My Submissive

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Female Ejaculation

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction with no basis in actual fact. That is to say, none of the characters are real, it never actually happened, nor do I wish it to happen to me. It is purely a work of fiction that was fun to write. Explicit sex is contained within, and the story is intended for the entertainment of mature adults only.

Categories: FM, size, mast, hung


“Strip,” I order him with a single word.

“What?” He has a hard time accepting my word at first.

“Strip,” I have to repeat. “You heard me! Strip down. I want it off, all of it!”

Men are so obedient. They put on an act of being all strong and macho, but deep down they all want the same thing. This one especially, I can tell. He hesitates, acts like he doesn’t know what to do, but deep down he can’t wait to do whatever I tell him. His natural nature wants to obey me. The thought might even excite him, or at least that’s what I suspect. Still, though, he hesitates.

“You’re a submissive,” I tell him what he must surely know himself. “You enjoy submitting to women. You have submitted yourself to women all your life, so why not submit to me now?”

My words hit him like an electric shock. He questions why he feels such strong desire to follow my direction, why he so much wants to obey me. It certainly can’t be from my physical strength. I am a petite young woman, over a foot shorter than him. He could easily toss me aside if he wanted. Men call me pretty, I am told, but I am certainly no voluptuous model. I suppose I consider myself desirable.

Or at least this one seems to think so. I sensed his attraction for me from across the room, the way he looked at me, and then in the way he looked down and away when I approached. He’s a shy one, I can tell, and I so much like them shy. Shy men make for such good pets, and I find myself wanting to break this one.

I can also sense he wants to obey my singular command. I don’t know how I sense it, but it’s like a sixth sense, an ability I’ve had all my life. He probably wonders too. How can I possibly know him so well? Why do I seem to know his innermost desires even more than he knows them himself? Perhaps I see it in his reaction. Or maybe I somehow read his mind. In a way, I suppose, I do read him. I know his secretes. I understand his deepest desires.

“But I hardly know you,” He eventually answers after a long pause during which he thinks about a comeback and hardly looks at me. He speaks silently, in hardly more than a whisper, just like a true submissive should. I can tell he’s shy. He’s not accustomed to addressing the dominate of his species.

His answer also, I distinctly notice, fails to refute me. A mistake on his part! He confirms what I suspect, validates what I first sensed from across the room. I’ve always been able to tell. My sixth sense takes over.

“So then you have submitted,” I’ve assumed correctly. “Tell me, have you submitted to other women?”

He goes silent. His head bows as if in salute. Eyes look down to the ground as if afraid to face me, afraid what else I might see through them. He feels shame to answer. I can tell he isn’t accustomed to a woman being so direct. It takes a long time, but eventually he silently answers with just a nod.

“I thought so!” I congratulate myself at uncovering the truth. He appears a fine catch. Not the normally frail, scrawny, weak little submissive I find so common. This one stands tall, has muscles, and with a handsome face too. And then there’s all that long blond hair dropping down to his shoulders. He has the look of a guy who would stand out in a crowd. At a party, women would take notice. At a bar, the woman sitting next to him might hope he would buy her a drink. She might even fantasize what he would be like, to have him invite her over to his place, stay for a late night drink, among other things.

“But only two others,” He disturbs the pleasant thoughts running through my head with another. “And I first knew them. We first got to know each other.”

Two isn’t a very large number. I imagine he got to know them first as girlfriends, went out on a few dates, maybe even experienced what could be considered normal sex before admitting his submissive nature. Only after he voiced his fantasy did they take him up on his offer. Only then did they take over.

“So how does that concern me?” I don’t care. “What difference does it make that we just met? You are a submissive. I am a woman who controls. Nothing else matters. Nothing else is important.”

Indeed, the fact I am almost a stranger should make it more thrilling for him. He probably never performed for a stranger before. The opportunity should increase his arousal, make him even more of a submissive.

“I don’t know,” He hesitates.

Then I have an idea,” I propose. “Pretend I am your mistress. Let’s pretend I just purchased you at the auction. I have taken you home and now I wish to take a look at what I paid for.”

