your period, and then you'd been too busy with work and too tired. You told me not to masturbate so that it would be really nice when we finally got around to it again.

I kept my head bowed while you took your foot off me. Then I heard you sliding your panties off above me. You let them fall to the floor at your feet. I could see they were very wet. You stepped aside from them and pointed.

"Taste me."

I raised your panties to my face reverently. They smelled like perfume and pussy juices, as they always did. Uniquely you. I licked the dampness from your panties.

"I'm going upstairs to change, then I'm going outside to do some Tai Chi. Before I do, I'll leave something on the bed for you to wear. When you've got dinner on the simmer, go upstairs and put it on. Then come outside."

I kissed your foot lovingly. With us, there is no "Yes ma'am" or "Yes Mistress", unless you tell me you want me to address you that way, usually when we're having a proper domme session with you kitted out in dominatrix gear. And I never have to worry you'll punish me for touching you uninvited; you quickly inform me when you want me to get my hands off you, and if I am so foolish to forget after that, then I suffer badly (it hasn't happened very often).

I was excited. You went upstairs to change while I got dinner started. Chilli con carne is easy. There is about twenty minutes of general preparation, and then you gradually add all the ingredients to a big pot before leaving the whole thing to simmer on very gentle heat for about three quarters of an hour. I made the necessary preparations, and then went upstairs. I hadn't seen you leave after you went upstairs, so I assumed you'd gone out the back way.

On the bed I found a pair of pink thong briefs, and a pair of pink socks. That was it. I had to admire your cruelty. There was a quite a cool wind outside. I stripped down and pulled on the briefs and socks, and then went downstairs.

I found you outside on the grass, eyes closed in concentration, while you moved about gracefully. You were wearing a long, flowing black silk robe that went right down to the ground, your long rippling red hair flying about everywhere. I sat down and watched you in fascination, as always mesmerised by your loveliness. You ignored me for about ten minutes and then you stopped, picked up a bottle of water and took a long gulp. You reached inside your robe, pulled out your favourite red Japanese-style hair clasp and pinned your hair up in a bun atop your head.

You looked over at me. A serious, penetrating glare. I knew then I was in for a rough time.

"Kneel there."

You pointed to a spot a few yards from you. I went over and knelt down. You hand't told me to bow my head, so I watched you unbutton the robe and toss it aside. I caught my breath, managing not to exclaim when I saw you there in black leather thigh highs with sturdy inch-square heels and a very brief black cotton sleeved leotard.

"Get up."

I got to my feet in a dreamy haze. I was just staring in awe at you. Jesus fucking christ you were gorgeous.

With no warning at all, you lifted your foot and dealt me a firm kick to the chest. I fell back heavily, totally unprepared. I was on my elbows when you stood above me, heel in my groin.

"Is this turning you on ?" you asked needlessly. My cock was so hard I thought it was going to explode.

"Yyes my angel." I whispered.

There was no way I could win this contest. So I planted my lips to your leather boot and kissed it hopefully. You snorted disdainfullly and walked back to where you'd been. I gazed at the g-string dividing your hard ass cheeks as you walked away. You turned back and slowly peeled the leotard off your tits.

"If you want to touch these, you'll fight. Now get up."

I got up sheepishly. You just stood waiting for me, hands on hips, in a very commanding, dominating gesture. All I wanted to do was kneel down and lick your pussy and ass, but I knew you meant business. And I trusted you. You wouldn't hurt me irreparably.

I knew I had to attack you somehow. I edged toward you, and tried to kick your shin, but you calmly stepped sideways. With your tits exposed I had yet another distraction.

You jumped forward suddenly and threw a high punch to my head. I knew your kicks were far deadlier than your punches, particularly with those boots on. But I was starting to see they were more for show and to distract me than anything else. My chest still ached though from that kick. I somehow managed to block it with my forearm, and tried to strike your abdomen with my fist. I knew that your belly was like a wooden board and it would just bounce off, but I had to do something to pass the time before you tired of the game and kicked the living shit out of me. You couldn't be fucked blocking it and let my feeble blow strike your stomach.

