0 comments/ 11867 views/ 6 favorites Unconditional Surrender By: sisifo Sometime after our new co-worker arrived at the office we started attending the house she rented in the neighborhood. The company headquarters sent her to fix some image problems created by the previous management and she was supposed to stay in the local branch for a few months, until her work was completed. Andrea is an unmarried woman in her early forties, much on the liberated executive type, with no evident ties. Her arrival set off a big commotion in the office as she gets everything it takes to arouse the male gender and never hesitates to use these attributes to maintain men orderly and disciplined around her. And she certainly knows how to do it effectively. She is a gorgeous brunette with a slender figure, wearing high heels and suggestive clothes, which enhance her curvaceous body, always dressing with impeccable taste. She has a seductive somewhat dominant attitude and a velvety hoarse and warm voice that leaves no man indifferent. After some time in the office, our relationship was deepening and we started to attend her house, on the pretext of weekend dinners, birthday parties or any other excuse. As we were getting at ease with each other, the conversations typically became refined and stimulating, as the mood got relaxed. It was not uncommon that the issues under discussion went beyond the threshold of intimacy of the participants, occasionally evolving to teasing innuendo. During one of our most recent visits, the chat grew into hotter topics, as usually happened after a few drinks. My eyes alternated between Andrea's gorgeous cleavage and her fabulous thighs, in a hypnotic movement that surely granted me a stupid look. She was wearing a skin-tight gray sweater that brought out the charming swell of her breasts. And even if there was a bra holding them, which was the case (the seamless bra line was quite obvious), we could clearly notice the little bumps of her nipples, poking against the fabric. The black body-hugging skirt was sliding up, inch by inch, each time she shifted and crossed her shapely legs, revealing a bit more of flesh and allowing a glimpse at the black lace garters on the top of the stockings. After a while, I was having serious trouble trying to conceal a ridiculous hard-on that began to form as the conversation progressed, becoming so evident that everyone would eventually notice. I was so embarrassed that I used the most ordinary excuse to leave the room, as fast as I could, and find a way to appease the wicked urge. I instinctively walked to the bathroom, without a hint of how to ease the unwanted hard-on, considering that the most obvious way out seemed odd, at the moment. As I locked in, I felt a hurried need to relieve the increasing strain I brought from the living room, where I believe everybody should be now making playful remarks about the situation, which put me in an unpleasant mood. In the privacy of the bathroom, however, a rewarding wank started to seem like a good way to get the urgent relief I needed so badly. Maybe I could even take an extra advantage of the therapy and burn up some of the booze that was blurring my judgment and disabling my self-control. On impulse I looked for something I could use to boost my wank session and the laundry basket came up, like a revelation. The anticipation of finding any piece of Andrea's lingerie in the basket turned the whole thing in an exhilarating deed and made me shudder: an emergency incident was about to become a devout experience. Paradise could be just ahead. And... yes, my wish came true: there was a set of white panties and a half-cup bra. Just perfect: embroidered lace on soft white cotton. I couldn't have asked for anything better. My heart rate suddenly sped up as I reclaimed the unexpected award. I was in bliss. By then, I had already lost the slightest concern about my return to the living room, where my host and the other guests would be likely to make teasing speculations about my delay. Nothing mattered to me anymore. I felt blissful and aware that I was on the verge of a unique and transcendent experience, a male celebration of female supremacy, ecstatic before her charms, grateful for her gift, blessed by her vicinity, surrendered unconditionally to her will, in a worship ritual by way of a major symbol of her womanliness and erotic essence: her lingerie. My penis pulled off an uncommon vigor as I picked up the bra from the laundry basket, growing madly under my pants, challenging the fabric integrity, already stretched to its limit. My mind went on displaying recurrent images of Andrea's breasts, bulging under the tight sweater, her nipples poking beneath the bra and the jersey cloth, defying the resistance of both. I devotedly took the bra to my nose, breathed in and instantly recognized the delicate scent of her body, a whiff so dear to me. Then, I gently wrapped my penis in the bra straps and began to squeeze it slightly by pulling the ends, the glans restless inside one of the cups, smoothly rubbing it against the soft fabric. Meanwhile, I took the panties from the hamper and started to wet the gusset with my tongue, licking it gently in long and slow strokes, at first, and sucking it eagerly, later on, tasting the flavors let loose by the moisture as the fabric got drenched and began to release the exquisite essence of the juices gathered there, a luscious blend of vaginal lubricant and urine, a subtle and unique combination of genius. The musky scent and the bittersweet flavor seemed to me like the quintessence of delight, the ultimate indulgence. That was paradise. So I had this sudden vision of Andrea entering the bathroom, at this very moment, (how I wished it was for real!...) catching me red-handed and oblivious, totally helpless and unable to respond, profaning her intimacy without a shred of excuse or regret, longing for the most ruthless punishment I could deserve. I was staging my ultimate fantasy. These thoughts may have rushed the final ecstasy and, suddenly, a violent shiver ran through my body and all the craving was focused in one single spot: my swollen penis, almost