Storytime

Literotic asexstories – Storytime by RandyKneeling,RandyKneeling
“Hey Jack, come on in. I have to tell you; I’ve really been looking forward to tonight’s Storytime. I’m curious to find out what you think of my effort. Please help yourself to a drink… and could you fix me a 7&7?”

“You got it Mary, and I gotta tell you, I think I’ve got the winner tonight!”

Mary ducked into the bathroom with an over-the-shoulder “Just give me a minute and I’ll be ready.”

My confidence in my story was genuine, but I was also trying to light a fuse. She knew the kinds of stories I liked best – edgy and kinky. Mary’s stories tended toward the romantic. They were often more cerebral, exploring things like the power dynamics of relationships. But I was convinced the kind she enjoyed most were the hot and nasty ones. By telling her I had cooked up a good one… well, with any luck she was in the bathroom getting ready via more than just a quick pee.

Mary entered her living room as I picked up where I left off: “I’ve been looking forward to getting your reaction to this story ever since I worked out the basic concept.”

Talk about an understatement! In truth, Mary’s reaction was the only thing that would define winning for me tonight. Writing this story had taken twice as long as normal due to the frequent breaks I needed, as my mind wandered off the storyline and into the reaction I hoped to elicit from Mary. Squirming, surreptitious touches, maybe even panty soaking. I had to admit, it would be a pretty big leap from the confines of our current relationship. So far, our friendship has been based on a shared intellect and a mutual appreciation for each other’s life experiences. Both in our late 40’s, we had each led an adventurous life and neither was ready for pasture.

About a year ago, one of our conversations had wandered into the area of porn, and we reminisced about how much it had changed over the years, from the sparse pickings of men’s magazines to the cornucopia now online. Once the discussion landed on erotic stories, the Literotica website came up and we both confessed to being fans. Through sharing some favorites, we found we had similar thoughts and observations on the various writing styles (not to mention pet peeves of grammar and vocabulary). It became apparent that we shared a literary bent that led us to want to try our hand at writing our own.

Now we get together every month or so, whenever we both have a completed story to share. The first few Storytimes amounted to little more than reading our works to each other and sharing thoughts on how to improve them. Lately it had become a good-natured competition to decide which story was better, and which were good enough to submit to the Literotica website. It was also an opportunity for both of us to learn from each other and stretch as writers. Tonight I was adding an additional objective — to see if I might also be able to stretch Mary in other ways.

“Coin flip to see who goes first?” Mary asked.

“Sure”, I said.

“What’s your pleasure, head or tail?”

“Oh, c’mon, you didn’t really say that? Are you trying to make it hard already? I think you know me well enough to know that I’ll take whatever I can get!”

“Okay, slow down there, tiger. In that case I’ll call it – heads” she said, with a quick flip. “And heads it is! All right Jackie boy, sit back and listen to this one.”

* * * * Best Laid Plans (Mary’s Story) * * * *

Here I was, waiting in my hotel room, so horny I was beside myself, aware that I was about to have sex with someone I had met only a few short hours ago… just like I had planned it. Except not — not at all! This was so different from what I had in mind. I had imagined stepping out of my accustomed role, the one where I chose the man without letting him realize it, then followed their lead the rest of the way. And while tonight didn’t go like that, it also sure didn’t go like I had scripted it. In my steamy one-act play, I fancied myself a huntress, the single woman on the prowl, choosing a man and taking him to bed. I would be the one in obvious control throughout, following my script. Now that script was out the window and control seemed a distant memory. Not only had I not chosen the man, there wasn’t a man at all! Instead, the most amazing woman…

When the third and final day of the conference ended, I had one last night in this huge upscale hotel, this prime hunting ground. Three different bars to choose from and no need to drive to get back to my liar. Trying the first bar, I hadn’t even completed an initial scan of the room when the cocktail waitress came up from behind me.

“Hi, I’m Chris, what can I get you this evening?”

Wham! It’s just like when someone tells you about their traffic accident… ‘I swear, she came out of nowhere’. I felt it as soon as our eyes met. A kind of energy, different from anything I had felt before. It put me off balance, set me back on my heels.

“Uuuhh… Hi. Hi Chris, I’m Amy. Nice to meet you. I’ll have a gin and tonic please.”

Thank God for verbal autopilot! As she made her way back to the bar I stared, dumb struck. She moved so smoothly, the swaying of her short skirt suggesting a firm round ass hidden beneath. Supported by a pair of very toned looking legs. When she made her way back with my drink, I had my first chance to see the rest of her: very small breasts, tiny waist above the slightest hint of hip flare, all in a package that barely topped 5′ tall. She looked to be a decade younger than me; probably mid-to-late 20s. In my mind I pictured a gymnast, stepping to the mat to begin her floor exercises.

