0 comments/ 72635 views/ 6 favorites Erica's Submission By: brinder We had been friends for years, good friends, and our relationship had evolved from co-workers to advisors to confidants. Any financial problem, any marital problem, anything—she had helped me through a particularly rough time with my department manager (I had been wrongly accused of falsifying a record), and I conciliated with her when she divorced her uncaring, disinterested lout of a husband. Let me set one thing straight from the start: Erica Poulet and I had a purely platonic relationship. In fact, as I'm about 16 years older than she is, I think of myself as more of a father figure than anything else. When we met on the job three years ago when Erica was hired as my secretary, and I was as impressed with her as a worker as I was with her personality. We became fast friends, and it was primarily through my recommendations that Erica landed a job as an assistant manager within my department In describing Erica, the key word would be petite: she's only about 5 feet tall, and thin. Not skinny, but thin in a very feminine way: slim, long legs and waist, but a nicely shaped bottom and kind of a big bust for her size. And she's got these tiny hands and feet—I used to kid her about them all the time. She's about 23 wears these circular glasses with thin bronze frames, and they really compliment her dark brown eyes and curly brown hair, which usually is kept long and is full of these fascinating little ringlets she constantly complains about when they fall into her eyes. Sure, I couldn't help but notice how pretty she is, but as I said, our relationship was always purely professional and neighborly. That is, until Robert—but I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm 39, and have been unmarried the last seven years…when I first met Erica, I had already separated from Arlene, my wife, a woman I deeply loved when I met her, but found over the course of our six-year marriage that I couldn't tolerate her nagging and her badgering. What I initially construed to be a passionate personality settled into an aggressive, tiresome annoyance. Nothing was ever right: no one was ever well motivated, no one was up to her caliber, nothing could ever be good enough. At first it was other things: her boss, a lady at the cash register, a particular news story, her car—whatever went slightly off kilter made her mad. And then, as the years went on, she focused in on me: no matter what I did, I couldn't please her. I was either too lazy or working too hard at my job. I was either inattentive or smothering her. I found I was running in circles. Try as I might (and I did), I didn't take her out enough, or compliment her enough, or do anything that made her happy. My family and friends kept telling me I was nuts for putting up with her, but I wouldn't listen, and was sure I could make it work. But as the years wore on, I finally realized I was wasting my life, and an ugly divorce put an end to that. In the years since, understandably, I was not eager to get tied down again. I enjoyed my freedom, and while I poured my energies into my job for a while, I soon settled down and found a happy balance between work and the life outside it, and had to admit I had never been happier. I dated, and had a good social life, an occasional but pleasant sex life, but avoided any romance…it had left such a bad taste in my life that I made that clear to anyone I met. And so Erica, though beautiful, had no designs upon me, nor I upon her—and that seemed to suit her fine as well. I found her to be an avid and ardent worker, and though she kept to herself I found that as I got to know her better she actually had a great personality. She was just shy, and quiet, and took a little more time to get to know than a lot of others. As the first couple of years sped by, I realized she had more potential than she thought, and it was under my prodding, praise and recommendations that she eventually landed a higher paying and more rewarding job as an assistant manager. Though nervous, she was extremely happy and came to realize that she was as capable as I said. There were several repercussions to our new relationship. One was that we became a lot closer: in the process of my reassuring her to move forward in her career, we got to know each other better. She slowly became quite trusting of me, and I think I showed her a lot about herself she didn't yet know. And so we began to talk. We often ate lunch together, and our conversations were wide ranging and seemed to have no boundaries. And, in time, I found that would turn out to be very, very true. Our first really intimate conversations tended to be about her dating. She had come from a very strict, religious family, where discussions of such subjects as romance were viewed as vulgar and profane. Her father, a highly conservative man, had kept a strict eye watch over her, and though she was blessed with a lot of physical advantages the boys were too intimidated by him to ever try to get anywhere with her. As such, she led a very sheltered life until her parents' untimely death in a car accident, which precipitated her landing a job at our firm. Over the course of the next few years, Erica was surprise to find out just how many men were interested in her. I often got to hear about these men, and as she began to trust me more and more Erica began to tell me everything about them, and ask my advice about them. And, more often than not, the advice was about sex. Erica told me she had very little experience in that area, and had few girl friends, and I was one of the only people she could truly trust. And, being a man, she said I had a lot of insight as to how the men she dated worked. And while some of our discussions were more factually oriented—what was a condom and how did they work, how effective was the pill, and so on—often, they got more philosophical. "Just how much," she asked me once, "do men expect after a date? What am I expected to do in return?" I told her that she didn't ever have to feel she owed anything to a man. Sex should never be an obligation, and she should free to engage in as little or as much of it as she felt comfortable with. After a different outing, she asked me if it was normal or abnormal to talk during sex. She told me that the last man she was with wanted to talk a lot, and encouraged her to join in. I asked her if she did. "Some," she said. "Well, like what?" I asked. "Well, mostly he wanted to know if I liked what was doing…you know, to me," she said, blushing. "And what did you tell him?" I asked. "I told him yes," she said. "Did you really?" "Tell him yes? I really did." "No," I said. "Did you really like what he was doing?" "Oh," she said, really going red now. "I guess so. It was okay." "Hmm," I said. "Here's where people are going to disagree. I don't know…I can't say what's true for everyone, but I'd want you to be honest. I know a lot of men want to be told they're the best, but if I really wanted to get to know a woman, I'd want to know what I could do to really please her. Personally, I think women should just be honest, in the kindest way they can." "Really?" Erica said. "I don't think men want to hear anything but how good they are." "You're probably right," I said. "But not me. I hate dishonesty. Arlene was never honest." "How do you mean?" "I mean that she never brought anything to the bedroom that was truly her. She performed for me, and gave me what she thought I