My Submissive Journey

I knew he was coming; he should be at my room any minute. I couldn't wait; it seemed like it had been so long since I had seen him last. Even though we talked and e-mailed constantly, it wasn't enough. I heard him walk up to my room and he opened the door. I got up off the bed, so happy to see him; but I also knew I had to wait for him to tell me I could go to him. I was at the same time so scared and so excited I was shaking, I was already wet. I wasn't sure I could stand, I felt so weak. He didn't look at me, he didn't greet me; he just came in and walked around; inspecting to make sure everything met with his approval. I stood behind him, not knowing what else to do, waiting for him to acknowledge me. Finally he did. He circled around behind me, so close I could feel his hard-on, but still not touching me. I could feel his breath on my neck as started to talk.

"There are three rules," he said in a low voice, soft and almost a growl, so sexy I could feel myself getting wetter. "First, you will only speak to me on your knees, and you will address me as Sir any time you talk to me." I nodded. I could feel him behind me; I could feel him moving around to my other side. "Second, you will not fight me, you will let me control your body and you will not resist me, you will do anything and everything I tell you to. Do you understand?" I nodded again, my eyes closed as I tried to conquer the desire that was threatening to overcome me. There was a long pause; I tried to lean back into him, but he kept himself just beyond physical contact. I wanted to ask him what the third rule was, but I knew he would tell me in his own time. After what seemed like forever, he said, "third rule. You will not cum unless you ask, and I give you permission. If you are going to cum and I tell you no, you will beg me to stop. Do you understand the rules?" I nodded again.

With that he stepped back and sat down on the bed. I shivered with the ache from the loss of contact, slight as it was. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor. "Down." I immediately dropped to my knees in front of him. I reached for his hips and instantly he said, "don't touch me." I felt like I was going to die, I wanted to feel his body beneath my hands so badly. So when he pushed his shorts down and let me take his cock into my mouth it was wonderful. But he didn't let me enjoy it for long before he pulled me back up and bent me across his knees.

How the hell did I get to this position? I asked for it. Well, sort of. Ok, so I'm not really sure how the whole thing started; I mean, I know the events that occurred, but damn it was not what I was looking for, and definitely not what I expected. Master Brenin really wasn't my type at all. I couldn't even begin to tell you if he was good-looking or not, because he was black. And I was raised in a very white, very prejudiced, household. He had invited me to his room one night. Sure, I knew exactly what he had in mind, but I thought it was harmless enough and I figured I would spend some time, politely turn him down, and leave. Besides, I had talked him into giving me a shoulder rub, so I thought I would benefit. Well, I did benefit, but not the way I expected. When I got to his room and he started massaging my shoulders, his hands felt wonderful; and not just because the massage was relieving my tension. And when he slipped his hands under my shirt and pushed my bra strap down, I knew it was probably a good time to reestablish platonic boundaries; but I didn't. And when I felt his breath, his lips on the back of my neck, I knew I should stop him; but I couldn't. And when he pulled my shirt off and took off my bra I knew there was no going back; but he even stopped, looked at me, and asked me if I was sure, if I was ok with it. And I should have said no, I should have thought about my husband, I should have thought about the fact that I was going to have to look at him across the room the next day in the morning meeting, but I just didn't care about anything except the fact that he was making me feel good. And he made me feel good for the next three hours, and then the next night, which turned into the next week. When it came time for him to leave, I tried to tell myself it was because I was going to miss the great sex. But he wouldn't let me off that easily; he talked to me every day, in the chat room at work, e-mailing me constantly, never leaving me alone until I finally had to admit to him and to myself: I was in love. I had tried to fight it, I had to fight myself, my mind, my upbringing. I had fucked a black man for the first time in my life and I had loved it; but not only that, I fell in love with the first black man I had ever allowed to fuck me.

