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She loves oral - Part 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The butterflies in my stomach are getting out of control. I
haven't felt fear like this in a long time - a dread of something
that is coming, but for which I have no frame of reference. It
reminds me of when I was a child and did something wrong. I knew
then that I would be punished - but I had no idea what form the
punishment would take.
Today, I know I'll be punished, too. I know it because it is
part of what today is all about. But I have almost no idea what
the punishment will be. Or even what I will be punished for.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning...
Several weeks ago, I broke up with my latest boyfriend. It
wasn't because he wasn't handsome and successful (he was a tall,
blond, WASP stockbroker who made well into six figures) or
attentive (he brought me flowers, remembered birthdays and
anniversaries, and shared the domestic drudgery) or fun (we had
similar tastes in sports, movies and other things - and the money
and time to enjoy them). The whole problem, in fact, had NOTHING
to do with him. It was me. I was bored to death with my sex life.
I've never had difficulty finding partners, as long as I have
been willing, in a crunch, to settle for someone shorter than me.
I'm six feet tall, exactly. I weigh 141 pounds, have dark brown
hair down to my shoulders, and hazel eyes that seem to attract as
much attention as the rest of me. At 38B,26,37 I'm a little too
big to model - but I did manage to do a little commercial work when
I was in college. That was twelve years ago.
What faced me when I kicked Roger out was that I had never had
a sexual partner who really excited me. He was as good, stable and
strong in bed as he was out of it, but he didn't do any more for
me than any other guy had. Not that I'm gay - my one (relatively
recent) fling with an old college roommate said more about the fact
that I wanted a change than it did about a lesbian bent. I've had
no difficulty climaxing with the men I've been with, and I've
sampled quite a few. But somehow they never seemed to treat me the
way I wanted to be treated, and I never seemed to know what to ask
for - so it was just more of the same, over and over.
One afternoon soon after my breakup with Roger, my girlfriend
Paula and I contacted a bulletin board on her personal computer.
Kidding around, we started chatting with a guy called Fred who had
a good sense of humor and was quite sexy. He wanted to engage in
what he called "computer sex" - sharing fantasies over the
computer. For some reason or other, it turned both of us on - I
was really hot instantly. I didn't want to admit it, for some
reason, but this seemed to be what was missing, after all this
time. We started into it, and I took the lead. I did the typing,
came up with most of the wild ideas, and soon we had the guy
admitting that he was playing with himself as he read. Meanwhile,
so were we! I had my skirt hiked up over my thighs and my hand up
under my panties whenever it wasn't occupied on the keyboard.
Paula was doing the same thing with her left hand - and soon her
right was stroking the inside of MY thigh!
That really turned me on, but it also frightened me. I had
never made it with another woman - and Paula and I were best
friends. I was embarassed to be feeling what I felt, and pushed
her hand away. She was a persistent little dickens, though, and
as soon as my hands went back to the keyboard, she went back to her
assault on my thighs. Finally, I gave up and let her do what she
wanted - which was first to lower my panties and play with my
pussy, and later to kneel between my knees while I typed and
slowly, expertly lick me to several climaxes!
The excitement I had that afternoon was greater than all the
loving I'd had in the last couple of years. And I didn't only
receive attention. After she had thoroughly wrung me out, she sat
in my place at the terminal and continued our "correspondence".
I knelt in front of her and slowly, tentatively began to play with
her pussy. It was definitely NOT the same as playing with mine!
It turned me on even more than if I had my own hand burried between
my legs. As I knelt there with two fingers playing with her
clitoris, the aroma of her reached me and I almost fainted. Hardly
believing I was doing it, I raised my hand, covered with the juice
from her pussy, to my nose. The smell was stronger and even sexier
than before. I couldn't stop my tongue from licking my fingers.
The taste was musky and a little bit metalic - but definitely NOT
unpleasant. I bent my head and began to lick. She moaned and slid
down in the chair, her heavily-lidded eyes watching as my tongue
traced the shape of her outer lips. As I stuck my tongue further
out and up into her pussy, she began to press herself against my
mouth and my face, covering my chin, lips and nose in her juices.
I found her sweet clit with my tongue and began to lick - just as
she had been licking me a few minutes before. In no time at all,
she exploded. That was the beginning of a whole new life for me.
Not that Paula and I began to sleep together regularly. Far
from it! We have been friends so long that neither of us knows
what to do with this new way of relating. Besides, we both LOVE
men, and want regular relationships, so it's only happened once
more in the last four weeks. But my imagination has been awakened.
