Charlene Submits

Charlene was a happy woman. Dating a man who adored her, secure in her job, and still looking good in her forties. What else could she want?

Deep down, she knew that there was something missing. There was a longing, a craving that she couldn't put her finger on. She wasn't sure what it was...or what it meant. But it woke her up at night. She'd find herself staring at the ceiling, resisting the thoughts that entered her mind and wondering what it all meant. Finally, she would break down and masturbate--giving those cravings a voice...a room to grow inside her head--in an attempt to make herself tired enough to finally get sleep, to push those thoughts down and out of her head.

She and Peter would cook together, watch old comedies, and joke around. The relationship was great. The friendship was great. The sex was great. She loved that he doted on her and didn't act like most men she'd been with. Her release was most important to him. He'd tease and finger her, lick her pussy, and suck on her clit until she'd cum and cum again. He loved to watch her face when she exploded.

Other men had taken much different pleasures from her body. Her past had been filled with rude men, ones who would push her to her knees and expect to have their cocks sucked. She rarely obliged them, but she never liked it. It wasn't her choice; it was something that they had demanded and taken through intimidation, their size, their commands, or simply through the threat that a single mother couldn't be choosy about who she dated. But she hated every second of it. They were oafs, men of little imagination, and less respect.

Peter had been different from the beginning. He'd never asked for it; in fact, he'd stated that it wasn't "his thing" and left it at that. So she'd been relieved to learn that there would be no more clumsy but strong hands on her shoulders pushing her down, no morning demands of "suck my cock, Babe" as she was awakened by a semi flaccid penis being pushed between her lips as a wake up call. Instead Peter would wake her up by gently spreading her legs and licking her to two or three sleepy orgasms that would finally awake her fully until she would sit up, breathing heavily, and holding his head between her legs as she came again.

Peter pleased her in so many ways...but left that little itch un-scratched. And she'd tried--oh how she'd tried--to tell him about this other side of her. The side that wanted to serve. The side that craved being submissive in every way. The side that desperately wanted for someone to overcome her reticence for the rough and crude acts she'd been "forced" to do by others...and make her WANT to do them. To kneel. To be commanded. To be spanked. To be forced to cum on command. To worship his cock. To be taken roughly in the time and place of his choosing.

But was it Peter that she saw in her fantasies when she thought about these things? This bothered her. She thought it was him, but she also knew that he couldn't do it. He revered Charlene and placed her on a pedestal. Reddening her bottom was beyond the pale for him.

"My brother is coming" he'd mentioned off handedly while they were lying in bed one morning. She'd just had a series of small orgasms provided by his skilled tongue, his fingers, and finally, in the missionary position, his cock. Spent but wanting more, she was barely paying attention when he'd said it. It took a couple of minutes to process and finally she said, "A brother? What?"

"My twin. Richard's an asshole. I'm sorry, but I couldn't put him off. He won't be here long." She was alarmed by the pronouncement of his twin being an asshole, but didn't think more of it since she was still enjoying some lovely after effects of her orgasms.

Two weeks later, a cocksure, arrogant, and slightly intimidating Richard came into their lives. He was planning on staying for a week. He was in the spare bedroom if he was there, but he usually was gone. Dressed in black suits with red ties--like it was his uniform--he would appear perfectly coiffed and disappear for the night to return in the early morning hours. The few times he did hang around in the "common" areas of the house, he looked at her with a malevolence that frightened her. She was intimidated by his attitude. He seemed to know things. Things that he shouldn't know about her. She knew Peter would never tell him about their lives, about her. But Richard had an insight...a knowing to him. She felt like he was always looking through her and reading her most intimate thoughts. It scared her.

He spoke to her all the time. A slow, reassuring tone that did nothing to threaten her outwardly; the threat she felt was internal. He was polite, helpful, and even friendly, but in his words she felt a knowledge that he wanted her...that he would have her. An advance never came; he remained aloof. But her feelings pushed her to continually think of ways to keep the defenses up.

She hated him immediately.

