0 comments/ 14731 views/ 1 favorites Steady By: HisPossessed Picture the stockings they call "fence net" made out of metal and fashioned into seats for a Greyhound station. I'm sure it's leaving a red lattice on my thighs and ass. My education hasn't even started yet. I'm waiting for a bus that will bring my Owner near for the first time. My head is clear; I'm reading my book and not just pretending. Something beautiful comes through about erotic love in Freud's writing. The bus is late, but I don't mind. Mostly, I'm enjoying the feeling of calm, of not being terrified like I'd anticipated. I'm already in substate, maybe already wet. I cross my legs and lean forward, marveling at the way the words on the page make any sense, considering what's about to happen. This is what makes sense. And then I'm aware of someone standing very still and facing me, just a few feet away. I look up at him for what feels like a long time—I don't want to leap into the arms of the wrong man. But it must be him. I stand up and it's like taking an elevator to get to my good posture. I float and take the steps to get to my Owner, recalling his answer in email to my question, "How shall we greet each other?" Like the long parted lovers we are. He never makes a false step. Just like we'd expected, we kiss without speaking a word. My mouth opens over his, feeling his lips before I ever saw his sexy smile, and I lean into him, on the spot... I think to myself, 'This is the way he tastes, this is the scent of him, his body...' None of it registers—he's still not real. Nothing feels like my life or my dreams. I'm happy. When the kiss ends—there is only so long a kiss can go on before it must be taken elsewhere—I think we say hello. I'd already met his tongue with mine. I don't remember anything but his arm around my waist and mine around him, the sub in substate leading the way out the doors into bright daylight to the taxis around the corner and feeling like I'm walking drunk on stilts in my four inch heels. Though I'm most myself dressed like this, it's a rare occasion I find myself dolled up. Not sure I'd want to be. I think I save being myself for special occasions. Our gaits don't synch, but nothing is awkward. It just adds to the giddiness. He's speaking and his cadence is a lot like our footsteps—it's beautiful, but my ear is one step behind. His accent... I would learn it's called Mancunian, and also, to try not to refer to him as "British." Simple words trip me up. A few months later, I can understand most of what he says on the phone. In person, I don't need to catch every word to know what he means, interpreting his various subtle smiles. I'd assured him before meeting that the accent wasn't a fetish. So much has changed. We get in the taxi and I give the address of the hotel where I'd made our reservation. I melt into the side of my new Owner. He'd expressed a desire to take a taxi as a prelude to our time alone in the room, wanting us to arrive with me already a bit disheveled. I liked that idea and made sure to find a suitable hotel far enough from the station that we could enjoy each other in the back seat just the right amount of time. We only had a few hours. That's true today: I see my Owner, who is now also my Master, for six hours a month. If you're not a straight, you don't have to ask me how that could be worth it. He doesn't "molest me" in the cab like he'd threatened in email. He notices he's still wearing his sunglasses and apologizes—it's important to him I look in his eyes. I can't withstand too much of that yet. We look out the window instead as he holds me and I press against him. He's taming me, putting me at ease, and for someone who first caught my eye as a "strict disciplinarian" he's very gentle when he wants to be. By the time we arrive at the hotel, I hadn't had a moment of hesitation. Here we are, the site I chose for my submission to the one with whom I'd been writing for exactly two months and a day. I know that little detail because he has a romantic streak and told me just how long it had been since he said he felt I was worth Owning. I hadn't wanted to be Owned, just wanted to play, but I liked him too much to give him the "I think we want different things." At the time, I was sure we did, but he wrote so fucking brilliant—he's the writer, I persist just to please him. I was in contact with men who were intelligent, seemed sane, seemed to need the complement to what I did, but the compelling, charged words in my inbox were from a man with experience who wanted the person I was becoming. It was an ego high, but I was scared of him. It was clear he was authentic and understood BDSM from the inside out. That was what I wanted, but I couldn't go that far. Authenticity and just playing around are incompatible goals, my Owner's patiently shown. He's also explained it, in attentive letters. In his hypnotic, complicated voice. But this is my project now—to tell it to him so transparent even a stranger might understand. He likes it that most people won't. He doesn't let me forget that part of what he Owns is my mind, all of my thoughts. Though it was my idea to write, I'm not free to stop: He demands a full account of my memories. It's funny now to read, "I couldn't go that far." I'd gone far, in terms of pure risk, like a time I let a man drive me into a dark parking lot in the wilds between here and LA. With me in the passenger seat, back down, he put my feet up on the dashboard in severe metal ankle cuffs and my hands in bondage mitts attached to a collar. I knew I didn't even trust him, just hoped it wouldn't hurt too much if he decided to gut me. I didn't get off on the fear or the risk—I just mention it as testament to the strength of the need. Genuine fear, I learned, arouses just a flood of poison chemicals to the brain and 'fight or flight' isn't much of a high when neither are an option. I was completely unharmed, but shaken by the lengths to which I'd go to feel correct. I had accepted myself as a submissive and a masochist and had given up on normal dating. These days, even just making small talk is near impossible while knowing I'm someone's sex slave. Not like I ever had that ability. I didn't want to fear someone in the way I did in that car. I wanted to submit because I'm intimidated by a man only because he's just what I want. If I had to be a boy, I'd want to be you. The fear I will always feel for my Owner is the dual fear of happiness and losing it. Don't keep me, don't go away. I am not afraid of him, but he can still shock me: With his innocent reactions (maybe feigned) to my desires, he surprises and with the perversity that spills from his mouth on our prolonged journey to the peak of vice he gets me breathing hard imagining the future. But I'm ahead of myself. We aren't even in the room yet. I handle the check-in at his request because he's told me that hotel clerks don't like the look of him. He does look like a bit of a trouble maker. It's smooth and there are so many versions of how we find our way upstairs I like to think we just