aching, the shining red glans throbbing, about to burst, which I kept frantically rubbing in harsh strokes, against the silky fabric of the bra cup. Every muscle in my body stiffened while a massive orgasm began to grow in my balls. My eyes rolled up in their sockets when, finally, my cock burst, spitting out a few spurts of sperm that flooded the bra cup, as I finally swallowed the precious blend of delicate flavors stored in my mouth, drained from the panties during the worship ritual. I came down to earth with a slight knock on the bathroom door and Andrea's voice whispering from the outside: - Still jerking off? Take your time! Our friends have already left. You can use my dirty underwear but make sure you clean your mess in the end, ok? If you need some Kleenex, or something to clean up with, you can find it in the top shelf of the cabinet. I was appalled. Was it that obvious that I needed a wank so desperately? Where the hell would I find the guts to get out of the bathroom and face her, after this? At this point she must be thinking I'm a freak. And she's right! What kind of weirdo goes to his friend's home and locks himself in the bathroom masturbating to her bra? What kind of pervert will she take me for? After a few seconds she insisted, trying to make me comfortable: - Don't worry, ok? I totally understand your rush. I'm not innocent. I can easily tell a masturbator when I see one. It's no big deal. I'm used to it, believe me, she said, in a mockery tone. I was completely embarrassed and having serious trouble to find the right words to deal with the awkward situation. I was speechless. But, in a strange way, I felt invaded by an odd sensation of intimacy with her, as it never happened before nor I would imagine possible. In fact, I always thought of her as someone unattainable who would never see me as worthy of her sexual benefits. Not in a million years. I wouldn't dare to imagine her as a sexual partner, even in my wildest dreams. She was definitely out of my league. - Come out when you're ready, she insisted. I guess we must take care of this tiny weakness of yours. I think you're becoming addicted to your little habit, aren't you? We must do something about it, she said, giving a little laugh. I rushed out of the bathroom the minute I could, after putting back her lingerie in a hurry. I felt in a state of deep humiliation but, strangely, this was turning into a very rewarding feeling. I was taking an immense gratification from the humiliation I was subjected to. And this was completely new to me. When I returned to the living room she was already alone and waiting for me with a roguish smile. She winked at me while pointing the chair in front of her, telling me to sit. - Don't take it the wrong way! It was just a prank. If you must know, it was my idea to tease you. We agreed that I'd give you a generous view of my breasts and let my skirt rise far beyond my knees. Soon we were taking bets on how long would you be able to hold out before giving in to the urge of rubbing one off. - You were taking bets? I asked outraged. - Yes. I hope you don't get mad. I'm good with it and trust you feel at ease, too. Honestly! - You knew I was going to? I blurted out, incredulously. - You're kidding, right? Nobody in the room had any doubt about it. You behave like a regular masturbator. We could drown in your drool when you started to play dumb, staring at me. You don't believe, for sure, that your getaways to the bathroom will pass unnoticed, right? She mocked. I was devastated. Where would I find the nerve to appear before my friends after this humiliation? I felt mortified. - I'm so sorry, I muttered in absolute despair. - Snap out of it. In fact I had already wagered with them about me being probably the most "tributed" person among our friends. - What do you mean? I don't get it! I said, uncomfortable. - You don't pretend being the only person to masturbate thinking about me, do you? How do you think I manage to spot a masturbator, so easily? I spend my days doing it, for my sins. Sometimes I wish a real man could show up from among all you pathetic wankers, once and for all. My shame grew as she kept on. She was now very upset. The sense of flattery had been replaced by contempt, as she regretted the lack of manhood around her. - There are some advantages you must notice: an idolater is willing to do anything to please the object of his worship: absolute submission, total surrender, far beyond the mere sexual satisfaction. Does it mean anything to you? - It depends on how desperately I crave for a real cock inside me, she retorted harshly. I'm fed-up with platonic devoted fans, useless to satisfy my needs. Let's be honest: you never really wanted to fuck me, did you? You just expect to seize an everyday bra or a pair of panties and jerk off, the first chance you get. That's how high your expectations rise, as far as I'm concerned, right? I'm not supposed to be a sex partner but just your fetish supplier, isn't that it? - No. That's not just it. It's the humiliation that comes along, which turns me on, enormously. It's the common feeling of not being worthy of your benefits, always granted to others, providing delights never consented to me. I got used to pull satisfaction out of your lack of interest. Your coldness burns me and I learned to take an extreme pleasure out of that indifference, I stated. - But that's insane. No one can survive that without serious damage to his sexual life. I refuse to be an accessory to that, she remarked, aggravated. - But that's exactly what it is. That's the only thing that is not under your control: my decision to submit to you, devotedly and unconditionally. That's where I find pure bliss. - What the fuck! Why can't you behave like any other normal guy? Fancy me and try to get me into the sack, as any other horny male would do? - Let's face it, Andrea! You're way out of my reach. How do you expect me to even dare? Would you ever let me touch you? And I'm not complaining because I'm fully aware that I don't deserve more than wish for what I'll never get. Fondle your tempting breasts? Caress your thighs or kiss you between your