Held flat across his lap, I could feel how hard he was as he pushed my shirt up and gave me the first slap on my ass. I knew it was coming, I had known for weeks he was going to punish me the first time he saw me again. You see, I had stopped calling him for a few days. I had a damn good reason for it, but I had not gotten permission. And I had voluntarily accepted him as my Master. Even the fear of anticipating the pain was better than the awful silence he had put me through when he had been so angry he refused to talk to me, to write me, to contact me in any way. I felt him lift his hand for the second slap and my whole body tensed, even though I tried to stop it. Then he pushed my panties off so he could spank my bare ass. He didn't spank me fast, or overly hard. He alternated between caressing my ass, my legs, my back and the slaps. Sometimes I would feel him lift his hand from caressing me and I would flinch in anticipation of the next smack that didn't come; because he would merely lift his hand, pause, then gently caress me again. And I started realizing that not only was the pain not so bad, I was actually getting turned on. I had been very worried about how I would be able to accept being spanked, even though it was my decision and my desire, because of the men who had beaten me in the past. The very fact that I was even considering it, let alone being turned on by it with my history was disturbing to me. But I was getting turned on. So much that I started rubbing against him, arching my back and raising up to meet the slaps as they came. So much that I could feel my juices dripping out of my hot pussy. I have no idea how long or how many times he spanked me before he pushed me off of his lap. I fell to my knees in front of him as he looked down at the wet spot I had left on his shorts.

"Lick it," he told me, showing me his shorts. I hesitated, I hate the taste of my own juices as much as I love the taste of a man's cum. "Lick it!" This was not a request. I bent my head and licked his shorts clean.

He picked up my panties, feeling them. Then he pressed them into my hand. "Do you feel how wet they are?" I nodded. "Open your mouth." I looked at him, and involuntarily my teeth clenched, knowing what was coming. "Open. Your. Mouth." He was getting angry at my hesitation, at my resistance to his demands. I opened my mouth, and he stuffed my soaked panties into my mouth as a gag. He pushed me back onto the bed and spanked me again. "I want to use my belt," he said. I nodded, even though I knew he was not asking my permission, he was simply letting me know. My body, just getting used to the sting of his hand, tensed again at the though of the belt. The first slap surprised me even more; I actually liked it better than his hand. He continued to spank me, making me hotter and wetter.

Then he pulled me over, with my legs over the side. Reminding me that I was not to cum without his permission, he told me if I felt I was going to cum I would raise one of my hands. And then he bent over me and I closed my eyes as I realized he was about to put his mouth on my aching pussy. Almost as soon as I felt the first touch of his tongue on my clit I thought I would cum. Even though he's a lot rougher than I like when he goes down on me, he's still so incredibly good at it just thinking about it is nearly enough to make me cum. He started to lick the wetness that had formed from the spanking and I had to stop him, I raised my arm. He lifted his head and looked at me, almost smiling, and waited until I had relaxed a little before he put his head back between my legs and started again. Again and again he brought me to nearly cumming, licking me, shoving first one, then two, then more fingers inside me. Slow and then fast, and soft and then hard, licking me and fucking me with his hand. Again and again I had to stop him, raising my hands to let him know that I was on the verge of cumming. I would raise my hand and he would stop, leaving his fingers inside me but raising his head to look at me. "You're cumming, aren't you?" he would ask; and I would shake my head vigorously to convince him that I was not. Did he know if he had so much as twitched his fingers still inside me that I would not have been able to stop myself? Probably. He knows my body better than I do. The heat, the ache, the need to cum was building almost to physical painfulness; but it was the sweetest pain I could ever remember feeling. I loved every second of it; I wanted it to end for the release I so desperately needed, but at the same time I wanted it to go on forever.

Of course, it wouldn't. Roughly he pulled me off the bed, at the same time turning me over and pushing me forward, so my feet were on the floor as my body was bent over the bed exposing my ass. I knew he was going to spank me again. And he did. He used his belt, I could feel even the difference between the sting of the smooth shiny vinyl surface and the scratch of the hard edges with every strike. I could feel my ass getting redder. He was very thorough and made sure that he spread the blows across my entire ass, ensuring a balance: first the left side, then the right side, higher, lower. He was careful to confine the blows only to my ass; careful not to go too high on my back or too low down my legs. While it stung, it wasn't unbearable. Each strike pushed me forward on the bed as I grabbed handfuls of blankets and clenched my teeth in an attempt to not make a sound. I'm naturally a vocal person, but discretion dictated that I be quiet; after all, what we were doing was not exactly appropriate on so many levels. I could feel my ass cheeks starting to burn as he continued. I couldn't see his face, I didn't know what he was thinking or feeling. I only hope he was as turned on as I was. I'm nearly sure he was, he seems to get turned on simply by being on the same planet with me. Not that I'm complaining about that, never in a million years!

