Carl Learns CFNM Obedience

Description:

A look at one of Carl's earliest brushes with CFMN, before meeting the staff of the Jade Cafe, showing how he came to discover his obedient side.

One of those odd and yet traditional subjects that Carl had difficulty with was Latin. Forced to take it as an upperclassman, it was a nail-biter for him. He stumbled repeatedly with the more advanced aspects such as the perfect passive participle, or, in fact, almost anything which was not a straightforward subject, verb, or object. He needed help, and by pure serendipity he ran across an ad in the local rag which advertised exactly what he needed: Latin Tutor.

As luck would have it, it was placed by a college senior named Bridget, an uncannily prototypical blond bombshell with wide-spaced mildly malevolent grey eyes, flagrant cheekbones, and a lithe and curvy frame which she appeared to feel it was necessary to show off in skin-tight leotards. She was beyond smart, and it turned out that she had the exact same Latin primer that Carl was required to use. Once they started meeting in her apartment, it quickly became clear that she faced no hurdle whatsoever in judging what kind of tutoring Carl needed. They made goals and lesson plans based on the book, and began meeting weekly.

For the first several sessions, it was all business. They sat opposite of each other at the small dining room table in Bridget's second floor apartment, working out who they both were. Bridget would assess his educational needs quickly, judging him with her superior grey wolf-like eyes, and Carl would simply take her advice on what to read and translate. It was not long, however, before they relaxed in each other's presence, and opened up a little. Bridget discerned accurately that underneath everything, Carl was immature, his personality still forming. She believed that he was a virgin, and she could readily see how often just her mere presence sometimes seemed to pervade his thinking, clog up his attention and throw hurdles into the intellectual exercise of learning Latin. This tickled her, and tended to generate a series of carnal thoughts about how malleable boys are.

To go over difficult sections, Bridget eventually decided she sometimes would sit next to Carl and work out the written language piece by piece, showing by placing her fingers on the pages of the book how declension or case stretched like infiltrating insects across whole sentences. She was always wearing body-revealing tights, and when she was upright, standing or walking about, they announced the exact dimensions of her features, following her demur legs up to and even into the mysterious crown of her pubic area, or smoothly mold her body from behind, stretching with perfection over her ass and arching over the lower vertebra of her spine and the sockets of her hips toward the flesh of her midriff.

Carl was smitten, and so callow that he was incapable of disguise. Instead, it was as though every time they were together his feelings unaccountably accumulated until eventually he was visibly vibrating with lust. For Bridget, who easily detected this, it became a bit of a game of cat and mouse. Safe to say, at times she purposefully acted evocatively. She would saunter about the room and more than once, with her back intentionally presented to him, bend over ever so suggestively and light the scented candles she kept on a small round table by the wall.

But the intentionality of her actions often went straight over Carl's head. He could not know how lively and creative Bridget's imagination actually was. He could only react to the immediacy of the sensory input she seemed willing to produce.

One session when they were seated close together and needed a break, Bridget said, "Quick break," and stood up with fluid and feminine stature to the right of Carl in her black tights and did not move away. She stood facing the table, while Carl remained seated beside her. She seemed to Carl to be too close to him. Unbelievably close. Close enough to smell, to imagine that he could see through the thin fabric. She stood still, looking down at her open book, and seemed to be inviting Carl's inspection.

And inspect he did, almost inadvertently, with childlike wonder. He was careless to the fact that he turned his head to look at her, that his eyes grew large and roved over the portion of the strange and beautiful female form that was only inches away. A sense of awe was writ plainly in his face as his eyes admired the round shape of her backside. Almost instantly he developed a rigid erection. He had a very large penis and he was powerless to stop or to hide is arousal. She looked down and took the measure his penis-tented crotch, and then looked into his eyes and when he returned her look she smiled. It was the kind of genuine smile that could have meant nothing, or might have said, take your time. I'm not going anywhere.

