Just Between You, and Me – and Her

---- explicit sexual content ----

It’s almost time, now, and I’m nervous. I can’t help it, despite Sir’s reassurances and his promises and his surety.

I’ve been in Sir’s room for a couple of hours now; we have spent that time reaffirming our bond and my obedience and his mastery and yes, we have been naked and had sex and so much more than sex.

And I want to believe him, I do, but there’s a part of me that just cannot wrap my head around what he wants, and I’m struggling with it.

As the clock ticks on, I grow more nervous and jumpy and distracted, and finally Sir has had enough of my wandering attention.  We are on the bed, lying quietly, when my fidgeting gets the better of him. In the space of a heartbeat he is leaning over me, his hand wrapped around my throat, startling me into shocked stillness. I look up at him, and he speaks, his eyes fierce and determined and compelling.

“I know you are nervous, Kitten,” he begins. At least he’s calling me Kitten. That shows he’s not too angry with me. “I want this, and I want you to share it with me. And that’s what it is – a sharing. Not a replacing, not a substituting, not a comparing. Do you understand?”

Not really, I want to say. But that would be beyond stupid, and so I hold his gaze and merely nod the best I can with his hand pinning my neck. He relents, then, easing his hand away from me and pulling back a bit. But only a bit.

See, Sir has planned that today, we will be joined by a third party, another woman. And I’m not keen on the idea, but Sir wants it, and so here I am. And my own fears and insecurities are what’s driving my reluctance. I’m not opposed to the idea of homosexuality, or of threesomes, in general. I just never thought I’d be participating. And I’m not comfortable. But Sir has held off on this for more than a year, now, and I feel like I owe him my best attempt at giving him this wish.

But oh, how my heart is racing, and I’m frightened. Not of the woman he’s chosen, though I do not know her. I trust that Sir would never allow me to be harmed, ever (notice I did not say, Sir would never allow me to be hurt, but even then, it’s only by his hand, and of very brief duration, and spoken about beforehand). No, I’m victim here of my own insecurities.

When we first discussed the idea of a threesome encounter, Sir made it very clear that he was not looking to replace me – a huge fear of mine. I have no illusions about my appearance; I’m not quite so young, any more, and I can’t help that my hair shows traces of silver, and my waist is thicker than it used to be. And in my head I am convinced that our soon-to-be partner will be young and nubile and much more flexible, and she’ll be the perfect compliant submissive, and I know that comparisons will be made. It’s human nature. But I am so, so afraid of being found wanting, and being told (no matter how gently) that it’s just not going to work out between us anymore.

And Sir has done his absolute best to convince me that I am wrong. But my fear persists. And it is getting in the way, now, and I’m allowing it to create a wedge between us, and I feel helpless.

But anyway, it’s too late – there’s a knock at the door.

Sir tells me to dress, and I quickly pull on my cotton panties and tank top, and follow him to the door. My heart is racing, and my mouth is dry, and – oh God, should I have grabbed a breath mint?

In my panic I almost miss it when Sir opens the door. He steps back to allow her to enter, and I can’t see her yet, and I’ve stopped breathing.

Then she steps to the side to allow him to close the door, and I get my first glimpse.

She’s younger than I am (I knew it, I knew it), but my next glance shows faint lines at the corners of her eyes, so perhaps she’s not as young as I first assumed. She has dark blonde hair, falling in a soft straight curtain to sweep her shoulders, and she’s a bit taller than I am.

But then I see that she’s of a similar body type as I am, and I start breathing again. Maybe, just maybe, this might not be the break-up set-up I keep envisioning. And the rational part of my brain smacks me upside the head with a smug I told you so, but I can’t deny the relief I feel. And it’s ridiculous, and irrational, and Sir has told me often enough that he’s not getting rid of me, but now for the first time I actually allow myself to believe it.

Because I’ve been Sir’s sub for a few years now, and quite honestly, I’m not ready to not be.

So I smile when Sir introduces us, and hold out my hand for her to shake without it trembling, and meet Sir’s questioning glance without flinching. And when Sir beckons me to show her to the bedroom, I ask her, politely, to please follow me, and lead her down the hall.