wanted, but she wasn't truly herself. I could never figure out what turned her on. As a result, I don't think I ever did. I hated that." Erica thought about it for a moment, and then said, "But there's a risk in that, John. If a woman tells you what turns her on, and it's not what you want, then isn't there a chance that she might lose him?" "But if she weren't honest," I countered, "she never really had him in the first place." It was about two months ago, after she met a man named Robert, that things really began to change. I became aware that Erica was avoiding me. I worried about her, but she was purposely vague in our conversations, and seemed to hiding something. I was too close to her to stand by if something bad were to happen to her, and so I stopped her late one afternoon when she was staying after to get things caught up. She had thought I was in a meeting, but hadn't seen that I had let my people go early. The office was empty—our wing anyway—and I sat her down in my office with the door closed and asked her if I had upset her in any way. She said no, emphatically. I asked her if there were any problems—I wanted her to know I was there for her, and she could tell me anything. She seemed to be wrestling with herself as she sat there, silent, her tiny little hands fidgeting in her lap, so I came around to the chair beside her and leaned over close to her. I put my hand upon hers—to be honest, it was the first time I think I had ever touched her other than in a passing sense, and I think that contact seemed to snap something within her. "Erica," I said gently. "Tell me what it is." She shook her head slowly. "I can't, John," she said. "I just can't." "Erica, it's me," I said. "I'm your friend." She sat still, then, after a long silence, spoke softly. "Do you remember," she said, "you once told me how you hated dishonesty?" I said yes, I remembered. "And I told you that I worried that being honest could drive someone away?" I remembered this, but I had to admit it concerned me. I was convinced that I must have done something to upset her, and she was too timid to tell me what it was. Braced for the worst, I told her I did remember. "Well," she said, and bit her lip before answering, taking her time to respond, "I'm kind of confused about things, and I don't know who to talk to." I felt so bad. I must have done something to bother her, but it was obviously tearing her apart to tell it to me. I knew she was close to no one in her immediate family, no one to talk to, so whatever I did had to be churning within her, with no outlet. I said she needed to be honest, and just say what she had to say. Erica swallowed and hesitated, then stammered, "I found a man who knows what I want, but I don't know if it's right to want what I want." I had to admit her reply threw me for a loop. I had no idea what she meant, but I felt relief that it wasn't something I had done. I spoke softly. "I don't know what you mean, Erica," I said. "Explain it to me." Erica turned a deep red, and breathed deeply before she responded. "Do you promise you won't hate me for what I am going to say to you?" she said. I felt that old fear come back to me again, that I was somehow to blame. I told her I would never hate her, no matter what she told me. I assured her that I cared deeply for her, and she needed to talk to me honestly, to tell me what she was feeling. "Robert has a…way…of being sexual with me," she said, her breath short as she spoke, "that I have never experienced, and I don't know if I am wrong to enjoy it." I couldn't help myself, but I took a breath and sat back for a second, smiling slightly. I was so relieved to find I hadn't hurt her. I think Erica thought I was upset with her, and tried to withdraw her hands from mine. "No, no," I said, holding her hands more firmly. "Don't worry. Everything's all right." She relaxed a little, and I held her hands softly in mine. "Do you think you can tell me about it? Do you feel safe with me? You know I would never breathe a word to anyone about this. I only care about you." Erica took several deep breaths, and began speaking, her eyes down, looking at her hands within mine. "Robert is…different," she said. I had never met him, so I had no insight into him I could offer. I simply stayed silent, nodding or saying "Um hmm" or "I understand" whenever I thought it appropriate. "He brings something out in me that I guess I never knew was there until I felt it. He does things to me that I want, that I crave," her chest heaved as she said this, "but I wasn't brought up this way…I don't know if I'm wrong to feel this way." I stroked her hands as she spoke. "I need you to tell me," I said. "There's no way I can guide you unless I know." Erica sat silent, her eyes never meeting mine. She took a while before she responded, and with a discernable effort, she said, "Robert has a way about him, a kind of manner," she said, gulping, "that makes me feel good. But I am not sure about whether it is proper to feel good this way." I told her that nothing short of physical injury should worry her. If she felt good, it was probably good. But I needed to know what it was that she was talking about, and told her I couldn't advise her until she told me. "Robert is very…strong," she said, "in a nice way. A man's way of being strong. But it's more than just that," she said, and I saw that her free hand, her right one, was tracing soft lines along her the skin of her left arm, and goosebumps rose along her skin. "It's that he's…forceful, and attentive, and…powerful." She hesitated a moment, then looked at my face. Her eyes were moist and full. Until now, I had never fully appreciated just how large they were. "I want to serve him," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as she twisted her face from mine. "There's something about him that makes me want this, to want to care for him and give myself to him and lose myself in him, and I feel wonderful when I'm doing it, but I don't know if I'm wrong for enjoying it so much. When I'm with him I feel as if I'm losing myself, as if I'm surrendering the part of me that I am, and I enjoy it and love it. But afterward I don't know if I was right, if I did the right thing. But it's so right when I'm doing it." I was taken aback. I had no idea how to deal with this—it was so dynamically different from what I thought was the problem. I hesitated, but only briefly, and held her childlike hand in mine as I spoke. "A person is free to love whomever or whatever he or she loves," I said, freeing one of my hands to lift her chin so that her eyes again met mine. But she ducked her eyes whenever I tried it—she was not yet ready to look at me straight on. "Whatever two people do in the bedroom is all right as long as no one is being hurt." Erica nodded her head, but I could see there was more to the story than she was letting on. "But what if the two people agreed that a little bit of hurting was all right?" she said. I admit to being puzzled. "Well, I don't know," I said. "What do you mean?" "What if being hurt was part of enjoying what you did?" Erica asked. "What if some pain was part of the pleasure?" I started to understand, but I was still worried. Here was where I had to admit some of my own Midwestern upbringing made me pause a bit. I didn't want Erica exposing herself to anyone who would do harm to her. "Do your remember," she said, "that you once told me that you thought women were too often dishonest, that they only did what men told