P01E15

She came crawling to the coffee table between us and climbed on it. She didn’t lie down on it on her back, like yesterday; instead she knelt down on all fours on the table top, facing away from me; then she lowered her shoulders to the tabletop, so she didn’t need her arms to support her body anymore. She bent them and placed them on her back instead, touching her right elbow with her left hand and vice versa. Her ass stuck high up, exuberant and opulent, while she turned her face so her cheek rested on the tabletop.

“Ass up, face down, as the internet calls it. In here, it is called a lily,” Howard said to me as he sagged down into his chair.

We silently drank, watching Marcy’s ass rising up high from the coffee table between us. To me, sex had always been a singular event: I’d get horny, jerk off, have an orgasm, and that would be it. I’d zip up, close the porn windows on the computer, and just continue my day, putting the fantasies and stimuli away until much later. There was a natural dip in my libido after orgasm, and I had always supposed that it was the natural way somehow.

But now that Marcy’s ass protruded before me, inviting and seductive, on the coffee table right in front of me, embellished by the whip markings I had applied myself, in a position of submission and availability, my cock told me that it didn’t have to be that way at all. Yes, the gap in the libido was still there, but it was closing rapidly, and my withered stem was already showing signs of life again, making deliberate efforts to rise back up, quickly restoring power. My mind was kept on track of a sexual frame of mind by the lascivious scenery before my eyes, and my body was willing to follow that lead. To my own surprise, I was thinking of impaling this girl yet again, just a few minutes after shooting my previous load.

Howard seemed to sense my mood, and he enticed me by saying to Marcy: “So, how did you enjoy that encounter right there, little slut of mine? “

“It was very good, Sir. Your nephew has a delicious hand on the whip. Even if it is yet unexperienced, you can feel that he has a natural talent for it.”

“Yeah, I agree with that. My compliments for that, Jason. As I said before, you are a very promising boy. But I guess you were a bit disappointed by the finale, my dear slut of mine?”

“I was, Sir. Getting whipped really hornifies me, I knew you had offered him my cunt for popping his cherry, and I was really looking forward to that… I knew it would be a quickie either way, but I hadn’t quite imagined it would be SO short. “

“So how does that make you feel?”

“Unsatisfied, wanting, and very, very horny, Sir. I’m **** for a firm dick to give me a thorough banging, even if you won’t allow me my release when he does, Sir.”

“Good, good. You know how much I like my little wife slut to feel like that, right? “

“Yes, Sir. I know how much you love to turn me on, and then deny release. And I love it when you use that power over me, when you leave me dangling on the cliff’s edge, ready for imminent orgasm, when a mere twist of a finger tip would send me spinning… and then simply tell me I can’t. And when I’m dangling there, exposed to your whim, that is when I feel most dependent on you.“

I realized again that they weren’t really talking to each other, that they were staging a play just for me… but again, it didn’t feel artificial or fake at all. He made her talk about it at all, of course, but there was nothing to indicate that she didn’t mean every word she said.

Howard just continued teasing her: “So you enjoy that dissatisfaction, the longing for the release that doesn’t come? “

“Oh yes, Sir. I know how it pleases you to see me like that, and I know how it pleases any man I know, to see me needy and dependent. How you can see it in me, the desperation to be played and quenched. I love to be on display like that. I don’t have to act anything, I don’t have to hide anything, I can be my own yearning self. Right now, you have promised my body to this boy, your nephew. Even as his manhood wavers in the afterglow of orgasm, I’m glad that you allow me to present him with a lily, and I’m proud that my curves allure him to feast on my body with his eyes once more. I want my display to elevate his cock again, as soon as possible, and revive his desire to pierce me. I will be happy when he does, when his juvenile power will unleash inside me once more; when I will be nothing but a flesh toy for his roaring lust again. I hope he will fuck me hard, and I hope he will fuck me long, cracking me open like a shell and stuffing me with his wild and compelling rage. I despise and reject his tenderness or care, I just want to be crushed under the weight of his savage frenzy. ‘Fucked into oblivion’ is not just a phrase to me, but an attempt to catch a burning ache into insufficient wording. Because when he fucks me, I want to dissipate, to dissolve into his furious energy, I want to become nothing so I can experience everything. His ride lustrates me, energizes me, makes me feel like a complete human being, a woman without wishes or ambition, but with a purpose and a value nonetheless. Only when I am the target of this lust, submitting to it without boundaries, like a leaf whirling on an autumn storm, only then I feel like I fulfill the meaning of my life. ”

Even in the movies, scripted as I knew they were, girls didn’t talk like that, they usually didn’t get beyond “Oh my god!” or “Please fuck me!” This sounded like poetry… but at the same time, as a stream of the most invigorating dirty talk I could imagine. As if she was singing a song to celebrate and praise the fuck she wished to be subjected to, and at the same time evoking and enticing it by doing so.