And then Sir takes charge, and I do my best to lock away my lingering misgivings, and train my attention on him, the way it should be. And I know that he sees me trying, and a brief smile crosses his face.

“Make our guest comfortable, Kitten,” he tells me, and I lead her to the chair tucked under the window, near the bed. Before she sits down, though, I reach for the button and zipper of her jeans, and she glances at Sir to see what she should do. He merely nods, and I undo the button and slide the zipper down, then tug the jeans down over her hips. I sink to my knees and grasp one foot, then the other, sliding off her sandals and placing them neatly to the side. I pull her jeans all the way down and slip them off each foot, then fold them neatly and place them atop her shoes. Her panties follow next, and again, I fold them and place them on her jeans.

I ask her to sit, please, toward the front of the chair, and when she does, I draw in a deep breath, closing my eyes and gathering my courage and obedience and my will. I open my eyes and lean forward, bracing my hands on her knees and gently pushing them apart. She’s tense, I can feel it, and I realize she is nervous, too. Somehow, that makes it better. A little.

My tongue comes out and licks up her inner thigh, and she draws in a breath and holds it. At the joint of her hip, I pull a tiny bit of skin between my teeth and nip her, very gently. She lets go the breath she’s holding on a sigh, so I choose another patch of skin and nip her again. I pull back and lick my way up her other thigh, and I feel her start to relax a little. This time, there’s a hitch in her breath when I nip her, and I lean in closer still, and duck my head, and my tongue sweeps lightly over her clit. She leans back in the chair with a soft sound of surprise, opening her legs to grant me access, so I follow that first sweep with a second, and then a third, and the sound she makes now tells me she’s enjoying it. I’m glad for that – I’m not really comfortable doing this, not even for Sir, but at least she doesn’t hate my clumsy efforts.

“That’s enough,” Sir’s voice rings out, and I pull away and sit back on my heels.

He tells me to get on the bed, and as I do, he tells her to strip off the rest of her clothes. I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch. I hear him cross the room, and then I’m startled as a soft strip of cloth covers my eyes. Oh, a blindfold. Hmm. He has me tilt my head so he can fasten the ties, then tells me to lie on my back. I’m still clothed, if you can really call panties and a tank top “clothed”, and somehow, the knowledge that she’s naked while I’m not makes her seem more vulnerable, even though I can’t see her.

Sir tells me to raise my hands over my head, and I feel him binding my wrists with some kind of soft rope. Ooh. I like this, yes, indeed. He bends down close enough that I can feel his breath, warm on my ear.  “Mine,” he whispers, and I cannot stop the shiver that goes through me. I am his, yes, and he well knows it, but his declaration is reassurance, and I feel some more of my hesitance and reluctance melt away.

His mouth fastens on mine in a searing kiss, while his hand works underneath my tank top and rests on my breast. He plays with the nipple, his fingers teasing and rubbing and twisting, and a spike of desire shoots through me. I shift and moan into his mouth when he pinches the nipple, and he swallows my needy sound. His hand leaves my breast and I arch my back, blindly trying to follow his hand, but he grasps the bottom of my tank top and hikes it up, and up, and over my head and off my shoulders, until it’s bunched up around my bound wrists. I shiver, again, from the coolness of the air, and then his mouth fastens over my breast, his tongue hot and wet and rasping over my nipple, and I’m moaning again because it’s so, so good.

And then I feel a second mouth closing over my other breast, and I freeze in surprise and apprehension. I hadn’t heard her move, nor paid attention to the way the bed dipped when she climbed on. Sir reclaims my attention by nipping me, and I shudder and say, “Ow,” even though it doesn’t really hurt, it just caught me by surprise. He soothes the tiny sting with his tongue, and I whine in my throat at the way his mouth suckles me, pulling the nipple between his teeth and then swooping in to suck on it again. God, that’s delicious.

I admit, I never really thought about what it might feel like to have two mouths working on me at the same time. I can tell the difference, of course; her hair is long enough that I feel it sweeping across my skin as she moves. Her mouth is smaller, and she doesn’t suck with the same rhythm or strength, but wow, it’s quite a bit more exciting that I would have believed. I’m losing my reluctance, to be honest, even though I have to deliberately shut off the part of my brain that’s screaming That’s a girl! And you don’t even know her! And hello – that’s a girl!!