legs? You'd never allow it, no matter how I beg, although you keep teasing me all the time. So, what's left for me? Fantasize over you, hold on to that thought and masturbate to it, like crazy, every time I get the chance. Would you blame me for doing everything in my power to make my fantasy as real as possible? Can you imagine something higher than grab your bra and bring it into play to arouse my vision of me playing your breasts? Or suck your worn panties and imagine I'm licking your cunt? Suddenly, her expression became roguish. She stopped her angry speech and asked, point-blank: - And exactly how far would you be willing to go with me? I may -- just may! -- consider the possibility, you know? Now I'm making it just depend on your guts. I put it in your hands, entirely. Just how much would you dare? She asked with a sudden interest. At this time, curiosity overcame the resentment and her concern became obvious. Somehow, she had been seized by the underlying thrill of becoming the owner of my will, an unexpected elation ensuing from the idea of an absolute supremacy over someone who accepts unconditionally surrender to her domination. And the expression on her face made the emotion appear so clearly. Maybe this was the right opportunity for taking all risks. This could be the moment to bet everything, despite the remote likelihood of realizing my fantasy. It was the time to move forward, decisively. - I'll go willingly, just as far as you demand. Whatever you fancy, I'll do it without hesitation, I stated with assent. - Somehow I don't think so. I can be very creative, you know? I'm a moody person, as you well know. Are you sure you want to go on with this? She asked with a naughty accent. - As you well know, a submissive person is able to handle all this with absolute acceptance, which is, incidentally, the primary source of sexual gratification, I declared with total conviction. - Very well! I'm convinced. Let me think of something truly bizarre. Would you, by any chance, let me pee on you? - You don't ask for permission. You command. You require that I'm there for you, whenever you feel like it, taking your pee all over me and be grateful for that. In fact, I'll do better than that: I will take it in my mouth and drink it with the utmost pleasure to the last drop. - Holy shit! You can't be serious, right? I was just kidding; I suggested the weirdest thing that came into my mind but never thought that you would take it seriously. Not in a million years. Are you really serious about that crazy idea of me peeing on you? I'll be damned! And you must be out of your mind. - Dead serious. Take my word for it. I can prove it to you right now. Just say it. - This can't be true. I don't believe this is happening to me. Would you, really? - Try me! I dared. And saying this, I was trembling, from head to toe, facing at last the chance to carry out the fantasy I cherished for so many years. I felt a little dizzy, like I was outside myself looking at the staging that was about to be held. I couldn't believe what was happening. - Now, there's something I didn't expect from you. Are you really into that kind of kinky stuff or are you just trying to make an impression? I confess I couldn't see you as a common pervert, degrading yourself in exchange for brief satisfaction. Do you really fancy abuse and humiliation? - That's not it, I mumbled in shame. I yearn for being dominated by you and feel capable of submitting to your whims, no matter how odd they may be. Total surrender, that's what grants supreme pleasure to me. - But... being peed on? Drinking wee? I'm appalled! I just suggested something that came to my mind and I believe that would be unacceptable to you, something you would absolutely refuse to do. I'm shocked! - You didn't really get it, did you? It doesn't matter. It's my benefit if you're willing to share something so personal with me. It's your pee we're talking about, something that comes out of your dearest insides, which I cherish so much. You're a princess and it's my privilege if you let me prove my devotion to you. It may seem you're abusing me but we'll both know, in our hearts, I'm being granted your deepest intimacy. Indulge me. Honor me, please, I beg you. The earlier expression of flattery returned to her face. She was clearly impressed and pleased with the honesty of my yield. It was noticeable the whirlwind of thoughts crossing her mind. At that very moment she was conquered by the world of possibilities unleashed by that confession. She finally realized my irrevocable bound to any wish that she could devise and let herself intoxicate, for a moment, with this unexpected feeling of absolute power over someone's will. Without saying a word, Andrea pointed out the kitchen and ordered me to strip. Then she handed me a white rug and told me to lay it on the kitchen floor. Obeying her instructions, I started to undress and headed to the designated place, where -- all led to believe -- I was about to take my first golden shower. My hands were shaking so much that simple tasks like unbutton my shirt or open the zipper of my jeans became almost impossible. When I finally managed to pull down my pants, she couldn't help noticing the raging hard-on under my briefs. - I really can't believe it. How can you be in that state of arousal, only a few minutes after you jerked off? How is it possible? Didn't you come when you took that wank in the bathroom, just a while ago? Honestly! You turned out to be quite a masturbator! Leave your briefs on. I want to check when your cock will tear the fabric, she said in a playful manner. At this stage I could hardly hold the foretold outburst. It seemed I was returning to my boyhood when I could easily reach orgasm without touching my cock. It has been quite a while since I wasn't that horny. Lying on the carpet, as instructed, my position unveiled a huge erection that made my briefs look like a tent, with a stiff pole stretching the cloth. Strained against the fabric, the throbbing head of my cock started to leak an unusual quantity of precum and a transparent stain spread throughout my briefs, revealing the purple color of my