I was already gone; I was just too rattled to realize it yet. Over the course of my next two drinks (and more of her time than any customer would normally get), Chris and I enjoyed easy conversation, then started adding a bit of playful banter. Eventually we evolved into boldface flirting. By the time Chris let me know her shift ended at 10 PM it was already 9:40 and I realized I was fairly intoxicated, but it had very little to do with the alcohol. Declining another refill, I cringed inwardly at my lame joke about how I wouldn’t say no to room service from the bar later, but the smile I got in return let me know all I needed. I paid the tab with my room number and made my way back there, feeling the need to calm my libido and take stock of the situation.

Up until now I had never done anything with another woman. Sure, I had the typical curiosity… could sex with another woman really be better? Oral with someone who knew first-hand how everything worked? Or maybe it had to do more with a certain emotional resonance, like a two-part harmony. And why her — why Chris? Undeniably there was an allure to the contrast of our bodies; me being 5’7″ and having a shape nowadays described as “curvy”, what used to be called “classic hourglass”. And Chris being so much smaller, firm where I was soft, angled where I was round. Picturing our bodies together; the attraction of opposites, was undeniably hot! While that was all true, in the end it was just a very rich icing on the cake. Underlying everything for me was that energy she gave off. It flowed into me like it was filling a void. And it was something I had never felt before in another woman. That was why I wanted Chris. Realizing that dispelled my confusion and gave me a sense of calm. Now I was no longer horny and anxious. I was horny and eager!

Finally, the knock came. “Room service!”

I smiled as I opened the door. There she was, smiling back, so cute, so innocent. I took a few steps back to allow her entry. The door shut behind her and she wordlessly closed the distance between us. Our eyes were locked as our hands began to slowly caress, feeling the energy, the electricity. I had an overwhelming desire to kiss her, but I held off, partly because the intensity of her tender touches was already threatening to overload my senses. It seemed like kissing her might cause us to burst into flames. When our mouths did meet, I pushed my tongue into her, beginning the slow, sensuous dance of exploration. Her body was so slender, yet so firm — the toned muscles moving as her arms pulled me in.

It was an amazing kiss, more intense for me because it was my first time kissing another woman. The kiss gradually became harder, more urgent; my tongue started to dominate hers as the passion of our groping intensified. She cupped my heavy tits, appreciating their impressive weight. She pulled one out of my bra as my hands reached under her skirt, squeezing those firm little buns that had first triggered my lust. I could feel the juices starting to flow inside me and the fingers of my right hand traced the edge of her panties, then slipped inside, traveling down and in. And then she abruptly pulled away, her arm sliding down mine to deny me access.

“Amy, there’s something you need to know.” But she suddenly seemed hesitant.

I couldn’t stand it. “Chris, I’m so damn hot for you right now, whatever it is — please just say it!”

“My parents named me Chris, but… not short for Christine.”

For the second time tonight, I felt that disorienting confusion, like I was coming loose from my moorings. Why would she think I would care what her full name was? Christina? Christianne? Whatever! All I could think was, please just kiss me again!

“It was short for Christian.” Her words hung in the air.

And the last of my moorings slipped away. I started spinning in a current, my bearings lost. I stared blankly at her. She was telling me she was… a trans woman. Her lips had tightened, her eyes were searching mine for a reaction. Her face was a mix of fear, anxiety and hope. The first thing I felt was tenderness. Tenderness for the person standing in front of me — so vulnerable, so open, so honest. My confusion fell away. I suddenly felt my heart bursting for this woman, which is what she was, regardless of what might be between her legs. I gently took her sweet face in my hands and looked deep into her eyes.

“You’re Chris to me, and I don’t care if it’s short for Christmas, I just want to unwrap my presents!”

Her laughter burst out like a damn breaking, and then mine followed. Within seconds our laughter was swallowed as our mouths came back together. Hands pulled at clothes, buttons flew, and we fell onto the bed. Her mouth clamped onto my exposed breast, her lips tugging at my big nipple as it hardened for her. I started to lower her panties, but I couldn’t get them lower than mid-thigh without pulling my nipple off her lips. Raising my leg, I hooked them with my big toe and pushed them down and off one leg. She suckled greedily as my hand found her crotch and cupped her package. She hardened quickly as I began to stroke her shaft. She involuntarily broke her lock on my nipple as the sexiest whimper escaped her lips. Seizing the opportunity, I dove onto her little cock, taking the full length into my mouth. It reached the back of my mouth, just short of my gag reflex. Cupping her marbles in one hand, I greedily sucked and licked her hot little poker as she pivoted to bury her face in my pussy. I don’t know how long it went on – it was so hard to maintain focus. My concentration kept bouncing back and forth between the delicious dick in my mouth and the incredible feeling in my pussy. I wanted to suck her dicklette and eat her cum. Until she started forcing so many moans out of me that my lips could no longer maintain a seal.