Sir nips me again, pulling my focus back on him, and I tilt my head in his direction. I arch up, trying to get him to take even more of my flesh into his mouth, and I am aware, now, of moisture between my legs. Sir has always, always made me wet, made me want him, coaxed my body to respond to him, and now is no different. I unconsciously open my knees, and his hand is there, stroking the skin of my leg, building the desire I’m starting to really feel.

I shift on the bed, wordlessly encouraging him to touch me, to caress and stroke and tease me, but Sir will not be rushed nor coerced, and he takes his sweet time in tracing little patterns on my thigh with his fingers. His mouth leaves my breast, then, and I whine loudly in disappointment, and a moment later her mouth is gone, also. He must have signaled her or something, because no words were spoken.

In the next moment, two mouths are on my thighs, licking and nibbling and nipping, and I gasp in surprise at how good it feels. I know I love it when Sir builds me up like this, taking his time in sweet suspense, his lips and teeth and tongue scorching trails of heated desire on my skin, but I never suspected how much more it would be with two.  There’s nowhere to go, no respite from sensation the way there is with one, switching from leg to leg. It’s just constant stimulation, and there’s nothing even that sexual about it, except that I am totally turned on and my juices are flowing freely. My whine this time is a plea; for what, exactly, I’m not one-hundred-percent sure, myself.

But Sir understands, in that way that he does, and his tongue leaves my thigh and sweeps over my clit, and I buck and moan and seek more, and more, and he nudges her aside so he can settle between my knees, and buries his face in my pussy. God! I love, love, love this, and I’m grinding into his mouth, and tossing my head, because yes, this is what I need, and I want it. I feel his fingers probing, and I open my legs wider as he presses two fingers inside me. I suck in a breath and release it on a long moan, and it’s so, so good, and he finger-fucks me, and his mouth is doing amazing things, and I can feel my approaching climax like a knot low in my belly, tightening and pulling and building…..

And then her mouth closes over my breast as her fingers reach to play with my other nipple, and I arch involuntarily and moan, again, a long spiraling sound. Sir’s tongue lashes my clit and I writhe underneath him, seeking my release, the inevitable end to this achingly sweet torture. His teeth close down on my clit and his fingers push in deep, and I shriek as that coil finally snaps. My climax crashes over me, intense and burning, and I flood Sir’s mouth in a rush of liquid. My wail is cut off abruptly as her mouth covers mine, and she swallows my cry, her lips sealing over mine, her tongue plunging into my mouth. I am rocked by waves of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful, and it goes on and on, since Sir hasn’t let up yet, his mouth and his fingers still working, to wring out every last drop I can produce, I think.

Finally, though, I wrench my head to the side and gasp for air, my legs shaking, and I shift, to let Sir know that it’s too much, now, too sensitive, and he eases back and slowly pulls his fingers free. And even though having those fingers inside me was too much, I whine at their loss, and Sir laughs at me. His wet fingers touch my lips, and I open my mouth so he can insert them. I clean his fingers for him, running my tongue over them and sucking all traces of my release from them.

He kisses me then, deeply, and I taste myself on his tongue, blending, mingling, and it is glorious. He reaches up and pushes the material of my tank top out of the way so he can untie me, and as he leans over me, he whispers into my ear – “Good girl.”

But when I reach up to remove the blindfold, he tells me to leave it alone. I frown, but obey. And then he tells me to get on my hands and knees. I roll to my side and then push myself up, his hands on my hips tugging and pushing and placing me where he wants me. When I am settled, he tells her to get back on the bed (I didn’t even realize she’d left it), her back against the headboard, her legs open. And then I understand.

He comes around behind me and leans over my back, and instructs me to finger her. It’s a little awkward, to be honest, because I can’t see where she is, exactly, and my hand is trembling a bit. But then I touch her leg, and follow it up to her core, and I use two fingers to explore her folds and find her entrance. She is warm, and wet, and even though God knows I have fingered myself plenty of times, it is not the same. The angles is different, the smells and sounds are different, and I press my fingers deep inside her, then pull them nearly free before sliding them back inside again. I can feel the inner walls clenching around my fingers, pulling at them, hear her sighs and little moans, and in the privacy of my head I thank Sir profusely for leaving the blindfold on me, because I don’t think I am ready to see her staring at me while I explore.