I reach Escort Bayan down and undo the top most button of my blouse. A hint of my boobs come into view. I can tell he looks. His eyes rise up and focus on the middle of my chest. He likes to look at my boobs, the swell of breasts. He would like to see more and is willing to do almost anything for the opportunity.

“So get it off,” I return to my original request. Not so much a request, but more like a demand. “And I mean everything! Is there something about the word ‘strip’ that you don’t understand?” I turn stricter with him. “Do I need to explain it to you?”

My tactic works. He still hesitates, pauses before he starts, but then gets down on a knee to take off his shoes and socks: First one shoe and sock, and then the other. The shirt comes next. Fine muscle definition, strong arms, little fat on him. He could be an Olympic athlete, perhaps a football player. I’m sure he works out several times per week. Males look so much better when they are young. This one looks barely legal. I guess him to be 20 years old, certainly no more than 25.

“Hurry up!” I encourage him when he pauses at his belt buckle. “Off with it, boy. Give me a look.”

Calling him “boy” comes on a whim. I don’t even think about it. It just comes out, I suppose, because of his young age. Indeed he is very much like a boy to me. I guess him to be 15 years my junior. He could almost be my son.

Sitting back in my comfortable high-backed chair, I watch. I’ve always enjoyed watching men strip, and especially young, fit men like this one. He reminds me of the many male strip joints I’ve visited, the stripper hired for a bachelorette party, and then some of the back issues of Playgirl I’ve kept around. I have a whole library of them, a library of naked young men. I even keep them indexed to more quickly find the best looking stud for my demands. I keep the blonds and brunettes separated too. I even have a special section reserved for pictures of young men sporting erections.

The belt slips out from the hoops of his slacks. It would be better if he danced around like they do at those clubs. He would make for a good stripper, but I like his innocence too. I can tell this is his first try, at least like this. He’s probably stripped for past girlfriends, but those were women who already saw him naked, maybe even had sex with him. Then it was mutual. Now he strips while I sit back fully clothed and watch.

White underwear comes uncovered beneath. Loose fitting underwear, regular underwear, not the tight thongs so prevalent on male strippers. A tight bikini would be better, see through mesh netting even better than that. Still, I like it. I especially like the bulge in front. It looks larger than normal, and then I notice it.

Truly he is a submissive. The evidence is displayed right in front of me. Unbelievably, they guy has a hard-on under his shorts! In fact, I’m sure he does. I see the outline of his boner pressed out against his underwear, the stalk standing upright and firm in front of him. I know it for certain when he stands back up after slipping the slacks off his feet and tosses them to the side. It usually requires some effort on my part to give a guy a boner. It normally doesn’t occur right away. This one is excited, obviously, even aroused by the situation. Truly, he is a submissive.

“Pick up after yourself,” I put aside his hard-on for a moment to chastise him for leaving his clothes laying around. “Bring me your clothes. Let me get rid of them.”

He bends down to pick up all the clothes he’s taken off so far: shoes, socks, shirt, and pants. Unfortunate for me, he faces the wrong way when he leans forward. I would rather see his ass. A stripper would know. This one still needs some training, but then there will be plenty of time for me to train him in the coming weeks.

“I’ll throw them away,” I take the clothes from his open hands. “You won’t need these anymore; at least for the next couple of days.”

To emphasize my point, I get up from the chair, walk over to a small wastebasket sitting next to my desk, and deposit them inside. I make a show of it, pressing them down into the rest of the trash. The message is obvious. I make sure he knows what I want. He won’t be wearing much in the way of clothing around my house.

“Continue,” I say a single word when I sit back down again. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

He pauses to consider it. He still has doubts, I can tell, but now I can also tell he wants to. I can tell it by his shorts. I can see it for myself, through the hard-on he sports underneath. It rises up high. I distinctly notice they way it pulls out the top of his underwear, pulling it out away from his waist, as if too big to be contained.

Predictably, he starts again, but not in the way I would prefer. To my disappointment, he first turns away. He hides himself from me. My mouth opens and I am about to chastise him, until he starts slipping Bayan Escort down his last remaining article of clothing.

