by Jason Luke
“Taste,” I told her.
Without hesitating, Steffie drew her fingers to her mouth and painted the wetness of herself across her lips like glossy lipstick. She sucked her finger clean and went limp on the tangled sheets, her skin glistening with the sheen of her perspiration, her hair damp at her brow.
I told her she was beautiful and then cupped my hand over the mound of her pussy. Steffie groaned because she knew what would come next. What I was about to take from her.
Should I go on? Should I keep telling you about Steffie and that afternoon we spent together?
I feel like I’m neglecting you, and I don’t want that to happen. In fact, I want you to be aroused in the same way that Steffie was.
Would you touch yourself for me now?
Do you want to?
Do it for me.
I want to watch you, just like I watched Steffie on my bed.
I really do.
I need you to feel what she felt, experience the exact same sensations of intimate privacy, sharing the moment with someone who wants only to sense the joy of your pleasure.
Intimacy and seduction.
In the meantime I will sit here in silence for a few moments and watch your face, see your mouth fall open in a tiny breathless gasp as your fingers brush across the secret heat of your pussy.
I won’t say a word. I won’t interrupt.
Be a good girl for me…touch yourself while I watch – and then we can continue.
* * *
Arrogance isn’t arousing – it’s confronting. It’s crude. It substitutes the connection between a man and a woman – a Master and a submissive – and replaces intimacy with conceit. A man with an arrogant attitude towards women and their sexuality won’t make it as a Master… and won’t keep a submissive’s trust and loyalty for long.
Why?
Because in missing the essential emotional connection required for a healthy BDSM relationship, an arrogant Master usually thinks a submissive is a replaceable accessory to his will.
Does that make sense?
Put yourself in the shoes of a submissive who serves an arrogant man who is interested only in his own pleasure, his own satisfaction. Imagine shrinking away from your own desires and needs just when you want more than anything else to explore your sexuality and discover those aspects of the lifestyle that deeply resonate with you.
An arrogant Master thinks a submissive can be substituted – and if they can, then it was never a healthy relationship.
Sorry. That wasn’t intended to be a rant, because I didn’t come here to lecture. I came here to tell you my intimate stories and to seduce you.
Forgive me.
I was just watching you from over here in the shadows, mesmerized by the way your eyebrows move and that erotic little thing your mouth does while you were touching yourself, and my mind drifted back to Steffie.
I was thinking about how we came together, and the terrible time she had searching for a man she could trust.
When we found each other, it was like fuel and fire – explosive.
That summer’s afternoon in my bedroom was the catalyst for the entire relationship that followed. Maybe that’s why I think of her so often at night – and why I can recall in such vivid detail each moment and every shared sensation as my hand that was cupped over her pussy began to gently massage, and Steffie began to grind herself against my palm.
I was hard – turned on by how easily Steffie had shed her inhibitions and was responding to my instructions and touch. Without instruction she rolled over on the bed and came up onto her hands and knees. I slid the blindfold from her eyes. Her bottom was the shape of a perfect love heart, the lace of the suspenders stretched tight over her flawless flesh. I flicked the retaining clips open between my thumb and forefinger and my breath came out as a low hungry growl. Steffie glanced over her shoulder at me, her eyes solemn and enigmatic. She drew the pink tip of her tongue across her lips and then lowered her head until it was propped on a pillow. She arched her back and her knees came wide apart. I dropped to my haunches behind her and slowly – deliciously – drew my tongue up along the silken folds of her pussy. Steffie gasped and then clenched her body rigid. The taste of her on my tongue was warm like honey. I licked her again and again until she began to rock her hips and sway her body back to meet my touch.
Which was exactly when I stopped, rose to my feet, and then ran my hand, stiff as a paddle, across a cheek of her bottom. Steffie knew instinctively what was about to happen, and understood why I was punishing her.
She said she was sorry. She asked me to forgive her, making her eyes huge and tragic.
“Keep count,” I said ominously. “You should know better. I touch you how and when I want. It’s not for you to decide. You don’t set the agenda – you respond.”
I paddled her bottom with my hand until each cheek was burning bright red, and the crimson imprint of my fingers blazed across the pale skin.
By the eighth spank, Steffie wasn’t flinching any more, she was moaning softly into the pillow, stifling the raw sounds in the back of her throat and muffling her voice as she called out each slap. By the last stroke I was rubbing my hand tenderly across her flesh, salving the skin with caresses that had dipped between the juncture of her thighs and flicking my fingers across the pouting soft lips of her sex. The punishment had transformed into something deeply sensual and the wetness of her was an irresistible tease. I went to the window and drew the drapes, then stepped out of my jeans.
My cock felt as hard and hot as an iron bar drawn from the fires of a furnace. Steffie suddenly tensed. She lifted her face from the pillows and turned her head. Her hands made tight fists in the sheets as I slid myself slowly inside of her.
My fingers went to her hips and then I slid the palm of my hand up along the knotted ridges of her spine. Steffie arched her back. I dug my clawed hands into the soft flesh of her shoulders.