“Oh God, baby that feels sooo goood!” Too good to allow me to continue with my own efforts. I surrendered to her talented tongue and felt my eyes roll back in my head.

“Mmmm. You taste amazing!” She was plunging her tongue deep into my hole, scooping out everything she could find, slurping and swallowing as my pussy flowed more than it ever had.

“I..I… I need to cum. I need to cum so bad. Please suck my clit! Oh God, please suck it!”

Not hard enough! I grabbed her head and pushed it further down on my throbbing nub and she sucked me into oblivion. It began to feel like too much. I was hanging on an edge. I couldn’t stand it; I needed it to end. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop it. I finally nudged her away slightly to regain my senses. My sweet little licker took the cue and shifted gears, starting slow tracings around the center of my universe as I gradually unwound. I looked down to see the cutest slimy face, beaming a beautiful grin of pleasure mixed with pride. I motioned her up to kiss me, then gave her face the tenderest of cat baths. Reaching down, I started to stroke her still hard little poker.

“You know,” I mused, “I have a toy at home that is remarkably similar to this little beauty.”

“Really? You can buy any size you want, and you choose one so small?”

“Oh, I have larger ones too, but the one like this…” as I playfully flipped it back and forth, “that one fits just perfect in my ass.”

I saw a fire spark in her eyes and she leaned in and whispered in my ear ‘I want you on all fours”.

A shiver ran down my spine and I quickly complied. Now my big boobs were hanging down and swaying right in front of her face. Her hand traced their way down the length of one jug, seeking out the fat nipple, tugging and flicking it until it was rock hard, then repeated the same with the other. She then rose up and knee-walked herself behind me, pushing my legs apart. Gently caressing my bottom with one hand, the other covered my gash, sliding up and down its length. Finding it dripping, she thrust her prick in, taking a few strokes, coating it in my juices. Then she pulled out and used her hands to collect a generous amount of my natural lube, applying it on and around my asshole. Slowly, gently, she began massaging my puckered hole, opening it up with first one finger, then a second.

“Shoulders down, ass up, baby”. There was no doubt who was in control now.

I obeyed, spreading my legs farther apart to gain a bit more stability for what I knew was coming.

“Ooooh… my… God!”

I briefly worried — did she just have a premature orgasm? I was about to console her when she spoke again

“I knew I loved your wide hips. I’ve envied them since I first saw you. But this glorious ass! The way it spreads out when you’re like this… absolutely magnificent!

And then the head of her anal intruder was at my open hole. She pushed gently and I welcomed her in.

No, I thought, this wasn’t anything like what I had imagined. It was so… much… better.

* * * * * * * *

“Very nice, Mary!” I smiled and offered golf claps. OK, firstly, ‘I just want to unwrap my presents’? Brilliant! I loved it.”

“Hah! I’m glad that one landed. So, got any questions?” Mary asked, knowing full well there would be. It had become the standard post read follow-up. Writing critiques and suggestions for possible improvements would come later. The more pressing interest was always to learn just how much the story revealed about the author.

“How much of that really happened? I know you actually have been with a woman before, but how about a trans woman?”

“No” Mary responded, “the opportunity never presented itself.”

“Ok, and the anal. You’ve previously revealed using various toys, but what about a live one? Ever taken a cock in your ass Mary?”

“Yes”.

I was trying to coax a blush but ended up getting a half smile and a wistful look. Duly noted. That might be worth revisiting later. “How about the psychology of it. The idea of someone who’s accustomed to a ‘normal’ (air quotes) degree of agency in relationships, wanting to experience more total control. Have you ever felt like that?”

Mary paused on that one, searching her memories. “Hmmm, you know, I’m not really sure. I haven’t actually entered into something with that kind of a conscious plan like Amy did.”

I waited, sensing there might be more.

“There have been times when I have encouraged certain.. uh… escalations? You know, maybe a half-suggestion, perhaps a subtle nudge on the head of my pussy licker to encourage some southern adventures?”

Yeah, I know that nudge.” I smiled.

“Sometimes it works out great, but sometimes there’s a little hesitation, a little resistance. And of course, you just let it go and ride the wave you’re on, ya know? And naturally there’s gonna be a brief disappointment… missing out on the sensation you were hoping for, but I think the bigger disappointment for me is missing out on the feeling I get from the act of compliance.”

“I get that,” I said, “I do. Sounds like I’m not the only one who’s gained a little more insight from that story.”

“OK,” Mary acknowledged, “Enough with the psychanalysis! I think it’s time for nasty Jack’s story, don’t you?”

* * * Reunion (Jack’s Story) * * * *

I picked up my notebook and began reading as Mary sipped her drink and settled in on the sofa.

“So, Allen, in our last session you were telling me about your upcoming ten-year high school reunion and how you’re anxious about catching up with a particular female friend. I’d like to explore those feelings a bit more. I believe you said this was a strictly platonic relationship, is that accurate?”

