I had thought about her a lot in the past two days, trying to puzzle out what it would be like to be such a person. To present yourself that way to the world. Could I do that? Could I make such a radical change to myself and what I was here for? Could I stand the conniption fit that Mother would throw as a result?
I wandered the aisles, Foucault in hand, but didn't see her. Resigned, I found the philosophy department, and looked through it, but didn't seem to see volume one, The Will to Knowledge. I leafed through the second volume, but it was about ancient Greece, and seemed less interesting.
"Still looking for Foucault?"
I turned around and there she was, just as I'd remembered her-- rough and unkempt. Yet there was something lovely about her pale skin set off by black hair, even if some of it grew where it really should be plucked.
"I finished this, so I wanted to read his History of Sexuality," I said.
"You finished it?" She still seem bemused by me, the bitch. "What did you think of it."
"I thought it was interesting," I said, wincing at such a lame opening statement. Hurriedly I added, "I was interested by his concept of repression as being not just an instrument of control over our sexuality, but also, how we define ourselves. Like, if society wasn't there to set the boundaries, we wouldn't be able to, you know..."
"Construct an identity," she said.
"Right," I said.
"Because the one thing we see around us is that some people have very strong constructed identities," she said, peering at me through those black hornrims.
"And it may lead people who have their own constructed identity to make assumptions about others which might be too narrow," I said.
"Where in fact, their identity might be more fluid," she said.
"There could be a lot of fluidity," I said.
"So which one are you looking for?" she asked. "Which book, I mean."
"Oh, uh, volume one of The History of Sexuality," I said. "But it doesn't seem to be in stock."
"I have it," she said.
I looked at her, wondering what she was implying.
"If you'd like to come over for some tea, I could lend it to you," she said.
* * *
"Power isn't just about ordering people to do something," she said. "For Foucault, it's a whole system that makes you want to do something. That could be morality, it could be science, it could be marketing. It doesn't have to be a guy with a gun ordering you around."
We were sitting on a big puffy couch, reclining face to face with our tea cups in our hands. She was puffy too, a landscape that rolled and curved over the couch, I felt very bony next to her. "So that's what he means by hegemony? The ideas are so deeply ingrained that it's how you view the entire world--"
"Right. Any other way of acting would be unthinkable."
"And that's why he's so focused on discipline--"
"Well, maybe not the only reason," she said, with a sort of smirk.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he was also a gay guy who was into S&M and stuff like that," she said. "So I think his interest in discipline was more than academic, if you know what I mean."
"Oh," I said. We were quiet for a moment. "So what about freedom? Is there such a thing?"
"Well, I think that's his point about power," she said. "We create power by rebelling against it and defining it."
"But is that a bad thing? Aren't we at least affecting it by pushing against it?"
"Yeah, I think that's part of how Foucault is different from a lot of other philosophers," she said, kicking her sandals off, exposing her long toes. "Marxists view power as a very rigid game with two teams. Foucault's view of it is much more dynamic-- it's not just religion or the state--"
"It's in all the ways we deal with people," I said. My hand bumped into hers. It stayed there, feeling the warmth coming from her skin.
"Right," she said.
"Like in how members of different social groups act to each other on campus. They assume certain things about each other, when maybe..." I said, trailing off.
"They want the same thing and don't know it," she said. "And they need to break through how society defines them--"
At that moment I was done talking about Foucault. So I leaned forward and kissed her.
Her lips were so soft and yielding, it was unlike any time I'd kissed Trent or any boy. I loved the heat coming from her mouth as our lips mashed together. I wanted to eat her up.
She put her hand to my breast and I grabbed hers, roughly, the big round blob of tit that it was under her cotton T-shirt. I could feel her nipple getting hard under her bra and I knew I had to suck that nipple, now. So I grabbed her shirt and pulled it up. She laughed, someone's in a hurry, she seemed to be saying. She reached behind and popped her bra and then those beautiful fat tits came tumbling out and I dove for one of them, sucking her nipple while mashing the other against my face. God, they were so soft and wonderful, big spongy boobs, I wanted to suck on them forever, to live between their soft pink bounciness.
She pushed me back and began unbuttoning my blouse. I just stared at her, topless, the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, her unruly black curls falling over her face, her big boobs dangling in front of me, her soft tummy swaying from side to side, a mole with a little hair sticking out right under her tits, adorable. She unsnapped my brassiere in the middle and then she grabbed my smaller breasts and began flicking her tongue over my nipples, my toes curled up, it was wonderful. She came back up and kissed me again, and I sucked her tongue in, greedily, while squeezing her dangling tit.
Then I rolled on top of her, her fat breasts lolling to either side as I kissed my way down, past the hairy mole to her stomach. I grabbed her pants and began to pull them down, and as I did, a magnificent forest of curly dark hair sprang up. Her crotch was as untamed and hairy as the rest of her, maybe moreso, and now it was my wild place, to lick and suck into submission. I felt no hesitation about the step I was about to take; I knew that this was what I was, that I felt about her pussy as I never felt about any of the cocks I'd had in my hands or my mouth, spewing their stinky cum onto me. A pussy was a natural and beautiful thing, and this one would be mine to lick to ecstasy.