A fine ass, strong and firm, and so smooth. I can’t help but wait to spank it. I admire his ass so much that I hardly notice his last remaining article of clothing hit the ground. Suddenly, almost before I realize it, he stands naked. I have a naked young man in the room with me. And not only naked, but with at least a semi-erection on the other side.

“Those will be thrown into the garbage as well,” I point to his underwear. “You’ll have no need for them. You will have no need for any clothing around my house, not for the next few days.”

He stands nervous. He stands before me like a frightened little boy. But not a boy, a real man, and I have him standing naked before me. I can tell he’s nervous by how he positions his hands, holding them in front, covering himself. The hands need to come first.

“Put your arms behind you,” I order. “Grasp your wrists together. Make sure your hands stay well behind your back.”

He’s still so nervous. I notice it in the way he glances around to check if I am looking. He wants to make sure I remain seated in the chair. He wants to make sure I can’t see. At the same time, however, he so much wants to show me. He can’t wait to show himself off to me. The thoughts going through his head must be driving him half crazy. He doesn’t know what he wants any more. But I do.

One more time he glances around to check, and only then does he pull his hands away. Still he moves them slow, but at least he does move them. The fact I remain seated in the chair seems to satisfy him. It takes almost a minute, but eventually he brings his arms around to the center of his back. He grasps his wrists together exactly like I requested. I purposely order him to grasp his wrists together so to force his hands higher up on his back and make sure not to block my view.

“Very good!” I say as if to congratulate the young man and his thoughtful act. “That’s a fine ass!” I decide to tell him as a type of reward.

Again he glances around as if to check if I still sit in the chair. His body turns as he does so, but he doesn’t show me anything. He seems worried I might get up and walk around and check out what he has on display on the far side. I consider it, but remain seated. Why should I do any of the work? This is my show, my special day. I want to be able to relax and enjoy myself. Besides, it will be better if he voluntarily submits. I want him to take the initiative and show me everything.

“Now slowly turn around,” I tell him what I want to see. “Very slow,” I emphasize the word. “And I do mean slow. I want you to turn around slow while you keep your wrists tightly held behind you.”

At first, I can’t tell if he rotates at all. He seems to stand in place, frozen, unmoving for several seconds. He seems to consider it, but then a barely perceptible motion from his feet tells me when he starts.

“Perfect!” I like the way he follows directions so obediently, almost reads my mind to give me exactly what I want. I want a show, and I want to drag out the show. Briefly, I consider telling him to hurry so I can more quickly see what I am after, but then think better of it.

“Nice and slow,” I tell him instead. “And keep those hands behind you. Thrust out your waist if you want too, but keep it slow.”

He moves excruciatingly slow. He hardly moves at all, but I like the way he moves. He really puts on a show. He seems to know what I want better than I know myself. His waist thrusts out too, as if to show himself off for me, as if to put himself on better display.

I wait impatiently. I fidget in the chair with anticipation. Second by second, then a minute passes by. I fight the urge to jump up and take a look around. It would be easy. He stands so vulnerable, so much like a virgin. I imagine him as some young, virgin boy waiting for the first time.

“Oh!” I say with excitement at the first sight of it. “What was that?”

He stops turning for a moment; then rotates his hips back the other way to hide it from view. It disappears, leaving me disappointed, but I know what I saw. It appeared higher than expected, sooner too, right before it disappeared again. Instead of at his waist like I expected, it first appeared up by his tummy, which I know can’t possibly be right. A moment later I laugh at myself, realizing it only a product of my over-active imagination.

“Why do you stop?” I tempt him. “I want to see it.”

At least the bulge in his shorts wasn’t my imagination. I saw the evidence, and it was standing upright. Not a partial erection either, but clearly a full-fledged hard-on. I saw it for only a second, but I saw the head of it pointed up into the air. And then I think again about where I saw it, just below his chest, but no way could I have really seen it rise so high. The thing would have to be a foot long in length for me to see Escort it that high. Obviously, it had to be my imagination.

