I'm very pleased - and very touched - to be able to post this special story: a first-time erotic tale from a dear friend of mine, Billierosie. I'm sure you'll all agree with me that she shows true talent. Bravo, Billierosie ... bravo!
Tell Me What You Are
By
Billierosie
“Tell me what you are.” Jake licked my ear, like a big lascivious dog.
“Come on. I want to know now. See, from what I’ve been hearing, you’ve been a very bad girl.”
Someone had been blabbing. Someone couldn’t take a joke. Okay, a bad joke, with me dealing out the laughs. But, some guys have no sense of humour.
Jake wrapped a coil of my long hair around his big rough fist and pulled, just enough to hurt. He turned me, pinning me in the cushions of the sofa.
“Tell me.” he growled into my ear.
His deep voice swamped my senses like an exotic perfume. He pulled my hair again, forcing my head back onto his shoulder. A surge of liquid warmth swept my lower belly at the slight pain; the sensation of him holding me trapped was deliciously erotic. I felt like his puppet, as his strong arms moved my limbs around according to his will. I breathed through the tension and inhaled deeply the smell of my own arousal mingled with Jake’s spicy aftershave. My panties were soaked, I needed to be fucked. The atmosphere was at boiling point, at least it was where I was coming from. Jake was cool as always. Earlier, he’d had me light candles around the room. He hadn’t asked me. He’d told me. Damn nerve, considering we were in my flat. We’d drunk a bottle of red wine. I was light headed. A candle flared and spluttered, briefly making the room brighter. I’d hoped for an evening of seduction and sex. Once again Jake had other ideas.
“I’m…I’m a cock teaser?” I really hadn’t the faintest idea what he wanted me to say.
He laughed and pulled my hair again, very hard. This time it really hurt and I squealed. He didn’t apologise.
“Wrong,” he chuckled: bringing me back to the point; whatever that was. “Well …right answer, but to a different question.”
Now I really didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.
He ran his hand up the soft skin of my inner thigh. I shuddered. Jake was like a musician and my body was his instrument, to play as he chose. The room was suddenly stifling; too hot. I breathed fast and shallow.
“Wet panties,” he whispered in my ear. “And that tells you nothing?”
He slipped his hand inside, sliding two fingers into my cunt. Then he was still. I let out a loud moan and squirmed and wriggled, desperate for him to finger fuck me. I needed to come, but he pulled his fingers away, leaving me sadly empty. He brushed lightly over my clit with his thumb, strumming me like a violin. I moaned again, my hips jerking. A police car blasted by in the street outside; sirens blaring.
The tension in the street electrified the room.
He held his two fingers up, clinically examining my juices. They stretched in strings from finger to finger.
“Now, what does this tell you?” he asked.
“That I need to be fucked,” I gasped. “That I’m a slut?”
He brought his fingers to my lips. He was frowning now, as if irritated.
“Clean me,” he ordered.
I obeyed, slurping my tongue noisily around his long fingers. Tasting and smelling my own arousal. I felt humiliated; that I’d been reduced to begging.
He unzipped his jeans, took out his cock and pumped it slowly. I gazed at it; it was long and thick. Jake watched me, knowing my cunt was dripping, and knowing I was imagining it inside me.
“You could suck my cock,” he said, holding my gaze.
“I don’t do that,” I retorted sulkily.
He gave me a “that’s what you think,” kind of look and carried on masturbating. I was very cross and pouted like a spoilt child. It wasn’t as if I even liked fucking, I’d do it, but it was all for me. I just loved to come and I had a finely perfected technique. I’d make sure I came quickly and I’d slide away from the guy just before he’d climax. I’d laugh to see his bewildered face as he realised his stuff wasn’t going to happen, his cock slowly starting to droop as I pulled on my panties. Or I’d slip from him, my orgasm still pumping through my pelvis; his tongue lapping at my clit as I rolled away.
“Please Jake. Fuck me.” I begged and pleaded again. I wanted his come in my cunt. He laughed at my stricken face and continued pumping his cock.
Three months I’d been going with Jake, beautiful Jake, and he’d hardly touched me. If he had, it was only to check the state of my cunt. It was invariably wet. I wanted him so much. I wanted his hard, firm body, honed, not at the gym, but from hard, physical work on the building site. I wanted his long, thick cock inside me. I wanted him badly and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t given him encouragement. With men, I was the one always in control, but all I’d got from Jake was frustration. He’d seduce me and once more I would beg as he moving his big rough hands firmly over my belly and down, just brushing his fingers into my labia, just touching my clit and my cunt. He’d stroke my sensitive, inner thigh with his fingertips then he’d grin and shake his head. He’d order me to finger my clit and watch me till I was gasping, about to come. Then he’d order me to stop , and laugh at my disappointed face.