glans about to burst, underneath. The gooey stuff ran through the fabric and gathered in both groins, making small puddles. Never before -- nor even in my wildest jerk off sessions -- had I been able to produce such a huge amount of that tasty precum I use to lick from my fingers while I masturbate. She didn't miss a single detail of what was going on, quietly lying back in a big chair, by the fire. Lazily, Andrea started to give a slight massage on her crotch, while drinking a large glass of orange juice. As if she could read my thoughts, she ordered: - Get rid of that filthy goo, will you? I want you to remove all that slime from your underpants -- and your groins, I believe -- and lick it all from your fingers. I guess she was getting the hang of it, fast. The first try was very convincing. I hurried up to accomplish her command, concealing my great pleasure in fulfilling the order, contrary to what she expected. I wish I had so much precum available during my regular masturbation sessions. Unconditional Surrender - Gross! That's totally disgusting! How is it possible for you to do it that easily? Unbelievable, she exclaimed, sickened. I'm starting to believe you're being honest in your pledge to drink my pee. - You can bet your life on it, I asserted. This is just the appetizer, I said, continuing to lick my fingers in great delight, sipping the transparent slime that oozed through them. Would you care for a bit? - All right, then. Let's go on with it. Now you got me really interested. For the first time I sensed a certain hesitation on her initial rejection attitude and it looked like she finally managed to find a challenge in my proposal. And maybe she was excited about the idea. - You'll lick my pussy, in the end, ok? It must be spotless after all the mess that you'll make me do, right? She asked with a skeptical tone in her voice and the expression of someone still incredulous about what was about to happen. - It will be my benefit. I promise you'll remain clean and tidy, after the whole celebration. - Oh my God, I'm afraid I can't do this. I don't know if I can go through with this lunacy. You're completely mad... and I'm no better. - Once you've started you won't want it to end. Trust me; you'll feel so thrilled abusing me. Just think how much fun. Having said that, I instructed her to get up and come to me, encouraging her to take the action she should perform. She was noticeably more nervous than I, hesitating as she walked towards me. - How do you want me to do it? Should I stay standing above you or squatting over your head? - I'm not to be the one giving the instructions, here. You must do it as you feel more comfortable, in the most rewarding way. You're supposed to have fun with this, remember? My role here is to fulfill your needs, handle your urges without complaining and feel happy about it. My only wish -- if I'm entitled to one -- is that you look straight to my face while you do it. Oh, it's true! There's one last feature: I also need you to work on your aim, ok? I added, laughing. She smiled, a bit restless, and began to undress. She started with the skirt, which slowly slipped to the floor, disclosing her slender and shapely legs, and then the sweater, unveiling the rest of her curvaceous body, her magnificent perky breasts. Soon she was only in her panties and bra, keeping the black stockings and the garter belt. For the time being, I hoped. She was wearing a white seamless t-shirt bra, with foam-lined cups, and matching white cotton panties, seeming very comfortable. Despite the missing action my erection remained unchanged the whole time we were chatting, raging against my briefs. My natural lubricant, which continued to leak, had completely soaked the side bands of my underpants and the carpet on the floor where I was lying. - It never crossed my mind taking part in such a weird situation, she insisted. I must be crazy doing this! Saying this she stood up above my chest, facing me, with her legs apart and my body between them, providing an unbelievable view of her gorgeous body which extended above me. From my watching angle I had this great sight of her crotch and the white cotton strip between her legs, the soft stand of her beloved cunt, the very object of worship I celebrated, a while ago, in her bathroom. - You must be desperate, to submit yourself willingly to this ordeal, exposing yourself to this kind of humiliation, she still vented. - There's nothing for me to agree with. I was the one who proposed it to you, in the first place, remember? I'm doing it incited by an unrestricted urge to adore you... and driven by extreme lust, I must admit. And my will -- or, rather, the lack of it -- has nothing to do with it. During countless seconds, the smooth fabric of her panties remained spotless and nothing really exciting was happening down there. I could see an effort expression on her face, followed by a slight annoyance look, due to the unsuccessful tries. - Take your time, I advised. It's not worth putting too much strain on the attempt. Let it run smoothly. Let it flow easily. It's going to happen as soon as your anxiety disappears. And so there it was, at last. A small wet spot started to spread out through the white strip but stopped before it was drenched, leaving only a slight dampness in her inner thighs, by the white stripe borders. After a while, a sudden relief finally lit up Andrea's face. I guess she finally reached her balance point: the long awaited wonder was about to happen. I was obsessed with the next squirt, which I believed was imminent, and anxiously hoping it would be plentiful enough to drench the fabric of her panties and start to drip. I was eager to have a fair excuse to put my tongue and lips to good use, licking her legs and trying to catch the first drips that oozed. I didn't have to wait long. A few moments later, a stronger spurt came out, flooding the fabric underneath her pussy, which hasn't been able to stem the warm golden flow and sprinkled my chest and chin. Finally I was given the blessing of tasting her by licking the few drops that fell near my mouth, which I did in total bliss. - To the mouth, please, I