“Yes, Dr Marx, it is. At least in so far as what actually went on between us. And if you ask Sharon, I’m sure she would agree, without qualification.”

“How about from your perspective? I take it you are inclined to qualify that description?”

“Yes, although I’m not actually sure how I would. I thought back to all those nights I spent with Sharon, getting stoned together, riding around in her car with no destination, sharing stories of the day’s events. Things that were said and done by classmates, things that happened in school that day. Had you been in the backseat listening, you would have agreed that ‘platonic’ pretty much nails it. But if you had seen me in my bedroom later, after she had dropped me off, you might have thought: how long can this go on before that boy beats himself senseless?

In my masturbatory fantasies I imagined myself as Sharon’s boyfriend, holding her tight, pounding my slender little dick into her hairy pussy until she begged for mercy. The fantasy was particularly ludicrous given who I was — a wimpy little nerd. Average height with a skinny body and a meek demeanor to match. In sharp contrast, Sharon’s actual boyfriend was a year older than us and a total stud. A former varsity letterman and a current Golden Gloves boxing champ, making good money working at the local steel mill. And, I was convinced, hung like the real man he clearly was.

“I guess if I had to put it into words, I would call it ‘unrequited love’ on my part” inwardly cringing at the trite cliche.

“Aah, so you had feelings for this girl.”

“Girl… heh. She may have been in high school Dr Marx, but Sharon was a woman by any objective measure. Physically and emotionally mature, with a self-confidence that allowed her to navigate any situation.”

“OK, so you had feelings for this woman.”

“Yes, I did”, struggling to conceal the blush that revealed the level of understatement.

“Did you ever reveal those feelings to her?”

“Once”, as I lose the struggle and feel the hot flush on my face.

“And… ”

“And she shut me down! Well, in all fairness, I suppose it’s more accurate to say she put me back in my place. Firmly.” I had relived it so many times. My attempt had been both vague and feeble. “Basically, I had let her know that while I always enjoyed our time together, I wanted more out of it. Mercifully, she interrupted me before I could further embarrass myself and told me in no uncertain terms that what we had together was all it was ever going to be. She gave me a choice: keep things as is, or we stop spending any more private time together.”

“What did you choose?

“Doc, I folded like a cheap suit. We never spoke about it again.”

“And now you are anxious about meeting this woman again. Why?”

“Because I’ve always wondered if I could have done anything different. If I could have had more. Back then, all my sexual desires were constrained by the fixed roles of a traditional, vanilla, male/female relationship. Even my fantasies conformed to that youthful naiveté. As you know, I’m not that naive high school boy anymore.”

“Indeed. How do you envision your reunion with Sharon going?”

“That’s just it, Dr Marx, I have no idea!” I mean, I know where I’d like it to be, but I have no idea how to get there. All I know is what I learned from our reunion coordinator, when she called me up and filled me in on the logistics. Sharon is not married and she is no longer with her old boyfriend. That leaves a lot of room between who she was and the twisted little kinkster I have become.”

“Now Allen, we’ve talked about maintaining a positive self-image. You know talk like that undermines our work here. Sure, you’re a submissive male in a world where many look down on someone like you. But that doesn’t mean you must limit yourself to paying professional Dommes, or waiting on the sidelines for that rare amateur to recognize you for what you are and snatch you up. Tell me, how did your friendship with Sharon come about in the first place?”

I told Dr Marx about how Sharon and I had known each other all through school. How we had worked on the school newspaper together. How she had initiated our late-night rides as a way for her to unwind after her after-school waitressing job. Then Dr Marx reflected for a few moments, putting the pieces together.

Sharon is clearly the kind of person I would describe as a ‘social Domme’. What the vanilla world calls a ‘take charge person’. Someone who knows what they want and how to get it. She initiated your relationship to satisfy her own needs, with no regard for the frustration it caused you. She thwarted your attempt to redefine it and did so with ruthless efficiency. Even you described her as having (looking back through his notes) ‘a self-confidence that allowed her to navigate any situation’. Someone like that has a need to be in control. Most often, that type of disposition only manifests itself in social situations. Even those with a proclivity towards sexual domination may never become aware of their true nature. They may never realize it due to a lack of opportunity, or lack of interest in sexual exploration. In short, Sharon may be what I call a ‘latent Domme’.”

I left Dr Marx’s office with a lot to digest and three days to ponder over it before my flight back to my hometown, where Sharon and so many of my other classmates still lived. There were so many big unknowns. What changes had occurred in the intervening decade? Had Sharon ever had occasion to explore alternative interests? Had anyone or anything ignited a smoldering ember? Was it even there to begin with? I resigned myself to simply be honest about my feelings and play it by ear.