He acted like he didn't care at all. This drove her dislike of him to new levels. He didn't deserve a woman like her. She almost wished he'd make a move so she could shoot him down.

Wait! Why was she thinking this way? How on earth had he gotten into her head so far that she was actually thinking about him touching her, despite the fact that her outward desire was to humiliate him by saying no? She had to admit that there was a feeling in her that made her keep thinking about the possibilities of time spent alone with him. It made her angry to think about it; she didn't want him in her head that way. She blushed visibly when she realized that not only was her mind telling her that she would have to fight harder to resist him, but that her body was also betraying her. She was feeling the effects of the attraction she secretly held for him. Her nipples strained against her blouse, her skin got goose pimples, and she felt herself moisten.

Late that night, Peter brought wine home. They'd finished two bottles and started on a third when the festivities had moved to the bedroom. Peter had slowly stripped her of her clothes. She'd found herself standing in nothing but her sexiest heels in front of the closet's full length mirror. Peter had caressed her breasts, kissed his way down her belly, and knelt in front of her while licking her. She'd never experienced this before. She felt like a goddess being worshiped by a subject on his knees. Her legs spread, she squatted on shaking knees just enough to put her sex closer to his awkwardly positioned head as he'd lapped at her pussy. The orgasm built in her until she dripped with her pleasure. Like a good lover, Peter lapped at her, catching every drop of her sweet nectar. He'd wrapped his arms around her upper legs and buttocks to steady her while he'd buried his face in her clenching pussy.

A finger intruded between her pussy lips. Working, pushing, and twisting, it found her g-spot and she exploded again. He held her up; there was no way he would let her fall. A beautiful, sweat slicked, orgasm-producing goddess stood in the spacious bedroom and exacted her tribute from a man who wanted nothing but the most he could get from her body. When her breathing calmed, she found that he was already on the bed, resting, satisfied that he had done wonderful things for her. She couldn't put a finger on it, but there was something melancholy in all this joy. Something was still missing from all this bliss.

She lay in the bed, awake for a little while, and must have drifted off to sleep. Some time later--she didn't know when--she awoke in a still house with his quiet breathing the only sound. She was thirsty, so she got up from the bed, still naked except for the heels which she noticed with amusement were still strapped to her pretty feet. The sexy shoes clicked on the hardwood floors, echoing through the quiet home.

The glow from the refrigerator bathed her body in a cool white light as she stood in front of the machine, peering into it. A bottle of water opened and was held to her lips. She drank deeply of the cool liquid and was about to return to the bedroom when she started. A strange noise frightened her and she turned quickly to see him standing in the kitchen behind her. The smile on his lips was one of amusement and interest. She'd forgotten that she was naked and he simply stood and enjoyed the view. She made no move to cover up; after all, he'd spent a half hour pleasuring her this very night. Why be modest?

"Very sexy, Kitten," he'd intoned when he finally spoke, "I'd love some of that." She could tell that he was in a naughty mood from the way he said it. If he was ready for more, then so was she.

"And how do you want it, Sir?"

"Ahhh, 'Sir' now is it? That's a good girl. I'm glad you're learning some respect for a man." He grinned wickedly in the low light, and moved towards her.

"Well, I have tried to tell you what it is I need," she answered with a small glimmer of hope that finally he was going to take a more dominant role.

His face hardened and softened at the same time. She could see the change in expression as his dominant side took hold. She could see the thoughts swirling behind gleaming eyes of what he might demand of her body. Alternately, his demeanor changed as if to say, "Dear, sweet girl. Finally, I am going to show you what I want from you..."

She was ready. She turned to face him full on, to show him that she wasn't afraid of what might come. She stood on sure feet, ready to embrace her fate.

Fear and excitement raced through her brain. "What will he ask of me?" she thought. "He has no experience with this and I have less than that."

His command came sharply, decisively. "Slut, on your knees."

She was shocked by his tone, by the word. "Where did that come from?" Without thinking though, she dropped to her knees and assumed the submissive pose that she always took in her fantasies, hoping that he would be pleased.