floated upwards. I can see us feeling each other up a flight of stairs and also the way we fit together reflected back in a shiny elevator door. Doesn't matter, we're through the threshold and the room is fine and it's ours. The bed has the iron headboard shown in the picture, which is a relief. It has a plain white duvet, which pleases my aesthetic sense, though we stripped that quickly after his razor blade slashed it right away (feathers)—funny, he didn't carve me until it was almost time for us to part... I remember laughing delighted we'd already started destroying the room before we got started. He paces a little. Not nervous, but it makes sense: He'd said his style was speedy and active and I stand still, my energy draining away into total passivity as he sizes up the setting. Not pacing. Closer to prowling. I enjoy watching him move. I get a sense he's resolved something and he doesn't make me wait long at all before he sits at the edge of the bed—even when he sits down, it's speedy—and instructs me to get over his knee for my spanking. Sliding across his lap is like sinking into a warm bath and the firm slaps to my ass are truly the kisses of long parted lovers. I'd been playing for weeks, meeting a couple of different men to administer spankings, but this is what I hadn't had yet. Deep submissive feelings. I knew he was special, and that was why I got a room: I didn't want him in my home, where I'd casually let others come to pummel me. These days my own bedroom is the "punishment room," but I couldn't have known that then. I should have. I think he did, but humored me and my hotel whim. Over my Owner's knee, I gasp and purr. He stands me up abruptly and puts his hand in the crotch of my panties to check my wetness. "Already?" he asks. I look at him, a little ashamed, and find his expression to be half knowing, half innocent. I realize now it's because of this quality in him I chose a cherub for part of my tattoo about his Ownership. Sometimes I think I'm the one with the true depravity, the kind that clings and stains... troubles me in the soul. He beats it out of me with a sweet, amused smile on his lips and in his dark blue eyes. He's made me re-learn words like 'perverse,' 'depraved,' 'whore,' 'slut.' I delight in his use of them and with him they mean something pure, but I still privately contain their conventional charge. The way most people think of a "whore," I still think of myself, though I melt when he calls me that, and even more when he says "slut," which I don't consider as harsh in meaning. I just like the "harsh way we deepen our vowels," as he puts it. I don't have enough respect for women. And, at times, I hate myself. I have never confessed that to him because I feel it would make him rethink Ownership: Who would feel pride in subjugating someone who hates herself? Then again, he knows me better than I know myself and his ego's sturdy, so the thought must have crossed his mind. I hope he doesn't want to fix me or think I expect him to (would be nice if it were possible), but he can administer all the correction he wants. Though he has created for me an image of the "good whore" I can be, I thought he must know no one cums from discipline unless she has behaved badly... We don't agree on this point, but, Owned whore I am, I have to be truthful. A person does cease to be worth possessing when she starts to pretend. It's a blessing and a challenge to be Owned by a feminist. I have to act stronger than I am and I also feel petulant sometimes that he got right into my psyche like he had x-ray vision. Being sub to him could be my greatest pleasure in life. He wants the strength I draw from belonging to him to inspire me in other areas, but I think I don't let it yet. I can't become so dependent that my art, that everything comes from him because it could end with him, too. Some things must be done on my own, though once when I was depressed he told me my life was no longer my own to even think of taking. That was the most incredible thing anyone has ever said to me. I wonder if he knows... I realize I'm dealing with a very unusual, possibly dangerous person, and he's pure. And purely Dominant, to my delight. ("Switch" is a deal breaker for me; I respect all orientations, but I need someone I couldn't ever imagine submitting.) I stop feeling shame. He tells me he's pleased I hadn't overstated my enjoyment of impact play. It was perhaps false of me not to tell him the flow of fuck juice started when he kissed me, maybe before, maybe just at the thought of meeting the one who'd written me such tantalizing letters, promises of subjugation so confident, effortless. He doesn't let me down when he orders me to kneel on the bed. "Head down," he says. Gentle, but I know he means it. He doesn't even raise his voice. I put my head down and don't resent it one bit. I honestly don't remember how he disciplined me. I assume it was with his riding crop after I'd taken the welcome spanking from his palm, but my brain had locked on his instruction to kneel and then the sound of those two words, "head down," like that was the most appropriate, natural thing... I've been criticized for as long I can recall for keeping my head down, slouching. With him, I stand as straight as I can and it's no effort. It's also an incredible release to have reason to bow my head. Throughout the stripes to my upturned ass, I think I was enjoying my downcast gaze. The next thing I remember is my Owner coming into view at the foot of the bed. I'm on hands and knees across it, like we unconsciously meant for me to watch the door: Someone must intrude on this! Can we really be allowed...I watch him carefully and he asks if it would embarrass me if he takes off his shirt. I don't understand the question, but realize I've told him I am very shy. Not too shy to want to see my Owner's body, but he couldn't know that yet. I don't know if it makes me more of a prude or more perverse that my Dom half naked behind closed doors increases my submissive feelings. For a sub, I'd had a lot of rules, all of which are gone now, and one was no sex. I knew I'd want to get him off to thank him for the punishments I need so much. I didn't expect I'd be happy to shed the dressed Dom / naked sub image. I liked the formality of the way I'd played before because of the distance it created between me and a partner: I was down in substate, he was high above. A man with his clothes on kept an intellectual dimension alive in the course of play. I was afraid of losing the rules and slipping into another messy vanilla fuck. He doesn't lose any Dominance, but gains some, as seeing his bare skin bewilders me. I feel like I could kiss him and pet him like an ordinary lover. Only we would know it was BDSM—with his permission and for his pleasure. I was already undressed down to my panties, stockings, heels—everything black, of course. I'm a traditionalist. That he wants to be together with me in a little nakedness is welcome. It's the end of summer and still hot in the daytime. He'd begun to sweat, he said, and