He’d order me to strip, then he’d look at me, up and down. Have me turn around, bend over and make me hold the position while he examined my cunt. He’d turn me to face him, part the folds of my labia and blow gently onto my clit. He called me names; whore, slut, because I was so wet.
“Beg for it,” he’d order. And I would. He told me I was just a hole waiting to be filled.
He’d have me walk towards him in impossibly high heeled shoes, then walk away from him. He liked my large firm breasts and would make me squeeze my nipples, all the while watching me knowing that he was driving me crazy. I felt degraded, reduced to a thing; a puppet waiting on his time to be fucked.
He was pleased that my breasts were natural. I’d had no work done on them and they were heavy, firm and full, without silicone. That was the only time I’d ever seen Jake angry was when I asked him if he thought I should have implants, go up a couple of cup-sizes. That night he put me over his knee and spanked me hard; I was glad. At least it was contact, I’d made him do something to me. On each hard slap I pushed my ass up to meet his big hand. I whimpered as I felt a tingle beginning in my lower belly; my cunt starting to spasm, opening and closing. But he stopped, right when I was on the edge, just dipping his fingers into my cunt, then holding them to my face as he showed me the sticky moisture and what a wet slut I was. He always make me lick his fingers clean and I gulped greedily at the taste of my juices mixed with the saltiness of my frustrated tears.
He’d pick up my discarded, sopping panties, hold the crotch to his face and breathe in the smell; closing his eyes and savouring it like a fine wine. If he liked it so much, I’d cheekily told him, why wouldn’t he lick out my cunt?
“Careful,“ he’d growl, his deep voice that both thrilled me and scared me. He’d slapped my ass hard and ordered me into the bedroom or onto the oriental rug. Jake was mostly clothed; I was always naked. He’d cover me with his hard body, his swollen cock pressing through his jeans against my clit, while I squirmed beneath him, rubbing myself against him like a bitch in heat, trying to grab a sneaky come. But he always knew the second before I was there and roll away from me.
Why did I keep going back for more? We were seeing each other most nights now. I was addicted to him; determined to get him to fuck me. We’d never fucked; never spent the whole night together; for that I was grateful, at least I could fuck myself almost to the point of unconsciousness with the vibrator after he’d left. I got through a ton of batteries and finally invested in a state of the art rechargeable gadget. It pulsed, throbbed and thrusted, all at the same time; I could give my clit full attention as well as my g-spot. I’d buzz my way to an orgasm whenever I wanted.
“Who needs men?” I thought. But I did. At least I needed Jake.
He’d ask me again and again; “tell me what you are.” But I couldn’t. I didn’t know the answer he wanted. And Jake never left frustrated. He’d finally unzip himself, show me his hard cock. He’d make me look at it, so hard, big and thick. He’d pump it and make me say all the names for it I knew. Slang names, medical names; and he taught me some names I didn’t know. Old fashioned names; Mort’s jack, clakker, clagger. Sometimes we’d giggle, but all the time my fingers were wrapped around his cock, covered by Jake’s hand, masturbating him till he came. He’d lose himself in the orgasm, lucky bastard. Then he’d make me clean him with my tongue. He’d almost doze off to sleep afterwards, but he’d grip my wrists in his big hand, so I couldn’t fondle myself.
We’d only been together a few weeks when Jake went though my wardrobe. I stood meekly by, while he pulled dresses from their hangers, tossed my best designer jeans into a pile on the bed, they were destined for the charity shop. They were forbidden., as were flat shoes and my brand new DMs. I had a couple of mini- skirts and some elegant black calf length skirts. The only blouses he let me keep were white silk and tight fitting emphasising the swell of my breasts. A couple of bras he allowed me. Very tight fitting and boned. He liked the way my breasts were squeezed into the cups, spilling over the top. The only shoes he permitted me had killer heels. These I was to wear with black, silk seemed stockings, with lacy tops. No panties, ever. He let me keep one cock-tail dress; a frou-frou concoction of black lace, so low cut it barely covered my tits.
We went shopping. Jake seated languidly outside the changing rooms, as he had me parade before him in tartan mini-skirts in Vivienne Westwood. Tight corsets, which made me gasp for breath, in Jean-Paul Gaultier. Then back to Westwood for a crazy, sumptuous ball gown. All the while I was rocked by the erotic sense of my own sexuality. No panties made it worse. My labia lips slapping together as I walked; my clit pulsing. The musky odour of my sex following me around.
Then it was back to my flat. I cooked dinner for Jake and he ordered me to stand at his side like a waitress, while he ate. I poured him wine. Only after he’d finished was I allowed to eat in the kitchen. When I complained, he told me that one more word from me and my food would be scraped into a dog’s dish, and I could eat from that on the floor.