After a few minutes, she’s moaning more loudly, and Sir leans over me once more.

“Go ahead, Kitten – taste her.”

Thankful that Sir can’t see my grimace – and not caring all that much if she does – I obediently bend my head and lick at her, tasting the juices running from her pussy. Eh, not too different from my own, I guess. I’m glad she’s happy, and glad that Sir is happy, but in and of itself, I’m not all that thrilled by the experience. Still, she did play her part in my pleasure earlier; I suppose it’s only fair that I do my part.

And then Sir ups the ante… I feel the head of his cock pressing between my legs, and I shift my knees apart to give him access. Ah, yes, there, and the head of his cock breaches my entrance, and bit by bit, he eases all the way inside me. I shiver, it’s so good, and I push back against him in an effort to get him to move.

He sets a slow pace, languid, easy, no hurry, and his cock slides in and out, in and out, and even though I’ve recently cum, and even though I’m still slightly sore, I want more, dammit, want him to pound into me and fuck me and own me, and I give an impatient growl when he refuses.

“Now, now, Kitten,” he admonishes me. “You cannot cum until our guest does.”

Oh.

Oh.

I set to work in earnest, then, and in the back of my mind I admit I’ve been less than gracious about it. I’m still glad to have the blindfold, but I can tell my touches are more meaningful, now, less mechanical and more present. She shifts and sighs, feeling the difference, and Sir rewards me by picking up the pace a little.

And now I can feel the way her body responds to me, feel the way her juices flow and coat my fingers, feel it as her clit swells and becomes more and more sensitive. She moans with every lick, and then rocks her hips, catching me unawares and bumping my chin.

“Oh, you like that,” I say, surprising myself, and then I lick her again, causing her to rock her hips once more. And then Sir starts to fuck me, finally, slamming into me and rocking me forward, and my fingers end up really ramming into her, and I freeze because I think perhaps I’ve hurt her, but she grabs my wrist and pants, “No, please, don’t stop, please.”

Well, all right, then. I work my fingers faster, harder, thrusting them in deep and pulling them out, over and over and over, and all the while I’m licking her clit as best I can, and Sir is fucking me, hard, the way I love it, and I am having trouble timing my fingers and tongue with Sir’s pounding of my pussy. I’m squirming, and panting and moaning, myself, my voice blending with and then competing against hers as we both strain toward climax. I hear Sir’s voice in the mix, now, his grunts and groans telling me that he’s close, too, and I find that I want him to cum, badly, want his cum to coat my insides, want his essence filling me, marking me as his.

I can tell by the way she trembles, and the way her inner muscles start grabbing at my fingers, that she is close. So I finger fuck her faster, ignoring the ache in my wrist and the way my other arm shakes with the strain of holding myself up, and drag my tongue firmly up over her clit, and then pull that swollen nub between my teeth and gently bite. She flies apart, screaming, and she grabs my head and thrashes and rides out her orgasm, relaxing back as it passes, and panting to catch her breath. I ease my fingers out of her body and brace myself more firmly on the bed – easier now that I have two arms available. 

And Sir is buried as deep as he possibly can go, fucking me hard enough to rock my body forward with each thrust. I rock back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, and I can feel myself bearing down on him, my pussy clenching as my climax grows closer. He leans over me and growls out, “Who owns you? Who is your Master, huh? Who owns you?”

“You do, Sir! Only you!” I gasp out, and then he reaches around my hip and rubs my clit with his fingers. I explode, then, cumming so hard I literally do not have the breath to scream, shaking and moaning, my muscles locking while the waves crash over me and carry me away. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids, white and bright and all-consuming. Moments later, Sir stiffens and groans and rams himself in deep, and deeper, and I feel his legs shake as he empties himself in me, filling my pussy with his hot cum. It is beyond glorious, truly.

