To Obey Her

by Jillian Boyd

  I am still bedecked in a thousand layers of skirts, and stockinged, though my breasts are bared. When you stand behind me your elevated height allows you to grip my nipples in your fingers and draw them out and upward.

  “Is there anything more of this slut you would like to see, ladies and gentlemen?”

  “Her bare bum!” comes a squeak from somewhere near my feet, a lady who sounds in some distress at her own ardour.

  “Now this lady certainly knows her own mind. Would she perhaps raise her voice again so I may find her in the crowd?

  “I!” calls the voice, and a pudgy yet elegant hand extends out of the audience.

  “Thank you.” You make a bow in her direction, and then spoke to me once more. “Turn around.”

  With my wrists crossed before me I comply, and soon feel you lift my skirts.

  “Now bend over. You may rest your arms on the chair if necessary.” I do, parting my legs a little as I feel this will be of benefit, and the mixture of chill air and warmth from the lights makes me shiver.

  “You have seen her bared and displaying herself for your own pleasures, and seen how much pleasure she takes from it herself. Truly, she has revelled in her sluttishness, and I fear she must be punished.”

  “Aye, you should smack her arse ‘til her eyes water,” calls out a rake from the audience.

  “You, good lady, have voiced my very thoughts! And in fact, Madam, the lady who reminded us this tart had not yet bared her arse, perhaps you might care to place the first blow?”

  There is a frantic rustling in the front rows, apologies and the sound of boots on the hard wooden floor, and I turn as a well dressed young woman, perhaps a few years younger than I, appears before me. Red-faced and stout, she is, very beautiful and very out of breath. When her eyes meet mine, she blushes even redder and bobs a curtsey at me.

  She is wearing gloves - lilac gloves with fine pearl buttons - and you ask her if she wishes to remove them, to which she politely declines.

  She stands very close to me, and before I feel the slap of her palm, she strokes me, almost as though one would stroke a cat or a small dog. Then, with what I assume is all the force she can muster, I feel the stinging heat of the smack. And another. And another. A flurry that makes my eyes water.

  Her hand lingers, then she reaches down between my thighs where, to my surprise, she pushes two of her gloved fingers into me up to the knuckle. The noise that escapes my mouth makes both of us jump, a shrieking moan of excitement and desperation, and when she removes the fingers I shudder.

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I fear we cannot improve on the perfection of that spanking - look at her arse, as crimson and delicious as an Autumn cherry. Thank you, young lady. I’m sure you wish to return to your seat now. And as for you...” You come to stand very close to me and I can see how tight and form-fitting your trousers were. “You may stand and face us.”

  As I do so, I see the girl returning to her seat, sucking the fingers as though they were a sugared ice.

  “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the end of our recitation this evening. I hope it has left you sated enough to return to your own homes and alleyways before you start rutting like common dogs.” There is a roar of laughter, followed by much applause and stamping of feet, as you take my hand and walk me to the footlights to curtsey before them. Then you turn and kiss me, your hand at my cheek and your tongue persistent to claim me.

  The sound of cheering and appreciation, and of rustling skirts and tripping boots, soon dies away, replaced by the deep, unforgiving silence of the theatre. Still you hold my hand. With your other, you unfix your collar and unfasten the buttons of your shirt, your own pert, perfect breasts mottled with creases from being so contained.

  You part from me and run your fingers through your hair. “I feel my own cunt is quite overcome. Perhaps next time you can play ringmaster and I will allow you to curl my hair and frig me in front of a paying crowd. But first I must ask you to sit, so I can taste you before I scream.”

  Art, only art, of course.

  Girl Fuck

  Anastacia Lucretia

  “We’ve already talked about this. Haven’t we?”

  I could tell she was angry from the tone in her voice. Well, she didn’t sound angry as much as a combination of passionate and pissed off. Regardless, from the way she sounded she was less-than-happy with me.

  “We have talked about this, Ma’am.” I paused to collect my thoughts and form the correct words. “I’m just trying to understand who I am, and who I am to you.”

  She lay there on her bed, looking like a dream to me. Black bra, black panties, one black latex glove over her right hand and her strap-on. The harness was tight around her hips. I should know, since I helped her put it on. From her harness her favourite seven-inch cock stood strapped in, situated over her clit. Mistress wanted to fuck and I was the fuckee in this equation.

  Now it was her turn to pause and find a new way to tell me who I was to her. “You are mine. You are owned. You belong to me.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, and I’m so grateful for that.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I want to know... for certain... what you expect me to be and who I’m allowed to be. To you. With you...”

  She looked less angry now. Now her mind was working. She had a wonderfully intelligent and nimble mind that was always brimming with curiosity about the world around her. She looked at me now as if I was a human puzzle. “You are my submissive. You are my slave. That is who you are to me. That was our agreement.”

  I moved closer and touched her foot. Warm. I know it sounds clichéd, but I can’t stop touching her. It’s been years since we’ve met and I still feel a little trepidation when I touch her. Like I was touching something that I know I shouldn’t but can’t help myself. It’s like I’m touching something that I want, but I know that touching it will get me in trouble. Unless you know what I’m talking about, you just have no idea what that feels like. To have a woman in your life for years and still have to ask permission to touch.