What happened next took me by surprise. You stepped back and leftwards with catlike grace and kicked me heavily in the groin. I saw stars and felt my knees buckle. I sank to my knees with a groan. In my haze of pain I saw you standing before me peeling off the rest of the leotard to expose your trimmed lush bush. It was a peculiar thing : a sight to make my balls ache with longing, while my balls ached with the painful kick you'd dealt me.

I collapsed backward, gazing up at the sky and waiting for that awful agony to subside. Then your boots framed my face and your cunt descended down to me like a gift from the gods. You guided my face into your treasure and I suddenly forgot everything else as I hungrily lapped up your oozing essence.

You were nicely aroused and I got you off quickly, without much effort, circling your hard clitoris with my tongue, honed after many years to give you oral sex just the way you liked. You let me tease you for a while and then crushed my face with your pussy and ass, using my nose and tongue like a dildo. God, that smell of leather, and your sweet scent mingled together was so arousing I felt like I was inhaling an aphrodisiac.

You grasped my hair firmly in your bunched fist, crying out and bucking your hips, and then came the gush of warmth over my face as you climaxed.

Then you were lying atop me, lips gently caressing mine, telling me you loved me, treating me like a doting mother does her beloved son. My cock, erect and dying for your inner warmth, pressing against your wet pussy lips. You have this amazing habit of ever so gently, teasingly, rubbing your cunt lips against the sensitive area just beneath the head of my cock that sends shivers up my spine and makes my balls ache with desire. And you know just when to stop, just when to prevent me going over the edge. You were doing it then, alternately teasing my cock with your pussy and your tight asshole.

Ending the teasing you said quietly : "Come on, lets go and check on dinner."

 

We lit the fire inside and I made preparations for dinner by the fire, along with a nice merlot. Merlot for some reason relaxes you and makes your horny, Cabernet Sauvignon just gives you nausea, unless it's a particularly good quality wine.

I had dragged the chairs and table over to beside the fire and set out the candles.

You'd gone upstairs and came down now looking more beautiful than ever. A black leather skirt that barely concealed your incredible ass and pussy, black heels, and a lacy, sleeved transparent blouse. You'd put a little eyeliner on and some lipstick, and your hair was piled up elegantly. You descended the stairs like the Goddess you are.

When you reached the table I pulled out a chair for you and waited for you to seat yourself. Regally, you planted your sweet butt on the chair.

"Thank you."

I kissed your neck, and was about to go when you reached out and cupped my groin in your hand, and pulled down my briefs. You pulled me forward and smoothly took half of my eight inches into your mouth. My body went rigid as a board as I felt your tongue tickling my head. You fondled my ass for a few moments and then let my cock bounce back over my belly with a plop, pulled up my briefs, and gave me a slap on the ass.

"Run along now." You giggled, looking up at me mischievously. I smiled.

We ate together by the fire, gazing fondly at one another across the table. I had to steady my hand when you started digging your stiletto heel into my shaft. Then we finished up dinner and sat enjoying the wine. You were on your third glass, which is easily enough to make you a little tipsy. After finishing it you stood up and walked up to me, swung your leg over my lap and stood there, hands hanging at your sides. I looked up at your perfect tits, covered by the transparent black lace of your blouse.

To my surprise, you put out a hand, held onto the top of my head, and lifted your right leg to plant it in my lap on my throbbing dick. As you did so, the short leather skirt rode up and revealed your trimmed golden pussy, beckoning at me like some unattainable treasure.

"Oh jesus -"

You teased my aching cock with your stiletto, running one hand through my hair while you masturbated openly before me with the other.

"I got a real turn-on kicking the shit out of you today, darling."

You laughed throatily as you do when you're aroused.