Again he stopped, and told me not to move as I started to push myself up on my arms. I lay there waiting for what was to come next. I heard the sound of my refrigerator door being opened, saw the tell-tale glow of the interior light. What in the hell is he doing? I thought. Maybe he's thirsty. But then I felt something cold against my stinging ass, what took me seemingly forever to figure out was a soda can that he was rolling over the areas he had just abused with his belt. It took me forever, because the sensation of cold can rolling across my burning ass was incredible. Involuntarily I squirmed, trying to press back against the can. He rolled the can across both my cheeks, and then down, just for a second, across my pussy and my clit, then back up to my cheeks. After a few minutes of way too incredibly short of a time, he stopped and I heard him pick up the belt again. And he repeated the process until he was satisfied.

"Get on the bed," he said.

I climbed onto the bed as he pushed me onto my back again. "I'm going to fuck you," he said. I couldn't wait to feel his cock inside my dripping cunt, filling me up, reaching all the way inside me. I should have known it was way too early in the night for there not to be a catch.

"Do not cum," were the words he said as he roughly thrust himself inside me. Oh christ, how was I supposed to do that? But he was not going to trust me to not cum quite completely on my own. He fucked me; hard, fast, not how I like it, but still it felt so good. I wrapped my arms around him, trying to pull him closer to me. But after what seems like only seconds he pulled out of me again. I couldn't help the moan of frustration, pleading with my eyes for him not to leave, trying to hold on to him and pull him back to me. But at the same time I knew better than to resist him too much, just enough for him to see and enjoy my frustration.

He shoved his fingers inside me again. Hard this time, not intending pleasure, yet knowing it was going to give me pleasure. One, two, three, four fingers; he was fisting me roughly. I could feel his hand meeting the resistance from my pelvic bones, knowing that I was going to be sore and bruised in the morning. As he worked his hand inside me, he would wiggle his fingers, just a little bit. And as he did so I tried to think of something else besides what was happening to my body, because if I didn't I was going to cum. It wasn't working though, not really. It had been so long since I had seen him, been with him, felt him all over my body. And added to that now were the new and previously undiscovered pleasures that the spanking brought me. I wanted to tell him, just let me cum once and I won't have to stop you for a while. Just let me cum once and get a release, then I'll be good, I'll resist, I promise.

Finally I couldn't take it any more. "Please," I breathed, somewhere between a whine and a prayer.

"Please, what?" he asked.

"Please let me cum, Master. Oh please, oh please let me cum."

He leaned back a little, not stopping his assault on my pussy. "Why do you want to cum?" he asked.

"I n-n-ne-need to cum. Oh please, " I whimpered.

"Do you deserve to cum?" he responded harshly.

I shook my head, slowly, with a sinking feeling warring with my growing desire. "No," I said quietly. He simply looked at me, watching my face carefully as he was still fisting me hard. I couldn't help myself, I started begging, pleading, half the time nearly incoherently. "Oh, please Master, please let me cum. Oh please, I need to cum. Oh please, oh please, oh please."

"No," was all he said; coldly, detached, almost impersonal. "You may not cum."

I made some kind of noise somewhere between a cat yowling and a baby crying, but quietly as I could; mindful of both the neighbors and unwilling to incur his wrath for protesting. I felt my body arching up to meet his hand. I took a deep breath, trying to will myself into cooperation with my orders. Trying to relax, to convince myself that I wasn't really just a hair away from cumming.

"You are cumming, aren't you?" he accused. I shook my head vehemently. "You are," he said as he slowed his movements with his hands. I shook my head, even as his hand pressed upward and felt for the telltale contractions. "Oh my god, you're cumming," he said. I shook my head even harder, this time willing every fiber of my being to stop. "No, Sir, I'm not cumming."

He yanked his hand out of my cunt and pressed it against my lips. "Lick them clean," he ordered. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the hated taste, then opened my mouth and sucked his fingers clean of my pussy juices. He backed away from me again, watching my face as he leaned over me. My whole body was quivering, not knowing what was going to come next. I wasn't prepared for what did. With his fingers, he slapped my already overly sensitive clit. I winced as my eyes opened wide in shock. I tried to twist away as I felt him flick my clit again. The pain was incredibly intense for such a relatively harmless tap. There was nothing good about it, no pleasure associated with it. But I felt my need to cum dim in its wake. He kept on, slapping and flicking my clit. I knew he wasn't really doing it that hard, but it hurt so badly. And there was nothing I could do about it. Even though I twisted beneath him, I knew he wasn't going to miss. And I knew that he wasn't going to let me go anywhere; I might as well have been bound to the bed. Despite myself, I heard my whimpers.

"You like that, don't you?" he said. I could hear the smirk in his voice. I squeezed my eyes shut, and took a deep breath, trying to control myself. No, I shook my head frantically. He flicked me again.