I spread her legs apart and there it was, in all that black fur, slimy purple lips dripping with anticipation of my tongue. I dove in and spread them apart with my tongue, licking up and down the length of their slippery warm womanliness. They tasted of salt and metal and wet velvet— no, they tasted of themselves, pussy, the thing I knew I needed from now on. What was that about identities being constructed? This was my identity, from birth I now knew, licking her slick wet snatch, feeling her petals undulate under my tongue as I kneaded her big round bottom. Oh, the hours I would spend loving that fat bottom.
I slid a finger into her pussy and then another, slowly fucking her as I lapped her clit. She started moaning, her big ass shaking the world in front of me, and then she clamped her soft thick thighs around my head and I felt her pussy squeeze my fingers, rhythmically. I'd made her cum, me and my fingers and tongue, her pussy was responding to me, it had given herself over to me.
We cuddled for hours, feeling each other all over, playing with the newfound joys of soft fat breasts, squishy tummy, hairy bush, long toes. I was inexhaustible, I wanted to lick at her womanliness for hours, I saw stars when she climbed on top of me, fucking me with her fingers while she sucked my nipples, kissed her own juices off my face. We couldn't have been more different, me blonde and well-groomed and long and lithe, her pale and dark-haired and messy in every direction with her wild hair and monobrow and chubbiness. But she was everything I wanted under me, in my power.
Foucault would have understood, I think.
* * *
Mama took it badly at first— if you can call a pretend suicide attempt taking it badly (four Midol and a glass of champagne is unlikely to be fatal, even if you do leave a three-page note). But over time I saw a change in her attitude toward Liz and me, and finally
I realized what it was— she saw that we were in love, and I think that was something she'd never seen before.
Now we go shopping together (she's slightly femme'd Liz up, though there's a long way to go to make her Miss Low-Till Farming) and hang out together during break, drinking chardonnay and talking girl talk. I've even started to wonder about Mama— could she have been so unhappy in her relationships, at least in every way except money, because she...? It's a funny thought, but she's taken good care of herself, and her marriages certainly have left her well fixed. She'd make a nice catch for some gal. Maybe she should go back to school for her Ms.
The End.
Freak on a Leash
It's been about a month since the ship hit home port. Everyone has been relaxing, working their days and popping deuces to get home quickly. For you that just means chilling on ship though. You are making the best of it...but anything to break the routine is refreshing.
As you sit out on a deck area of a restaurant, your phone rings. Rolling through the names of people who actually have that cell phone number, you draw a blank.
"Hello?"
"Siren, it's 'Xander." He uses our group names so I'd know him at once. I smile big, not expecting anything since we're in port and he has "obligations."
"You got plans tonight?" He growls and purrs into the phone at the same time, making your knees weak as is his talent.
"That depends on the offer..." You flirt back.
"Just a quiet night in a hotel room with a little wine and room service. But there are a few rules if you accept." His voice screams a thousand possibilities even as it rolls out silkily.
"I'll be there." You say, knowing the rules are always more fun than playing it safe.
"Good, I'm glad you still trust me. Meet me at the hotel I'm going to text you the info for. Be there at 8 pm in a tight black dress groomed well with no underwear on. Don't worry about bringing anything else and don't be late."
"I'll be there Master." You say without hesitation.
"Until then, Pet..." You hear the phone go still, his voice gone as quickly as it came.
Always a good time, you start thinking about what you have to wear and decide your best bet is a really sexy black mandarin collared dress you picked up in Japan on your last port call.
Smiling, you finish your lunch and go forward with your daily routine...hitting the gym for some PT, talking with a few friends as you meet them around base. Catching dinner, checking your e-mail before heading back to the ship to get ready.
As you hit the berthing you grab your showering things and head for the head to wash off the day's sweat and grime.
While you already showered after your workout, you hadn't had the chance to shave, so while you clean up you closely shave your legs and intimates, thinking on the night.
You get out, brushing out your hair and doing your make up. Walking around in your robe, you hunt down the dress and blushing softly slide it on over your smooth naked body. As you tug it this way and that it fits itself nicely, the slits up each leg exposing your soft thighs and hugging your curves perfectly.
You pull on some heels, trying them on and grabbing a small purse as you get ready to leave.
You check your phone and notice you received a text while you were showering. Typical...you go mad all day thinking about him and his text and he sends it when it suits his game. Loading up your GPS on your phone, you get to your car quickly and head out, making sure you have plenty of time to get there.
As you drive a thousand questions enter and leave your mind. "How did he...? What about...? But I thought...?" Finally you just decide to wait and see.
It wasn't a long drive and you find yourself arriving about a half hour early. Luckily there's a bar inside the hotel and you sip a cocktail to eat up fifteen or so minutes.
Finally you head up to the room number. You knock gently on the door.
"It's open, come in."
'How did he know it was me?' You think to yourself.
You push down the handle and slide open the door. The room seemed empty at first. You walk slowly forward, peering around.