them to do so they would keep them?" I said yes. "Well," she said, "what if that was exactly what she wanted to do—if that was exactly what made her happy, to do whatever the man wanted? To be his, to exist for him, to be clay in his hands to mold as he wanted? Is that wrong?" "But you should never lose track of who you are," I said. "What are your wants, your desires?" She smiled, and shrugged her shoulders. "These are my wants and my desires. He fills me." "Erica," I said, "Does he ever hurt you?" "A little," she said. "But in a nice way. It's what I like—and he never goes further than what I want. He's very…controlled." "I don't know, Erica," I said, "I worry about you. This sounds like a thing that could go too far. It sounds dangerous." "But I've never felt better," she said. "But you've been avoiding me like the plague," I said. "I thought I had done something wrong." Erica looked up suddenly. "No!" she said. "No, you've never done anything wrong. You've always cared about me, and helped me." She put her hands on mine, and patted my hands as she spoke. Her fingers were so small, like the hands of a child. "It's just I didn't know how to tell you," she said, "and I hated keeping a secret from you. But I didn't want you to turn away from me, John, or dislike me." I smiled at her. "That would never happen." I got up and walked around my office. The streets were dark outside, and I could see by the vacant spots in the parking lot that most of the staff had gone home. "I just want you to be safe," I said. "Maybe I should meet Robert. Would you ask him if that would be okay?" I looked back at Erica, and she smiled. "I will," she said. "And thank you." "What for?" I asked. "For caring about me," she said. "I've never had anyone care so much for me before. I wish I had had a father like you." *** The next morning Erica came in early—I could hear her in the office outside of mine, and just seconds later she knocked on my door and peeked in. She was smiling from ear to ear. "Robert wants to meet you," she said. "He said he knows how important you are to me, and he wants to get to know you, too. Would tomorrow night be all right?" That's one of the perks of being a bachelor. I didn't have to check my calendar. Tomorrow was Friday, and I had thought of going out at night with a couple of male friends, but not now. This was definitely more important. "I'd be delighted." I said. "Where should we meet? A restaurant?" "Robert said he would like you to get to know him," Erica said. "He'd like to meet you at his house." "It's a deal," I said. "Give me the directions, and we'll meet about, say, 6:30?" "Perfect!" she said, and ran in to give me a peck on the cheek. "I can't wait. And John, I think you're really going to like him." *** Well, I had to admit I liked him. From the very beginning, from driving up to his house in what the locals call Pill Hill—a wealthy community occupied not only by doctors but lawyers, business owners, and corporate bigwigs—to his gracious greeting at the door, to what turned out to be a spirited, intelligent and humorous conversation touching on subjects as varied as politics, literature, and popular culture, I found I liked this man. Robert was courteous, intellectual, and friendly. Within thirty minutes I found I enjoyed his company every bit as much as Erica said I would. Erica was a perfect hostess. I had to admit she had outdone herself: she served us our glasses quickly, brought appetizers as soon as we could think of them, and made every effort to make sure our pre-dinner appetites were met. But it wasn't just her ready attention. No, Erica also dressed the part to the hilt: she wore a white top that hugged her waist but was cut low enough that very little was left to the imagination, a tight black miniskirt, and black vinyl boots on high heels that forced her to walk in a way that emphasized her beautiful bottom. I had to admit I felt a bit uncomfortable at first—there was almost no way that she could move that didn't make her physical charms apparent to both of us—but I soon began to love the kind attention she paid us so much that I found myself looking forward to her every visit to Robert's den. "Would you like some more wine?" he asked me, tilting his glass. Robert was a couple of inches taller than I—I estimated him to be about 6'1—with a thick head of jet black hair and dark, piercing eyes. But he had a very genuine face, with an easy smile and a good, deep voice. I estimated him to be about my age, or perhaps a year or two younger. As for the wine, I had to admit I had probably had enough…I felt the room was getting a bit cockeyed, and I put my hand up unsteadily. "I hate to admit it, Robert," I said, "as delicious as this wine is, but I think I should wait until dinner. I don't usually feel the effects of it so quickly, but I'll assume it's the fact I haven't eaten yet." Erica's Submission Robert smiled good-naturedly. "It could very well be the Bordeaux," he said. "I picked this out particularly…it is a bit powerful, but I think you'll agree it is quite remarkable." "Indeed," I said, as Erica bent to take my glass. I found myself staring at the ample swelling of her bosom above her blouse—I had never really noticed just how big her breasts were before this. She had bent from the waist and was taking her time resetting my coaster, and I felt sure if she just took a little longer I could see what would most undoubtedly be the most beautiful nipples… Suddenly, I realized I had been staring at her smooth, soft skin and forcibly tore my gaze from them. My face felt hot and flushed. I looked over at Robert and he seemed to be enjoying his view of her, too—as his chair faced mine, I'm sure her bending over had caused him no end of delight. But before I could even speculate he raised his glass toward Erica and told her that we would like one more glass each, and then it was time for the evening's entertainment. He smiled at her as she left. I assumed he meant dinner, and so I didn't object to the wine. As Erica left the room Robert looked at me, his face showing every indication that he was enjoying the night as much as I was. "Erica is quite a lady," he said. "I agree," I said, hoping he was making a generalized remark, and not one based on my own embarrassing social error. "I think she's one hell of a woman." "She tells me you've been close for years," he said, in a nice way—not probing, just inquisitive. "That's nice of her," I said. "Yes, it's been about three years we've known one another. I think of her as a daughter, in many ways, and I want to help her any way I can." Robert nodded. "You've been a lot of help to her, I can tell. She thinks the world of you. She has told me her worst fear is of disappointing you." I smiled. The wine was making me a bit thick-tongued, and I redoubled my effort to sound as sober as I could. After such compliments, I didn't want to let Erica down. I decided to make my answers as short as I could. "She could never disappoint me," I said. "Good," he said, and leaned forward confidingly. "I was glad she said she spoke to you the other day. It seemed to ease her mind about things." "What things?" Robert smiled, and said, "About our relationship. How shall I put it? I can sense Erica is not an…experienced…woman," "No," I said, and despite my best conscience I found myself speaking more honestly than I intended. "She's not. She's kept out of social circles until recently." "That is what she tells me," Robert said, shaking