He stood over her. He reached down and took her chin in his hand and turned the face up to look at him. "From now on, Slut, you will address me as, 'Sir'. Do you understand?"

A voice that couldn't possibly be hers came from her mouth, "I do, Sir."

"And are there limits to what is mine?"

"No Sir."

"And is this something you crave, Slut?"

This time, she hesitated. This was it. Finally, she would admit to him that this is what she needed.

His annoyance came quickly. "Slut? Why are you taking so long to answer?"

"I needed to be sure, Sir."

"So your answer is...?"

"I crave it, Sir. I do. I need to be...this...thing. I want to be...submissive to you. I need to be treated like your toy, your possession. Yours to use as you see fit. Yours to command. I...need to give up and allow you to control my life."

"Excellent."

She fought tears. She'd finally said it. It had been given voice and now it was out there. Her need to submit to him hung on the air and consumed her thoughts. She felt brave for saying it; she felt smaller for offering her submission. She was now the little one in the relationship. He had been given all the power. No longer would she be placed on a pedestal. No longer would he worship her body and coax orgasms from her for her pleasure. Now, it would be for him. All for him.

The tears dried. It was done. She was his. And she was ready to embrace it.

He continued to look down at Charlie as if considering his first act. "What would make you mine?" he queried out loud. In answer to his own question--which he didn't expect her to answer anyway--he unzipped the fly on his shorts. "Show me how a good submissive worships her Dominant's cock."

Excitedly, she reached into his shorts and was surprised by the heft of his member. She pulled it carefully through the fly and admired its shape, its smell, its weight, and its length as if for the first time. She kept expecting him to stop her, as if it was a test for her first act as a submissive. She carefully stroked it, waiting to be told to stop so he could move on to something else that he actually enjoyed. Surprisingly, he didn't stop her but watched her carefully, surprised that she didn't immediately suck the head into her mouth.

His hand twisted in her hair and she felt truly owned...and comforted by that ownership. It pulled her face closer to his thick cock and her mouth opened to swallow him. He didn't stop pushing until the bulbous head caught in the back of her throat. She suppressed her gag reflex and allowed him to push and felt the length of him filling her mouth and going into her throat. Once fully stuffed into her mouth and throat, he held her there. She felt full and close to panicking. She needed to breathe but he held her there. Was this a test? Finally her gag reflex kicked in and she pulled away, choking a little as spittle clung to his now hard cock. She caught her breath and struggled to accommodate him as he immediately pushed back into her face.

His hips flexed forward and over and over he pushed into her. "That's a good slut," he whispered, "Do you like having your face fucked?"

She considered trying to answer, but knew that it would involve having to remove him from her mouth. And that wasn't happening until he chose the time for it to stop. Her answer instead, was to increase her efforts at laving his thick shaft, to flick at the purple head with her tongue, and to swallow his entire length each time it was roughly pushed into her face.

She couldn't believe it; she was enjoying it. She was astounded at her need to please him and amazed by her lack of fear. Everything she craved...

But the thought was interrupted. He pulled his twitching cock from her mouth and strands of her saliva mixed with his pre-cum stretched from her lips to his engorged head.

"Up," he ordered and she struggled to stand quickly on wobbly legs. The heels didn't help nor did her excitement at what was happening. Despite it being what she'd never allowed herself to admit that she wanted, she still felt like she was living a dream.

On her feet, she stood facing him until he physically grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. She felt herself pushed against the cold, unyielding metal of the refrigerator and her nipples crinkled and she screamed inwardly at the sensation. She felt him behind her. A finger deftly traced the bumps of her spine. It reached the soft curve of the small of her back and slowed, but did not stop. Dipping into the crack of her ass, it continued to explore and stopped just short of touching her most taboo spot. "Oh God..." she started to think.

But it was removed. Two hands firmly gripped her hips and pulled her away from the refrigerator. She was forced to step backwards about two feet. His foot intruded between her heels and gently kicked them apart until her feet were just wider than her shoulder width. The movement had forced her to pull away from the cold face of the refrigerator, but his insistent hand pushed her face back towards it and she was forced to bend at the waist. The heels jutted her ass out behind her and the position of being bent forward with her back straight made it worse...or better.