I flew in the night before, checking into the hotel that was hosting the reception. The evening felt so odd, filled with the mundane. I unpacked and ordered a room service dinner. I didn’t want to run into any other out-of-town classmates who most likely would be staying in this hotel. Watching TV, it should have all been relaxing, yet my anxiety ate at me. Sleep that night was elusive. The next day I distracted myself by driving my rental car around town, the local haunts of my youth bringing back pleasant memories. I returned to the hotel with plenty of time to shower, shave and dress.

As I entered the hotel banquet hall, I immediately encountered familiar faces throughout the room and was quickly drawn into conversations with multiple clusters of classmates and spouses. I was surprised to see how much some folks had changed — a few for the better, most not so much. I kept scanning the room for Sharon when the thought suddenly occurred — what if I had already laid eyes on her and not even recognized her? What if she had gained weight, cut her hair, dyed it? I realized I had no idea. I knew she had confirmed her attendance, but what if something had come up? Maybe she had a family emergency.

Then I spotted her in a group of women near the back of the hall. My heart skipped a beat — she looked incredible! She wore a silky white button-down blouse over a snug black slit skirt with sheer black stockings and 3″ heels.

I broke away from my current group and made my way toward her just as she did the same, moving into the line at the cash bar. I approached her from behind, taking the opportunity to appreciate her shapely calves and gloriously wide hips and how they curved so smoothly into her still small waist.

“Hey Sharon, long time no see!” Ugh, really? That’s the best you could come up with after 10 years? I berated myself.

She pirouetted, looked at me and her face lit up with a warm smile. “Allen Anders, so good to see you again!”. She leaned in for a hug and my senses were briefly overloaded from contact with that amazing body. To the rest of the room, I’m sure it looked like an entirely normal, brief hug. Time moved decidedly slower for me. Those wonderful, full breasts were now softly brushing against my chest as the scent of her hair flooded in. When we separated, the inevitable small talk was covered as we negotiated the line and gave our drink orders. I was grateful for the opportunity to get my breathing under control and reacquaint my brain with my mouth.

“C’mon, let’s grab a table and get caught up” she said, directing me off to an empty table along the wall.

Good ol’ Sharon, I thought, still controlling things with such an easy grace. Our basic catch-up Q&A was interspersed with the scheduled festivities: introducing the band, acknowledging the organizing committee (who each felt compelled to grab some mike time), a light dinner and posing for a group photo. I tried to avoid monopolizing Sharon’s time, not wanting to appear too needy (which is difficult to do, when you really are). I made the obligatory rounds, visiting enough other tables to conceal my sole focus. Once we had met our social obligations, we gravitated back together as those not dancing fell into their comfortable cliques.

Sharon began: “I feel like you’ve gotten all caught up on me and I’ve got no real idea what you’ve been up to. I mean beyond the basic ‘never divorced / never married’ part that seems to make us both outliers here. Are you seeing anyone in particular?”

“No, not right now. My most recent lady friend was a year-long relationship that was fairly intense, so after it ended, I felt like I needed to regroup a little. In fact, I’ve been seeing a therapist, kinda talking through some things, processing what I’ve gone through over that period. I think it’s been really good for me.”

“That sounds interesting. You used the word intense. Mind if I ask… how so?”

Here it was — the Rubicon. The moment I’ve been rehearsing for days, and yet I still felt ill-equipped to handle. Screw it — just jump in.

“Well, it started out as a more-or-less normal, boyfriend/girlfriend thing. In hindsight I don’t think it really ever was, I just wasn’t aware of it at first. You know how sometimes you find yourself with someone who’s so easy to be with, to trust, and you just follow their lead?”

“Hmm… not sure I do,” she replied, “but I’ve seen it, for sure. So where did she lead you?”

“It was… it was… aw hell Sharon, it was incredible. I loved it, at least most of it. Becky got me to really open up — to do things I never dreamed…”. I had to stop. I could feel my face flush as I looked down. My eyes started to well up as I relived the feeling of total submission that had so completely been my world. She didn’t speak, but she placed her hand on mine, which finally gave me the courage look up at her again. Now I saw a different Sharon looking back. Beautiful to be sure, but now more attentive, intrigued, with a hint of something scary.

“She made me do things, Sharon. Things I didn’t know I wanted to do.”

“But you did want to do them? Tell me what kind of things Allen.”

“At first it was just little things — things that made her feel good. And that was great! I found I liked nothing better than to make her happy. Foot rubs, full body massages, anything to put that look on her face. That look of satisfaction, even bliss.”

“Sounds more like sex than massage!” she teased.

“Oh it was sexual, to be sure, but not.. uhh… not conventional. I served her. More like worship. Sexual worship.” My words hung in the air. It was finally out there… now what? I realized I had been looking down at the tablecloth during my entire confession.

“You served her? Like a slave? Like a sex slave?”