I can still remember the way Steffie moaned for those first few seconds that I was slowly sliding the length of my cock deep inside her; the way her whole body tensed, the slow undulation of her back and her hips as though internally she was adjusting and accommodating me. Then, when I was deep inside her, our bodies joined, she hung her head so that her hair fell forward across her face like a veil and she swayed there, braced on her hands and knees with her breasts spilling from out of the cups of her corset. I didn’t move for the longest time. I was savoring the sensations – the tight gripping feel of her pussy, the warmth and tautness of her. When I drew myself back and then thrust forward for the first time, we both groaned.
Suddenly the lines for me between sex and power blurred. Just moments before I was burning on pure lust and desire. Steffie was arched, spread, ready and very willing. But now, with myself deep inside her, I instinctively wanted more. I wanted her to be a part of what happened next, not just a willing object for my own satisfaction.
You get that right? As a woman there must have been plenty of times in your life when the sex became just about the man – you were there but were forgotten as he grunted single-mindedly towards his own release. It’s a common complaint I hear a lot from women. So many other men just seem to rush towards their climax and disregard the lady…
Anyhow, in that moment with Steffie I suddenly realized. A door of understanding opened wide for me and I stepped through. Even in this most aggressive position, I didn’t want the sex to be for my pleasure – somehow I had to draw out Steffie’s own orgasm.
We began to move together, her body rocking and responding to each measured thrust of my hips. I was trying to read her movements, trying to understand what felt good for her. Each deep lunge was met by a throaty groan, but the short teasing thrusts of my cock seemed to spark new flares of energy from her. I began to tease her with shorter, faster strokes. My hands fisted into the tangles of her hair and I pulled so that her face was lifted and her head thrown back. I could see a part of our reflection in the mirror. Her mouth was wide open, and her eyes s
crewed tightly shut. I could see the tremble in her tensed arms and the more urgent sway of her breasts and they kept beat with the rhythm of my hips.
I told Steffie to imagine she was being watched by other men. I told her to visualize herself on her hands and knees in the middle of a spot-lit stage. Gathered around her in the smoke-filled shadows were strangers – other men – their eyes hungrily watching her, growling their appreciation for the beauty of her.
Steffie’s breathing became sharper – more urgent, and she began to rock back on my cock, using me for her pleasure. Suddenly the whole dynamic had changed. I had found a secret key to her personality, and by turning that key I had hit upon the touchstone that elevated the sex we were sharing into something profoundly erotic.
Steffie wanted those men in her imagination to desire her. She wanted each of the strangers she was visualizing behind her closed eyes to be overcome with lust. She wanted them to see her cum.
Her movements became more frantic, more urgent and our bodies crashed together like we were racing towards the peak of a mountain top. Beads of sweat squeezed out across my brow and ran in rivulets down my chest. Steffie’s body glistened with the satin sheen of her perspiration. Suddenly the breath was seizing in my throat and Steffie began to twist her hips. I let go of her hair and she tossed her head from side to side. We were rocking together like two people in a small boat on a raging sea. Steffie cried out and it was the sound of her release – a raw primeval sound without any coherent form; the sound of her plunging into the abyss.
I came an instant later, my own orgasm seemingly wrenched from me by the frantic convulsing grip of Steffie’s pussy. I threw my head back, saw the ceiling sway and blur. Sweat stung my eyes and at last the breath I had been holding was torn from me in a sound like a growl…
That was the nature of our relationship in those early days Steffie and I shared together – more playfulness than serious BDSM lifestyle. In fact, it was as much about exploring each other’s minds and desires than it was about dominance and submission. Those other aspects developed over time as Steffie’s confidence and trust grew, and as her inhibitions were tenderly and thoughtfully explored and then peeled away.
I learned a lot from that relationship – and not all that I learned had anything to do with the art of being a Master. Much of it was about learning to be a man.
I learned about the importance of foreplay for a woman – the need to build a sense of desire through anticipation… and I learned about the value of exploring fantasy.
The key to releasing a woman’s sexuality is to understand her secret fantasies.
I actually wrote that line down on a scrap of paper several years ago and put it in a desk drawer. I found the note today, the page a little dog-eared, the paper now faded. I read it again before I came to visit you tonight because I have been thinking about you.
A lot…
I can’t say the relationship with Steffie ended too soon because it didn’t, in hindsight. It ended at the exact right time. For me, I was soon to meet another young lady, someone thrilling and spectacular, and for Steffie… well I honestly don’t know. I never saw her again but when we parted she said she was happy. I hope she is today…
But the memory of her still haunts me…
* * *
Look, I need to say something to you because I promised when I arrived that we would be honest with each other, right?
Well something’s bothering me, and I feel you and I need to talk this through.
Here’s my problem.
I still feel like you’re looking at me like I’m Jason Luke the author.
I’m not. Not tonight. Not here with you.