did I mind.... And then after I mumble something stupid there he is, shirtless, black riding crop in hand, my ass still stinging. I admire his masculine build and visible strength; I'm small and soft and we fit perfectly together. My head meets his chest and my breasts fill his hands like I was made to be his fuck pet. He says it's time to put the collar on me. It's a wide bondage collar, pliable leather, too big for my neck, but the act of lifting my hair for him to fasten it is a vintage moment and one that led to a wrong idea: It humbled me to think it was soft with previous use, but why shouldn't it be? Just a play collar, after all. I only learned the other day that I was wrong. No other sub wore this one first and I like to think I broke it in over the years he'd kept it hidden with the sheer force of my intention. I fantasize he'll one day give me the locking kind and throw the key into the ocean. Until then, I wear this one both with him and on my own when I need him. He takes the leather cuffs from his wrists and puts them on me. A nice touch—he wears them without looking at all like a sub, just Punk, but on me, they make clear I'm his sub. They are also too big, but I won't get free and that's what matters most. He tells me he'll make more holes so they'll be tighter next time. It's like a perverse version of the enjoyment a girl feels in wearing her boyfriend's jacket. He ties me face down with a length of rope connecting each limb to a corner of the bed frame. I'm relieved he likes the look of my underwear enough to leave them on me—he'd made me shave completely for him and being naked is one thing, but naked and spread wide open would have been more than I could take. Within one or two more visits, he'd spread my cunt and take his time studying me. He won me quickly by not expecting anything other than respect. And by knowing my thoughts before I do; I'd protested the shaving and he, being more of a feminist than me, knew where I was coming from, but did get me to admit I do find shaved pussy more appealing to the senses. Now I wouldn't want anything to separate my Owner's gaze or fingertips and my bare labia. Standing behind me, he runs the crop lightly down my spine, over the skin above my stocking tops. My cheek rests on the sheet and I strain to watch him, but I can't see him. He brings the broad tip of the crop to my lips and instructs me to suck and make it wet. The idea of my own spit being used to increase the pain I will feel arouses him. "So pretty," he remarks about watching me work the leather square in my mouth as if it were part of him. But I can't be getting spoiled, looking into his eyes while demonstrating my lewd ideas: It's time I was corrected and he's behind me again. I hear the fierce slicing sound, feel the stinging shock of impact, then the spreading warmth of the welt. He leans over me, covering me with his body without touching. The leather brushes my face as he uses the tip of his punishment implement to push back my messy hair. It's important to him that he sees all my reactions. His tongue slips in the corner of my mouth and I kiss him with devotion. He rises again to thrash me until he can see I am in pain, then soothes me again with his sensitive mouth. He alternates between making me anticipate the arrhythmic blows to my sore flesh, that sound of the crop on its way into my skin that makes me catch my breath, then the kisses and explorations of his perceptive hands. I feel bliss. I'm still intimidated by him, but completely at ease. I already trust him enough to know I will never have to use a safe word—we don't have them on principle because if I ever tell him to stop, I will mean it. I don't think I ever would. He sees how much I can take. When I'm under his control I'm in his care and never feel as safe as I do when restrained by him. Even this first time. With trust, I can give up on enduring pain and surrender to it. It's lessened my threshold, but increased my awareness of the experience. Less is more. We kiss until he finds himself getting too relaxed. He unties me just long enough to put me on my back, arms above my head attached to the head board, legs tied wide apart. He sees me watching his every move as he leans over me to tie the ropes and he grins. On impulse my head jerks up—I'd been enticed by a drop of sweat at his temple. I ask permission to lick it, tell him I want to taste his sweat and he indulges me. It's not even salty, just fresh water. He asks if I'd also like to taste his pre-cum. The answer is an immediate, "yes, Sir" and I enjoy the sight of him standing by the bed, undoing his belt, opening his trousers. It is deeply gratifying to see his underwear is moist, too. I feel shy to openly look at his erection as he uncovers it, but I'm too attracted by the outline it makes behind his black underwear to look away. He touches his fingertips to his leaking cock and brings them to my lips to feed me his juices. My God, the taste of him. It must be obvious from the look on my face I want more, and he tells me he is going to fuck my mouth after I cum for him. I feel deliciously ashamed and exposed as he squeezes and pets my soaked crotch. He's stretched out beside me and his skin is so warm and sweet. The sexual smell he gives off brings an animal lust into my awareness. SM play is meant to be erotic—it's my core erotic life—but I was also looking for distance within the play, rituals and traditional rules to help me feel in control enough of myself to enjoy it. I felt I had to be in control in order to lose my mind in submissive delirium. This was more like sex; though bound and under the control of my new Owner, my desire for this man was not under control. It was something more than what he could inflict on me to fulfill my masochistic needs that had my breasts aching for his attention and my cunt clenching in intense physical longing. Steady This was not what I'd gone looking for and I was lucky he insisted on forging a strong intimate bond with me. Otherwise the BDSM dynamic wouldn't work, he'd explained and I did know he was right. It's not enough to submit to the acts of painful pleasures. I had to submit to someone, someone who was not at all shy to tell me he expected every part of me to belong to him, even my mind. Someone who'd told me his Dominant skills were surpassed only by his modesty. It was this person who was now sliding his hand under the elastic of my panties, exploring his slippery, fresh-shaved property, finding my clit raised and aching as my bright pink nipples. I look in his eyes, study every detail of his face to keep them until my eyes close involuntarily in pleasure. He strokes my clit in a motion as perfect as my own masturbation on those dark sleepless mornings I fantasize about being tied down, just like this, and forced to cum. This orgasm would not be difficult to force, he was so skilled with my body. I had never had this as part of BDSM play. Other Doms—there had not been many—had not wanted to use my pleasure to dominate. On the one occasion a partner had put