At that my head snapped up, dreading the judgment I was afraid I would see. Was that disappointment, or arousal – I couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, eventually; I’m ashamed to say. But that’s when it ended. I wish I could say that’s when I ended it, but it was actually more mutual, believe it or not. Even though she was quite selfish — even cold at times — she could see my heart was no longer in it. And Becky isn’t the type to settle for less than 100% enthusiasm.”

“But at some point, it was good for you?”

“Oh yes!” I gushed. “When I was able to simply give her pleasure, when I was allowed to completely dedicate myself to her physical pleasure; I felt as fulfilled and contented as I have ever been.”

“I’m getting a pretty vivid picture Allen, and maybe it’s just me, but I’m seeing a lot of oral sex. Was there also penetrative sex?”

“Well, I never penetrated her, if that’s what you mean.” I blushed again.

There it was again — that look in her eyes. This time the arousal was unmistakable. And thrilling!

“You’ve got a room here tonight, don’t you Allen?”

“Y.. ye.. yes”

“What’s the number?”

“1216”

“OK. No goodbyes for you, mister. Make like you’re going to the restroom, then slip out and head to your room. I’ll be there as soon as I can get away.”

It probably goes without saying, but I did as I was told.

Three minutes later, I’m in my room, waiting. None of the conventional time-wasting distractions in this room hold any interest for me. Well, at least there’s a mini fridge. Sadly, it doesn’t take long to down a tiny bottle of vodka, but a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt. After that I could only pace and stare out the window, across the courtyard to the opposite wing of the hotel. Finally, the knock I was awaiting came.

Opening the door, I quickly stepped back, then aside, as Sharon strode in. I caught a glimpse of her heavy breasts as they swayed under her sheer blouse, nipples tantalizingly poking out. She had removed her bra! I barely had the door closed when she spoke.

“Clothes off — I want you naked!”

I dropped to the floor, tearing off my shoes and socks as fast as possible, then stood and pulled off my shirt, I must have looked like a triathlete heading for the water.

“Easy boy” she soothed, “no need to rush. Some things are sweetest when savored. Now look at me and continue… slowly”

Ahhh, she doesn’t just want me naked, she wants to watch me get naked. Watch my embarrassment escalate with each compliant move I make. Unbuttoning my pants, pulling down my zipper. She understood this dynamic very well, and now so did I. As my pants fell to the floor and I stepped out of them, her eyes held mine and searched deeply. It felt like she was feeding off me, relishing my humiliation as it coursed through me. I slid my underpants down and stood naked right in front of her. In my current flaccid state, I was keenly aware of how unimpressive her first look at my package was.

My eyes were finally released from hers as she now looked critically at my boyhood. “Now what have we here?” Her voice was soothing, almost sweet, and somehow still predatory. How could that be? I mused, then suddenly realized she had asked me a question and there was now a pregnant silence in the room.

“What is this curious, hairless thing between your legs?”

“It -it-it’s… my penis.” I managed to tremble out.

Her eyes snapped back up to lock mine again and her voice was suddenly stern. You will address me as Mistress or Mommy — your choice. Now try again.”

“It’s my penis, Mistress.”

“That’s better. I guess we’ll have to find a name for you, too. So, this is your penis.” She slowly strolled behind me, lightly trailing a single fingernail over my torso, dropping lower as she circled. “I suppose that’s technically accurate, but I know you’re a smart boy. I want you to use your words with me. How about we add a descriptor to that. Try again with a descriptor Allen.”

“It’s my little penis, Mistress.”

“Yes. Yes, that’s better. And do you know any words that convey the notion of a little penis Allen?”

“Uuuh… uh… dicklette? Dickey? Clitty?”

“Keep trying… ”

“Winky? Cocklette?” Oh God, how many more were there? “Nub? Peenie?”

“Ooooh – peenie! I like that one. Yes, I believe you’ve got a peenie. You can be my peenie boy. Step closer to the window, so you can show off your little peenie to the guests across the way. Hands at your sides — don’t you dare cover up!”

I stood naked facing the window, looking into the darkness as Sharon crossed the room behind me. I tried to calm my anxiety over being so on display. After all, I reasoned, I could see that only about half the rooms in the facing wing were illuminated, and only a portion of them had open drapes. As embarrassing as this was, the odds seemed low that anyone was actually going to see me. Then the lights in my room went off, then quickly back on again. Another rapid off/on, then 3 slower, more deliberate cycles. I heard her chuckle softly as she came up behind me and leaned over my shoulder, and we both looked out the window.

“What do you think — did that draw any attention?”

My eyes frantically scanned the lighted windows. I saw a set of curtains moving in one room and the lights doused in another. It suddenly seemed quite likely we now had an audience.

“Now, little boy, play with yourself. Show them all how big your little peenie can get.”

I obediently took myself between thumb and 2 fingers, flipping and wiggling my flaccid little worm as she whispered in my ear.

“How does it feel, knowing there are strangers watching you right now?”

“It’s embarrassing, Mistress.”