his head slightly back and forth. "I want to assure you that I will never treat her unkindly. I am becoming very fond of Erica." I nodded, smiling. I resolved to drink no more of his wine…I really could feel its effects now. I was surprised: a couple of glasses rarely had this effect on me, even before I ate. I felt like loosening my collar and rolling up my sleeves, but decided against it. Robert continued. "John, Erica told me that you had some concerns as to her new…lifestyle. Knowing how important you are to her, I thought I would try to convince you as to its merits." Robert clapped his hands, and on cue, Erica stepped into the room. But Erica had changed. Oh, how she had changed. If she had challenged John's concept of her before, this time she blew him out of the water. She wore precisely three items of clothing: thigh-high black leather boots with stiletto heels, black leather gloves that stretched to her elbows, and a black leather corset that pushed her breasts up without any regard for covering them. Her pussy was bare, completely bare: the corset came to her navel, and she had been thoroughly shaved. On her left arm she bore a tray, with two more glasses of Bordeaux. She smiled shyly, her head down slightly, but her big brown eyes were looking upward at me. She walked slowly up to the end table at the arm of my chair, and she bent down to place my glass of wine upon the table. Her breasts swung free of her corset as she bent. Even hanging down, they still seemed as full as they could be, the nipples puffy and pink and distended. They swayed only slightly as she situated the drink on the coaster. Her hair was swept up on top of her head, accenting the beauty of her neck and face. She smiled at me, her face flushed, and then straightened up. Erica moved toward Robert, and bent at the waist again, her back toward me. There was no hiding it: I could see her slit, situated between two bare puffy lips, with everything visible and open for me. She held the pose while she placed Robert's drink on his coaster, and just before she stood upright she turned her head toward me and smiled. Everything I stood for inside of me rebelled, but I did nothing...I never took my eyes off her pussy; I never let my gaze wander. I knew this was wrong on so many levels, but I was entranced by the exquisiteness of what I was seeing. I could not look away. My pants seemed to tighten around me. Erica stood up straight, and took two steps to stand by Robert's right shoulder. Her breath was apparently short, as her breasts heaved up and down as she stood there. Her nipples stood out from her breasts by a full half inch…her aureoles looked as if they had been pumped full of air. "I wanted you to fully understand what Erica and I were experiencing before you made your decision," Robert said. "I think it important you to know the lifestyle that Erica and I are enjoying." I know I smiled, my mind dulled (or sharpened?) by the experience I was undergoing. I felt I couldn't help myself—I was staring at an apparition, a goddess. She looked remarkable, like a scene lifted out of a long forbidden fantasy. Robert turned slightly and, placing his hand at the back of Erica's calf, slowly ran his hand up the back of her left leg. I watched as his fingers traced the inside of her leg, past her knee, up her thigh, so slowly, so slowly, until the tip of his index finger was just below the juncture of her legs. It was so erotic—as he lifted the finger, sliding it up into the tiny little fold at her center, Erica's eyes lifted up just as her lids closed. "Baby," he said softly, "unless I am mistaken, John has a problem that needs attending to." "Yes, Master," she said, looking directly at my lap. Erica nodded, and began to step unsteadily toward me. It took what seemed an eternity…I saw her coming, and yet she moved with the speed of a distant memory, a long-recalled recollection. I saw her hips sway as she moved, her puffy lips swaying right and left as she walked, and a smile upon her face. When she reached me, she stood before me like a vision. My gaze wandered over her soft skin, up from her bare pussy to her tiny waist, her belly flat and small, to her full, swelling breasts, past her distended nipples, up beyond her long neck and thin, soft lips, to her wide brown eyes, unblinkingly staring back at me. She stood still, apparently waiting. "You see, John," Robert said, "you will never know what it is that you must judge, until you have experienced it. Relax, and enjoy. Then you will know." Robert settled into his chair, his ankle of his left leg upon the knee of the right, and he placed his chin in his right hand, his elbow on the arm of the chair. He stared with intensity at both of us, apparently pleased with what he saw. "Erica," he said. "Yes, Master." Her voice was soft and dreamlike. "I want you to kneel before him." "Yes, Master," she said, and she sank down upon her knees, placing her hands upon my knees. I wanted to react—something deep within me told me to stand, to say something: this had gone too far and I needed to stop it. But that part of me slid further and further away, so deep I could barely hear it anymore. "I want you to kiss him deeply, baby, as you slowly slide your hands up his legs." "Yes, Master." Erica's hands slid up my thighs as she leaned in toward me. As her gloved hands reached the area of my mid-thigh, her lips touched mine, and I felt the gentle softness of her mouth as she pressed her lips against my own, and felt her tongue reach in and stroke my teeth until I opened my mouth. We kissed long and hard, and without consciously willing it to my tongue probed hers, locking against it and licking her tongue, her teeth, and her lips. I did not move any other part of me—I sat still, tasting the sweet liquor of her lips, my hands still on the arms of my chair. But I could feel the insistent swelling in my loins, a swelling that increased rapidly as I felt her little girl's hands slide ever closer to me. And then they were there, and they softly traced the outline of my penis, touching me as gently as feathers, but inquisitively, as if touching something alien, something new. "Is he hard, Erica?" Robert asked. Erica's lips broke from mine, but her eyes never left my eyes. "Yes, Master." She smiled, still staring directly into my eyes. "He is very hard." "Unbutton his shoes, baby." "Yes, Master." And like that, without question, Erica bent down to untie my shoes. I felt like a mannequin, as if I were their toy, but I could not voice my concerns. Nor, in any real conscious way, did I want to. I lifted my feet, and she took off my shoes. "And the socks, baby." "Yes Master." That task accomplished, Erica sat back on her heels, waiting for word. Her gaze had returned to my eyes, and she sat unblinking. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, quickly. "You may return to kissing him, Erica," Robert said, and Erica smiled as she rose to meet my lips. "As you do, I want you to unbutton his shirt, and remove it." Erica's lips were again on mine, and I let her take the lead now, feeling her soft mouth searching mine, her lips not so much kissing mine as they were searching them, moving around my mouth as she unbuttoned my shirt, one by one. I could feel her gloved fingers against my bare skin as she worked, moving lower. Though it went against everything I felt was correct I accepted what was happening without question—I felt as if I were clay, being molded by two artists. When Erica reached the last button, she tugged the shirt off my shoulders, pulling slowly at each sleeve to strip my garment from me. As I came forward slightly to accommodate her, my chest brushed the tips of her nipples, and I sucked air in my lungs as she tossed the shirt aside, and sat back against her feet again awaiting her next orders. "Erica, take off John's pants, and his underwear with them." "Yes, Master," she said, grinning at me. She unclasped my belt, then unbuttoned my pants, and took the tip of the zipper between her thumb and forefinger. She drew it slowly down, holding the top of my pants tight as she did. Her face was only inches from my cock beneath the cloth. I could only watch it happen…I felt almost as if it were occurring to someone else. When the zipper reached the end, she reached up and placed her fingertips inside the top of my pants and drew them down. Without any conscious effort on my part, I raised up enough for her to pull the pants down my legs and off my feet. She sat back on her heels again, awaiting her orders. I sat before her, stark naked. My cock had sprung up and lay against my belly, almost reaching my navel. I don't think I had ever been this hard in my life. "Describe John's cock for me, baby," Robert said, his voice as calm as if he were asking for stock quotations. "It's…big," Erica said. "It's nice and smooth, and has a slight curve in it." "Oh, really?" Robert said. "In which direction does it curve?" "To the left…um…his right," Erica said. "Thank you, baby," Robert said. "Is there any moisture at the tip?" Erica rose to her knees once again, and peered over the tip of me. "I can't see it well enough, Master. May I move it to see?" "Ah, yes," Robert said. "Take off your gloves, and lift him with the fingers of your left hand, and touch it with your right forefinger." I sat back as she did so. Her tiny hand made my cock look huge, and she very delicately lifted it so that it was perpendicular to my body, the tip pointed directly at her. She peered carefully at it, as if examining an item she picked up from her purse. Her face was mere inches from me there. Oh, how I ached for her! I was shocked by my own desire. She extended the tip of her right forefinger and dabbed it on the tip of my cock, sliding it between the lips of my opening. She brought her right hand closer to her, never letting go of my cock with the left, and rubbed her thumb upon the tip of her forefinger. "He's moist, Master." "Taste it, Erica," he said, still sitting placidly on the chair opposite me. "Place your fingers in your mouth and lick them clean, and tell me how he tastes." Erica did, closing her eyes as she licked off one finger, then the other. She sucked her fingers as if they contained honey. "They taste salty, Master, but not overly so. It's very agreeable," Erica said, her eyes open now and upon mine. She had not yet let go of my cock with her left hand. "Good, good," Robert said. "Do you think you might like to taste him some more?" "Yes, Master," Erica said. "I would like to very much." "Very well," Robert said, standing up. He stood up and strolled over to me, his hands clasped behind his back. "But I have certain conditions. First, I would like you to grip him with your right hand, and stroke him up and down for me. When you see he is moist, you may lick the moisture off. But you may not take him in your mouth under any conditions. Do you hear me, Erica?" "Yes, Master." "Very well. You may begin." I sat there, stunned, as I watched Erica encircle as much of my cock as she could with the fingers of her hand and she kneaded me up and down, softly at first, as if she were milking me. Her hand held the skin of my cock as it slid up and down the meat of my now very thick pole. When she saw there was a little liquid at the tip, she leaned forward. Robert watched her carefully, as I did, as her little tongue came out of her tiny mouth and expertly licked the slit of my cock, drawing the precum to her mouth without touching any more of my cock than the slit. She slid her tongue back into her open mouth, then closed her mouth and we watched as she sucked the moisture off, the walls of her mouth moving if she were sampling wine. She sighed. "Would you like more, baby?" Robert asked. "Yes, Master," she said. "Very well, Erica," he said. "The same conditions apply. A little advice, if I may. Grip his cock tighter. I believe John will agree that tighter is better. And before you lick, pull the skin of his cock down to the very bottom of his cock. Again, the tension will allow our guest to enjoy the sensation a little better." "Yes, Master." She applied herself anew to the task, working my penis with her hand, vigorously stroking me in both directions, and pausing whenever she could to skillfully lick off the moisture that collected. I found the exercise exhilarating but frustrating as well—I wanted to thrust my cock into her mouth, but I didn't seem to be able to. I simply had to watch it all play out in front of me, like the scenes of a carefully scripted movie. "You might have noticed something, John," Robert said, walking around my chair slowly as he spoke. He seemed fascinated by the scene playing out before him. "To start with, I guess you can probably tell that Erica is quite attracted to, shall I say, oral delights. And I think it is not an exaggeration to note she is also quite skilled at it." As her tongue had just flicked off a large droplet of my lubrication, I couldn't have agreed more. "Additionally, John, as Erica said, I like to be in control. As much as I like the physical activities of sex, I like the sensation of power that surrounds it even better. That power doesn't have to be violent, however, or even hurtful. It is simply enough that it is there. As he spoke, Erica licked another drop of my moisture from my cock. My eyes felt like they rolled backwards in my head, like the eyes of a doll. "One can control through fear, or pain, or legislation, or threats," Robert said, "but that kind of power does nothing for me. No, John, I like to dominate through subtler means." Erica worked my cock like a piston, her fist gripping me tightly. Her eyes were as intent as if gold might drip from me. "For instance," Robert said, "you may have notice the Bordeaux you drank was a little unlike any wine you had previously drunk. Well, suffice it to say that it was brewed especially by me, and is rather especially…intoxicating. I consider myself quite the chemist, in fact. Over the years I have made several different vintages, all with slightly varied properties. This particular one works on depressing the conscious will, and makes it's consumer rather, shall I say, moldable. I am sure you can agree that this is true." I weakly nodded my head. "I needed to do that, John, so that you could get over the mental hurdles you had set up concerning Erica. You viewed her, if Erica's own comments could be interpreted on your behalf, as a father views a daughter." I closed my eyes. Certainly, he was right—that was exactly how I viewed her. "But I needed you to view her through my eyes to understand what I felt. I needed you to see her less as a daughter, and more as a sexual being. To that end, I believe I have succeeded." As he said this, Erica had goaded a particularly large gob of my precum on the tip of my cock, and she tugged my skin down as tightly as she could and licked me clean in two swipes of her tongue. She rolled her tongue inside her mouth like it was ice cream. "But