Light My Fire Ch. 01

I still wasn’t going to do that, and I dodged the bullet by busying myself taking off his shoes. Before he could again make an issue of sucking him, I once more grabbed his cock, and pulled him to me. As I fell backwards on the bed I spread my legs, and he fell quite naturally in the saddle between my raised knees..., right where I wanted him.

As much as I liked where he was, I went through the motions of protesting my innocence one last time. He put a quick stop to that by grabbing my wrists and forcing my arms back over my head and holding them there. On my back with this big strong man on top of me, I felt like I had been captured by some sexy barbarian who would soon fuck me as his prize of war.

I would not have admitted it at the time, even to myself, but as things later turned out, this was exactly what I had wanted all along..., a barbarian who would pin me to the bed, spread my legs and use me, not by my consent as a woman, but by his right as a man.

Clyde was every bit as delightful a lover as I imagined he would be. Even tho a little drunk, he was still careful and conscientious about his foreplay. He sucked my nipples for the longest time, something that I enjoy very much, before turning my arms loose and moving his head down into my crotch where he spent equal time with his mouth on my pussy.

God, but he felt good! Any normal woman would have gotten off on that talented tongue, but I couldn’t quite make it even tho I pretended I had. Of course before we fucked, he wanted me to reciprocate in kind. He pinned my upper arms with his knees, lifted his hips over my face and pushed his big hard-on against my lips, pressing me to take him down my throat.

I just couldn’t do it. Thanks to the good Sisters, blow jobs just haven’t ever been my thing. I have occasionally sucked on the dick of a steady lover, but only reluctantly, tentatively, and usually very briefly. Once, when Allan absolutely insisted, I sucked him to completion, but when he finished in my mouth, I couldn’t bring myself to swallow his jism. All that salty goo turned my stomach, and I gagged, then spit it out. That, I quickly discovered, is a turn off to a man.

Oh, damn men all to hell anyway! Who cares what they want! I certainly wasn’t going to give this guy a blow job on our first date, sexy barbarian or not. I turned my head away, and despite Clyde’s insistence, I refused to take him in my mouth.

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. He acted as if he understood, and if he couldn’t have my mouth, he damn sure meant to have full use of my pussy. His hips were soon back between my legs and that monster member of his was prodding and poking at my slit. I was pretty wet by then, but I knew something that big shoved up my twat was going to hurt me if I didn’t help.

I reached down between us with one hand to guide the big plum head of his hard-on into my cunt, and I spread my legs as wide as I could, trying to make it easy for him. It took a minute or two, but he was persistent, and with a constant pressure, his great rod gradually split me open.

My God, but he was HUGE. Never before has my poor pussy been so stretched. He just kept pushing, prying my cunt apart. Deeper and deeper he went until he reached a place inside me where none of my other lovers have ever been. His hips began to move, driving his shaft in, then pulling it away, but never quite out. With each stroke I could feel the silky skin of that great male piston rub against my clit. It hurt me some at first to be so stretched, but I felt so erotically female that my pain soon disappeared replaced by an ache for more...,altho for more what..., I couldn’t exactly tell you.

Sometime, just when I don’t remember, his big hands once more seized my wrists and stretched my arms to the top of the bed. None of my previous lovers had ever made me feel so helpless…, so vulnerable…, so completely female. My arms pinned over my head, my pussy hung on his cock, I was his captive, his female to use as he wished. Why did this man make me feel so..., so..., taken. Somewhere deep in my ovaries I could feel an orgasm alive and growing, but as always, except for a small quiver or two, it remained hidden back there, never quite coming out.

None the less, Clyde worked long and hard (if you will excuse the pun) to pleasure me, and although I never did have anything more than my usual weak little cum, I put on what I thought was an academy award performance of a woman in a continuous climax. After his ejaculation in my cunt, he continued to lay on top of me for the longest time, his softening cock still inside me, soaking in our juices. He kissed my lips, eyes, throat, and breasts, as if to thank me for what I had given him. It all felt so good that right then I didn’t even care that I hadn’t had ‘the big O’ I had been waiting a lifetime for.