  “I’m your bottom. Your submissive. Your boy.”

  She smiled. “My boy. You are my boy.” She raised her arm and beckoned me closer with her hand. I went and held her hand, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside her.

  “And I should always act like your submissive?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I should always act like your boy.”

  She brought my hand to her lips and kissed the back of it. “Yes. I have no desire for anything else in my life but my boy. No men.”

  “No men,” I repeated, slowly letting that sink into my mind. She would never refer to me as a man. To her, I would always be a boy.

  “No men, just you.” She smiled at me. When she smiles at me, that full-on genuinely-happy smile I can’t help but smile back at her.

  “So, when you say no men and you’re just with me...”

  I stopped, before saying the words that had been going round and round in my head for months now. “Does that mean that you really don’t consider me a man?”

  The smile went away, replaced with a face that understood exactly what I asked. It wasn’t a sad or angry face. She looked like a beautiful woman explaining something to a poor student that was struggling to keep up with the rest of the class. Her smile became a thin line, lips compressed together like she was seeing the job at hand, and was mentally preparing herself for it.

  “Well... do you think you’re a man when you’re with me?”

  Sometimes the simplest questions are the hardest ones to answer. Sometimes you’re looking for truth on the most basic level, because upon that lowest level is where you build. The foundation must be trustworthy and solid because that’s where you’re going to build a home. And here we are at the foundation - Am I a man? Am I a man with her?
I know for certain that I am not a vanilla man. But now that I accepted the fact that I am indeed a submissive, can I still even consider myself a man at all?

  I paused, then said, “I felt like I was a man when I met you. And when I go out into the world in public, I’m treated like a man. When I’m at work, or when I’m at the gym, everyone around me treats me like a man. People treat me like a vanilla man even though we both know that I’m not at all.”

  “There is not a vanilla bone in your body. It’s so obvious to me, but I can see how you can pass yourself off as vanilla. Even before you met me, though, you were looking for a femdom relationship, right? I mean, you were looking for a Domme to be in a femdom relationship with because you knew you couldn’t do vanilla anymore.”

  Now it was my turn to smile. “Yes, I was most certainly looking for you. Not for someone like you, but you.”

  She smiled back. “And you like what we do when we’re together?”

  “Love. I love what we do.”

  I lay what I hoped was a tender kiss on her knuckles. “I need what we do now. I can’t imagine life without you and what we do. I can never go back to vanilla sex, ever.”

  “You are the most natural submissive I’ve ever known”, she told me. “Your personality and demeanour is submissive. How you treat other people. Even from what you’ve told me about your past relationships with other women before me. It sounds like you’ve always had submissive tendencies. It’s just how you are. And I’m quite aware that there is no going back for you anymore. You’ve gone down too far. I’ve gotten you too low. I have ruined you for vanilla women. It’s like you’re custom to me now.”

  I looked down, as I know she’s told me this before. She was right about everything, of course. Even in my so-called vanilla relationships I always had submissive tendencies. And she was so incredibly right about me being ruined by her. I had let her take me as low as she could get me: past the point of no return.

  “I walk around a vanilla world, but I live the life of a submissive.”

  She leaned forward, talking to me closer now. “Right. You are submissive. You were submissive when I met you and you are much more submissive now since we’ve started this.” She paused. “I don’t want a man, I want a boy. My boy. I want you. Tell you what: if you think you’re a man, why don’t you come over here and fuck me?”

  She’s never said anything remotely like that before to me. She’s said “I want to fuck”, or “Tonight we should fuck”, or some version of that but she’s never said “come fuck me”. I looked at her and said, “I don’t understand.”

  Looking at me completely unabashed, squarely into my eyes, she repeated, “If you’re a man, come fuck me. Fuck me like the vanilla guy you used to be. Fuck me like the vanilla women you used to fuck.”

  I was confused because this didn’t seem like us. We never fucked the way she was describing. I looked at her, at this woman that I loved and thought about how I fucked women before her. Pushing my body full-length on them and rolling them onto their backs. Kissing them as I ran a finger between their pussy lips, tactilely searching for a clit. Turning them on and warming them up enough to run a finger lower and pushing into them. Getting turned on, getting hard and, when I was ready, spreading their legs and mounting them. Running the head of my cock between their labia and, finding that sweet spot, pushing into them. I would take control and fuck them the way I wanted. Mistress was telling me to treat her like one of the vanilla woman I knew before her. She was more than telling me. She was challenging me.

  And, as I thought about it, I saw in my mind me attempting to do this to her, and I recoiled. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to treat her like a vanilla woman in any way, shape or form. I simply couldn’t.

  “No.”

  “No?” She repeated back to me. “No... you won’t come fuck me? Are you saying no to me?” I could see her face flush. Now she was getting pissed.

  I didn’t know what the right answer was. Did she really want me to? Or did she want me to refuse? I wanted to make her happy. I didn’t want her angry with me because our relationship was the most important thing to me.