You see a single lit lamp in the main area. He's sitting there quietly, fingers steepled. He's wearing a black silk shirt, blue pants, and black shoes. A silver chain with an ornate pendant hangs from his neck. You've never seen him so intense and collected. The look of his domain.
You pause mid step as she comes into view.
'Oh shit, this is going to be bad...'
She half sits, half lays at his feet, wine glass in hand. She's dressed in a black leather corset tied up tightly with leather boots that come up just below her knees. Crotchless panties show you a waxed glistening cunt and a choker with a rose design in rhinestones adorns her neck.
She looks at you with both interest and boredom, as a sated cat examines a new toy.
"Something wrong, Siren?" He smiles, happy as he knows I'm completely off my guard.
"I...um...I'm going to go...I..." You stammer quickly, feeling very much as if you stepped into a lioness' den.
"Stop!" He said firmly...I do...without any knowledge why.
"Come here." The command railed against everything I was thinking, but I turned nevertheless. I walked across the room and stood in front of them, heart pounding.
"Does she please you, my pet?" He asks running his finger tips across her neck.
"I don't know yet Master...does she follow instructions?" His wife, for that's who it was, purred softly.
"So true, let's test the thought," He said amused. "Siren, this is my true and only pet. She is loyal, devoted and mine. You however can be hers if she deems you acceptable. Does this intrigue you?"
You look at the floor, so as not to meet his gaze. You have never been asked such things and it unnerves you to be so objectified. Still, curiosity and arousal brought your head back up to stare into his eyes.
'Damn it! I still trust him, it won't come to harm.' Surer now, you nod slightly.
"Good!" He smiles, warming you. "Now, every pet must be thoroughly inspected by her Master or Mistress...to ensure proper attention to detail has been paid."
He nods to her and she stands, waling around me. I hold my ground, knowing I'd been trained for this.
She runs her hand over my leg sending chills up my spine.
"Well, that's smooth...good so far." She smiles at me and I feel a bit more at ease.
"Now, Siren, if you truly trust me, strip. Stand before your Mistress naked and ready for the final inspection."
I swallow, never having bared myself so vulnerably.
'I've come this far...might as well finish the game.'
You unzip your dress, sliding one arm out then the other, then you pull it down, first exposing your breasts, then the dress slides off your hips and falls in a pool at your feet. You step out of it, then untie your shoes and step down to the floor. Bare.
She walks around you again, an appraising look on her face. You find yourself growing wet and exciting, hoping...Surprisingly...that you pass this inspection.
"Turn and get on the bed on all fours." She says firmly.
I comply immediately, eager to please her.
"Do you want my Master's cock?" She asks boldly.
"N-Noo..." I lie, not realizing how obvious it is...
Smack! She spanks my ass, reddening the right cheek with her blow.
"Would you really lie to me slut? You have had Master's cock already and now you tell me no? Answer again!"
"Yes..." I whispered, fearing similar treatment.
I hear the smile in her voice as she spoke next
"Would you treat a Mistress as well as the one you called Master?"
"Yes..." I said softly.
Smack! Another firm slap, this time across my left cheek.
"Do you lie again or are you not sure? Do you want me or not?"
With that she climbed up on the bed and spread legged she laid on her back in front of me, dripping cunt inches from my face.
&n
bsp; "Yes!" I shouted, my mind seized with a thousand impulses.
"Then please me, whore, and earn a better title."
I looked up, shocked but hopelessly aroused and she waited with an expectant expression.
I plunged in, licking and sucking at her lips and clit, fingers working in and out as I went for broke.
Gasping and moaning in surprise, she writhed under my attention. I hear a chuckle and spare a glance at 'Xander. He sits with rapt attention, still fully clothed but obviously in a state of arousal.
'Is it torture or foreplay?' I wonder.
I focus back on my task, sucking her clit softly into my mouth as I work her towards the first orgasm. I feel her body quake and squirm with pleasure before finally tensing as she cries out.
"Stop!" He commands suddenly. I sit up, taken aback. She sits up as well, red in the face and gasping.
"Come here..." He says, a look of darkness in his eyes.
She hurries to sit at his feet, eyes on the floor.
"Was it good?" He asked reproachfully. I sit up straight, wondering if he's truly angry.
"It was Master..." She said quietly.
"You've forgotten yourself, pet..." He grabbed her cropped hair and threw her forward onto the bed, ass up, pussy still wet.
"Come here, Siren, for you are not innocent either," He growled.
I come to the edge of the bed, taking cue and bending over it. A bag is produced and a cat o' nine tails is pulled out.
The toy flashes first across her ass, then back across mine. Red streaks instantly appear. I try not to cry out, knowing pleasure or pain might further the punishment.
Again the toy flashes back and forth, striking us oppositely than before. I feel the heat of the sting but pleasure strangely washes over me. Again he stings us and I twitch imperceptibly, a gasp escaping my lips. Knowing he heard this, he swings again, wanting a reaction.
He gets it, but not from me. She moans, the pain and pleasure too much to restrain. One more each and we both cry out.
He smiles, knowing he'd won.
"So sluts, you like the punishments of your Master?" He shakes his head.
Filthy Daddy's Taboo Erotic Sex Stories Page 142