"No, it hurts," I said. I don't know if I said anything else or not. I know in my head all I could think was NO, stop; but of course it didn't stop him, and I knew I couldn't say it. He continued until he was satisfied. When he finally told me to turn over, I was unbelievably relieved. But at least I was no longer teetering on the brink of cumming.

Of course, later he did let me cum . . . and cum . . . and cum again. But that first night was nothing compared to the night that followed. Master Brenin loves challenges; I had once told him that he was not the best fuck I'd ever had, and that my best made me cum 13 times. Naturally, Master took that as a challenge he was going to win. And the next night, he did. After three straight hours of fucking in every way I thought I could ever imagine (and some that I had never even thought of), and 17 orgasms later, I was begging him to stop. I had never been fucked like that before, never again would I think Master was anything less than the best.

Now you may be asking how I went from falling in love to being a slave. Or servant. Or submissive. Or whatever you want to call it. Well, first perhaps I should start with how the relationship developed. It was entirely a forbidden relationship. He was barely with me for a week, or I guess I should say I was with him. I kept telling myself that I wasn't going back, yet every night for that week or so in July, up until the day he left, I kept going back. I would sit across the room and watch him in the morning meetings, look at his long legs stretched out underneath the table, watch him lean back in his chair to stretch and see the outline of his chest and stomach underneath the loose fabric of his uniform and remember the previous night running my hands over him. Catching him looking at me, or discovering he'd caught me looking at him, and exchanging crazy smiles across the room. And finding reasons throughout the day to have to go out on the main floor where he worked so that I could see him, or feel him watching me. Looking for reasons why I had to talk to him. Finding it harder and harder to concentrate as each day passed, but convincing myself it was just the sexual attraction pulling me to him. I even argued with him a day or two before he left, when he tried to tell me I was falling in love with him. It was absolutely crazy; it made no sense to me whatsoever. But the day he came to tell me he was leaving, I felt like the bottom had fallen out of my world; I had to fight myself not to cry. And even after he left, the weeks stretched by marked by e-mails, daily conversations where we learned more and more about each other. Chat room conversations when he told me how much he loved me, missed me, and wanted to be with me forever. And I looked back on my life, at all the times I had so badly wanted to believe men who told me they loved me, and realized he was different. His attention never strayed. Even through my temper tantrums, my mood swings, my manic-depressive rollercoaster of emotions, he was always there for me. And I could not help myself but to be there for him, listening to his pain at the marriage he was struggling to keep from falling apart, trying to give him objective advice about his wife even though I wanted him to leave her so much; but not being able to ask for that because I wasn't willing to leave my own husband and children even once I realized I never wanted to live without him. The weeks of August were hot as hell. I was grateful to be working night shift, to be able to avoid the 130+ degree days, but being on opposite shifts meant we only had a few hours to chat. And those few hours a day it seems like that's all we did. Most of the conversations were about sex; both of us being deprived of that which was as much a necessity for us as eating and drinking and sleeping. And I know at least for me, it drove me to distraction regularly, wanting to fuck him so badly; knowing he was so close but might as well have been a million miles away. Each afternoon I would go into work wondering if he was going to call me that night; and still losing my breath every time I saw his number appear on my phone. The first thing I did was to check my e-mails for letters from him; there were always five, ten, sometimes more. He sent me letters just to tell me he was thinking about me, he sent me songs to describe his feelings for me, he wrote me to tell me how his day was going. And he honestly seemed to care about what I was doing, and thinking, and feeling. I felt so many emotions surface that I never imagined I would feel, some I had felt many years before but thought had died and would never surface again; emotions that I still do not have the words capable of fully describing my happiness. The feeling of being loved so deeply was something I had never experienced before.

I'm not really sure how we managed to fall in love. We are polar opposites in personality, astrologically born on opposing sides of the zodiacal wheel. He is an incredibly rational man. If something does not touch and immediately impact his world, he has very few thoughts or feelings about it. He is hard, not uncaring but not compassionate either. His basic philosophy is that he does everything he can to make himself happy, and if anyone else can't do the same, he sure as hell is not about to feel sorry for them. Don't get me wrong, he's not cruel or evil. He worries about me in a way no one else has ever done. He worries about my welfare. He's more concerned about my health than I am. He's constantly reminding me to be careful when I'm out alone at night. I on the other hand am nurturing, concerned about the world, the environment, and the people around me. I will sit and listen to a subordinate tell me about his problems and then suggest different ways to confront his issues, and offer advice when I am able. I believe there is good and magic in the world around us, and I actually notice the beauty of the surrounding world. Sure, a lot of people would probably classify me as a little over the deep end; in his own words a "fucking weirdo." And I'm constantly talking about things he does not understand.