begged desperately. Aim to the mouth. I slid my body down a little more, just when the pee gush stopped. Before my distress, Andrea assured me that the next spurt would hit the eager target, as I yearned for. - I believe I'm getting control over my pee stream, she promised. Your devoted persistence will be rewarded, next time. And, as expected, I didn't have to wait long for the next burst. Using two fingers, she pulled the gusset of her panties aside, leaving that gorgeous pink fountain in plain sight. This time, the long-awaited spurt hit me fairly straight in the mouth. I was heavily committed to fulfill my promise and I tried not to waste a single drop but was caught by surprise by the strong stream (which made me gargle a bit, at first), having some difficulty to gulp it all down. But it only took a moment to pull myself together, however, striving to drink all the pee I could take, in large gulps. The rush to swallow wouldn't let me enjoy its taste, in the first mouthfuls. For the first time since we started, her face was glowing and her initial expression of disgust suddenly turned into a look of sheer delight, while she witnessed my efforts not to choke on that heavy torrent, flowing so copiously that I could hardly drain it. Three more spurts would follow, plentiful and warm, each more accurate than the preceding one. Needless to say I was overjoyed with the strong-tasting flavor, the stout aroma and the soothing warmth of this magnificent treat. By the time of the second squirt I couldn't hold back my impending orgasm any longer and ejaculated abundantly, aroused to ecstasy just by the warmth of her pee soaking my underpants, no hands involved. Two strong squirts of sperm went across my briefs and slid down through the wet tissue, mixing with Andrea's precious stream. I was all worn out, my arms and legs shaking and aching and a strong salty taste in my mouth. The long-awaited experience had by far exceeded my best expectations. My only concern was now to realize what would be Andrea's verdict about this routine. Would she be willing to give it continuity and, maybe, turn it into a ritual? As to me, I'd sell my soul just to be granted one more single session like this one. When we finished, without saying a word, she took off her garter belt and stockings and undressed the soaking wet panties, dropped them on my chest and squatted over my head, placing her crotch right above my mouth. I realized that the time had come to carry out my part of the pledge: I should now clean her pussy. I restlessly searched for her clit with my tongue, having no trouble finding it, so swollen it was. I pressed her clit again and again, with my tongue, alternating small licks with quick sucks. Soon she started to moan heavily, swinging her pussy over my mouth, adjusting the pace to the increasing point of excitement, taking the highest achievable pleasure from the tongue rubbing and the lip sucking. A few moments later she came, releasing a long squirt, which I sipped eagerly to the very last drop. It tasted rather different, with a bittersweet flavor, musky aroma and a thicker texture. When we were done, she stood up and headed for the bathroom, saying she would shower. I humbly asked her to let me watch and she nodded. I got up, dripping, and followed her to the bathroom. The bath zone has two bordering spaces: a shower compartment, inside a clear glass cabin, and a round bath, at the other end, where I sat while she took her shower. I begged her to let me watch while she bathed, to which she consented on one condition: I had to jerk-off once more, until orgasm. For the third time in less than two hours I was supposed to ejaculate once more. Fearing not having anything left to give, I still tried to argue with my ripe age but she insisted on seeing everything I got, claiming that this was no challenge for rookies. - No mercy, old man! This is your fantasy, right? Jerk it off for me, while I watch you doing it. It's not my fault that you have cum just like a little boy who stares to his first wet cunt for the first time, right? A veteran daily wanker, with almost fifty years of practice, turned into a sixty year old premature ejaculator? I don't think so! You begged for domination and abuse, right? Well, here's your chance. I demand watching you jerking off for me, right now, until you cum. Or fail trying to. I agreed, as expected. Still in my underwear, soaked in her pee and my semen, I sat in the tub and prepared myself to watch the show she would certainly perform. She entered the shower cabin unhooking her bra -- which she never took off from the start -- and held the two cups with both hands, for a moment. She kept her tits covered, for a while, staring at me straight in the eye, with an intentionally ambiguous attitude between coy and brazen, offering and teasing. - These are really your true obsession, am I right? These two bulges of fatty tissue which apparently have the unusual power of turning a normal person into a geek, making a fool of himself before them, isn't it? Behaving as a perfect bore, drooling over them and pleading for submission to no matter what humiliation I can think of? Don't you find it pathetic? No, of course you don't. You are far too oblivious for that. Without realizing she had entered the game, I reacted to the offensive remark, regretting right after for not having stuck to my role: - This has nothing to do with normality, I retorted. Nor is it supposed to. It's all about two people pleasing themselves. The first one enjoying her sense of supremacy over the other, the second taking his bliss from the inflicted humiliation. It's that simple: a perfect match. Andrea finally dropped her bra, throwing it in my direction with a despise gesture. In a contrasting attitude, I seized it as a true object of devotion and held it next to my face, with passion, taking repeated breaths from both cups, which jealously secured the precious scent of her amazing breasts, now fully disclosed before my astonished gaze. This was a genuine premiere, for me. For the first time in my life I was contemplating those superb breasts, real monuments worthy of a