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I met her during college. The body shape was almost perfect, hourglass-like, an almost comical, yet undeniably sexy image that seemed to come out of how some sex-starved 90s artist would draw an objectified female. Disproportionately large breasts, a soft, pliant ass, smooth skin and shapely legs.
It’s like she was born to be fucked, but her personality was nothing to match, if anything, it was the polar opposite, the kind of person to boss her friends around, capable of putting up a perfectly emotionless facade to repel any kind of flirtation to come her way, and that was only compounded by the rectangular glasses you’d expect to see on a secretary more than a college student.
And then there was me, at the time I didn’t give much thought to who I was exactly in that particular way. I was vaguely interested in the opposite sex, but only vaguely. I wasn’t sure how other people experienced that sort of attraction, I had some rudimentary attraction, a girlfriend once even, but it was like I was emotionally shallow in some way or the other. A quiet type, shoulder long hair, always perfectly shaven to the point where I didn’t even seem to have the usual gray tint to where you’d have stubble growing out of, a slender, underweight – almost anorexic – body. Not that many interests that involved other people, not that I felt nervous or anxious, I could keep a conversation going pretty well, it’s just that daily life felt like it passed by.
And she latched onto me, probably because I felt at that point like I was the only guy out there who looked her straight in the eyes when we chatted about this and that. Time went on and it graduated as she’d invite me to parties, to hang around, and at some point the crowds grew smaller and smaller until I realized it was more or less down to us two going on dates. We took it really slow over the course of a number of months. But passion never quite grew, it felt more like friends hanging out together, and the reason had been somewhere with me or so I thought. The kisses were almost forced, yet we both enjoyed them, in some odd, plainly ~wrong~ fashion. We grew closer and closer yet there was a void of emotion between us two. And the advances of others she met seemed to not matter to her. There was something about our relationship that was special to her.
And one day it happened. It was the start of a week long holiday. She couldn’t stop laughing that day, just invited me over to her flat over the cell, her mood was unusually up, the schoolgirl kind of giggles wasn’t what she’d normally do. The door was open, I walked in. In front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror, one of the only distinguishing features of her flat, she turned around. Underdressed, nipples visible through her tee. And the reaction moments later after I saw her was that of rushing to hug me and slide a hand down my body towards the expectedly erect part of me. She was high on something, and I wasn’t sure what to do. I pushed her away for a moment only to be met with a disappointed stare. On the other hand, we were to the point of our relationship where this was bound to happen. Yet taking advantage of at the very least a friend in a state like this?
The situation resolved itself. We talked a bit. She brought some cold drinks, it was summer after all and her flat didn’t have an AC making her attire look quite reasonable. And then she did this one long stare, followed by that sound that felt almost like snorting, the welling up laughter. She practically fell on the ground, rolled around on her back in one long motion, followed by a continuous hysterical laugh. I was weirded out for a moment. I asked her if she was feeling ok, more laughing followed along with an affirmative, and then, a sudden change of mood, a moment of seriousness. “You know, I’m gonna help you.” She said and smiled with a gentle sincerity. She went off to the kitchen once again, leaving me just sitting there wondering bahis firmaları if I should do something, maybe even leave before this got ~too~ bizarre. But I felt something weird in my head that moment, like a sudden uplift in my mood. A feeling of lightheadedness took over, things started to trail around a tiny bit. “Did you put something in?” I’ve smoked pot with friends on the odd occasion and had a run in with painkillers after a broken leg, those were these kinds of ‘who hasn’t things, but this felt the opposite of sedating, some club drug that’d go well with loud music, but I never was the type. I felt like floating over to the kitchen, the act of walking barely registering as a conscious action only to find her there with even fewer articles of attire on. She looked more or less totally like I imagined underneath. “Feels a lot better, doesn’t it?”
Her fingers started to work on me now, the belt the trousers, and my unbuttoned shirt on top of a light t-shirt. That tee remained as the only piece of clothing outside of a pile on the floor. She grabbed it behind, snuggling against my almost erect dick and tied it into a knot behind me transforming it into something girlier looking, with my exposed flat stomach being on the show. She made a few steps back, and smiled again. “Cute. You always shave everything?” There really wasn’t a hair on my body, it’s not something most people ended up seeing, but I just had an aversion to that sort of stuff. I was confused by the question for a few seconds, I was thinking over the ramifications, if any, of what was happening right now. I had a burning need to move but wasn’t sure what to do, all that piled into a single jumbled ‘yeah’.