Lessons, or training, as Jake put it, continued, and I soon learnt not to complain.
I’d never sucked a guy till Jake ordered me to. I told him again I didn’t do that. It was true, I’d never done it. I’d wanted to, but I wouldn’t demean myself like that.
He’d said, “now you do,” forcing my head down and smearing his pre-come over my lips, like his cock was a lipstick. I gasped as he pinched my nose and he took advantage of my open mouth pushing his cock between my lips. He said I had the ideal mouth for sucking cock, wide and full; that sucking was what I had been born for. He was patient with me and trained me to deep throat him. He taught me to tilt my head back so my mouth, as far as possible, was in a straight line with my throat. That way I was less likely to gag as his cock slid down my throat. Most times he’d come straight into my belly. Sometimes he’d pull out and come in my face. Other times he’d pull back and come into my mouth, ordering me to swallow every drop of his come. I relished the taste of him; delicious and savoury. And all the time I never came, except when I was alone.
Then Jake forbad that. “You’ll come,” he dictated, “when I tell you you can.” He’d guessed I was fucking myself into a frenzy. And a curious thing happened. I’d always been able to come easily. But now it wasn’t happening. No matter how many fingers I jammed inside myself, or how long I tormented my swollen clit with the vibrator, I couldn’t come. I cursed Jake as I sobbed. Sex was in my mind every minute of every day. I dreamed about sex. I dreamed about coming, but I never did. I’d come in my dreams before; a pleasurable little rush, from which I’d wake feeling warm and content. But that was now just a memory.
One night at my flat, he asked me a different question.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes, of course,” I answered immediately. And I did. He’d never done anything to harm me. Our relationship was more about witholding from me, not hurting me.
He ordered me to stand and strip. When I stood naked before him he picked up a silk scarf that had been draped over a chair. He stood behind me and I quivered as he blindfolded me.
“What…what are you doing?” I asked shakily. I could see nothing. I was completely blind.
Jake was silent. I stood trembling and heard him moving around my flat. He took my hands and put them behind my back. I felt another silk scarf bound around my wrist, then he tied it tightly to the other one. It was tight enough to hurt.
“Relax,” he said softly in my ear. “Be still.” Then I heard him move away from me; a creak as he made himself comfortable on the sofa.
I only lasted a few minutes and I started to panic, but there was nothing I could do. I struggled with the bonds around my wrists, I called to him, but he didn’t answer. Was I alone? Had he left me? I was terrified. Tears were soaking into the scarf around my eyes. Snot poured from my nose. Then he was at my side; untying me and taking off the blindfold. He held me and rocked me in his strong arms.
“Sshh,” he breathed. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I never left you.”
I hiccupped tears and snot and drooled spit onto his shoulder.
“Was that your first time?” he asked. “The first time you’d been tied up?”
I nodded, clinging to him. He held me and stroked my hair as I trembled.
“It takes some people like that,” he told me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be so afraid. We’ll take things slowly.”
A few days later he took me to his house. I’d been there before, but hadn’t seen the dungeon he built in the basement. It was dark and hardly lit. A huge diagonal cross was fixed to one wall. Jake told me it was called a St Andrew’s cross. There was a curious contraption; a sort of padded bench, with what looked like leather restraints at a bar that ran along the base. I naively asked Jake what it was for. He smiled and bent me into position.
“The slave is bent over this bar,” he told me. “Then, she’s strapped down and whipped, or paddled. Sometimes both. Try it.”
I shuddered and glanced at the collection of whips displayed on the wall. Could I do that? Let him beat me? I stood bent over the bar and let him fasten the straps. I struggled, but there was no escape. I was at Jake’s mercy. He lifted my mini-skirt and ran his palms smoothly over my ass cheeks. He could do whatever he wanted to me. I felt faint as I realised that I wanted to feel the stinging lash of a whip. “Do it,” I panted. “Beat me with the paddle. Please. Now. As hard as you like.”
“No,” Jake said. “You’re not ready,” and he released me.
A set of branding irons and a small brazier caught my eye. I felt overwhelmed with the potential of exotic sensation. Would Jake do that to me? Had he used it on other girls? I closed my eyes and tried to imagine being strapped down and branded. The intense pain; the smell of burning flesh. Sinking my teeth into my lip. The bitter taste of my own blood; metallic in my mouth. Loosing control; perhaps even pissing myself. When I opened my eyes again I felt giddy. Jake had seen what I was looking at and was watching my face carefully.
“It’s not just pain,” he said. “It’s pleasure too. Pleasure at totally giving of yourself. Pleasure at relinquishing control. How can you experience pleasure if you don’t know how to feel?”