goddess. She had natural breasts, somewhat larger than expected for the size of her body (maybe a 38C), wide and pointy, with highly placed light brown areolas and slightly protruding nipples. The light-tanned skin is gleaming, smooth and has a silky texture, without any wrinkles or stretch marks, despite the generous size of her breasts, perhaps because she's a childless woman, which also explains the virginal appearance of the nipples, yet to debut. These are perky and slightly divergent, bulging out of light-brown areolas with tiny lumps, randomly scattered all over. They are absolutely flawless. If there is a concept of perfection associated with breasts, hers could certainly point it up (pun obviously intended). In fact, when she removed the bra, her boobs kept turgid and stiff, bending no more than a few millimeters. They look absolutely proud and majestic, offering endless promises of pleasure and lust. I may have mumbled something, or maybe she was just reading my wandering mind, because, at that very moment, she made this comment, without further ado: - These are just boobs. Maybe you find them breathtaking (I certainly do, she added proudly) but they are not divine breasts, nor am I a goddess. And, quite prosaically, I yearn for them to be handled with all the care and affection they deserve, and not worshiped as some unreachable and wonderful objects of devotion in a sanctuary. I want them groped, caressed, tightened, squeezed, fondled and sucked properly, as the playful sex objects they are. But of course it won't be you to have this privilege, right? At best you can aspire to jerk off for them, if I'm willing to allow it. And saying so, she went on cupping and fondling her breasts, holding them with both hands, in the end, like if she was offering them as some delicate exotic fruit. I kept gently rubbing her bra on my cheeks, throughout her monologue. In the end, she stared at me with a compassion look on her face and shot: - I am well aware that my bra holds a key place on your fantasy. Isn't it a fact that it has parity with my breasts in your foolish worship? Maybe even more, right? Are you a complete pervert or what? She was quickly getting the hang of it. By now, she was totally responsive to the outcome of her abuse on my bliss and starting to handle it with increasing skills. - Want to do it for me, is that it? Want me to watch while you do it? Ok. Start stroking you cock, then. Jerk it like a good boy! Slowly up and down, up and down. Go on, jerk it off. You would like to suck on my tits while you do it, wouldn't you? Give me a break, pervert! Stroke it harder and dream on. These beauties are reserved to real men, she kept saying while cupping both boobs in her hands. Rub it hard until you cum, she ordered. I made myself responsive to her humiliating approach, showing humbleness and obedience. I think Andrea found it increasingly exciting, this idea of her coaching my wank, whereas she continued to cheer me up. - Keep going; keep sucking my soaked panties and sniffing my bra. I want to see you doing it while you masturbate. Toss this one for me, will you? Keep fucking your hand and honor me. You wish it was my hand sliding along your dick, didn't you? Dream on, jerk boy. I bet you never had the guts to jerk-off in front of anyone before. You don't have what it takes. You're most likely one of those suckers who prefer beating off on the sly, leering at vulnerable women -- whom you never get to take to bed -- sneaking through their intimacy just to get a kick on your sad sexual life. I pity you. She was getting good at this. Her instructions became more aggressive and her guidance more convincing. And despite being focused on my own routine, it was clear to me that she was having a lot of fun in her opening role as a dome, as the performance improved. Her pushy talk and provocative gestures were driving me wild and the stress growing beyond control. I was about to lose my grip. I had been increasing the pace of my wank that was now in a frenzied level. Just before I reached total oblivion, I realized I wouldn't be able to hold out much longer and quickly sheltered my throbbing penis in my underpants. My bladder was under the immense pressure of two semen discharges without ensuing relief and the time to unload was imminent. After a second holding back, I released my full bladder, in total abandon, letting my pee flow without any control, flooding my underpants and spilling over to the bathtub in a plentiful golden stream heading towards the drain. I was in total bliss. Then, in the cozy warmth of that flood, it was time to resume my wank cut short: I pulled my dick out of my drenched briefs and started rubbing it, hastily getting to the frantic pace of before. Each scrub caused a sloshing sound due to all the moisture and extreme lubrication. I was so utterly horny that it took only a few rubs to accomplish my third ejaculation, an almost dry one, before Andrea's gaze of fake contempt. I was fully subjected to this goddess, bewitched and feeling vulnerable to whatever she might want to do with my being, totally deprived free will. And I could have sworn she was intoxicated with this new sensation of absolute power over someone hopelessly at her feet. I wonder how this relationship will evolve from here. THE HANGOVER Andrea walked in the living room, holding two glasses of red wine, and sat on the couch opposite to mine. - I feel that I'm still missing something here, she exclaimed. I can't understand how an educated and sensitive man like you, with a refined sense of criticism and intellectual training, clearly above average, can demote himself to this primal level, surrendering to the most prosaic weaknesses and demeaning behavior. Not to mention the kinky fetishes, involving bodily fluids and stuff like that, which seemed to me totally weird. - Weird? Hum... I see! I noticed that you put the verb in the past tense. Revealing, isn't it? Shouldn't we draw some conclusions? - Ok! I admit I felt a bit elated by the performance. But does it justify we demean ourselves to that point, just to go through this brief moments of joy? - That is not definitely the