Oral Sex 1

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!

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