  “Will you order me to fuck you?” I asked. That I could do with no hesitation.

  “You are missing the point, stupid boy.” She moved until she was sitting right next to me, our knees touching. She stared into my eyes. I have to be careful when she does this because her eyes have always been able to capture me. There’s always been something about women and blue eyes that I’ve liked, but her eyes make me root to one spot. I’ve always found it difficult to tear myself away when she tries; if I do manage, I try not directly look at her eyes again.

  “Men take sex from the women in their lives. If you want to be a real man, then come take sex. Come fuck me.”

  I hung my head and thought. This was too fast, with too many implications. The past, this, and the future. I was trying to run all of the variables through my mind and trying to see the outcomes of each choice.

  “Hey!” She put two fingers under my chin and raised my head until I was looking up and at her. “What do you want to do here? Don’t waste my time.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Let me help you. Someone is getting fucked, right here, right now.” She leaned forward until I could feel her breath against my lips when she spoke. “Are you going to fuck me like a man?”

  There was a pause of heavy silence. “No. I won’t.”

  “It’s not ‘won’t’ - it’s ‘can’t’. Of course you can’t. I knew you couldn’t. When I told you to fuck me, I knew one-hundred percent that you couldn’t do that. You are way past vanilla fucking.”

  She hugged me and pushed me back against the bed. I rolled back easily, and without a struggle. She situated herself between my legs, reached over to the nightstand for the lube and said “You’re not going to act like a man with me, because you’re not a man with me. The people you see out in public see you and think you’re a regular, vanilla guy. But you’re just passing as a vanilla guy. They don’t know the real you - and that’s fine. They don’t have to. I know the real you though, bitch. And that’s all that matters.” She slipped her hand lower and I felt her gloved fingers between my ass checks. She bent and kissed my stomach as I felt one, and then two, fingers slip past and inside me. Romancing the ass was what she called it. She said again, lower, slower, “That’s all that matters, right?”

  I reached down and pulled my cheeks open a little wider for her. She half-smiled at me. “Good boy,” she whispered. I took a little air in and put myself in that head-space where I needed to be when she was playing with my ass. I felt her beginning to turn her hand to the right, then back out, then to the left and back out again. Being finger-fucked was unlike anything else. Being fingered had only begun to happen to me once I made the choice of wanting dominant women in my life. Being opened, feeling a slick, lubed finger move past my arse and inside me, and then feeling two fingers only happened when that wonderful alchemy of dominant woman and submissive man came together. Under the right circumstances, at the right time and place, it’s like a kinky alchemist stone, able to turn latex, lube, hair ties and shaved skin into girlfuck-gold. Some people look their entire lives and never find this. I was so incredibly lucky.

  Her voice brought me back. “A man, my dear, simply doesn’t allow this to happen.” She withdrew her hand and did that little walk on her knees, getting herself closer to me and into position. She ran her lubed, gloved hand over her cock, getting it slick. “Sure, some vanilla guys may play around a little sometimes,” she said as I felt her line up her cock and then press forward. “But I can guarantee they don’t do this.”

  I relaxed, then pushed out. I closed my eyes and put my hands on her shoulders to help pull her in a bit. God, I love those first few moments of fucking when I feel my arse getting filled by her cock. There was nothing else like it in
the world. There’s nothing in the vanilla world that translates over to this.

  “But you live this, slut. This isn’t a game. This is what we do.” She knee-walked forward a little bit more and began to press forward again with her hips in earnest. I pulled back my hips and tried to push my butt forward to meet her. I pulled on her shoulders, wanting to feel her weight on me. “This is who you fucking are, boy.” Her hips made three or four slow thrusts before she did a harder thrust into me. I felt the length of her strokes inside me lengthening as she fucked me. I was taking as much of her cock as I could. She moved herself forward more, with more energy in her hips and I felt her fully seat herself inside me. Her cock was as deep as it was going to go. Between thrusts when the air could find the lube it was a little cool on the outside around my hole.

  She paused for a moment with those blue eyes staring at me. “Tell me you want me to fuck you harder.” Her eyes sparkled because she knew that was exactly what I wanted. She just wanted to hear me say the words.

  “Fuck me harder, Ma’am. Please.”

  “You are so fucking sexy,” she replied as she started pounding into my ass with a new sense of purpose. “God, you are so fucking sexy.”

  My arms were around her neck, on her shoulders, holding on for the ride I knew was coming. Every time she slammed into me a groan escaped me and there was no way I could stop it from happening. Her cock was so deep in me and the feeling was so intense it was all I could do to just hold tight and go with the ride. She fucks like a man fucks a woman. She doesn’t just grind, she slams her cock fully into me, unrelenting. My eyes were closed but I could see her just as surely as if they were open. I know from the subtle movements when she’s going to bend down to kiss me.

  ***

  She’s on her elbows now, bearing down. My hips are pulling my legs fully back, giving her as much access to the inside me of as I can. “Fuck,” she breathes into me.

  “Fuck,” I reply back. Two words quietly whispered between us with a whole world of unspoken conversation between us.