At long last, however, he rolled off me, and we lay there in the dark enjoying our after sex ‘joints’. After a while, however, he raised himself on his elbow, looked into my eyes, and said, “you didn’t get off did you?”

Well what could I say. I started to lie and claim that I had, but one look into those deep blue eyes of his, and I could tell he would know I was lying.

“No I didn’t, I never do,” I admitted.

I have never discussed my sexual problem with any of my former lovers, or anyone else for that matter. I certainly didn’t have any intention of baring my soul to this semi-stranger the first time he banged me, but somehow I couldn’t keep my distress bottled up inside me anymore. It all came flooding out, all about my parents, the watchful Nuns, how guilty I was about wanting and enjoying sex, and how ashamed I was to jump into bed with him like this on our first date.

I could see a little smile break across his face as I went on with my story, and finally he said, “Things don’t have to be this way. If you will trust me, I can change all that for you.”

“How?” I asked. “In God’s name, how?”

“Easy enough, if you will go along with it” he answered. “You were taught by the Sisters of Charity that sex is dirty. You were taught that sex was for procreation only, never something to enjoy. You were taught to feel guilty about your most normal and natural urges. You were warned repeatedly to never allow a man to be in control because he would take advantage of those urges.

All that, every bit of it, contradicts every instinct mother nature gave you at birth. Your recovery from those crippling lies and brainwashing is simple enough. You must be reprogrammed to give yourself up totally to your male lover. With that new mental attitude your body will respond the way mother nature meant it to.”

“But, how will you reprogram me?” I asked. “What’s the catch..., and what do you mean ‘If I will go along with it?’ If its so easy, why wouldn’t I go along with it?”

“Well,” he began, “undoing a lifetime of training will require a change in the way you look at men, and your acceptance of some things you might find unpleasant at first. It will be much like learning to eat broccoli after a lifetime of hating it. Specifically, the essence of your reprogramming will be to deny you any choice about when, where, and how, you have sex. You must turn over all control of your body to a lover firm enough to make you his sex toy, his to fuck anywhere and anytime he wants.”

“That is the key, you must not have any option, or any choice, about the sex your lover might demand of you. In the bedroom your lover can not be your partner in the politically correct modern way. He can only be your master according to nature’s ancient rules. You must submit! You must become his slut! You must relearn the natural kind sex males and females primeval have enjoyed for thousands of years. Only by giving yourself up to your lover to be taken by his cock, will you be able to unlock those orgasms you haven’t been able to reach.”

“Nature’s ancient rules…, submission...., taken by his cock…, you are flat crazy,” I told him. “That isn’t making love! That is rape! That is medieval slavery, pure and simple.”

I waited a moment before I added, “Anyway, I don’t think I would like being raped.”

“No, it won’t be rape exactly..., Oh, in the beginning some physical restraint may be necessary, although to be bound and helpless may not be as bad as you think. Have your ever been stripped and tied to the bed unable to prevent your lover from doing whatever he wanted with your body?”

I was shaking my head, incredulous at the idea, but truthfully, just a bit titillated by the picture that popped into my head.

“No, you haven’t? You don’t know what you have missed. A woman is by her nature her lover’s sexual plaything. Tied like that, the rope is an aphrodisiac perhaps, but nothing else. You see, it is not the rope that holds the woman’s legs apart..., It is her natural sensual desire and submissive nature that binds her to the bed. It is being helpless and taken, hard fucked by a male warrior, the way male and female have cohabited for thousands of years, that makes resistance impossible. The feminists will tell you that is the way animals do it. Well, we are animals, and we make ourselves unhappy when we try to be something else.”

I asked, “Suppose I don’t like being ‘taken and hard fucked by a male warrior?’ Can I change my mind? What if I want to be turned loose?”

“There is no agreement upon the details,” he replied, “but if I am the one who reprograms you, yes anytime you want to quit, you can. I will give you only the one chance, however. If you do quit on me, I’m out of your life forever. You must not even think about quitting. Think about how great it will be if I am right, and sexual submission is your chance to escape your hang ups. Give it a fair test. Believe me, one taste of what real sex can be like, and you won’t care that your sex life is no longer in your control nor politically correct.”