a finger at the opening of my cunt after I was wet from a beating, I told him, "Please, no." I didn't want him, wasn't submissive to him except on the surface when we played our roles. At this moment, I am not playing and the way my body responds to his touch proves I am his whore. He rubs me harder and I grind against his finger, paying for it when I catch my flesh on his sharp nail, but I can't stop. I hear myself begging him not to stop, babbling about God, saying 'please' over and over. I don't know him well enough yet to know if he would tease me. I wouldn't be able to take it; I feel desperate for relief from this terrible pleasure that, when I hear him ask, "Are you going to cum for me?" turns into ecstasy. I lie in his arms gathering myself back together. I say "Thank you, Sir" and he tells me there is no need to thank him for doing what he wants to do. He enjoys Dominating me by making me cum for him, seeing me lose all composure. He says he should probably be punishing me more, but that I get so wet when he does that he can't resist returning his fingers to my cunt. He reminds me my body belongs to him and he'll play with it how he wants to. If he wants me to be his helpless fuck puppet, then that is how he'll use me, subjugate me, and let me know I don't belong to myself anymore. So I should not thank him. I kiss him instead, with unashamed devotion, like a zealot. I'm allowed these displays of what he finds to be unseemly eagerness. It's part of my slavery, showing my love for him, which I do best with my tongue. Whether reaching up for his neck to force my kisses upon him or kneeling to lick his feet, it's a compulsion to keep my mouth in contact with my Owner's body. He doesn't deny me this way of my expressing my gratitude that he found me, claimed me, and holds me down through orgasms until I forget my name. He calls me Possessed. It's what and who I am. It's in the movements of my tongue sliding between his lips to find his again in my awful greed. This is how I'm kissing him, in restraints, without restraint, when he tells me it's time I should be punished again. He leaves me for a moment to get a candle and matches from my contribution to supplies, and is swiftly back by my side, a look of smug pride flickering as he pictures how he'd going to decorate me. We search each other's eyes as the red wax melts to be poured over my pale skin. He holds the candle close to my body so the wax doesn't cool as it falls over me, and my Owner does look decidedly gleeful spilling wax all over me in prolonged bursts of pain. And he insists he's no Sadist! The dry wax is making a skin that pinches mine as I struggle under continuous new doses. At the same time, the burning sensation recedes to leave a warmth alive in my skin. I'm aroused again, wanting him to stroke me and fuck me. He's hard from controlling me, causing me pain near to my limit and then leaving me aroused and defiled in hundreds of red droplets. I know what he's thinking. I had brought the candles after showing him a picture of me in a similar condition. He commented on the look of contentment I had, all splattered and spent, and said he would want to recreate that experience. He did find one thing to be lacking and said if it were him painting me like that he'd want to cum across my body, adding his own spunk to complete the composition. I remember this and know I will soon be receiving my baptism into my new status. Baptism was his word. My happily atheistic Owner knows just how to exploit my Catholic fetish. He only mocks it gently: Anything encouraging me to kneel is mostly alright with him. My hands clench in my restraints because I want them around his erection. I want badly to serve him, make him orgasm as he'd done to me for most of the afternoon. To know what he's like when lust overtakes him. He straddles me, knees near my breasts, and grazes my mouth with his smooth cock. He's my first uncut man and I take my time shamelessly exploring with my tongue and my gaze, each chance I get. I'm fascinated by the sensuality of delicate skin where there has always been a scar. I adore how foreskin keeps his cockhead succulent, and then the sight of it slipping down as he fills with blood, like a slow seductive blink. My unseemly interest is puzzling to him, but he accepts it as another way I was a virgin to him. I tell him something inexcusable like, "Sorry! That's just really cool." And he assures me he doesn't mind indulging me with novelty. My Owner tilts his hips to enter the mouth open to suck him. I see him close his eyes before I close mine to concentrate. He moves slowly between my lips, letting me try everything I might have learned in the past to please him now. He moves deeper into my throat and handles me harsher. We leave ordinary oral sex for the forced fellatio he'd promised in one of his first messages. He's got me by the hair, nice and secure and orally fixed in place. He's using me like his property and I couldn't be happier, even when I choke slightly. I can tell he's getting close... He leaves me gasping when he pulls back to masturbate above me. I watch only out of the corner of my eye—sudden modesty interferes. I don't know if it's properly submissive to watch my Owner stroke himself, so I miss instruction in how to please him. His heavy cum falls over my tits and neck, runs down my ribs. I look up at his face, glistening with sweat and lust, a flush of pink in his cheeks—my cherub with the razor blade. He murmurs something as he touches the splash of semen in my hair. That was unintentional, he says. I don't mind and wear it with pride, hidden in my tangles. Our time is almost over. He has to return home. We begin to consider this rude interruption from reality and he undoes my restraints. My arms snap around him the instant I'm free. My mouth is raw from kissing, but I am determined to do more damage and so is he. He asks if I am ready to be marked with my new name. While he gets the blade, I surrender on my stomach like I'm awaiting a massage. My relaxed state evaporates after I feel the razor split my skin. I do my best to hold still for him, but feel a bit faint. It's not like I haven't been cutting on my own for years. He soothes me just like a doctor performing a needed procedure and does not give in to my whimpering. I never want him to stop but need for this to be over soon... too many letters, each consisting of three or four slow, straight cuts. Then he goes back over it! "I know it hurts, but I want it to be right," he says. When it's finished he takes a photo and hands me the camera so I can see it still fresh and bloody. "Possessed" in an arc over my upper back. It looks just right, the way he carved it, a part of me to meld with the other scars, birthmarks, bones. His hand is steady. I trust him. I have not cut myself since; it's for my Owner to do and after his work on my back, doing it on my own would be as useless as trying to give myself a passionate kiss. My head is spinning with the high of what's been accomplished. I submitted to my Owner as