She took something out of a cupboard, two white pills of some kind that looked more or less like aspirin, but I didn’t give much thought to it, only to hand them over to me, still standing almost entirely naked and pretty overwhelmed with a glass of water. I felt thirsty anyway. “Drink. You know, I think I know what your problem is.”, she said playfully. Her fingers touched me down below again. I still was only half erect. “Maybe boys are more your style…”
The phrase snapped me out of it into momentary sobriety.
“What do you mean… We’re here, aren’t we?” I felt the stinging pain of a situation that only a moment ago felt great turning into something unexpectedly unpleasant. I put the glass down and tried to kiss her, but it wasn’t working, she made a step back.
“It’ll be easier on you if you just accept it.” She was being dead serious. “It’s not like it’s something I just made up, felt that way when we met too. See, it’s getting up, it’s like you know what you want.”
Me? Gay? I did have a few weird habits, but…
“I felt bad for you, you can’t live like this. You wanna be normal, but you just aren’t. And I like helping guys like you.”
I stood there dumbfounded, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to put everything back on and just walk out of the flat or stay and follow that line of thought. She’s a constant object of desire for other men, it’s not possible not to be with shapes like hers, but for me she was just a friend who I faked attraction to. Faked attraction like I have to every girl I tried to be with. But it can’t be like that, how can I date another guy. Even if I stopped any sort of denial. How do I even begin to…
I realized my mind snapped a few moments ago in a way, I was monologuing out loud for longer than I thought and she wasn’t in front of me anymore as she was gently nudging me from behind by my pliable shoulders. Her touch felt ~good~. I didn’t want her to let go of me. “Come.”
She led me back into the corridor marching me at an arm’s length to the mirror, pushed me down gently, and slid my eyelids shut with her fingers. “Sit.”
I was wondering what will happen next, the experience was so overwhelming I didn’t know what to do anymore. kaçak iddaa I thought about her. About that deep seated attraction to others of the same sex I really did feel but couldn’t ever act on because of an internalized feeling of shame. And then, I felt her touch again, wet, a bit oily, her hands went over my body, her fingers jerked my cock back and forth a couple times, then she let go. “You should be doing that to yourself, not me…” My tee went off, now slightly wet. A finger ran gently into my ass, then a second one. I had anally masturbated before, but as with everything else, I forced myself to think about naked women while doing that to myself in the shower, trying to redress the pleasant feeling of being penetrated into something associated more with femdom than any sort of non-traditional sexuality. A sort of a self-imposed pavlovian conditioning that ~almost~ worked. But it wasn’t who I really was.
“Open your eyes.”
I did. Most of my body glistened with some sort of a lube. My nipples were erect. I looked at my own cock and got what amounted to the single hardest erection I’ve had in my life, with a tiny bit of precum now flowing out of its tip.
“You’re almost like a girl. Cute clit. A little large.” I saw her smile in the reflection. “Now imagine it’s another guy. It’s that easy. You just need to realize what you feel attracted to, and what you’ve repressed, it’ll surface again. You’ll be happy.”
It took me a few moments to grasp the concept. Her breasts pressed against me, but on that account I felt nothing. I just stared straight into my reflection. And then I momentarily forgot that it was me. Failed that simple mirror test of own volition. It was a different guy, a guy ~like~ me, but not me. And we were making love, both of us eager to please one another. I leaned in closer, my mouth now open.
“Good girl”, she whispered into my ear. “You’re one cute slut aren’t you. Kiss your reflection. Imagine the two cocks rubbing against each other and the desire you feel.”
She pushed me further up against the cold surface, my lips connecting with the reflection, tongue against cold surface…against tongue, with my eyes closed and the onset of the intoxication, fantasy became reality and I wasn’t kissing something inanimate, I was living the fantasy, building up the missing pieces. I felt touching the imaginary body with an ever growing desire. The cold wasn’t there. Only pleasure. The two of us having sex in a dark room. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Another aspect of me that I always suppressed surfaced, the erotic moans, a display of weakness, something that I once wasn’t sure how the girls in porno movies produced, how they forced themselves to fake it, if they did fake it. But I genuinely enjoyed that sound, the sound of me being degraded, melting away, helpless to resist the pleasure.