there is something you need to know, John," Robert said, fully following the actions of his young protégé. He smiled as he knelt down to my right, Erica's left, as she pumped my knob with a vigorous delight. He looked at her ministrations, then up at me, waiting until I turned his way to look directly into my eyes. "Erica, are you still enjoying yourself?" Erica gave a throaty reply. "Yes, Master!" she said, her hand sliding up and down on me. "Would you like to give John a little more…attention?" Erica smiled, her eyes hazy. "Yes, Master!" she replied. "Then I think it is time you take him in your mouth, baby, as deeply and as fully as you can." With that, Erica licked her lips and leaned forward, tilting my cock toward her. She stared at it, opening her mouth, and flicked the sensitive underside of my dick. My cock jerked in her hand, and she stood back for a second to appreciate it. Then, without a word, she separated her lips and began to lower her head, letting the tip of my cock touch the center of her mouth, then slowly slide inside. She let my cock slide deeper and deeper, until almost one half of it was now within her mouth. "Stop there!" he commanded, and Erica did as she was told. Even her tongue stopped, as it was, on the underside of my cock. "As I was saying," Robert said, his eyes still on me, "I carefully constructed my Bordeaux to work exactly as I wished. It did render your, shall we say, conscience, a bit to the back of your mind, did it not?" I nodded yes to the best of my ability. My cock was bursting from her attentions, and this sudden stopping was driving me out of my mind. "But John, I only designed the drink to affect you for a limited time. You've been free of its spell for the last fifteen minutes." I looked at Robert with disbelieving eyes. He lied! I would never have allowed this to get this far without being coerced. There was simply no way. Robert smiled, and looked deeply into my eyes. "Try lifting your right hand, John. It's entirely in your power to do so." I looked from my dick to my right hand, and tried to raise it. Surely, it was beyond my ability to… Erica's Submission But it rose. He was right. I looked toward my left hand. It rose as well. I had been free this whole time! I had sat here, fully able to resist, but instead I… "Continue, Erica," Robert commanded, and she did, sliding my cock even deeper in her mouth, her lips almost reaching the end, where she could nestle her lips in my pubic hair… Her tongue danced along the bottom of my cock, licking and stroking me like a dancing cobra along the underside of my engorged organ. Then she withdrew, letting me slide out of her, to the very tip, where she licked my slit and then slid down on me again, engulfing me entirely. I gripped the arms of the chair and fell back, pushing myself deep into the cushions as she massaged me with her lips and tongue. I felt like I had been electrified. Her head bobbed up and down on me, taking me full throat, then receding to just the tip, then sliding back down until I disappeared entirely. The sensation was unbelievable. I didn't know how much more of this I could take "You see, John," Robert continued, his face close to mine, "you've been able to take charge for quite some time now. It's been entirely within your power…but not within your will." Erica's ministrations were the workings of an expert. She made my toes pulse, made my hands grip, made my eyes close and my jaws clench. She was sliding up and down on my cock with the fervor of a fanatic. It occurred to me that it was how I would suck my own cock if I were able. "She's good, isn't she, John?" Robert said. "I take no small amount of pride in her talents…I think I was a good teacher, was I not?" "Ergh..." was all I could say, my mind a muddle of confusion. Robert reached out and placed his hand on my forearm. He turned to Erica and said, "Baby, do what I taught you last night." Erica had fully engulfed me at that point, but she slid back up until my shaft until her lips were at the very tip. She looked up at me, directly into my eyes, and smiled. Then her tongue came out slowly, stretching until it fully covered the underside of my cock, and she licked around the head, in a circle, her tongue sliding around the engorged head of my pole. She dipped her head covered that same region with her mouth, then lifted back up and swirled around my cock again. I groaned. I didn't know how much more of this I could take. "Enough, Erica," Robert said at last, and stood up to walk over to his chair. Erica sat back on her heels, as dutifully as a trained cadet. My cock made a wet slapping sound against my stomach when she let it go. Despite the sudden deprivation, I took the opportunity to stare at her breasts again, and found them as amazing as my memory had conjured. They were perfectly round, with no sagging to them, rising off her chest like two soft hills. And her pink aureoles were perfectly puffed, like two pink mushrooms, with small nubs like short pencil erasers at their center. Robert stood before his chair, and then clicked his fingers. Erica rose, and bowed toward me, then walked over to him and began to unbutton his shirt. As she undressed him, Robert spoke. "You now have a glimpse of our world, John. It is not without its merits, wouldn't you say?" He watched me nod, as Erica took his shirt from his well-developed shoulders. He was powerfully built, his muscles well defined. "But I think you need to experience one more pleasure as yet unknown to you, to more fully understand the experience. I will give you that opportunity as soon as Erica finishes her work." He sat as Erica bent to take his shoes and socks off. On her knees, her ass was raised directly toward me, and I could see again her puffy lips and what seemed to be some moisture between them. I found it remarkable how clean and smooth her pussy looked, as if it had never once had a hair upon it. When she was done, she straightened and moved to his belt buckle, then his zipper, and she removed his pants. He wore no underpants. Erica dropped back to her heels again, awaiting instructions. He was really built, his stomach rippled with washboard abs, his thighs and arms cut like an ad for a fitness center. But I found myself staring at the center of his body: Robert was not yet hard, but his manhood was still uniquely impressive: thick and meaty, it hung down for at least seven inches in front of two massive balls. I couldn't imagine it hard. "If you wouldn't mind, John," I have little catching up to do. Please relax for a moment. I do know we've left you hanging," with a nod he seemed to take notice of my still firm cock, lying against my stomach, "but just give us a moment. I think you'll find we still have much to do." Then he looked at Erica, sitting so peacefully upon her heels. He bent forward to kiss her, letting his tongue dart along her lips. He leaned back and simply said, "Give John a good show." "Yes, Master," Erica said, and turned her face toward me with a huge grin upon it. She turned back toward John, bent forward until she could put both forearms upon his thighs, and with two hands lifted his cock into her mouth. She attacked him with a fervor that matched her work on me, and she bobbed her head up and down as she turned it, licking his cock one way on the way down, another on the way up, and circling it with her tongue when she reached the top. But as she continued, and began to suck him inside her again, descending down deep throat