completely as I could our first time. Every subsequent visit offers a new way to submit and feel Owned, like a door I don't notice until it's time to walk through. We both knew it wasn't normal, him taking a razor to my back the first time we met, but it was something we had to do because we wanted to. I bask in the intimacy he taught me to want; being together with someone in the present moment is unusual for me, though my Owner demands it of anyone he'd possess. He cleans me with peroxide and helps me to stand. I'm on my knees again before long. I can't help myself. Steak She watched him. He moved with a brutal grace that bespoke of speed and savagery and surety, and his body- slender and tall and razor-sharp- seemed to hiss and crackle through the air, like static, like branches in storm. She wanted to go to him. Too bad about the leather cuffs that bound her ankles together. She watched from her place by the table, watched him moving back and forth in the kitchen, whistling, cooking. That smell- rich and red in the air, making her mouth water, so she had to swallow over and over as she watched- steak tonight, she thought. She watched his sensuous movment- the tender flicks of his knife that parsed meat from bone and fat from flesh, the shifting of muscle along his back as he reached for one thing or another. She wanted to help- too bad about the ribbon that bound her hands behind her back. He glanced, just for an instant, over his bare shoulder at her. He was wearing his cooking pants and nothing else, except a thin cheap ring that barely fit around his pinky. His back and chest were marked with cuts and bruises, and there was two- no, three now- days worth of stubble across his jaw. His eyes- the color of ice and the kind of fire that makes iron run like water- pierced her through the small raw wounds on her breasts, her arms and belly, scanning each like a sculptor would the most recents scores he had made on his masterpiece. She lost herself there, in his eyes, as he threw the steak onto the grill with offhand grace and moved to sit down at the table. She wanted to cry out to him and tell him what he was, what she would be, what it was between them. Too bad about that tape across her mouth. He sat down and opened his newspaper, studiously ignoring her pleading eyes. She tried to crawl to him- a part of her shocked, her, crawling, to the feet of a man!- but couldn't. She choked and gasped at the tightness there- too bad about the collar and leash that restrained her. This was what he wanted, she knew- her humiliation. Deliriously, everything of her screaming against the submission, she knew that he had it. She listened to the steak cooking and watched him. He finished the news, flipped idly through the Art section, tossed Sports over to the recycling bin. She knew he was counting in his head, timing things absolutely perfectly, making sure of everything. Her heart beat against her ribs like a precious butterfly. Desire tightened her stomach and slicked her thighs, set her back and legs quivering. She wanted to rub her legs together for the tiny spark of pleasure that that would bring- too bad about the cunningly tied spreader that kept her thighs apart. He stood up, his inner metronome ticking, and then he walked past her. Sensing a tiny error in his timing he paused by her to make it up, then reached down and gently scratched her head behind her ears. Then he walked into the kitchen. The steak was ready and he pulled it off the grill, then put it on a clean white china plate. He cut it once, quickly and efficiently, releasing a thin trickle of blood that glistened with fat and spice. He licked up the blood, watching her face and the little thrill that shot through her at the sight, and then seasoned the steak to her taste with salt. Kneeling, he slowly removed the tape from her mouth. Every inch was a spark of agony, and she desperately wanted to scream, shout, say any of the perfect things that had chased through her mind during her agonizing confinement- but in his blue eyes, everything was lost except for silence and terribly regulated lust. Gently, he cut a single bite of steak from the bone. Impaling it on his shining silver fork, he lifted it to her lips. "Eat," he said. Everything that she was quivered. She bit down, tasted the perfectly cooked meat, the seasoning, the precious flavor that he had preserved for her. After so long with no sensation but discomfort, the tender wetness of it almost overcame her, and her gratefulness to him overwhelmed (however briefly) the parts of her that longed to scream, scratch, tear at him for his demands and his control and his overwhelming encompassing love. "Eat," he said, holding up another tender morsel. She swallowed. Steak and BJ Day 2011 I had never heard of it. Neither had any of my girlfriends. My first exposure to "Steak and Blowjob Day" came in early March 2010. The day has changed my life. * One of my girlfriends, Sharon, has tons of boyfriends and a really active sex life, but also likes to chat. She typically chats with guys that are pretty far away (we live on the west coast), and that are much older than she is. These chat-friends are usually short-lived, but there is one, Joe, that has gone on for a couple years. Joe is in his late forties, lives on the east coast, and seems to know his way around relationships. He has been a good sounding board for her boy issues, and he helps give a guy's perspective in a safe environment. Of course, they also do some dirty chat. She is really impressed with Joe's creativity, and has used his advice several times in pleasing her boyfriends. It was probably around March 1, 2010 when Sharon called me, all excited. "I am texting with Joe, and he told my about 'Steak and BJ Day'. You won't believe this!!" She was almost breathless. "It's a payback day for Valentine's. If your guy gives up good for February 14, then on March 14 you buy him steak and suck him!! How great is that!?!?" I have to admit it sounded pretty fun. And yes, my boyfriend gave me a really nice Valentine's day, but we broke up just last week. Kinda hard to do a BJ without an available penis!! I am part of group of woman, all in mid to late twenties, that get together at least once a month to drink and mess around. Our March evening was on the 6th, the first Saturday in March, and we all gathered at our favorite bar for some pre-club drinks. Sarah was visibly excited while she waited for all 5 of the girls to arrive. She started out explaining to everyone the basics about Steak Day. And then got really intense. "Let's all of us agree to give our guys a good steak and bj day," she started. "Joe had a fun idea. First, let's each put $20 into a pot. Then, at our April get together, the one with the best bj story gets the $100 pot!" "But I don't have a boyfriend right now." I loudly lamented. They just laughed at me. "Then you won't be getting the $100 prize!" is all they said. Well, I like a challenge. And being dickless on March 6 is NOT going to stand in the way of my winning this little game. So over