He holds me in place until his cock is completely spent, then gently eases back and pulls out of me. I can feel the way he settles, lying back on the bed, and I reach up and rip off the blindfold, blinking in the sudden brightness. But my vision quickly clears, and I find my prize: I scoot around on my knees, lean over Sir, and pull his cock into my mouth. He shudders, and moans, and I clean him carefully, thoroughly, licking his shaft and gently sucking him, catching all traces of his cum, tasting him mixed with my own juices. When his cock is completely clean, I collapse to the bed at his side, panting harshly, feeling his cum leaking down my thighs, and happy about it.

She slides down the bed, too, finding a more comfortable position to relax in, and slips into a doze – I can tell by the way her breathing evens out, and she snores, very quietly. I am sleepy, myself, and feel myself melting, the world fading away. Before I succumb, though, I grasp Sir’s hand and raise it to my lips, kissing it, slowly, reverently.  I may not have been happy with Sir’s plan for today, but I made it through, I obeyed, and I managed to enjoy it. I’m sure Sir is pleased with me, and that’s the most important thing.  

He touches my head, and I look up and meet his eyes. “Mine,” he says quietly.

“Yours,” I agree. “Thank you, Sir.”

A Sub's Journey, thus Far

--- frank sexual discussion ---


I think it's time for me to blog about where I am in this journey toward submission. I've been actively seeking out and learning how to become a sexual submissive for about a year, give or take, and in that arguably short amount of time, I can see that I've come a long way - but there is still a long way to go on this, my chosen path.

I suppose it's fair to say that I've always had submissive tendencies. By that I mean, I tend to surrender in an argument, to avoid too much conflict; I rarely have a strong opinion on where to go eat or what to go do or what movie to see. I "go with the flow." I've always been a follower.

It's only been in the past several years that I felt drawn to exploring those submissive tendencies in a sexual way. And it's only been in the past couple years or so that I've been able to actually act on some of those wishes.

One thing I would like to say, right up front, is that I am not a slave. I am a willing submissive, yes; and I strive to comply with my dominant's orders to the best of my ability. And when in session with my dom (I refer to him as Sir, or Master, depending on his mood) I do surrender control to him. He sets the pace, he sets the tone, he chooses what we do and when we do it. However - and this is, for me, the crux of it - I still do have input. There are boundaries in place, which have been agreed upon in advance. I have a safe word, a specific word I can say to immediately call a halt to an activity or situation I feel seriously threatened by, or if I feel I am in peril. Thankfully, I have never had to use it. I have, however, been pushed past a breaking point, and Sir is in tune with me such that he realized it and ceased the activity before I had to utter the word. 

That relationship is key - a sub has to be able to completely, totally, and utterly trust the dom.  The sub has to know, to feel, to believe, that the dom is not only concerned with his (I use the masculine here only because that's my situation; the trust factor has to apply equally in any situation) own pleasure, but in ensuring that the sub is pleased as well. The sub has to know that the dom will not allow harm to befall her.  

For me, then, submission is as much about me getting what I want and need, and in exchange, I give my Sir what he wants and needs. (That's true of any healthy relationship, is it not?) Following Sir's commands, and placing myself in his hands, literally, frees me from the burden of being in control and having to make the decisions. And I find that I enjoy that sense of freedom. I don't have to plan, I just have to feel and experience and be. It may seem contradictory, but I feel freest when I am bound to a bed. I am most liberated when kneeling at his feet. And honestly - when he is fingering me, and ordering me to hold off from cumming, even though I'm right there and I want to cum, regardless, he is fully focused on me, fully engaged with me, and I have his full attention. And I really like that.

Now - I am definitely not saying that submission is easy. It is not a simple matter to trust someone enough that I can place my whole self in their care. And I do think, if the sub is not a strong person to start with, it could be too easy to cross a line where a selfish dom can take advantage of the sub, to the sub's detriment. For me, though, sexual submission is a continuation and an expansion of my natural tendencies. It does not make me a door mat, nor a plaything, to be pulled out for the dom's convenience and then shoved aside once he's had his fill. There are all kinds of unbalanced, abusive relationships out there; my sex life is not one of them. 

Feel free, dear reader, to comment or ask questions, if you like. I can only attest to my own experience, but I will answer if you truly wish to know.