Carl returned her smile with a small gulp, which Bridget saw and registered and deemed a success. Then Bridget turned, swiveled her body very slightly so that no longer was she presenting just her hip to Carl, but now she was presenting everything from her hip to the flank of her round and sculpted buttock, and her ass seemed to be flexing. There was no conversation, but she continued to gaze upon him, and it seemed possible that maybe she hadn't turned like that purposefully, hadn't tensed her butt rather flamboyantly, but she continued to smile and clearly invited Carl to keep looking.

She stood beside him, letting the scene unfold however it would, and after something like 30 seconds during which she pondered how big his obviously large erection might actually be, she studied how Carl appreciated the concave side of her hip ascending into the convex allure of her gluteus. When he began demonstrating unequivocal agitation, seemed lost in thought and struggling to breath normally, she sat back down and with sweetness redirected them both back into the Latin text open on the table before them. Every time they looked at each other, however, both understood that something new and significant had transpired between them. Carl was incapable of defining it, but Bridget understood what it was, how it came to be, and what it would eventually turn into.

After this event, Carl was an emotional wreck for the intervening week, falling in love with Bridget, consumed by thoughts of her. He spent countless hours thinking about her beautiful face, inspired by her deep, riveting, grey eyes, and surprised himself with how deeply he dissected his emotions. He wondered that it was somewhat unlike him to be so thoughtful, to realize that he could be governed just by the look in some else's face. Even to himself, a new awareness seemed to take root in his mind.

He was not sure how to brand the emotions he was feeling for her, and utterly at a loss to describe to himself the nature of their new connection -- if indeed there was one. All he knew for certain was that she had exerted a sense of otherworldly fascination in him, and to a degree that was impossible to ignore. He desperately wanted to be in her presence again, to let her drive the interactions in whatever way she wanted.

At their next session, Bridget immediately put their chairs together and began the lesson with them sitting nearly shoulder to shoulder. Her expressions were open, inviting, agile. She bounced her vivacious smile at him, with animal acuity looking for a reaction, and with only this small amount of effort saw that she had already produced a very visible erection in his pants.

For a while then, she seemed to navigate the space between them sometimes as a Latin tutor and sometimes as the chancellor of something else entirely. She tried to engage with the lesson but over and over it became apparent that Carl was having keen difficulty.

And then, intentionally, her eyes burning and the edges of her lips turning beautifully up, she offered Carl the chance to stray, to enter another world. She stopped talking, turned to face him and gave Carl a prolonged questioning look, one that required Carl to reply. Silence fell momentarily in the small room. She waited for him to speak.

"I think about you all the time," he bleated out.

"Aww, you do, don't you?" Bridget said, leaning back a little in her chair.

She was suddenly so formidable, looking upon him sweetly, judgmentally. While sirens perhaps should have been going off in his head, instead there was love, awe, lust, deference. Mostly, clear and obvious lovestruck awe, and Bridget understood that it was so, and that it was as clear and obvious a portal as there had ever been so far in her life. She decided she would take a small step through it.

"You don't have experience of women, do you Carl?" she asked, gazing into his amazement-filled eyes.

He shook his head resignedly.

"You're what, three or four years younger than me? I can't imagine what you think of women," said Bridget in a quiet, serious, and inquisitive voice. It was not a question, but she clearly expected a thoughtful answer.

Carl had not expected such a wide-ranging topic. His focus was on her only. "You. You. You are so beautiful, so amazing," said Carl earnestly, his eyes brimming with honesty. "You mean so much to me."

"I know. I like that, that you feel that way about me," said Bridget with just a hint of indifference in her voice. "Some of the women in your life like me will expect that." Her eyes locked onto his and her voice had gained force, and as if to emphasize her point she stood up beside him again wearing form-fitting black tights that wrapped her lower body and fit into the tight T-shirt she wore as a top. She pushed back the chair deliberately out of the way, and gained her full upright posture with a sort of writhing athletic grace. She stood right next to him provocatively on both feet, facing the table, her body seeming to unbend into a slightly arched back. The musculature of her body was held in broad and sensational detail by the fabric of her tights.