the next hour, while my 'friends' drank, I flirted my little heart out. Now, flirting is pretty easy for me. I don't want to get cocky, but I think I am pretty good looking. I am 5'4", 110 pounds, with shoulder length sandy blonde hair. I have a nice 34c set of boobs with some really responsive nipples. But my best feature is my butt. Nicely shaped and firm, and that night I had this cute little skirt clinging to my body. So, getting a guy's attention was not hard at all!! In that short 60 minutes of flirting, I was able to get 4 phone numbers, and gave mine out another 5 times. I have never done anything like this before, but there is a $100 prize at stake!! "So any of your targets boyfriend material?? Sarah asked. "You'll just have to wait until our April meeting to find out," I said coyly. We finished up our drinks and went out clubbing. Sadly, no more good targets at the club. The next day I was a bit hung-over, but woke to the sound of my answering machine. "Hey there, this is Mike, I met you last night and thought you were great. I would really enjoy meeting up with you sometime. You can reach me.." And not more than 10 minutes later Steve called, leaving an almost identical message. Of the four numbers I got, Dan and Tom were really cute so I called them. They did not answer, so I left messages for them. I did call back Mike and Steve, and had a great call with both of them. However, Mike was traveling for the whole week, and Steve was already busy on March 14. But, there names definitely went into my "keeper" list!! It wasn't until Monday lunchtime that I heard from Dan. It was a great call. Really sweet, interesting, smart, and respectful. His talking made me remember his really nice smile and nice shoulders. He was also available for a pre-date yet this week, and had no plans for the 14th. So, I had my first real candidate. That night, I heard from Tom. Tom was great, too, but he was just a little to pushy. Like he lacked self-confidence. He went on my "keeper" list, too, but my sights were on Dan at this point. I called Dan back, and we set a dinner date for Thursday evening at a little Greek place near my house. All week long I had to endure the trash talking texts from my girlfriends. "Have fun on Steak and Jill-off Day"; "2011 will be your year"; "Here's a link on how to give a good bj, just in case you forget how to do it"; and "I could let you use a few inches of Jerry's penis, he has plenty extra." But these just heighted my resolve. It seemed to take forever for Thursday to come, and for work to end. I went home and took a shower, and got ready for my early date with Dan. Picking my outfit was a real dilemma. Dan was going to be my only shot at Steak Day, so I wanted to really impress him, but I didn't want to come across too slutty. After trying on several things, I finally settled on a pair of slightly worn jeans. They had a nice casual look to them, and fit great across my butt. Paired with my platform pumps, they made my legs look long and shapely. I really like these jeans, as they laid tight against my flat stomach, and fit tightly on my upper legs, leaving a sexy little space between my legs when I stood. I decided on a simple form-fitting white t-style shirt, and a crisp blue cotton short-sleeve shirt. I only buttoned the bottom couple of buttons, leaving the top fully open. The t-shirt stretched tightly over my boobs, letting the colorful design on my bra show through subtly. It let him see the nice shape of my breasts, without exposing any cleavage or too much skin. A set of gold necklaces, a wrist chain, some dangling earrings, and I was all set. Dan was waiting for me at the restraint door. My heart skipped a beat as I saw him standing in the dimming light of the sunset. He was way better looking than even I remember. Probably just over 6 feet tall, athletic build, and a smile that warmed me all the way through. He was dressed just like I was: nice jeans and a cotton shirt. This looked like it was going to be a nice date. The date went better than I ever could have expected. He was so sweet. And we had everything in common. He really was a guy that I would want to explore a long-term relationship with, and thought about maybe changing my plans to slow things down with him. But, the girls trash-talked me, and my only chance of winning was sitting at my table. "Dan, I've so enjoyed tonight. This might be a little forward, but on our call I asked if you were available for Sunday night. Would you still be available to go out?" I asked. "It's been a great night. I'd love to see you again. I'm so glad you asked," he replied sincerely. "Well, there's a couple things I have to confess about Sunday," I started slowly. "It's not a group date, but several of my girlfriends are having a bet about Sunday, and it involves being with a boy." His eyes grow a bit wider. But he is silent. "You know about Valentine's Day on February 14," I continued. "And March 14 is a day for a boy version of Valentine's Day. A day to make your guy feel good. So, all my girlfriends agreed to celebrate the day with their boyfriends." "Well that sounds really nice," Dan said. But why the hurry for you to find a date? It's no big deal if you missed one year." "OK. Here's the deal. We all put $20 into a pot, and the one that has the best story from the night win's the pot," I confess. "And I am very competitive and want to win." "So how do I fit in?" he asks. "I am not in a relationship, so I need a boy for Sunday," I said sheepishly. "I had expected to find someone I liked and go out Sunday, but I find myself really interested in you. I don't want the aggressiveness of this to turn you off about having a longer term relationship with me." "How could celebrating 'man's Valentine's Day' possible turn me off from you?" he asked. "The holiday is pretty self-explanatory: Its called Steak and Blowjob Day," I blurted out. I had never experienced this before. But this really was a 'jaw-dropping' moment for Dan. He tried to speak, but it just came out garbled. His look of disbelief and shock was complete. We had been having such a nice, pleasant, conservative evening. And now I had just offered to give him a blowjob. Totally out of the blue. Since he couldn't speak, I decided to continue digging my hole. "It will be a really fun night. You can pick me up about 6, and we can head to the steak house. We'll have a couple drinks, and the reservation is for 7. It's a pretty slow place, so I figure we'll be out by 8:30." I said very matter-of-factly. "Then back to my place for your bj, and you should be heading home in plenty of time to get a good night's sleep for work." The calmness in my voice and presentation was just opposite of what I felt inside. His look of shock softened as I spoke, and a hint of his smile returned. "I'll pick you up at 7," he said with a full smile now. "I am so glad I met you." We gave a little hug goodnight, and part ways. As we walked away from each other, we both turned around at the same time to look at each other one last time. Big time keeper, this