But at the same time, there are so many things we have in common. It seems like daily we find something new that we share. We like so many of the same foods, we have similar philosophies on the world around us. We often think the same things at the same time. We have discussions where, once we've finally been able to decipher what the other was trying to say, we discover that we've been fighting an argument of agreement the entire time. It has definitely been a learning experience.

So after August came September. Surprisingly enough, even in this gods-forsaken place of the world, the calendar has not changed. But he was getting ready to go home for his leave, and he would be gone for three weeks. On the way out, he managed to get up to see me for four of the most incredible days of my life. We spent ever second that I was not working together. Finally, one night I spent the entire night with him, getting to know how enjoyable it was to spend the entire night sleeping beside him. Not that I was really able to sleep all that well. It doesn't seem to matter how tired we both are, we still seem to turn each other on fire when we're close to each other. But we didn't just spend four days in bed, either. We ate together. We wandered around together. We talked to other people, we talked to each other. It was so incredibly wonderful just to have a partial semblance of normality, and being able to be with him was fantastic. But still, even at this point we were still simply two people deeply in love, enjoying each others' presence and bodies. And at the end of the four days, right before he was leaving to go home, I admitted to him the one thing I had been denying since our first night together. He was the best I'd ever had. Yes, he was the first black man I'd ever fucked. He was the first black man I'd ever fallen in love with. And he was by far the best man I'd ever been to bed with; he fucked me better than I have ever been fucked in my life. But it was so much more than just the incredible sex; he treated me better than any other man I'd ever known.

So I fell in love with him. Then he started to introduce me to new ideas, things I'd never done before; things I'd only read about in stories or things other men had tried to get me to do that I had no interest in. It started with suggestions about anal sex, which I was intensely opposed to. Several men had tried to fuck me in the ass before but it hurt so badly, and wasn't really something I wanted anyway. So I refused it. But I had read a lot of erotic stories where it was described as being very pleasurable. It just seemed so, I don't know, dirty or something; but when he brought up the idea, I was willing to try it. Then he started sending me stories about BDSM sex, relationships, and ideas; and had me tell him my feelings about it. I realized the ideas were turning me on. I had always preferred to be submissive in bed, but in my daily life I was actually strong, independent, with a dominant personality. I had tried the whole "good little Southern wife serving her husband's every desire" for my first marriage; after seven years I couldn't take it and left. Yet something about Master Brenin made me want to serve him, to submit to him, to be his slave. After considerable reflection, I came to the conclusion that the difference between the two was that the first was forced upon me; this time it was something I voluntarily chose. More and more he helped me to learn that not only was this natural for me, it was going to be something I would want for the rest of my life.

While I was home on leave, I missed him terribly. All I could think about was how much I wanted to be with him. I called him nearly every night (which was incredibly expensive!), and every afternoon I would try to be online at the same time I knew he would be on so we could chat. Because of the eight hour time difference, I would get up in the middle of the night just to call him and hear his voice. Often I could not fall asleep from wanting to talk to him so badly, so I would stay up until it was a reasonable hour to call him.

My Master gave me the task of not cumming from my own husbands cock. For some reason, even though it sounds impossible, it was easier than you might think. I didnt want my husbands cock, I didnt want to cum from him. My husband could no longer satisfy me. When I was allowed to cum, I felt like I was cheating on my Master; sometimes even when I had permission I couldn't cum, and when I did cum it was only because I was imagining him fucking me instead of my husband. While my husband used me, all I could think about was my Master's touch, how wonderful he is, how nothing, no one, no cock can ever compare to his again. I was in love with him. Being a very honest person, the one and only time I did cum from my husbands cock without getting permission, My Master was furious and told me I would be punished. It only happened because I was careless enough to be fantasizing that Master Brenin was fucking me. I felt like the world had ended. His anger and disappointment in me was unbearable.

Also while I was home, my Master had asked me to pick up some books for him. While I was looking for them, I started researching information on my own to learn more about this lifestyle that I wanted so much, but knew I needed to learn so much more about. I even got a book that was a collection of short stories from the points of view of Masters and slaves, which I would hand-type into e-mails for my Master so we could discuss the things that turned me on or off, that I didn't understand, or that I just thought he would enjoy. The more I learned, the deeper I became captivated.