question. What really matters is how you feel about the prospect of doing it again. Now that you cooled down, how do you anticipate the possibility of repeating the experience? How do you feel now about the chance of deepening it? You must realize that maybe because we have different expectations regarding the experience, and the fact of only one of us being fascinated by the other, it's normal to have a different understanding about being worth repeating it. - But no less important is to grasp the reason for someone to persist in a relationship where he is despised. Don't you feel humiliated by this? You are such an interesting person. It would be so easy for you to find someone who could match your standards and, even, your kinky needs and fantasies!? I mean, do you really need this? - Like the air that I breathe. I need you to see, once and for all, that is not parity which satisfies me but surrender, on the contrary. I can find ecstasy in the humiliation of being dominated by someone I worship, unconditionally. And the gratification I get in return it's so much more intense and rewarding as less consensual the relationship may be. My only goal is to get to this point where I don't have to bother giving orders or instructions, withdrawing all the fun I can get from my helpless condition, totally at mercy of whoever is in charge. Hopefully, it will be you. I'm not looking for a relationship based on love, respect, equity or mutual trust. It wouldn't work for me if, by some weird chance, you could love me or respect my feelings for you. What I expect from you is total abuse and despise. I need you to violate and degrade me. I have to be constantly reminded of my surrender to you, the person who shows me all the time how ridiculously irrelevant I am for her. If you could do this -- and I know you can -- it would be like living in an everlasting orgasm. Unconditional Surrender - Oh my God! That is really disturbing! I'd ever dare to imagine you in a scenario like this. Who would've thought it?! - And I hold you completely responsible for it. If you never came into my life, none of this would have happened and I would be a normal person, I stated jokingly. So, you must pay me off for the damages caused, I added with a chuckle. - You refer to this compulsion towards humiliation as some kind of liberating redemption. This is such a christian thing, typical of deeply religious people. I don't recognize you in this. You're such a rational guy, she declared in total incredulity. - You're right, this time. It's a religious incident. I'll find liberation in retribution. Being my goddess, you're the only one entitled to punish me. And your majesty will come out of my pain. I will be set free by my donation to your supremacy. - Wow! I may not be sexually attracted to you but I give you this: you certainly have a way with words and know how to flatter a woman. - A goddess, I corrected. - I guess you're right. You don't appeal to me but I must admit that your chat surely turns me on. I wonder how you developed this fixation on me!? - Haven't you noticed? My, I must be totally irrelevant to you, I admitted. Let me explain, then, how this obsession grew to the extreme stage where it stands, right now. It had a first platonic chapter, of great suffering, when we were working together, in which I drooled whenever you were present, plunging into a deep agony while you were away, resenting all others who enjoyed your company. I spent days in a row, crying my eyes out, longing for you, and just hoping for the chance of breathing the same air. I call it the "wish you were here" phase. It was completely asexual and you were kept strictly out of my daydreams and delusions of the flesh, no matter how innocent or frantic they might be. It was an unbreakable rule. There followed a time in which we lost our daily contact and my memories of you started to assault me, fully charged with your sensuality, in a recurring way. Everything reminded me of you and my recollections of our time together somehow managed to mislead my interpretation of your awareness of me. Gradually, I started to convince myself that I could have had some significance in your life. And, sometimes, I even dared to imagine that you would miss me. But I was too scared to confirm that impression. It was a time of great delusion and intense sexual indulgence. You appeared in all my fantasies and I built very elaborate and sophisticated scenarios to give context and credibility to those fantasies. I spent my days engaged in endless masturbation sessions and went edging for hours, using every single photo of you to indulge myself to climax. During that period I must have wanked over you hundreds of times, paying tribute to countless copies of your photos, over which I invariably ended up spilling my semen. The next step would involve a careful selection of your pictures, by choosing the sharpest images of your head, intended to photo assemblage with bodies of beautiful women chosen on the internet, either naked or wearing lingerie. This phase is still ongoing and my collection has already a few dozen fakes, some of which I consider genuine masterpieces. Needless to say, every single one of them inspired numerous wanks, either after the work completed or during the making process. Despite having always chosen the most fantastic bodies, the most magnificent breasts, the juiciest pussies, I must now admit that my imagination fell short of reality. You have a body to die for. As we speak, the ultimate thrill goes to the written text, a very colorful erotic fiction played by two characters: you and me, the mistress and the submissive male, the beauty and the beast. These are the chronicles of our daily meetings, the only stage where our roles reverse: I unleash my imagination and re-create my fantasies, without boundaries or constraints, leading us to extreme situations, only restricted by the imagination. I'll take you as far as my rampant desire leads, passively on your demanding role. She paid careful attention to my tale, during which her facial expression was changing, between amazement and commiseration, compliment and disapproval, praise