"Get him out for me" you gestured, digging your heel into my shaft. I unzipped my pants and allowed my proud cock to spring forth.

You reached down, picked up your glass of wine, sipped and giggled.

"Hmmm he's all hot and bothered isn't he ?'

I was breathing rather heavily at this point.

You put your hands on my shoulders and lowered yourself onto my cock as I held it in place. I slid easily into you. Jesus, it felt good.

You fucked me steadily. After a minute or so, you could see I was losing it. I was trying not to come too soon, and it was pretty difficult.

You slowed down. You looked into my eyes intently. You sipped your wine as you fucked me slowly.

Your eyes closed as your fingers worked you clit. I saw you were nearing orgasm. You smiled to yourself and I leaned forward to kiss your tits. As I sucked on one of your nipples, you arched your back and that sent you over the edge. With a cry you came, flooding my lap with your warm juices.

 

Valentines Day came a few monthss later. You were in New York at another Conference. I was missing you badly. A few evenings before you’d called me at home to tell me you’d be there longer than you’d expected, but you were taking a week off.

“I want you here with me – get on a plane and be here by Valentine’s Day.”

I’d happily agreed. And I had enough time to buy you something.

“Oh by the way,” you added mysteriously at the end, “I posted you something. It should be there by tomorrow or the day after. Hope you find it … entertaining.”

My heart beat fast. I knew what it was. Whenever you went to New York, you picked up a guy or two to fuck. Sometimes you had the whole scene filmed for my entertainment.

The following day I went out and looked for something for you. I bought you a new outfit – a black leather catsuit with breast openings. I came home and found the package in the mail. Then I hurriedly ran upstairs, unpacked the shopping, took off my clothes, settled in front of the TV with a glass of wine, and opened it. There it was – a single video tape. I put it into the VCR and sat back to watch the show.

After a moment, an image of you standing over a young man came on. I couldn’t see your face, but I saw some strands of your blonde hair falling over your breast. You were clad in thigh high black rubber boots, black rubber opera gloves, a black waist-cincher, and an almost fully transparent ankle length baby doll skirt. The heels of those boots must have been five inches high, and sharp as hell. He lay on his stomach on a rug on the floor, eyes shut. In your right hand was a black bull whip. In your left was a chain which you held taut, connected to a dog collar around his neck. Your pussy, neatly trimmed, was plainly visible beneath the gauzy material of your baby doll skirt. Your firm small tits were pushed up a little by the waist cincher.

You stood with your left foot planted firmly into his back just above his coccyx. His face creased into a slight grimace as you dug your heel into his flesh.

Your fingers tightened around the whip handle. Then, raising it, you brought it down sharply across his bare back.

This scene continued for about half a minute, without a word said.

After about ten lashes, he was covered in sweat and moaning in pain. You stopped your punishment and circling him came to assume a commanding stance over his prone form with your back to the camera. What a sight. Long, slender perfect legs in pitch black boots rising up to an incredible ass, your rippling blonde hair falling behind you. Still holding his dog collar chain firmly in your left hand, your whip hanging loosely at your side in your right.

“You disappoint me. I’ve hardly touched you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a moment : “Look at me, sailor boy.”

Ah so that was the scenario. A sailor. You had a thing for them.

He looks up and stares at the heavenly sight.

“I’m going to give you ten more lashes. If you endure them well, you get to taste me. If not, this session of ours is finished. Understand ?”

“Yes ma’am.”

And so it began again. This time, the whippings were harsher. He was in agony, and toward the end I could see tears and sweat pouring down his face.

Having finished your whipping, I watched you circle him slowly a few times, your baby doll swishing about and your heels clicking ominously on the wooden floor. He kept his head down – he knew what was good for him.

You stopped, your back to the lens. Hands on hips, you stood with your feet a little apart. The classic femdom scene.

“Get up and lick me clean.” You ordered arrogantly.