She was less than a foot away from him, and this time when she looked upon him she turned ever so slightly to face him, twisting her body toward him and making it profoundly obvious to him that her pubis was intentionally moving toward him. His eyes were transfixed on her near hip as the curvature of it flattened out and led to the mound above where her legs split. His lips parted as he thought to himself: oh my god, is this really happening? But he failed to make sense of was happening to him emotionally, not just how overcome with adoration he was, but how his sexual arousal had arrived in such measure that he was driven as if by organic impulse to make it obvious that this was so.

"You can barely control yourself, can you?" asked Bridget in a way that expected no answer. "I can see how excited you are." She grinned at him and looked into his crotch so openly that it seemed obvious to him that she was willingly going to take ownership of it.

Carl's expression flared red with embarrassment, but the effect of her words was only to make him even more aroused. He looked at her as if to thank her, and say, what now?

Bridget swayed ever so slightly toward him, and placed her left hip tenderly against his cheek. She pressed the curve of her body softly against him, looked down on his face, and all throughout these actions, her guise expected acquiescence in everything. Carl did not move. He was a single wave of pleasure, the sensation of being subjected to her whims breaking over him, and he craved it. This physical contact with Bridget, with his face separated from her body by the merest scrim of material, his eyes, nose, mouth, even his brain, but inches from her sex, began compelling a new pattern of desire and thought that would bring him outsized satisfaction and stay with him for the rest of his life.

By some mystical web of connections, he knew full well that Bridget was not only aware of how thrillingly he felt, but aware of being able to control his excitement. She could turn him on like a light. Force everything about him to come to the surface. Force him to give her control, and to show her that she was in control.

He dared not move, hoping to prolong this contact of his face and her body, and he held his face against her delicately. He tried to project his emotions to her through the contact they had. He swore he could in fact smell her. He wanted to put his hands on her, to feel her body somewhere, anywhere. He wanted to press more of her against him. He wanted to turn his face into her. He wanted to do all of this and do anything, anything, anything at all -- but he knew not to move. He sat still and gave in to a profoundly subsuming ecstasy.

"Can I ask you something?" asked Bridget, looking down at him and knowing full well that, in actuality, no license was need.

"Anything."

"I will ask you this once, and you need to answer me truthfully."

"I will. I promise I will."

"If I ask you to do something, do you believe that you should do it for me?" asked Bridget solemnly. "I mean, when I say do something, whatever I want, you want to do it, don't you?"

Carl simply answered, "Yes."

"Next lesson, then, you take on your knees."

A confirming quiet filled the room while Carl's sense of obligation rose within and took over him like food coloring in water. After a pause, Carl said with conviction, "On my knees." Then, with enormous hope filling his eyes, he looked up at Bridget and pleaded, "Now?"

She made no answer, did not move or change her gaze from his, but looked resolutely into his eyes and indicated the floor.

Carl slid off the chair down onto the floor, putting his head exactly level with the beginning of Bridget's finely curved ass. She now stood well over him, and without saying a word, she turned and presented her lobed backside to him. If she moved backward even a few inches, she would be rubbing it smack against his face. He was ecstatic, his heart banging away, and his erection as hard as iron.

"This is your chance, Carl," said Bridget. "Tell me what you're thinking?"

"You are fucking amazing, I'm in love with you. I just want to kiss you," was all he could think to say, with her rear filling his vision, but he meant every word of it. He did not try to kiss her, however. He understood that this would happen only if she permitted it.

She looked down at him and with immense calm she reached down with her hand, placed it firmly over the rear of his head and gently forced it forward to press his face deep into the fleshy cleft of her ass.

"Then kiss me,"demanded Bridget.

Breathing his own warm air against her body, imagining it was imbued with something of her because it seemed to come off of her, Carl pursed his lips exaggeratedly and placed kiss after kiss on the material-bound softness of Bridget's buttocks. After a very short time, she pulled his head away, and without letting go she turned completely around to face him. Carl's world was now swimming with the unending pangs of a lust he had not experienced before, the high of glorious subjugation. Bridget was holding his head, guiding his face steadily before her pussy, and thus delivering him into a new philosophy, guiding him to subscribe to the karmic pleasure that radiates out of worship.