one. Sunday finally came around, and I got ready to celebrate Steak Day with Dan. I had already picked out what I was going to wear, so all I had to do was put it on. The steak place was really formal, so I selected a slinky black pleated skirt and high black heels. My legs looked so good, and the skirt flowed gracefully over my hips. I was wearing a cute pair of black boyshort panties, but that wasn't very important because Dan wouldn't be getting to them tonight. I chose an off-white silk top that was just a little see-through. I put on my thinnest off-white bra, which let just a hint of my nipples show through the blouse. I thought black pearl necklace was nice, since it was really classy, but still had the "pearl necklace" sexual connotation. I looked really good. Right a 7 my doorbell rang. I opened the door an there was Dan, looking stunning, with a big smile and a dozen roses. I could see from his reaction that he liked what he saw. I invited him in while I found a vase for the flowers. As I arranged the flowers, I could feel Dan's eyes admiring my legs and butt, not knowing if or when he would get a chance to play with them. We drove to the steak place, and had a couple drinks. He was just adorable. He tried to keep his eyes on mine, but they kept drifting down to my mouth. I could tell he was thinking about what my lips would be doing later, and trying to imagine what my throat would feel like. Of course, I didn't help much. Sucking on my finger tip a little, slipping the breadstick into my mouth, licking the wine off my lips. As we stood up to go our table, I could see a clear bulge extending from between his legs all the way down into his left pocket. It looked long, and I am pretty sure I saw the end of it bouncing a little bit. As my eyes lifted towards his, our eyes met. I know I turned red as I realized he caught me looking at his erection. Dinner was really nice. Slow. But really nice. Just a lot of talk. And a little teasing. After dinner he drove back to my house, and I unlocked the door and invited him in. As soon as he closed the door, I turned around and put my arms around his waist. We embraced and kissed gently. "What is that?" he asked as we finished our first kiss. He was motioning to one of my lounge chairs. "You will always remember that chair as the place you got your best blowjob," I said softly. "I've set it up with a towel on the chair, some pillows so I can kneel along time, and a moist towel in case we spill anything." "Oh my god!" is all he could say. "I can't believe this is happening." I began unbuttoning his shirt, starting at the top. With each button I reached in and ran my fingers across his nipples. When his shirt was fully open, I lowered my mouth to a nipple, and licked and sucked gently. And then moved to the other nipple. He groaned softly, and had his hands moving slowly on my stomach, inching toward my breasts. "Tonight I do all the touching," I said coyly as I moved his hand off my breast. With that I reached down and slid my hand up and down his zipper, finding the little clasp. I put the clasp between my fingers, and pulled it all the way down, opening the front of his pants. I unbuttoned them as well, and the pants loosened and fell to the floor. "Kick you pants and shoes off." I instructed as I pulled him to me to kiss. As we kissed I heard his pants and shoes land a couple feet away. I let my eyes drop to look at his underwear, and my hands both dropped to cup his groin. As I held him, his hardness pulsated in my hand, and I felt an ache of desire grow deep inside me. "Let's get you in the chair," I said as I moved him and gently pushed him into it, letting him rest heavily onto the deep cushion. I stood in front of him, opening my blouse fully, and letting it float gracefully to the floor. "I don't want to stain this, either." I said, while stepping out of my skirt. His underwear bounced with excitement as his eyes moved up and down my body. In just my bra, panties, and heels, it was almost more than he could take. I leaned over from the waist, grabbing the sides of his underwear, and began tugging them down. He immediately raised his hips, and the underwear began to slip off. As I move his shorts down, more and more of his shaft became exposed. There seemed to be no end to it. Inch after inch appeared, and still there was more hidden. Finally I could see the reddish hue of his rim as it passed his elastic band, and finally I released his penis. It sprang up as if alive and celebrating its freedom. Jumping side to side, and enjoying the openness. I pulled his shorts completely off, and then stood up to see his naked body. He was just beautiful. Broad shoulders, flat stomach, and toned tanned legs. But his penis was magnificent. It must have been at least 8 inches long, and just the slightest bend to the left. He was circumcised, with a wide purplish rim separating the shaft from the head. The top of the head was shiny, most likely from his precum. We stared at each other in silence. Letting our lust grow. The dull ache deep inside was now a steady pounding between my legs. My tension grew as I imagined how his penis would make me feel. Without saying a word, I reached behind me and undid my bra, and threw it to one side. Dan gasped as my breasts fell out, with my firm nipples pointing skyward. "You are so beautiful," he sighed with conviction. His conviction was reinforced by the large drop of precum sliding down his head. I stepped closer to him, and put my hands on his knees, and pushed them wide apart. My hair brushed against his thighs and balls as I slowly dropped to my knees. My eyes kept on his, until my knees were finally rested on the pillows I had placed in front of the chair. "Sit back and watch this." I said as my hand pressed his penis against his stomach, and my mouth slid toward his testicles. He just moaned as he settled back into the chair. I gently kissed all around his balls, pulling just a little of the wrinkled skin into my mouth. I started licking them all over, letting my tongue press hard into each ball. I pulled each ball into my lips, sucking it deep into my mouth. I release his balls, and let my hand slide up his shaft so my fingers were just pushing on his head. Starting at the top of his balls, I slowly kissed my way up his shaft, stopping just under the rim. I worked up and down in this way several times. He was so turned on that I could see his precum dripping onto his stomach, and his penis was vibrating with anticipation. "Please suck it," he begged in a pathetic whimper. "Not yet," I said calmly. "Now watch this." I let his penis free, and it snapped to stand straight up. I don't think I have ever seen a penis so hard before. It was so stiff I couldn't make a dent in it with my finger, and the skin was so tight on the shaft that it was shiny. As it stood there, it rock back and forth in time with his heart beat. My pussy was throbbing as I admired it. Over the 10 years I have been sexually active I have been with maybe 8 guys, have sucked on a dick probably more than 2000 