I was never much interested in fantasy. I thought that it was
much better to be a doer than a dreamer. Well, that may still be
true, but I've found that dreaming can be better than much of the
doing I've had in the past. I began to tell myself stories - first
about Paula and me, then about the two of us and a man (usually one
of my old boyfriends). The stories were most frequent at bedtime,
and resulted in my masturbating nearly every night. Then, more and
more, the story was just about me and a man - but in a way that I
had never been with a man.
I contacted more bulletin boards, during this time, and began
to chat with men by electronic mail about different types of sex.
The beauty of it was that I was able to delve into many types of
sex which, normally, I would have been afraid to talk about.
Many of the new things interested me not at all. I had no
desire to wear high leather boots and tan a man's ass with a riding
crop. And as for the women, I doubted that anyone would turn me
on more than Paula did - and I KNEW her and CARED about her, so why
look for someone else?
But over and over, I got little peeks at the world of
domination of the female by the male, and that began to prey on my
mind. I spoke to a woman on a board up in Westchester who was a
"slave" (her word!) to a man she called "My Master". When I first
heard those terms, I didn't like the idea at all. I had no
intention of giving up my independence and my freedom to a man I
didn't even know! She praised the life she led - told me it was
the most exciting and joyful she had ever been. I couldn't believe
her.
But then, I met another woman on a local board in New York
City who was delighted to be completely controlled by her lover -
not only ordered around, but forced to wear very revealing outfits
and fetish clothes and to play with herself (and with him!) at his
order and under his direction. As I spoke with her, I found myself
getting strangely excited.
I began to see that one of the problems with being a very tall
and good-looking woman is that men tend to be a little less
demanding of one. They're a little in awe, I guess, at their luck
in attracting such a woman - or they want to make damn sure not to
lose her, so they give in more to her desires. The problem with
that, I realized (now that I began to tell the truth to myself) was
that I wanted to be told what to do - particularly sexually.
The more I spoke to these two, the more I envied what they
had. I wanted to serve a man. I wanted to see what it was like
to do exactly what my lover (my master?) wanted - to be treated
like a toy made expressly for his pleasure. As I told the truth
to myself, I began to be more comfortable telling it over the
computer lines.
Within a couple of days, I had met a man called Richard. I
was introduced to him by a woman whose name was Janice. The two
of them had an on-going relationship in which he was the dominant
partner and she the submissive one. As Richard and I explored my
desires on the BBS, I began to see that there were certain things
that particularly turned me on - and Richard seemed to be the
perfect match for me there.
I wanted to be dressed very sexily for a man. I had always
worn sexy, feminine underwear, but now I wanted to be introduced
to the kind of clothing I would have scorned a few weeks earlier.
I wanted to wear things that were designed to display me - that
were there specifically to turn a man on. I wanted to be
controlled, to be psychologically humiliated, in a sense. And I
wanted to perform oral sex for hours.
Of course, oral sex wasn't new to me. The men I had dated
loved it when I ate them, but I had to admit that I had never
gotten as deeply into it, in reality, as I now did in fantasy. The
problem was that, to me, sucking a man's cock was a very submissive
position to be in, and I had not attracted the kind of men who
would take full advantage of that position in the past. The reason
probably was that they weren't, themselves, very dominant.
As Richard and I got into more and more detailed fantasies,
I found myself spending half the evening every night playing with
myself in front of my new computer. More and more, I would
fantasize during the day about the fantasies to come that evening
- and the fact that I'd be able to raise my skirt (or take it off
entirely) amd masturbate to my heart's content.
Finally, Richard suggested meeting in person. We had lunch
at a small restaurant in Manhattan. He was attractive, about 40
years old, 6'3" tall, with greying temples and VERY sophisticated.
He was trim and obviously exercised regularly to keep himself that
way. I was immediately interested and turned on. After talking
over lunch, it just got better. We discussed the sort of things
we both liked (keeping our voices down so we wouldn't shock the
neighbors) and came to an agreement about the ground rules for
our first "session", as Richard called it.
Since he wasn't married, he suggested that I meet him at his
apartment. I was to leave information with someone about where I
would be, so that I wouldn't be concerned about my safety. He
didn't want me to be distracted from my full enjoyment of what was
to take place. He explained that he wasn't really into heavy pain
- but got more enjoyment from the psychological sort of control
that I had been fantasizing about. He told me that he would expect
me to arrive at 6 o'clock on Friday evening - puctually, since
tardiness would be punished. He informed me that he already had
most of the equipment we might want, but that he wanted to take me
shopping after lunch.