“Hey, you know what?” she mused, “Some of them might not be strangers at all! You’re not the only out-of-towner at this reunion. We might have some classmates watching!”

“Uuuuuunnh!” I shivered with the realization that she was right.

“Just think, up until now, everyone you just got reacquainted with probably thought of you as just another guy. You know, an average man. But you’re not average at all, are you?”

I felt myself sinking… sinking so low into deep shame.

“Are you?”

“N, n, no, Mistress.”

“In fact, you’re not really even a man, are you?”

“No, mistress.”

“What are you?”

“I’m a boy, Mistress. I’m a little boy”

“That’s right. Now, remember back in school? When we worked together on the school newsletter? When we learned the five Ws? Every good story should provide the who, what, when, where and why. Now take your time, compose your story and tell it to me.”

I struggled to gather my wits. She wants me to answer all five Ws. I’ve got to cover all five. I stammered it out.

“My name is Allen Anders and… I’m a little boy. I am now, and I always will be just a little boy. And I’m standing here, in front of you, showing off my little peenie so everyone knows who I am.” The tears that welled up in my eyes overflowed, my humiliation now complete.

“Good boy Allen. Very good boy.” She stroked the back of my head, then wrapped her arms around me, shushed me quiet and comforted me in her embrace. As her soothing voice calmed my jangled emotions, her hand slipped down and fondled my peenie. Now firmly in her grasp, she walked me across the room and stood me in front of a wide, upholstered chair. She settled into it and casually folded her long legs, her skirt rising up to reveal the garters that held up those black stockings. Pointing to the floor in front of her, she said

“Kneel”

I knelt at her feet and hung my head.

“Oh come now, you mustn’t be sad about who you are. You should own it, embrace it! Look little boy, you’ve even lost your erection. Play with your peenie again, make it sit up and beg for Mistress. You may stare at my legs if it helps.”

I knew she was right, I may be completely inadequate as a man, but I still had value. I knew I did. And I was here because I needed her to see that. And it seemed like maybe she did. I wanked in desperation, staring at her luscious legs. The fapping became audible and my breathing was ragged.

“Stop! There’s that throbbing little peenie!” Just how big is my little boy, eh?” once again appraising my length. “What is that, 5 inches?”

“5 1/4 inches, Mistress”, unable to hide my ridiculous pride.

“Oooh, five and a quarter inches! Pardon me! I’ll bet you think that’s a very important quarter inch, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“That’s just darling!”. She then kicked off a shoe and began to raise her foot toward my crotch.

Oh God no, I thought — she’s going to kick me in the balls! I started to panic. Please no! I don’t want pain! Pleease! Violent flashbacks gripped me and I could feel the tears threatened to return. I’ll be so good for you, please – just let me serve you!

Her leg was now level with my crotch, which caused her skirt to slide further up her leg. I caught a glimpse of black panties, then felt her foot sliding from the base of my member to the tip. Pausing there, she slid her big toe across the tip, capturing the large drop of pre-cum that had formed. She moved her foot in front of my face, a slime trail now connecting her big toe to my pee hole.

“Clean it little boy — suck my toe.”

A wave of relief flowed over me. I was on familiar ground. I knew what was required of me and I eagerly complied. This was what I wanted — what I needed. I greedily lapped at her slimy toe, then I slowly, reverently cradled the arch of her foot in my hands and brought it to my face. Rubbing her foot against my cheek, I inhaled deeply. A sigh of contentment passed my lips and I began my oral worship.

Glancing up the length of her silky leg, the pathway to heaven was laid out before me and I savored every step along the way. I slid my tongue up and down the arch of her foot, then traced around her ankle. My hands slid up from her foot so I could caress her shapely calf with both hands, gently massaging the firm flesh. I rained kisses along her calf until I reached the back of her knee, where once again I inhaled deeply. Light-headed, my tongue continued its journey to the promised land as my head entered the darkness beneath her skirt. I felt her thighs against my ears and the first scent of her permeated my consciousness, imprinting on me like a newborn with her mother. I even felt like a newborn… I was a born-again submissive!

I had arrived at the altar. I was risking hyperventilation from excessive deep breaths. Using the tip of my tongue, I slowly traced the edge of her panties — up the right side, then down the left. Feeling the moisture at the center, I flirted with it. A tentative lick, then a longer lick, then firmer, until I was sucking hard, trying to coax her moisture from the soaked gusset. Stiffening my tongue, I worked it under the elastic and once again slid along her length, this time directly teasing her lips.

My service was interrupted by a hand pushing back on my forehead. Releasing a button at the waist, she unzipped and removed her skirt, her panties following close behind. Before she could discard them, I risked an uncharacteristically bold act — I reached for her hand and grasped her panties. Instantly realizing my transgression, I halted my own hand on its way to my face and looked up at her imploringly. My benevolent goddess nodded her consent, and I turned the gusset inside out, sniffing and lapping at the slime not previously pulled through the material. She looked down appreciatively and chuckled.