“Well...,” I said doubtfully, “Lets say this reprogramming of yours does turn me on. Do you mean to tell me that an orgasm or two will overcome what I have struggled with for a lifetime?

“Oh no,” he answered, “There will certainly be intermittent pangs of shame and regret. For a while the good Nuns will live on in the back of your head telling you that anything that feels so good must be sinful. For a while you may feel that you are a traitor to the progress that women have made in social equality. You will get past those doubts, however. You will get past them because it is a good thing to be a woman in bed with a man using her body outragessly.”

Anyway, I will not allow you to slip back into your guilt. At the first sign it is returning, I will wash it away your sin with prompt punishment that will be both corporeal and sensual. With punishment comes penitence! With penitence comes redemption! The Pope knows. It has been Christian dogma for two thousand years that regression and failure are inevitable but completely acceptable if the sinner is properly punished for his or her transgressions. You know the bit. You grew up with it..., confessional, penitence, purgatory, all that stuff.”

“Punishment?” I mused. It had never occurred to me before that I might ever let myself be punished by a man. But this guy is talking about slavery. Slaves are chattels. They are expected to obey and please their owners, and they are punished when they do not. I had read a good many trashy novels that had been very explicit about how harem girls were whipped if they failed to sexually service their masters or resisted their bondage.

“No way,” I answered. “We are back to rape again.”

“Not at all,” he responded quietly. “Rape is by definition forcing a woman to have sex. The submission I am talking about may not always be entirely voluntary, but it is never actually forced. There is a sensual pleasure in sexual submission that easily overwhelms the woman and makes the force imposed upon her both reasonable and irrelevant.”

“A woman in a harem may have no choice but to have sex with her Sultan, but that doesn’t mean she is being constantly raped. To the contrary, as time goes on, her feminine libido is heightened by her erotic bondage. She can not help but dwell on the way she is used, just as you will, and those mental images set fire to her cunt, just as they will yours. In the end, she will beg for her Sultan’s cock just as you will surely beg for mine. A woman who begs to be fucked is not being raped.”

“True,” he continued, “if you do not submit, then I must see to it that you do, but that is the natural order of things between male and female. A woman is a receptacle for the male penis. She can not truly “make love” to a man without giving herself to him unconditionally for at least those critical moments of copulation and orgasm. Her own sensuality, and her own pleasure, is too entwined with his, and too dependent upon the surrender of her body. Indeed that is the essence of their union. If, therefore, you fail to surrender of your own volition, I will enforce it.”

“The erotic signals between male and female are very ancient and deeply engraved on our genes. Every woman who has ever felt the weight of a real man on top of her knows that. Rudolph Valintino couldn’t act a lick and his plots were absurd. What made him a movie star were the erotic day dreams of his female audience about a lusty, if unlikely, nomad who captures them, carries them off, and fucks them, even it the movies couldn’t make the last part explicit.”

“Don’t you shake your head at me. Do you remember how you felt when I held your wrists over your head as I fucked you?”

“Well, not me,” I protested, “and the way I felt had nothing to do with your holding my arms.” I had to stretch the truth some there for the sake of my argument. “I for one, don’t day dream about lusty nomads, and I’m not going to let myself be abused for some man’s pleasure.”

“Oh don’t tell me that,” he fired back at me. “I know better. I saw something quite different in your eyes as I held you down under me. Unless you surrender yourself to your man’s pleasure, you can never really have any of your own. There is no other way.”

“If you are to rediscover your natural, but seriously repressed, instincts, someone must make you do all sorts of shockingly sexy things the good nuns said were dirty and demeaning. True, you are likely to be embarrassed, shamed, and humiliated, but the one thing you won’t feel is guilt. How could you be guilty? Your lusty Valintino will simply be enforcing his passion on you, and you have no choice but respond in kind. You are, therefore, free to enjoy the eroticism of what he makes you do. Give it a chance. I promise this is an idea that will grow on you.”

“But,” I continued to argue, “This is Twentieth Century America. You are not a lusty nomad, and I am not a harem girl. Nor do I think I want to become one either.”