So, when lunch was over, he accompanied me to a small boutique
in the Village which speciallized in sexy and sensual underwear and
lingere. He was not in the least bit embarassed, as most men might
be, but went through the racks carefully, looking for what he
wanted. He finally settled on two very sexy corsets. The first
was white satin with pink lace detail. It was only half-cup, so
it supported and presented the breasts, rather than covering them,
leaving the entire top half of the breasts and the nipples
completely exposed. The pink lace framed the breasts and the lower
edge, ran down the front in sexy, pretty strips and covered each
of the detachable garters. The second was the same design, but
made entirely out of black lace - as sexy a thing as I had ever
seen. Both corsets came with matching g-string panties. He then
found very sheer, seamed stockings in black and white, shoulder-
length gloves in white satin and black lace and a long white hair
ribbon. He paid for everything, gave me one bag containing the
white outfit, and he carried the one with the black.
"When you come to my apartment on Friday, I will expect you
to be wearing the corset, stockings and panties. Over that, I want
you to wear something white that is very feminine and also VERY
sexy. Between now and then, you will buy two pairs of shoes - one
white and one black. They should both have very high heels - at
least three and one-half inches, but the higher, the better. I
prefer slingbacks, or something that has a sexy bow in the back.
Sandals are not acceptable. You will carry a bag which contains
the white satin gloves, your black shoes, your makeup, your
toothbrush and your housekeys. You may bring a $10 bill for the
cab fare back home. That is all - absolutely NOTHING else. Do you
understand?"
I agreed to do as he asked, and he spun on his heel and walked
away without saying goodbye. I was left standing there, in the
middle of Bleeker St., feeling annoyed, excited and scared - all
at once.
Yesterday, I went shopping and found exactly what he wanted
for shoes. I got a pair of white calf pumps with four inch heels.
At the back, above the heel, was a white leather bow. I had never
worn anything so high, and the little bow seemed to scream "Fuck
me!". But the black ones are worse. The heels must be almost five
inches. They are black calf, highly polished. Each side is made
out of five very slim black leather laces that come up out of the
sole of the shoe, are gathered together and become one at the back
of the heel, where they tie in a VERY sexy bow. I was embarassed
to even try them on in the store - I was SURE everyone would know
what I wanted them for. But I did it, and it made me even more
excited! Both pairs are perfect!
I couldn't find the right dress to wear over there until
today. In a store I would NEVER have thought to look in down near
Wall St., which seemed to cater to the secretaries from Brooklyn
and Queens, I found a white satin dress with a tight, low-cut
bodice and very full, puffy sleeves down to the elbow. The skirt
flared WAY out, and hung only to about four inches above my knees.
I got a very, very full white lace crinoline to wear under it, and
it held the skirt out perfectly. When I got it home, and tried it
on again, it was even sexier than I had thought in the store.
I had to take today off from work. I was so excited and crazy
that I knew I'd never be able to concentrate on anything, anyway.
I spent some time on the computer talking to some of the BBS', then
took a llloooong bath with perfumed oil in the afternoon, shaved
my legs and underarms, towelled dry and powdered myself. I took
a long time over my makeup, getting everything perfect. Richard
had said nothing about my hair, but had left me the ribbon. So I
wore my hair up with the ribbon holding it off my face. Then, I
went into the bedroom to dress.
As I put on the corset, I realized how small it was! It held
my waist in very tightly, which emphasized my breasts, hips and
buttocks. I drew the long, sexy stockings up my legs and attached
them to the garters, and pulled on the g-string, which served only
to cover up most of my pubic hair in front. In back, my ass was
still completely bare. I stepped into the crinoline and drew it
up to my waist, then put on the dress and zipped it up. The bra
was doing its job, all right - most of the upper half of my breasts
were exposed above the deep neckline of the dress. My nipples WERE
covered - but just barely! I put on the shoes, and walked over to
my full-length mirror to check out the full effect of the outfit.
"God, I can't go out like THAT!" was the first thing that came
to my mind. The sexy, feminine dress with its view of my breasts,
combined with the "Fuck me!" pumps and the tiny waist (courtesy of
the corset) was just too much - added as it was to my normal dark,
somewhat sultry look and my six-foot height, it was like carrying
a neon sign advertising sex.
I HAD to go out, though. It was the only way to take the
first step toward my new adventure. So I did the only thing I
could think of - I called a car service and spent $35 on a limo to
take me the fifteen blocks to Richard's house.
So, here I am, standing out on West 10th Street, EARLY for the
appointment. I'm too nervous to knock on the door - I assume that
I am to be ON TIME, not early. But the looks of the men passing
by are becoming a little unnerving. It's almost six o'clock. I
can't wait!
That's the end of Part I of the story of Michelle's transformation
into a slave. Watch for the second part, titled ORALGAL2.ZIP,
which will be posted soon.
If you LIKE the story, or have comments or suggestions for plot
twists, please let me know! Send E-mail to Omni.Girl on the
personal message board.
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