times, and gave at least 500 full-on blowjobs. But yet, looking at Dan's huge stick, I was not sure I could do this. First, it was really big around. Getting my lips over that rim was going to be a challenge. Second, it was really long. There was no way even half of it was going in. Finally, most dicks, even when hard, have a little give to them, letting them bend just a bit as they go into my mouth. Dan's dick was like a baseball bat. As I contemplated how I was going to do this, his little opening started to glisten as a new drop of precum appeared. I squeezed my thumb and forefinger at the base of his penis, and lifted upward on his shaft. As I pulled up, the drop grew, and was soon balanced perilously on his tip. I looked into his eyes, and then back to the drop, and lowered my face toward it. As I neared, I stuck out my tongue, and let the tip touch the top of the drop. A little bit of the fluid jumped to my tongue, and I slowly lifted up. A tiny silver strand waved between my tongue and his dick, which finally broke. I looked into his eyes, wide with lust, and let him watch as I licked his precum into my mouth. I pulled up another big glistening drop, and I lowered back to his penis, putting my mouth just over his opening and the drop. I gently sucked in the drop, and then slowly increased the suction. He moaned deeply as i pulled the drops from his shaft, the sweet taste of precum filling my senses. After I sucked it all out, I lifted up. "Are you ready for you Steakday sucking?" I asked. "God yes," he moaned. "Well, here we go. You can let this last as long as you want," I said. "Just let me know a couple seconds before you pop so I can get ready. Provided this big thing fits in me, I want you to cum in my mouth." With that I put my mouth on his head, and began to lower my lips over him. The head was stiff and shiny, and seemed to go on forever. Finally I got past the widest part, and my lips fell across the rim. He groaned and gave out a muted "fuck" as my lips squeezed against the sensitive underside of the rim. I paused, and let my tongue make tight hard circles on that really sensitive spot at the base of the head (the frenulum?). I pulled him as deep as I could, and sucked hard to draw his head tight into my cheeks. After a few slow strokes to get comfortable with his size, I settled into a steady rhythmic motion, pulling my mouth off him, making a little popping noise. And then sucking him hard and as deep as I could. I let one hand follow along with my mouth, stroking the upper part of his shaft and head, while my other hand moved along the lower half of the shaft and his balls. As I sucked it seems his penis got even bigger and harder. Even though he stretched my mouth to its limit, I got so turned on by his hardness and lust. He was moaning steadily and deeply as I worked on him, and his hips started moving in time to my strokes. His hands instinctively moved to the sides of my head, with his fingers at the base of my head. He was gently pulling my face into him with every stroke, and I could feel him struggling not to pull too hard. I really love to get a guy off with my mouth. It feels so empowering to give him so much pleasure. While giving a blowjob I love to take a guy to the point where he loses control. Where lust and his need to release shut down his brain and his body takes over. It's where every cell in his body is working to get to orgasm, to make it as intense as possible. It's that thing that lives deep inside every man: the need to dominate, to procreate, to take the female. It's that raw alpha male, released from tame society for just a few moments to make sure his sperm hit the mark. I love the aggression, the sounds, the feeling of being taken. I can tell he's in this zone from his fast and uncontrolled breathing; from the way he starts to thrust into my face and use his hands to position my mouth for maximum pleasure; the way he moans with each thrust; and the way his taste changes and intensifies. It feels so good knowing I have aroused the animal in him. For most of a blowjob, I control the timing, I control the pace. I control him. But for these last moments I am there at the mercy of his penis. There is no stopping, no teasing, no romance. My mouth is there to finish the job, and to do it on his terms. Steak and BJ Day 2011 A few more thrusts into my mouth and he mutters a strained "I am cumming!" He releases my head, his hips fall into the chair, and his breathing stops. For a moment the only sound is my slurping as I apply the last couple strokes to his penis. His hips lurk and he lets out an un-human groan. My mouth is sealed around his head, and I feel a hard hot splash at the back of my throat. I let up on my suction, and let my mouth move gently up and down, feeling his dick pulsate each time he shoots. He let out at least a dozen spurts until he finally sat limply back, having emptied all his precious juice into me. I pulled my mouth off him, holding his huge load in my mouth. I reached over and picked up my hand towel, and put it under my chin. I tilted forward, and let most of his cum seep from my mouth. The last bit, though, I let linger on my lips, and licked it back into my mouth and swallowed. He looked totally spent and satisfied. It had been a good blowjob. I stood up, bent over, and gave his penis a gently kiss. And then kissed him deep and long. "Thanks for letting m blow you." I said. "I think I will win the bet!" We talked for a bit, and he went home. That was well over a year ago, and we have been dating ever since. He is such a great guy, and we have the most amazing time together. And yes, the sex is great! In fact, we celebrated Steak Day again this year, and hope to every year. This year he wanted to stay home and bbq his own steak, but I took good care of his penis. It was great that Steak Day was on a Sunday this year. We made a whole day of it. We slept in a bit, and when he stepped into the shower I stripped down and put on some red kneepads I bought online. I opened the shower door, all naked except for the kneepads. His jaw actually dropped again, and his dick went from limp to rock hard in about 3 seconds. I turned him so his back was under the water, then dropped to my knees and sucked him off. Since I was in the shower, I pulled his dick out at the last moment and let him shoot all over my face and hair, which is a huge fantasy of his. Later, we went to a movie and I sucked him off there, too, and got to show off my silent swallowing skills! And then after the bbq, I sat him back in the same sucking chair, and blew him again. He had a good day. Oh, and yes, I won the bet. But there was some stiff competition. One of the girls had never given a blow job before, so gave her first. Another tied up her guy and sucked him using whipped cream and chocolate sauce, and another girl's boy got called to work, so she ended up sucking him in the parking lot of the steak house. But, my having to find a guy in just a few days, and doing the full Steak Day with him on our first date, was still the winner.