He got up, knelt between your feet, and reverently placed his hands on your boots just below the knees (again he knew what was good for him). You reached down and pulled up the baby doll to fully expose your ass and cunt.

“Put your hands on my ass.”

He lovingly cupped your tight ass in his big hands.

You put a hand on his head and draped a leg over his shoulder.

“Now then, my little fucktoy. Let me make my expectations perfectly clear. You have five minutes to give me a good orgasm. Do not disappoint me.”

And then the film ended, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my raging erection.

 

I caught the plane a few days later and caught a cab to the expensive hotel you were staying at. When I got there I checked in and was told you were upstairs. I let myself in with the key.

The expansive room beyond was dimly lit. A hallway led off the other end.

As soon as I entered, I could hear you. You were softly moaning. My heart froze. Jesus, I know that moan. I knew what you were doing.

I had known that one day it would come to this. And you knew it was the way I wanted it, deep down. And although I knew that in one sense, you didn’t want to do this, on the other hand your image of yourself was changing. You were becoming more and more comfortable with being my dominant partner. You were fully exploring your sexuality, totally uninhibited. Your career was soaring, you had become an acknowledged master of your field. Men everywhere wanted you, stared at you with desire and you knew it and loved it. You had given up being selfless and thinking about my needs because you now knew my needs were your needs and the need to be owned by you, to serve you.

I summoned my courage and made myself move, walk down that hallway, the sounds of your lovemaking growing louder and nearer. I came into a large room. A long, heavy wooden desk sat before a huge window overlooking the city skyline below. Sitting at the edge was a young guy, about early twenties. His body was perfect – built like an Adonis. He wore a black t shirt and short black leather boots. I couldn’t see anything else of him because you were squatting over his lap, hands on his strong shoulders.

Jesus.

A black laced garter belt over your hips. Those black thigh high patent leather boots with 5 inch spiked black heels, seamed black lace top silk stockings. His big hands cradling your perfect ass as you humped his obviously huge dick.

And that single red rose in your rippling blonde hair. A glass of red wine in your hand, you drank as you fucked.

You let me stand there stupidly for a while. Then you looked over your shoulder at me and smiled sweetly. “Darling.” You breathed. “Take my glass won’t you?”

I walked over and took your glass. The beautiful black hair stud was nuzzling your perfect tits.

As you handed me your glass, you said : “Kiss me.”

We kissed. Your tongue slid itself around inside my mouth. You smelled lovely as always.

We kissed for what seemed an eternity. You just kept fucking him all the way through.

Finally you broke the kiss. I could see you approaching orgasm. You were bucking your hips wildly as he thrust into you.

“Ugh … ugh … uh … ugh …ahh!”

I stood there watching the scene awkwardly. Watching him licking your tits, touching your gorgeous body.

You glanced over your shoulder at me, a glazed look in your eyes. You smiled and slid off the desk.

You turn to him briefly, say arrogantly. “Kneel.”

You point to the floor at your feet.

He slides down and kneels at your feet, bows his head.

A glance back at me again. “Come here my love.”

I come over and hold you about the waist, my raging dick begging for release in my jeans, against the small of your back.

I cup your tits in my palms.

“Lick my boots clean.” You suggest quietly with a sigh.

I sink down, pausing to look at him between the wonderful white leather clad pillars of your legs. I cannot help myself, and I glance up to admire the supple firmness of your ass, the fiery red of your pussy hair, your mound dewy with arousal, your clitoris peeping from its hood. The rippling river of red gold hair falling to just above your ass. I want to consume you so adoring am I of your beauty.

Your fingers wander over your cunt now. Gently stimulating your sex.

Enough of such heavenly sights. I do my duty, rolling my tongue over your spiked heel.

A trickling sound, and the pungent scent of urine. I glance up, in disbelief as you release a stream of piss all over your kneeling fucktoy loverboy.

He means nothing to you.

You sigh contentedly.