"Next lesson," said Bridget gloatingly, steadying his head, "you will need to show me a naked state of arousal, a state of need for me. I'm saving that for next week."

She pressed her pubis against his face and said, "Think about what is happening here. Look at you on your knees, adoring everything about me. It obviously comes from a place deep inside you that maybe you did not know you had."

She stepped away and told him to get to his feet, that the Latin lesson was over, and she dismissed him until next week. As hard as it was, he dutifully left, fighting down both his need and his erection as he left, fully aware of not feeling mentally or psychologically like himself at all. There was a new version of himself forming all around him.

If the last interval between lessons was spent analyzing his feelings for Bridget and trying to comprehend the nature of their relationship, this interval was spent trying to adjust to the clutches of the addictive well she had placed him in. How could it be, he wondered, that he had not recognized this need in him before. She had become a drug, and his compulsion to satisfy and worship her was the blood-chemistry of her power coursing incarnate through his veins.

When next they met, there was not even the pretense of a Latin lesson in her actions. Bridget was in tan tights. Her blond hair fell heavily over a red top. She invited Carl into the living room and asked him to stand before her while she sat on the couch. He felt happy to be with her and exhibited a subdued manner.

"Oh, Carl, no Latin today, I think. But where should we begin," she asked offhandedly.

"Nothing has changed," replied Carl with perhaps too much honesty.

"That's good." Bridget nodded.

"I mean, in every respect, I love you. I always love you."

"And I do admire that Carl. It means I can expect so much." She had crossed her legs and Carl saw for the first time since arriving that below her tights she was barefoot. Her toenails looked covered in a faded cardinal red sheen.

"For example, to be blunt," she went on in an admonishing tone, "I'm going to expect you to develop an erection. When I ask you to. And you will show it to me, right?"

In fact, it was so true that both of them knew it was a fait accompli, though he was still far from actually erecting.

Carl was quiet, observant, hopeful, and the only way he knew how to respond, in fact, all he could think of, was giving her everything, giving her ownership of his body and showing her her power over him by presenting her with his penis in the raw.

"Can't I?" said Bridget with the air of someone doing a time-honored interrogation. She knew what she was doing was bringing Carl to his knees both figuratively and, soon, literally. She pointed with outstretched arm to a nearby chair and said sternly, "Shoes and socks."

A new and purposeful energy harnessed Carl. He could not get his shoes and socks off fast enough. He took them off and laid them on the chair. Then, without being told, he fell to his knees voluntarily, glanced over to Bridget's hard stare, and repeated softly, almost just mouthing the words, "I love you."

Bridget rose to her feet and went over to stand beside Carl. The line and bend of her magnificent female form, clad in form-fitting yellow, especially her thighs and curved rump, her molded and arched genital area, swayed across the room toward him. Taking his hair roughly in a fist, she pulled his cheek against her hip and pressed his face against her. She held his hair tightly and rocked her body against him as if at any minute to rotate her ass or her pussy against his face. "When I say to do something, what comes into your head," she asked, looking down and rocking purposefully against him.

"I will do whatever you tell me to." His eyes were wide and inward-looking as the powerful hold she had of his hair radiated a stream of stinging obedience from his scalp, releasing testosterone into his blood and brain, causing all of him to tense up, and blood to make its way easily into his penis.

"Will you always do what I tell you to do?" She asked, and her question echoed around in his mind unrelentingly, as if hearing it over and over for the first time, and each time jolting him with exultant newness.

"I will. Always"

"Why?"

"It pleases you. Pleasing you is the most important thing in the world."

"How do I please you the most?" asked Bridget with evident authority as she methodically turned her body toward him, gripped his face by the ears with both hands, took a straddling stance and firmly pressed his nose against the camel toe of the front of her tights.