Tonight I’m just a guy, and that’s how I need you to think of me. Strip everything else away – the author profile and all the social media – and what remains is just a guy.
And you’re a woman. We ought to be able to connect, and I want something deeper from this – and I want the same thing for you. We’re both searching for something, right? I know I am. I still haven’t found what I’m looking for, but I know what it is – I know what I want.
Refuge. Harmony.
Solace.
Respite – from the demons of my guilt; the flail of remorse that still stings when I recall the women I have hurt throughout the meandering course of my life because I was too young, too self-centered… too arrogant.
I’m not perfect and I’m not Jason Luke. Not twenty-four-seven.
Not tonight.
With you I just want to be me, and I want you to be the real you. Just give that much of yourself – even if it’s for these few hours.
Okay?
Maybe you’re searching for something too – some emotional or sensual fulfillment. Maybe that’s why you invited me into your home. Perhaps it goes deeper than just the whim of erotic entertainment. Maybe we’re searching for the same thing, coming at the issue from opposite directions; me as a writer and you as a reader. But we have common ground – we’re people. Tomorrow we’ll be alone again. You’ll go your way and pick up another book. I’ll begin writing again…
But tonight we can, between us, make a little magic; a firework of happiness in a dark, dark sky. That’s got to be worth the effort, right?
Come on, there’s other stories I want to share with you.
Are you ready for more?
I want to tell you about Emily.
* * *
Okay, I promised you another story about a woman named Emily, and I’ll get to that in a moment. But first I want to ask you something.
What turns you on?
I’ve been watching you since I arrived, and the enigma of you enthralls me. I know women like to remain a little mysterious, but I simply cannot work you out.
I’ve come here to your secret place and all I have to seduce you with is my words. Somehow I think you’re the kind of woman that needs more.
I don’t imagine the fakery of flirtation would touch you. The whole superficial charade falls away too quickly to leave a profound effect.
No.
It would need something more.
How would Jason Luke seduce you?
We’d dance.
That’s right. In your bedroom, or maybe in the living room; just you and I alone, with no one watching.
I’d find a radio station that plays old songs from the ‘80’s and we’d slow dance together to old songs by the Rolling Stones so I could touch you, hold you and move against you. Then, when the music stopped, your face would be flushed, your heart tripping in your chest and your eyes glittering like gemstones.
I’d step close – slam shut the space between us and gaze into your eyes.
Can you imagine that? Can you picture the moment between us when we’re standing, touching and our mouths are just inches apart?
It’s all I can think about.
Everything would teeter for an instant. Would you draw away? Would your eyes become hectic?
Would you need me to take control?
I would. I couldn’t help myself. My instinct would be to reach out confidently to cup your cheek in the palm of my hand. Suddenly time would stand still. I’d place my other hand over your heart to feel what you feel – and then I’d kiss you.
Properly.
Slowly. Very slowly.
For a very long time. Until we both saw stars.
* * *
Emily and I were friends and work colleagues before we became lovers. She was younger than me, and one of the most dazzling feminine contradictions I have ever encountered. In the work environment she was pleasant, professional and demure. But in private – Emily was a vivacious vixen: a bona fide nymphomaniac.
She was petite. Side by side she barely reached my shoulder. She had a slim waif-like figure that meant to most men she might have appeared quite unremarkable.
But to me, there was something wickedly arousing about her. It was the way she wore her jeans, the way she moved her hips when she walked and the bold, almost brazen way
she made eye contact, like every time we spoke she was daring me to kiss her.
When we did eventually get together, it was at a work event – a presentation night hosted by one of the company’s supplier clients. There were hundreds of people from competitor businesses across the city in attendance. Emily sat next to me and when the lights were dimmed in the auditorium and a video presentation began playing on the giant screen, I felt her body sway against mine, connecting us in the gloom from her hip all the way up to her shoulder. I sat quite still while my mind raced to consider the implications. Emily was incredibly sexy.
I wanted her.
Her hand slipped beneath the table, and then I felt her fingers drop into my lap. She was looking away, staring with rapt fascination at the big screen. Her touch crawled over my thigh and then came back higher until she was kneading my erection with her tiny hands through the tented denim of my jeans.
I leaned forward and propped my elbows on the table, resting my chin atop my clenched hands. There were a dozen other people around us, the table littered with empty plates. Waitresses were gliding around the room like ethereal ghosts, cleaning up after the dessert had been served. I stared at a middle-aged lady from a competitor store. She was sitting directly across from me. She must have sensed that I was watching her. She drew her attention away from the screen and flashed me a friendly smile. Then she saw Emily close against me and her intuition must have been aroused. Maybe there was some telltale sign in my face, or maybe she saw something in the way Emily’s shoulder was moving. Her gaze turned into a glare – and then the lights came back on.
Emily removed her hand and sat up straight in her chair, casual and unhurried. The two women exchanged glances and something distinctly feminine and beyond my understanding passed between them. Emily’s eyes flashed and then she turned to me and stared close into my face, her lips parted and glossy and her cheeks flushed.