Jake was teaching me and seducing me. I was being slowly remoulded into a different girl; something Jake wanted me to be. I was like a sleep walker. I wanted and needed Jake. I couldn’t get enough of him. Once, I rushed out of the supermarket where I worked, to where Jake was working on a building site across the other side of town, to ask him if he loved me. I staggered over the rubble in my six inch heels to where he was stacking bricks.
“No. I don’t” he told me brutally. He took me to one side. “Not yet.” He slipped his arms around my waist, stooping and pulling up my calf length, black skirt exposing my ass. His work-mates laughed and whistled as he showed me to them. I was scarlet with humiliation, but I trembled in his arms. He turned me to make sure the men could see, then he ran his finger along my crack, poking it into my little virgin ass-hole. I yelped like a dog as he rammed it hard inside. His body shook with laughter. I felt degraded as his friends jeered. He slapped me across the ass and told me to go back to work.
“I’ll see you later,” he said. “We’ve got some serious talking to do.”
I left him, choking on my tears. Was he going to finish it? Was it all over? I couldn’t imagine living without him now. I would do anything to keep him. Had I embarrassed him going to him at work?
“Please, please, please,” I muttered over and over again in an incantation; a mantra. If I kept saying it, it wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t tell me to go.
I didn’t return to work; I called in sick and went home. I showered, washing the sweat from my body and I shaved my cunt. That had been one of Jake’s orders a few days ago and I still hadn’t done it. I thought about trying to make myself come. It would be such a relief. But I decided not to. If I stood any chance with Jake I had to obey his orders.
He was late coming home. I stood at the door to my flat, straining my ears for the sound of his motor cycle. I was trembling. I’d dressed in the leather and lace, black Gaultier corset, which pushed up my breasts with clever boned corsetry; The corset had a front fastening made of big silver hooks. I wanted to rip them apart. I could scarcely breathe. Little suspenders fastened my silk stockings and my bare, shaved cunt was delicately framed in a festoon of black lace.
He’d arrived. I heard the click of his key in the door. He stood back, and smiled a crooked smile as his eyes swept over me, raising an eyebrow as he caught sight of my shaved cunt. I stood waiting submissively as he’d taught me, but so far had refused to do. My back straight, my head bowed. My hands clasped behind my back.
He took me in his arms and kissed me hard, his tongue sweeping my mouth. He tasted of beer; he’d been in the pub. Then he stepped away and held me at arms’ length.
“Well?” he queried. “Are you ready to tell me what you are?”
He stepped into me again and cupped my face in his hands. His thumbs pushing up my chin so I was forced to meet his eyes. I felt as if I were suffocating; choking. I gasped and tried to breathe. He released the pressure just slightly and I was able to speak, but my voice was shaky, barely a whisper.
“When you first asked me about ..…I didn’t know what you meant. I just did what I wanted to do. It was all about…” He ran his finger tips over my arms. I couldn’t think straight with his rough, calloused hands on me.
“You,” he finished the sentence for me. “It was all about you. You didn’t give a damn about those poor guys you left hanging.” Jake stopped speaking for a moment. Then he went on. “At first, I thought you were a fledgling dominant. Out of control. Testing out your powers. Then I saw you were the opposite, a submissive with no master. No direction. You didn’t even know you needed a master.”
I was silent. There didn’t seem anything to say. I’d been a selfish bitch. A bad girl. A slut. That’s all there was to it. And I needed to be punished and controlled.
“So now?” he asked, his voice low. “Tell me what you are.”
I drew a breath. “I’m your slave,” I said. “ I’ll do anything you tell me to,” I could feel myself trembling. I felt tearful; emotional. I was making a solemn promise; a vow. Jake stroked my hair. “I’ll serve you always. I want to be with you. Please don’t send me away.”
Jake continued to watch me. He ran his hand over my belly and then down.
“So,” he said. “You admit it, you really are a submissive? You’ll take whatever I deal out. Whippings? You’ll be whipped, often, and tied down so you can’t move. It’ll hurt. If I loan you to one of my friends, if I’d brought back a friend from the pub this evening. If I tell you he‘s going to …fist you…fist you in the ass…you will? You’ll be degraded at orgies…”You’ll do as you’re ordered?”
I shivered remembering the tiny branding irons and brazier in his dungeon. I made a bitter attempt at humour. “Yes Master,” I said softly. As long as you’ll watch…” Jake’s mouth hardened and I stopped, realising it was no longer my place to make jokes. I cast my eyes submissively down again. I was thankful that I had such an experienced master.
His finger tips split open my labia. His thumb rested on my clit.
“Will you? You’ll be humiliated. But you’ll be content, at peace with yourself.”
“Yes,” I whimpered.
His thumb increased the pressure on my clit, he moved it fast in a circular motion. He leaned into me, breathing in my ear.
“Come,” he whispered.
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