Howard smiled at me and said: “Isn’t she delicious? I never taught or trained her to talk like that, you know… she just started exploring her own soul, and figured I might like to hear her thoughts about it. At first, I think it was an exercise in honesty, in doing away with the shame and stigma, the uncertainty of acceptance of these thoughts, especially when they were formulated in such an explicit way. When she found I endorsed that, and that I was actually thrilled by it, she perfected it to the kind of invigorating talk you just heard. Of course I never held her back, but I never commanded or instructed her to, either. “

“By god, uncle! Your wife must be the hottest creature to walk the surface of this earth! Let me do it again, let me give her some more of the swagger of my loins!”

I was all set ablaze again, ready to spear her pussy once more, and I started a move to get up and do so; but Howard stopped me with a mere gesture of his hand.

He said: “Hang on there, Jason, wait a minute. You heard her say how much she wants to, right? How she yearns to be stuffed with dick once more, and be mounted and ridden like a bitch in heat? “

“Yeah?”

“So let’s say we do that; you get up and fuck her again. What does she get? “

“Erm… A fuck?”

“Yes. Which is what?”

“Eh… just what she wants? “

“Exactly. Now do you remember what we talked about yesterday?”

“We talked about a lot, yesterday. “

“I mean the part about submission. “

“Well, yeah. You said a slut needs to be dominated, that it is the only way to control the bad side of her urges.”

“Very good. And how is a girl dominated, then? “

“By telling her to do things… or not do things… which are contrary to her immediate and basic desires.”

“So what do you think we are seeing here? “

“Erm… an immediate and basic desire, I guess…?”

“Exactly. So, do you get up and fuck her now, giving her just what she wants? “

“Heh… I guess not?”

“Very good! You see, Marcy here is not just a slut. She is also a sub. The point of being a sub is to transfer control to your Dom. To trust him to make decisions for her, and obey them and live by them. Now think for a moment… if this Dom would always agree with her, if he would always give her what she wants, what would it mean?”

I had to think about that for a moment, then said: “He would be kind of a fake. There’s no point in submitting to a man who always gives you what you want. It’s just like getting your way anyway, as if you didn’t submit at all. “

“Yes, that’s exactly right. Submission becomes nothing but an excuse for having lots of sex. But submission really is about something deeper. The temptation is in the denial… in the fact that he does not give you what you want… well, at least not all the time. “

It started to dawn on me, finally. “So what you’re saying is… if she’s dying to get fucked right here, she shouldn’t get it? With all her craving and desire, her pussy wet and waiting, then just leave her be? “

With a shock, Marcy realized the implication as well, and she cried out: “No!!! You can’t do that! Please, I beg you… please, fuck me, I implore you!!”

Howard completely ignored her, and said to me: “A sub needs to know her place. She needs to feel that her Dom’s will is the final say. Of course she’ll get her way every once in a while, maybe like one in three… the other two, she’ll have to accept that my decision doesn’t correspond with her desire. Accepting the will of her man is at the core of her submission… in fact, she’ll feel good about his strength, the fact that he’s not just taking the easy way and granting her every whim, just because he loves her and wants to make her happy. For in reality, that’s not happiness at all, that’s just quick and meaningless gratification. What sub would respect a man like that? She can only feel comfortable when she knows that her man is in charge, that he imposes the discipline upon her that she needs. If she doesn’t feel that, she becomes an unguided projectile, capricious and underhanded, prone to rebellion and even depression. Her mind can only be set to rest when she feels that her man knows her, that he understands her needs better than she does herself, and imposes rules on her accordingly. And yes, sometimes, those rules have no other purpose than making her feel that power, and test her resolve to submit to them even if she deems them unfair, illogical, or degrading. “

Marcy kept protesting him throughout his explanation with disagreeing mutterings, though there were no recognizable words anymore, and the tone gradually changed from fierce opposition to woeful despair.

Howard looked at her, and said: “Do you see? The power of her protest is waning already. She doesn’t like the denial, but she realizes that her liking isn’t relevant, that it is her job to obey and comply.”