His hand caressed the curve of her right cheek. Its soft skin was explored by his firm hand and she could feel his breathing behind her. The hand was removed and then a stinging pain coursed through her. Again it hit. He was spanking her ass, hard! She couldn't believe it. Five minutes after admitting her submissive nature and she had already happily had her face fucked and now she was getting a spanking. What could be next?

The spanking continued for five or six more swats. She could feel the heat building in her right ass cheek and it was strangely exciting to her. She was being driven crazy by the erotic pain and when he dragged his nails across the incredibly hot area, she could feel her pussy get wet. She couldn't believe it; she was so happy yet wanted to cry from the pain. But not a sad crying, no. She was ready to cry tears of joy at finally getting him to take a dominant role in their sex play.

The insistent finger returned to her ass cheek. The other hand joined it and she felt herself being spread open from behind. "Oh...no..." she wasn't sure how she felt about that. While she prepared to express her concern, her thought was interrupted by his finger--moistened from his mouth--swirling gently over her anus. "Oh...that feels so..." She couldn't even finish the thought. She had fantasized about this most taboo of acts and couldn't believe that for the first time in her life, she was being touched on her tiny hole. He was playing with her asshole and she found she was actually pushing back. It was so naughty, she couldn't believe she was enjoying it.

And pressure was increased. He continued to swirl his finger around her butthole, but the pressure increased. "Does he intend to penetrate my ass?" she thought to herself. The finger pushed, never relenting, until her sphincter relaxed and the tip of his finger entered her. The feeling was strange, exotic, and she moaned a little.

"What was that, Slut?" he asked from behind her.

"Nothing, Sir," she answered.

No answer. Well at least no verbal answer. The response to her silence was to increase the pressure yet again. She felt her ass being invaded by a sensation she'd never felt before. As she fought to remain quiet and not displease her new Dominant, she found herself pushing back lewdly, trying to engulf more of his finger in her tight asshole.

The finger was removed. She nearly screamed with frustration. She'd been on the long, slow buildup to an orgasm and now the stimulation had been removed. She almost cried from the loss of his invading finger.

And then, she felt a new sensation. She felt something wet, prying, and soft poking at her asshole. With a fright, she realized that he had knelt behind her and was holding her cheeks apart while he teased her sensitive spot with his tongue. "Oh my God," she screamed in her mind. "This can't be happening. Is he really going to...?"

The amazing feeling of his tongue poking into her most secret spot combined with the incredibly "wrong" nature of it cut off her thoughts and she fought to not collapse backwards onto his face. The orgasm was approaching and she reeled at the thought that this taboo stimulus was driving her over the edge.

When he grunted and pushed his tongue into her, past the resistant sphincter of her anus, and probed her asshole, she fought off the explosion that was building inside her. "Was she allowed to cum?" she wondered. There had been no talk of this; she didn't know what was allowed.

But when the tongue pushed further up her ass and began to wiggle, she thought she might come apart. A finger snaked upwards, between her legs, and searched out her clit. When the finger touched it, she could fight it no more. Her orgasm crashed over her, radiated outwards from her pussy and ass, and drove her harder into the fridge. Her ass pushed backwards, tight against his face and tongue. She screamed, cried, laughed, and howled as if she was being blown apart from the inside. He held her with his arms around her legs and his face between the cheeks of her ass while she recovered from the powerful orgasm. The sensation of being held around the waist was similar to the one she'd felt earlier that night when she'd had her pussy eaten in a similar way.

At some point, she realized that she was breathing again. He was gone. She was alone in the kitchen, still naked, still barely standing on shaking legs, and feeling so much more...complete than before. She had what she wanted. She'd offered her submission and had a taste of what being taken roughly was like. She'd become an object, a cherished toy, to be used by him whenever he wanted. She was happy, and strangely so.

Re-entering the bedroom, she moved to their bed. He stirred and sat up straight. "Where have you been, Baby? I thought I heard a noise and woke up wondering if it was you."