and disgust. For the first time since I met her, I noticed a momentary loss of the usual self confidence in her look, the glimpse of an emotional delivery to this delusional universe where I was dragging her to, while I confessed my most perverse fantasies. She was an absolutely lucid and reasonable woman but I think I had been able to surprise her beyond the indulgence she usually devoted to me. Finally, she resumed control and was able to react: - Well! I don't know whether to be mad or simply flattered. I feel like I had been raped but bearing mixed feelings regarding the rapist. I'm appalled! Are you insane? You think this is an suitable behavior for a fully grown man? I don't know what to think... or say, for this matter! One thing is for certain: I never expected you to do something like this. Not in a million years! One thing we can say on your behalf, however: you did not hesitate to confess your perversion, eyes facing the 'victim'. It remains to be seen whether is courage or nerve. - I'm guilty of this one, too. I guess I keep on masturbating here, without the slightest shame, I confessed sheepishly. Hope you can forgive me, I humbly stated. - No way! Don't think you'll get away that easily! There's a severe punishment waiting for you, she said in a fake but convincing harsh mode. There are so many things I want to know about this dark side of yours, the perversions and gloomy secrets. In particular, those that concern or involve me apart from my awareness. You must understand that my involuntary engagement in these sinister activities, as an inspiring object, makes me a sort of rape victim and I'm not sure about how I should feel regarding this, whether flattered or abused. And you must be absolutely honest about it, if your longing is to surrender to my supremacy and remain subject to my will. If I must have absolute control over your spirit, I have to be acquainted with your most intimate weaknesses and deepest flaws and be aware or your darkest secrets. And assuming a solemn pose, she added: - This is the most critical moment of your decision. Once you accept my terms, there's no turning back. You're going to be absolutely in my hands. This will be the last time that you decide something by yourself or take choices in your own hands. And, from this moment on, I will deal with you as I see fit and decide about you strictly on account of my own benefits and satisfaction, never taking in consideration your interest or well-being. I will demand no less than unreserved worship, respect and devotion. Do you think you're ready for that? Remember that your yearning for me won't ever be matched and your submissive behavior will make me pity you and lose any shred of respect I might have for you. Last but not least, keep in mind that I can be a real bitch when I want to. Oh, yes! That can be very stimulating for me: having absolute power over my prey, be able to manipulate him at ease, voiding his spirit and put him unconditionally under my will. This I understand. What puzzles me is how anyone can put himself to it, willingly, enjoying the humiliation that comes along and accepting being degraded in such a role of submission. That can be really weird. - That I can easily explain. Let me tell you a story. The last time I remember taking a break in my compelling routine, I was jerking off for 36 straight days, sometimes more than once a day, just skipping weekends. As I get older, this ever-increasing addiction to masturbation requires an enduring focus in my cock, which I feed through endless hours by the computer, looking at erotic pictures and movies or writing down my daily sexual urges, memories and fantasies. Every once in a while I need to take a break, not due to a sex drive shortage -- which happily never turn out until now -- but because I feel dry and sore and the intensity of ecstasy begins to decrease. My last quarantine lasted for 21 days but in the end I thought I'd go mad, making impossible for me to go out. In fact I feared not being able to control myself and start masturbating, on the mere sight of the first tasty woman that showed up. The quarantine ended unexpectedly when a young woman knocked on my door, announcing some new internet service provider. She was far from attractive but proudly exhibited a large pair of tits, sagging slightly under the jersey with a v-shaped neckline, revealing a fair amount of cleavage and the soft swelling of her nipples, under the fabric weight. The few words I was able to mumble were said with my eyes glued to her breasts, while a huge boner ostensibly grew under my loose pants, with the greatest impudence. Both embarrassed, she failed to finish her presentation, apologized awkwardly and left in a hurry. Having reached the point of no return, preventing an ejaculation was no longer in my hands. So I abandoned myself to the inevitable and came in my underpants, copiously, soaking them all over, even before I had the chance to close the door. Objectively, the scene was deplorable and deeply humiliating: there I was, standing at the front door, with a dark spot quickly wetting my trousers and a sticky stuff dripping down my legs on to the floor. But who cared? Do you think I felt any shame for the possibility of anyone seeing me in that ridiculous situation? On the contrary: how I wished that someone could have witnessed this embarrassing moment. It's just like when you caught me masturbating in your bathroom: that very instant of total abandonment was the most gratifying moment and boosted the peak of ecstasy far beyond the usual pleasure I get from a regular orgasm. This emotion of absolute capitulation, when your will is no longer under your control, is the one which defines the true nature of submission as the most intense, authentic and rewarding source of my sexual gratification. Unconditional surrender allows you to reach the top stage of lust which you never dreamed as possible. And that, my dear, is something reserved only to those who are able to deprive themselves of their own spirit and hand it over to other, willingly. I dare you to compare this with the pleasure that you pull out of domination.