“Another customer”, she purred. “It’s a tall, muscular, blonde guy. A close friend of yours, you’d never take him for this type, until he had walked in on you as you were moaning like a girl, wanking at a screen with some guys having fun. He felt something then, it developed and it’s been what you two did ever since. And now that there’s a third, it only serves to heighten the ectasy.”
The lube-coated vibrator she plunged inside me that moment might as well have been the real deal. Sliding in and out, in and out. Momentary pain followed by readjustment and pulsing pleasure as it churned my insides. She kept going, one hand of hers touching herself, reveling in this power fantasy, her total control of my imagination, my sexuality let loose with a little help from the outside, the other helping me feel what it’s like to be penetrated.
“I know you’re liking this, it’s what you were born for. You were in denial, weren’t you, my darling. Normal guys don’t shave their bodies, remove every bit of hair as if testosterone had nothing to do with them. They don’t kaçak bahis diet just to have that perfect flat stomach for dicks to rub against. They don’t care about keeping their long hair soft so that someone could grab it and force their dick down your throat.” I barely understood her consciously, words made sense only moments after they’d been said as I fished them in order out of the ocean of pleasure I was swimming in, yet it felt like everything she said appealed to me on some primal level. It was like she had been peering deep inside me and telling me how I ~really~ felt all this time, liberating me from that burden of trying to seem normal. “You’re like a bitch in heat trying to attract a mate, you just couldn’t come to terms with it.” Her voice was getting heavy by now, slow as she drew long breaths one after another, barely capable of staying focused as a different kind of pleasure – the pleasure of dominance bringing her body ever so closer to orgasm.
She rubbed her breasts on my back, up and down, but I wasn’t even processing the sensation. “All this time all you’ve wanted were large, hard cocks to fill your slutty holes with. You’re a queer fucking slut, you want to drown in that tingling feeling of calm you get from others treating you like a toy.” Yes! Yes! That was exactly who I was! Words came to mind. Slut. Bitch. Semen junkie. Masochistic whore. Cum dumpster. For the first time in my life I never was as certain as this: all I wanted was a guy to treat me this way. I wanted to turn my mind off, and serve others from that ocean of pleasure. The number of men surrounding me multiplied by the moment, a roomful jerking off onto me bukkake-style, covering me with sticky semen as I absentmindedly smiled moments before another participant started to facefuck my perfect pliant body. I’ve been jerking myself off with one hand, caressing my nipples with the other, pressed up against the mirror, and listening in to the entwined moans of me and my mistress enjoying her once a lifetime fantasy becoming real. And I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’ve been enjoying myself on so many levels, the submissive fantasy, the feeling of being dominated outside of it even if it was by a girl, and the sheer embarrassment of kissing own reflection because it was the closest available to my now cemented object of desire: another man.
My mind went perfectly blank once again, an almost perfect whiteness, the kind you’d get when you faint, then I felt the rhythm of the dildo going in and out, rubbing against my prostate. And I couldn’t hold anymore. A string of sticky white semen shot out across the mirror in perfect synchrony with my moans. Then another one. Then another. The spurts repeated, getting smaller and smaller. I was catching up with the sensation and heard my mistress coming in her own way, but my legs couldn’t hold me anymore, I wasn’t paying attention and simply slumped down, sliding down against the mirror, tongue eventually coming into contact with my own cum.
I’d have thought it was over, that it was a momentary kinky fantasy, but it wasn’t. I enthusiastically started lapping up the sticky white stuff with my tongue. And it tasted good. I knew I still wanted more of it. All over me. That passive, braindead state of enjoyment, if only for a moment, I wanted to feel it again.
My mistress sat there a little distance away, knees on the floor, legs spread wide, laughing. “You pervy little whore.” She was right. The experience changed me permanently. I cried in her arms that day, still intoxicated and incredibly emotional. I felt grateful to her for making me understand who I really was and liberate it, her being a little disappointed with there being no rebound effect to use to fuel more power fantasies. But she kept treating me as a friend, that episode remaining a secret between us ever since. She went on searching for another partner, this time maybe a normal guy, but not before she’d introduced to a gay friend of hers who was into exactly the kind of stuff I now knew I loved. I could live out for real the fantasies she had helped me to enact.
My new, better, happier life was beginning. 🙂
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