style, I could see that she could not seem to engulf him completely. She was still several inches from the base when she began to rise again. But as she moved up to the top, flicking her with her tongue and playing with the head of his cock to increase his pleasure, I could see why: He had to be eleven inches long, maybe twelve. And he was as thick as a beer bottle, with no exaggeration. I had no idea how he could ever fit that inside her. Inside her…the thought made my head swim. But there she was, her marvelous cunt visible to me, her smooth white ass swaying back and forth before me, beckoning me. And a thought I had never thought before in my life began to swell in my head with the force of an epiphany: I wanted to fuck that cunt, the soft, wet, hot cunt of Erica Poulet. I wanted to slide my man meat in her, to feel her vagina clamp around me and pulse as she came, to spurt my hot white cum within her. I watched, fascinated, as Robert lay back, caressing her head so softly as she swallowed what she could of his oversized cock, and I was mesmerized with wanting like I had never known it before. "I think we are both ready to accommodate you now, baby," Robert said softly. He patted her head two times, and as if on cue she raised her head and said, "Yes, Master." He dabbed her lips as he stood before her. If his penis had looked big in her mouth, it was immense now, standing out from his body like a club. It bobbed as he stood there. "Baby, I think you precede us to the chamber. We will be along shortly. You may use the time to make yourself ready for us." "Yes, Master," Erica said, and she disappeared through a door I had not noticed before. It seemed almost to have come from nowhere. When it swung shut behind her I could see why: on our side it was a bookcase, hinged so it would move with the motion of the door. "You and I will enter that room, John, in just a moment," Robert said, sitting upon the arm of his chair. He made no movements to cover himself, probably enjoying my inability to glance now and then at it, as if to ascertain that it was, indeed, as monumental as it looked. I had always thought of myself as big: I'm at least eight inches hard, and the women I've been with had often told me my curve made my penis feel thicker. But Robert's was the real thing: he had the kind of brute that was porno material, the kind that would have made him a king in that industry. "You need to know two things, John: First, I have not coerced Erica to do anything. She has not had any wine, nor have I used any threats upon her or anything of the sort. As always, she is free to do as she wishes. And this is what she wishes, make no mistake about that. Feel free to express yourself with her—don't hold back. She wants you, my friend. "Second, take advantage of tonight. We will do things in there that may shake your preconceived notions of propriety. Don't give in to those notions. Let your inhibitions run free. Let yourself go tonight. I can guarantee you this: you have never experienced anything like it." He stood up, and slid the bookshelf open, and we went in. The door led to a small landing, and then there were steps to the right that led downstairs into a dimly lit room with what seemed like a light red glow. There was no difficulty seeing; it was just that the lighting was muted, and as we neared the final turn I could see my skin was a little more pink than before. The temperature was slightly more chilled than the rest of the house—I assumed that there was a separate thermostat here, and that this room was probably inaccessible to the rest of his basement. As I turned the corner, I slowed to a crawl, like a child walking downstairs on Christmas morning There was simply too much to take in. The walls and ceiling were full of hooks and chains and other items: I could see leather whips, and masks, and costumes, and gags, and a collection of dildoes and vibrators of every size and shape. There were also ropes and clamps and restraints and manacles. There had been great effort to make the place look like a dungeon: the walls seemed to have been made of stone, as were the ceiling and floor. Several tables of odd configurations were stood here and there, and near the far wall appeared to be something that looked like a medieval rack. But what took my attention was a kind of chair, or table—it was difficult to tell which—and Erica lay upon it facing away from us, completely nude. She had strapped her legs in to two leather and Velcro restraints cushioned with what looked like white fleece, and the restraints bonded her ankles to a curved, board that forced her legs apart and down. Her waist was strapped in as well, as well as her left wrist, which was upraised on a soft bar that lifted her arms and, similarly, her breasts. There were odd padded platforms beneath it and what looked like a small trays that extended on arms to the right and left. She turned her head and smiled when we approached. "I'll need help with my right arm, Master." "Of course you will, baby," he said, and walked by me to the table and quickly and expertly fastened her wrist. As I came around, he demonstrated its capabilities. "You see, John, this is quite a unique table. Its possibilities are almost limitless." With a twist he lifted her legs straight, then placed it down. With the turn of a lever the table rose upright, making Erica's body drop until held by the wrist restraints. He turned the lever again, and Erica lay back in her original position. "And if you so desire, there are ways Erica may accommodate any number of…pleasures." I could see he was speaking of the platform beneath her, as well as the one to the side. Manipulated correctly, there was no part of her that could not be violated by us. To demonstrate her vulnerability, Robert spread her legs fully. I had just come around to the front, and I could see her clearly, her legs spread and her pussy open to me. Robert took a feather from a nearby counter and stroked it along her clit, and Erica gasped. He repeated the motion, then caressed her nipples. Erica rocked from side to side, her breath coming in short puffs. "She seems to like this, John," Robert said, reaching to a nearby hook on the wall and taking down what looked like a small, slim whip, though instead of one lash there were several, made of what looked to be suede or something similarly soft. I took the whip and looked at her, and she looked at me and gave a little whimper, like a child, her lips forming a kind of pout. There was a look of lust on her face that drove me wild. I gave her a light tap on the upper right leg with the whip, and she sighed, and spread her legs as wide as she could. I hit her again, softly, a little higher up, and she purred. I hit her on the other leg, high up, then on the right one again, then the left, and this time, when I took the lash away I let it trail along her pussy lips, and she gave out a kind of growl that made my hair stand on end. I returned to her cunt, lashing her time and time again, never hard, just soft and sudden, and she raised her hips and rocked them at me, arching her back and moaning each time I struck her. "You seem to like it too, John," Robert said, and I could see he noticed my hard on was as solid as a tent pole. I smiled, and nodded. Robert looked at me and said, simply, "She's yours, John," and he stepped back and moved to the right side of her and stroked her breasts. He cupped them, forcing her nipples up as he squeezed them, and sucked