“Is my sweet little boy a panty boy?” she teased.

Not exactly, I thought to myself, but who am I to argue? Now is not the time to split hairs, unless they adorn her outer labia. The panties then slipped from my grip as I gazed at my ultimate prize. I looked up and asked:

“May I, Mistress?”

“Lick”

I dove back between her thighs as she hiked her feet up onto the arms of the chair, spreading her long legs, giving me complete access. I stuck my nose in just to bathe my whole face in her slick vulva. I ground in, wanting to be coated in her juices. Then I went to work on her outer folds, running around in concentric circles, the top of which grazed her still hooded clit. I began to toy one finger around her entrance — not penetrating, but applying just enough pressure to build her desire. After several more trips around my new world, I flattened my tongue and lapped the length of her slit like a good dog. Placing fingers on either side of her clit, I pressed in, exposing the length and gave it a long, delicate blow.

Her deep breathing transitioned to guttural moans, further fueling my passion. I inserted a finger in her and within two strokes a second one followed. Her beautiful hole opened for me as I finger fucked her. Then my hunger overcame technique. I slid my fingers back out to her lips and spread her wide open. I lapped and slurped as her moans turned into words.

“Yes.. yes… yeessss! Eat it, pussy boy! EAT IT!! Aaaahhh!

There it is, I thought triumphantly. I knew my Mistress would get there eventually. I continued to lap, as she continued to feed me her sweet juices. My tongue was now sliding around and across her clitty. Her cries began to resemble pleas for mercy as they climbed the scale. But I was offering no mercy. My lips mashed down, drawing her nub into my mouth where my tongue could flick it while I sucked hard. She screamed and her hips bucked. My arms tightened around her thighs as I hung on for dear life. My face was taking a pounding as her hips bucked and I wondered whether I or the chair would break under the assault.

Finally, the volume of her cries diminished, and the movement of her pelvis became random tremors. My mouth rode her pussy back down the scale, my lips releasing her nubbin as my tongue caressed it gently. I let her signal to me when she could take no more, her hand gently pushing me away. I remained in her lap for several minutes as our breathing and heart rates calmed and the endorphin rush subsided.

I looked up and she beckoned to me. I climbed into her lap, careful to put most of my weight on the arms of our stalwart chair. She took my face in both hands and gave me a deeply passionate kiss. When we separated, she lazily unbuttoned her blouse, baring her breasts, and invited me to suckle. I took the offered teat in my mouth and settled into my new happy place.

“Who’s my sweet little pussyboy?” she cooed as she stroked my hair.

I left her nipple only long enough to assure her:

“I am Mommy. I’m your sweet little pussyboy.”

She patted my head.

“Yes, you are. Good boy.”

* * * * * * * *

As I read the final line, I glanced up from my notebook and saw Mary’s face was flushed. Her legs were folded tightly together and she was subtly rocking back and forth. She snapped out of it as soon as she realized I had finished reading and was now looking at her. Caught ya Mary!

“Wow Jack. Good job! Good b-… I mean, good story!

So, how much of it is you? What about the CFNM?”

“Yes”

“SPH?”

“Naw, I just threw that in… it seemed to fit.”

“And the worship?”

“Yes”

“Hmmm… And I think my story was not the only one with a psychological aspect to it. What about the idea that one party in a platonic friendship might identify a shared kink and use it to introduce a sexual component to the relationship.”

“That would be a first for me”, I confessed.

“I see”, said Mary, registering my shift in tense. I watched her realize that I regarded it as a potential reality.

“Well Jack, I’m going to concede the win to you, so we can move right into the critique. But before that, I’m going to need another drink. You?”

“Yes please, that would be great.”

Mary headed to the kitchen and I made my decision. This was my own Rubicon, and the crossing was at hand! I swiftly peeled off my clothes and took my place in the middle of the room, hands at my sides. I tried to slow my pounding heart as I awaited her return. She started speaking on her way back.

“I think in order to properly critique your story, there’s something I need…” the remaining words trailed off as she entered the room and saw her now naked friend.

“W.. wha… what are you… ”

I smiled as she stammered. “You were saying?”

“Huh?” (deer in the headlights)

“You were saying there’s something you need in order to provide a proper critique?”

Starting to regain her bearings, she moved haltingly to the sofa and managed to set down the drinks. Her eyes had already told her I was naked, but now she allowed herself a good, long look at the newly vulnerable man standing in front of her. I was displaying a half chub that began to grow in response to her gaze.

“Yes. What I need is to better understand a particular element of your story.”

“And which element would that be? CFNM?” I ventured with a half-smile.

She looked up at me and I could see her composure had returned, along with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She took a pillow from the sofa and tossed it on the floor at her feet.

“No Jack, that element would be…

… worship.”

Of course, I did as directed.