Still, the temptation to check him out proves almost unbearable. If I could lean over just a little. I wouldn’t even need to get up from the chair. It stands so close, just around the corner. It lies just out of my view. His waist, I notice, it continues to push out, showing it off. If only he would push it out a little bit more.

It takes longer than it should. Perhaps he turns slower. Maybe it comes from my anticipation. I let my eyes roam up and then back down the length of his gorgeous body. I focus on the spot where I expect it to emerge once again. The first time it appeared too high, higher than it should, so I focus lower.

Just then, I see it a second time. It peeks around the corner. It peers around like the head of a little boy wanting to look into the girl’s shower. Except I am the one looking, and I am looking at a different type of head.

This time, I say nothing. I learned my lesson from the first time. I don’t want to scare him, make him turn back. I wonder if he realizes I am looking. I wonder if he realizes what I see. The thought excites me, the thought of spying on him in secret.

Just then I notice something else too. I notice how high up on his body it appears. Not where I expected, not at his waist, but above his tummy, where it appeared before. The head peaks around the corner and emerges a lot higher up on his body than it should. Sooner too! I like the potential implications of what I see, at what he has to offer.

“Oh!” I can resist no more. I first wait until the head is full on display, and then I voice my thoughts out loud. “A mushroom!”

My comment gives him pause. He briefly turns his waist back the other way again. Back the other way, but not far enough away. Part of him remains on display. Not much, just the tip, but enough for the show to continue without pause. I start to realize it isn’t my imagination. This male is a lot more endowed than most.

“And I so much like my boys to be uncircumcised,” I voice my secret knowledge of him out loud. “I like mushrooms. I like it when there is a roof on top. It makes for a more interesting plaything.”

This gives him further pause. I like the way he hesitates and pauses. It makes him look so young, so innocent, so much a virgin. Still just the head of his magnificent cock pokes out from the side. It moves slightly, pushing in and then out ever so slightly with his heavy breathing. I so much want to see the rest of his length. Once again I am tempted to lean to the side and take a look at the rest of what he has to offer, but I also realize there is no need to rush. I will see soon enough. He is a submissive. He will show me.

The excruciating slow turn continues. Again the full head of his cock comes into view, and then a few seconds later a larger portion of the shaft as well. Clearly, he stands at a full erection. Not partial, but with a full boner. His cock stands upright and firm, pointing almost straight up into the air. Thick too! He looks too big for me to grasp my fingers around, or perhaps it is just my over-active imagination once again. In any case, I can see this one has a lot of potential.

“Nice dick,” I eventually decide to compliment him. “I like your prick!”

I so much like looking at naked men, and looking at a man with an erection is even better. There’s nothing like the sight of a tall, handsome, naked young man with a full hard-on, and this one looks to be a lot more gifted than most. He rises so high, and with every little turn of his body I get to see ever more of it. He still has quite a ways further to turn, I notice, which means the show isn’t nearly over yet. I can’t wait.

“Excellent!” I can’t help but continue to compliment. “What a superb dick!”

Normally I don’t like to compliment a boy, but I can’t help it with this one. The excitement wells up from deep inside. He appears better than most of my magazines, more magnificent than the average stripper. At least six inches of it grows tall, and he still isn’t side-ways to me yet. He most definitely extends longer than most. Higher too! I notice the shaft of his cock actually has a bend to it, looking like a banana, curving upwards and pointed at the sky.

“Oh my God!” I grip my fingers tight to the armrests of the chair. “Holy fuck!” I speak in increased astonishment. Normally I insult a boy, tell him how small he is, make him feel useless and degraded. But with this one, I can’t help it. I can’t believe it! He truly is magnificent, a real stud. I close my eyes for a second to bring myself back down to reality and make sure it doesn’t come from my over-active imagination. When I open them again, he appears just as long as ever. Now I know why the head emerged so high up on his waist. It comes from his length, because his cock is so incredibly long!

“Now that is a very nice cock!” I say my thoughts out loud. I’m not sure if he heard my first exclamations, but I make sure he hears it now. My words give him pause, his breathing turns heavier. I think a moan of excitement escapes from his lips, and his cock seems to move in and out further with his every breath.

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