each one in his mouth, obviously flicking the nipples with his tongue, as they were now standing up rigidly on their puffy pink platforms. Erica was obviously in rapture. She slid her ass right and left, anticipating the next blow of the lash, and repeatedly arched her back, thrusting her ample bosom toward Robert. I let the lashes trace over her lips and clit, and she moaned and twitched with abandon. I repeated the motion over and over, not striking her now, but just tracing her pussy with the many soft lashes. I looked at her cunt. It was streaked with tiny little red marks, the skin unbroken but swollen like her tits. I looked at her pink, tender thighs, swaying and jerking before me, and I felt a rush of passion and lust unlike any I had ever known. I found I was getting lightheaded, too. Watching Robert stroke her tits, sucking one, then the other, and seeing the soft, needy look of her soft, wet pussy, I reversed my grip on the whip and now put the handle against the soft fold of her cunt, and traced her slit down until the thin head was pressed against the entrance to her, and I began to slide it up and down, teasing her with little dips inside her. She began to strain now at the straps, pulling at the restraints that held her arms and legs, and she whipped her head back and forth, moaning, "Unnnnhhh…," and thrusting her cunt up in the air to meet her intruder, to beckon it inside her. But I made sure to keep it just out of reach, enticing her with it, sliding it in ever so slightly, then out and up her slit to her clit. After several such maneuvers I placed the tip of the whip in my mouth and tasted her—a mixture of leather and pussy, creamy and animalistic. I looked up to see Robert had availed himself of one of the platforms at the end of the table upon which Erica lay, and he was feeding his thick monster of a cock to her from above, dipping it in her hungry mouth, pulling it out and letting her lick his clean shaven balls. She sucked one into her mouth, her tongue encircling it, then released it to take the head of his shaft past her lips. When I saw that, I lost it. There she was, tied down in front of me: the most beautiful piece of ass I had ever seen, her legs spread, her arms upraised, imprisoned and helpless and thoroughly ours to use as we wanted. I threw aside the whip, and dove into her pussy, licking it up and down, tasting her wet twat as it poured her rich butter onto my tongue. She grunted—her mouth stuffed with Robert's meat—and as she wagged her pelvis at me I sunk my hands into her soft ass and held her there as best I could and assaulted her. I licked and mouthed her, at one moment pushing my tongue as deep as it would go within her, and the next flicking her pouty little clit, then slide down her slit and, lifting her, lick her soft little ass. I was insane with lust, her pussy no longer representing her, but a different animal entirely. I fucked her with my tongue, then licked up and mouthed her clit, sucking it into my mouth and dancing my tongue along it. I stuck my fingers within her, first one, then two, and pulled them out and pushed them back in, her viscous fluid clinging to my fingers as I thrust them in and out of the tight embrace of her sweet little tunnel. She arched her back, I heard her scream stifled by the cock that relentlessly pummeled her soft little oral chamber, and I felt the sticky walls of her vagina clamp around me like a gloved hand, and she pulsed once, twice, three times on my fingers. She sighed, and relaxed, but there was no relenting: I pummeled her little love cave and licked her slit and clit until she came three times, her pussy so moist that I slid my fingers out and licked them, sliding them into my mouth and tasting her wonderful wetness. It was musky and sweet at the same time. I couldn't stand it any more—I mounted the platform at my end on my knees and placed the head of my cock against her slit. I slid it up and down, then poised it at the mouth of her and slid it in. I looked up to see Robert smiling through the strain in his face: Erica was sucking and licking his cock with a fervor he plainly enjoyed. As he saw me watching, he lifted the head of his cock out, stoked it from the base twice, and I saw a thick bead of his precum drip from the head of his cock into her waiting mouth. She held her mouth open, letting it all dribble in, then licked her lips and swallowed. He dipped his cock back into her mouth and let her work on him again. I couldn't believe how tight she was. Even after the thrusting of my fingers, she was as snug on my cock as if gripping me in a vise. I slid my shaft into her two, three times, and I felt her coming, pulsing around my cock. This little minx came like a jackhammer—I would have never guessed she was so fucking ready and willing and wanting. I rammed my cock inside her, pulled it out, moved from side to side and slid it back in again. Unnnhh…" Erica moaned, her mouth full, thrusting her cunt up at me when I withdrew my cock from her cozy little nest. I took my cock out entirely (I swear I could hear that little box pop!) and tapped her wet little hole with its underside just to watch her shake and shimmy, searching for me. With my left thumb I played with her clit and watched her dance before me. My right held my cock—I had never felt so hard in my life, so powerful—and when I thought she could stand it no more I placed the head of me inside her and slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid it back into her. Robert was enjoying himself, too. I looked up to see him pulling his massive tool out from her mouth, where he had to have practically buried it, a feat remarkable not only because of his size, but his position above her head, facing me. I stabbed my cock into Erica, reached for her wonderfully round tits, and realized this was the first time I had played with them all evening. As I slid in and out of her, I pushed her beautiful mounds together, sliding my thumbs over her the little engorged pink aureoles, flicking the nipples with the tips with my thumbs. Her breasts were so firm and full—pliant yet resilient, big and round and bursting and lovely. I looked over at Robert, who pulled out of her mouth and then moved off the platforms and to her side, tilting her table up slightly until it was at an acute 45-degree angle with the panel beneath—the one I was kneeling on. He indicated that I needed to slide two movable platforms over and kneel on them, so I withdrew from Erica to her great displeasure and did that. He then slid his feet onto the panel below her, moved directly under her, and I watched as he moved toward me until his hips were directly beneath us, directly under Erica. With his right hand he spread lotion all over his huge tool and placed its head between her perfect, ripe ass cheeks, slid it up and down until he found her tiny little opening, and began to ease it in. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Surely there was no way she could take him…I was surprised her mouth fit around him, let alone her ass. It was an impossibility…a cruel and hopeless goal he could never achieve. I wanted to yell at him to stop, that he'd tear her apart, but I found myself transfixed: I was drawn to the pure, animalistic lust it provoked: the complete surrendering of her to our wills, the bestial fever that made men want to sully their women, to dirty them, to make them ours, to bend them to our wills, to make them cry out for us, to possess them.