“Oh but you do,” he continued. “Tonight you turned away and refused to blow me. To have serviced my prick with me straddling your throat would have been too servile, too humbling, too politically incorrect. You can’t handle that now, but you will learn. Sucking a man’s cock is a damned erotic thing for the woman as well as the man. Why? Because a woman with a mouthful of cock is the very symbol and essence of surrender and submission. Because humbling herself that way makes sex better for the both of them, that is why!”

“I have just never liked to suck a man, that’s all,” I interjected defensively.

“I’ll bet you don’t,” Clyde went on, “but that dislike isn’t in your nature, it is in your head, put there by the good Sisters. The real truth is that a woman is never so sensual and sexily female as when her lips are stretched around a penis. Until now, foolish social convention and prudish Christian doctrine have caused you to deny your natural instincts to do the things necessary for successful sex. The price of that denial has been your inability to orgasm. Your first step toward freedom and orgasms is to get on your knees and beg me for the privilege of sucking me off and swallowing my cum.”

“Why you male chauvinist pig,” I called him, interrupting his arrogance. “I will never do any such thing. No woman should have to degrade herself like that, not in this day and time.”

“No,” he argued, “now you are talking politics. I am not advocating female submission generally, but only in bed. Politics, social culture, and economics have nothing to do with sex necessarily. If women want to be lawyers and doctors, even fighter pilots, well and good. Ambition and advancement are good things, and should be encouraged.”

“At the same time, however, the sexual relationship between male and female is another thing entirely. Political slogans and agendas about equality between the sexes simply shouldn’t be applied to the bedroom. Some feminists will not admit that because they are every bit as screwed up sexually as you are, while those who aren’t are afraid that such an admission might be misunderstood as a retreat from ‘the cause’.”

“It is sad that for most professional feminists, the classic image of a woman on her back with her legs spread wide begging her man to fuck her is too servile to accept even if limited to that one and singular application. There is no point in even commenting on what Gloria Steinhem thinks of a woman who would kneel before her man to give him a slutty blow job.”

“Yet, isn’t it on her back or on her knees, where the woman almost always ends up when having good sex? Can good sex really be immoral or socially unacceptable? Isn’t the submission of a woman to a cock nothing more than nature at work? Sex is a very old game, and it has its own rules that do not change with the fads of the society we live in. Gloria has a point about equal pay for equal work, but what does that have to do with penises inside vaginas?”

I couldn’t bring myself to say so aloud, but he had made a compelling point. Without any real rebuttal, I didn’t know quite what to say next. The silent tension in the room was so thick I could almost stir it. Finally, I asked, “and if I do agree to all this, what will I be letting myself in for? Tell me, exactly what you will do to me?”

“Simple enough,” was his quick answer. “At first I will tie you to your bed. Once you are helpless, I will play with you until you orgasm. You will find that the submission I have compelled has made easy what you have always found to be difficult. Without any reason for guilt, you will want more. Like a horse gradually broken to saddle, before I am done, your obedience will be voluntary. Soon thereafter you will do all manner of sexy, erotic, dirty things beyond the imagination of those Nuns who haunt your conscience.”

“Indeed, there is a danger here that I ought to warn you about. Sex is addictive. Your servitude that began as a charade, only a pleasant game, may become a reality. Being unfamiliar with real sexual pleasure you may confuse desire with romance. If so, at the end of your retraining you may indeed become my concubine, my love slave, bound to me not by ropes and chains, but by your desire for my cock that you have mistaken for love.”

I said nothing, and Clyde continued, “Therein lies the catch. When I take away your hang ups, I take away your ability to control your own sexual persona as well. You would not be the first woman to find herself hooked on cock. Indeed, few women return to the icy world of full independence after they have been well fucked. One must be careful about addiction of any kind.”

“I don’t know about all this,” I stammered. “I don’t like to be abused and I’m not going to be anyone’s slave, not even in a game.”

“Well,” Clyde responded, “its entirely up to you. That is a caution to which I certainly concur. You should consider the matter carefully. Perhaps I am wrong and submission really isn’t for you, or perhaps I am just not the right man to see to it, but I sincerely believe it is the only solution to your Catholic guilt. If you are willing, my guess is that you can quite easily, probably on the first night, have one of those big time orgasms you want so badly, but it is up to you.”