On this Fourth of July weekend, celebrations abound throughout the United States. We enjoy a great deal of personal freedom in this country, but many of us still struggle with sexual freedom…ours..and others.
It seems odd to me that in these “enlightened times” that this is the one taboo that holds us still so tightly in its grasp…from tweeted Senatorial crotches, to women showing too much skin….sexual difference, sexual need, including that which is labeled ‘kink’…..is still considered “sinful”.
Though it is “story-tized”…this is a hint of my journey towards sexual freedom…. ~n~
Late at night, when the neighborhood settled, the dogs slept, the moon rose and the stars squirreled around the sky, she prowled.
She roamed through the winding paths of the internet, in the dark of the night when she had trouble sleeping. She found herself slipping silently from their bed in the darkness, gliding like a wraith through the house, down to the den. Once there, she would lower the blinds, pull the curtains shut, so Mrs. Jonas next door wouldn’t peek in by happenstance. The two houses abutted far too closely for comfort in the best of times, which is why this room had become the den. She could only imagine hearing that warble-voiced neighbor “yooo-hooo”-ing her at 3:00 a.m. while she was sitting in here, reading.
No one could know what she was doing.
It was wrong. Evil. Bad. Sick.
She couldn’t stop herself.
She booted up the computer, and sat, one heel propped up on the chair by her butt, hugging her knee tight to her breast. She refused to acknowledge the hard pebble of her nipple; would blame it on the chill of the floor as she moved through the house barefoot.
It was definitely the chill of the floor, and not the naughty warmth between her thighs.
She didn’t get excited by that sort of thing. She didn’t. She…just didn’t.
She didn’t envy those women, who said that they were ‘slaves’ or sluts, or fucktoys. Not for a moment did she envision herself, a modern, take-charge woman, giving herself over to some big, mean-assed bully.
Not for a single, fucking moment.
The computer illuminated, and she zipped to the first website. Perhaps something new had gone up since her last visit. She leaned closer to the glowing screen, eyes wide as she read rapidly, barely remembering to inhale. Exhale.
His girl wouldn’t let someone do that to her would she? Yet, apparently…she did. And it made her cry. Why…why would he make her cry if he loved her? Why would she let him hurt her that way? It was …deranged.
As she read, her fingers absently caressed her pussy, exposed under her sleepshirt. Her labia was swollen, moist. Her clit throbbed softly. Oh, oh gods He’d made his girl cum. And cum again. And cum again…lucky girl…
She shook her head.
She did not just think that. She clicked the link and read a second blog she followed. And a third. Gawd. Sex and pain, and bondage…
This didn’t excite..couldn’t…shouldn’t. She felt the tell-tale quiver deep inside, and slid a finger inside herself. Closing the computer, she closed her eyes, and recalled what the Master had done to his slut…and came hard against her thrusting digit.
A touch of fever, she told him, as she saw him out to his car. Enjoy your visit, she had said, as she’d shut his door, rubbed her cheek against his. See you Monday. Tell your mother I said ‘hey’.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were overbright. She’d even told him she’d call him, to not be surprised if she didn’t answer, ringers off to catch up on much-needed sleep.
She waved as he drove down the street, heading out on the six-hour drive to his family home. And she, too sick to attend the annual reunion.
Gods she was so fucking sick.
Hard to admit that, despite the hard knocking of her heart against her throat. She wanted to run after his car, screaming, can’t you see? This morbid fascination with the dark side had begun to rule her waking thoughts.
She was horny all the time.
He liked that, actually. They fucked a lot. Made love often, too, but many times, after a night online, she’d creep back to bed, and take his cock into her mouth. He’d wake with a throbbing hard-on, and they’d …fuck. It wasn’t soft, nor tender, but raw, visceral sex.
And gods it was so fucking good, when he just used her.
Sometimes he’d left marks on her, which he’d apologized for, but which she secretly adored. She told him not to worry, he was simply marking his property. Though her tone was teasing, his response was a fast frown. And denial. They were equals.
She didn’t want to be an equal, not all the time.Not in bed. Night after night, whether she touched herself or not, there was always a hot throbbing in her pussy, her …she hesitated over the nasty word.
Walking into the house, she said the word aloud.
It made her shivery hot.
She opened the door slowly. This was madness. She was crazy. Nuts.
And so turned on it was a wonder she could walk.
He met her halfway across the room.
“Hi, little one.” And taking a handful of her hair in his hand he kissed her. It wasn’t a soft, nice to know you kiss, it was a hard, curious, let’s-see-what-you-got-here kiss.
When he finally released her mouth she was near to fainting. The throbbing between her legs should have been audible, it was so intense. His mouth had stolen her voice; she looked up at him with huge eyes.
“Strip. Make it hot for me, little one.”
She’d never stripped for a man before, not even her husband. That was always sex in the dark. She swallowed around the lump of nerves in her throat, and slowly began to unbutton her peach blouse. She stood for a moment, uncertain, then turned her back to him. She bared a shoulder, peeking back to look at him.
He was reclined on the bed, a small smile on his mouth. That mouth. She shivered, responding to the tug of need that his mouth engendered within her.
The shirt balanced on the crook of her elbows, her shoulders and neck bare. With a last look over her shoulders, she straightened her arms, putting them behind her, allowing the blouse to cascade down them to the floor. Reaching up, she unhooked her bra, and slid the straps down her left, then her right shoulder.
Turning for a three-quarter profile, she leaned a bit forward, allowing the cups to pull away a bit, flashing him a glimpse of her rounded titties.
He leaned forward, and she felt free, and bold. Holding one arm protectively across her chest, she let the straps come off her free hand, and reached up to unfasten her hairclip.
The freefall of hair shielded her breasts from full view, as she dropped the bra to the floor. She glanced at him through the silky screen of it, and saw his appreciative smile.
With a tug and a hip-roll, her skirt soon joined her bra and blouse on the floor.
She was left in scanty lace panties, thigh highs and heels.
He crooked his finger at her.
She crossed, slowly to him. He tugged her hair, silently bidding her to kneel before him, between his spread legs. His cock was exposed, hard, tipped with a pearlescent drop- evidence of His own desire.
“you are mine now, little one. Today you’ve finally taken the steps we’ve talked about for months. Today you have morphed…from voyeur, to submissive.”
She no longer felt like a ‘freak’. It was true that she lived a life of dual purpose. Sometimes one side weighed on her more than the other…the press of her day-to-day life, the needs of her Master and Owner.
Finding the balance had taken her a year and more, yet she was holding the tension within her. Not too much to bear, not too little to have an impact. She had changed. Grown up. Accepted.
She had morphed from the blandness of everyday life, and found a secret, thrilling ride lay hidden just out of sight. She had morphed from a simple life to one more complicated; yet it was worth it, full of sexual freedom, and joy. Rather than moving through her days, she enjoyed them, bit into them fully, living and experiencing each moment, the good and the bad, the happy, the sad.
Her Master had opened her. Slowly, carefully, He’d peeled back her layers, exposing her to herself. Made her face herself in the mirror, and accept.
No longer afraid of those stories she read, she’d become one.