At first, Master Brenin started the process by getting me comfortable talking about my wants and desires, my pleasure sexually. Talking about my thoughts and feelings is something that has always been difficult for me, and talking about sexual fantasies was excruciating. I started slowly, and found it easier as time went on, the more I practiced talking to him; and the single-most thing that helped me was the fact that he never made fun of me, never found anything I wanted to do disgusting, and always supported and encouraged sharing my ideas. The first time I shared an experience where I had masturbated while thinking of him was hard, but he enjoyed it so much and was so happy that I was able to share it with him that it became a normal practice for us. I had been in transit coming back from leave, waiting around for my flight and reading erotic stories and imagining the two of us in place of the characters, getting hornier with each one, even though I didn't find they appealed to me as something I would really want. And then I read a story entitled Not Until Dawn. I love to be teased, and it was a story about a man teasing a woman for an entire night, not allowing her to cum until dawn. After I read it, I decided it was time to try and take a nap, but I couldn't sleep.

All I could think about was how much I wanted him, to feel his kiss and his touch, how much I needed his cock deep inside me. I could feel my clit aching and my pussy dripping. I looked around the room; there was only one other girl there, on the opposite side of the building, asleep. I knew I would never be able to sleep if I didn't cum, but it seemed like such a public place, anyone could come in. Could I manage to rub it without giving myself away? I was covered up, after all. On my stomach, I reached down between my legs, but feeling myself through my pants was just not going to be enough. I slipped my hand into my pants, feeling how swollen my clit was and how wet I was. I closed my eyes and imagined him behind me, sliding his cock into my cunt, penetrating me deeply as only he can. As I fingered my clit, rubbing it with my pussy juices, I imagined his arms around me, his hand rubbing me as he fucked me deep and hard. I imagined what it would feel like having him in my ass, I imagined him wetting his thumb with my juices and slowly pushing it into my ass. I could almost hear his voice in my ear, telling me how good my pussy is like he does, enjoying how wet I was, and plunging his cock all the way into me until he couldn't go in any further. I could feel how close to cumming I was, almost there, trying not to breathe too heavily or move too much; then I realized I really didn't care if anyone knew what I was doing, I needed it too much. In my head I was calling his name, telling him I was going to cum, telling him how good his cock felt inside me. I heard him tell me to cum all over his cock, tell me to cum as he came inside me. I could almost feel the hot rush of his cum inside me, the way his cock gets so hard right before he cums, feel him inside me as I came all over my hand. I lay there for a few minutes, shaking, thinking "Thank you, Master for what you have given me."

The next step was to complete tasks designed by Master to educate me and progress my training. My first exceptionally challenging task was designed to prepare me to be taken anally.

I really didn't want to complete the task I'd been given. In fact, I had even told Master that I didn't think I'd be able to do it. After all, I was still trying to get used to the unpleasant idea of having anything in my ass, and I was still sore from the day prior when I had to stick two of my fingers in, all the way up to the knuckles. And when I got the message - that I had to find a toy for my ass while fingering my pussy; then a toy for both my ass and my pussy -- I felt the panic begin. I didn't even know how to respond. And of course, when I told Master I didn't think his servant slut was mentally strong enough to complete his task, he enjoyed it so much he gave me 24 hours instead of a week.

So suddenly I found myself searching through my room, looking for something to use as a "toy." Not being a toy kind of person, I didn't own any specific to the purpose at hand. And of course, without much further guidelines other than it didn't have to be big, just had to go deep in my ass, I chose the smallest items I felt I could use and still please my Master. I finally remembered I had brand new paintbrushes I had bought that I hadn't used yet. About 5 inches long, about as big around as my finger, that would work for my ass. Then for my pussy. I decided against the shampoo bottle I had used the week prior; it was just too big to deal with at the same time I was going to have to be putting something in my ass. I settled on a smaller bottle; not too small though.

I made up my bed, set up my camera, got everything ready, still torn between not wanting to do what I was about to do and pleasing my Master. The first thing I did was try two fingers in my cunt, and I was shocked to find I was already wet. Yes, I really was getting turned on by completing tasks for my Master. Then I started the camera and took a few shots just to get the proper angle and distancing. Unable to put it off any longer, I grabbed the brush, started the camera again, put two of my fingers back in my pussy. As the camera started taking pictures, I started sliding the brush into my ass, anticipating the painfulness I knew I was going to experience. 10 continuous shots on the camera doesn't take long, and I had to stop to check the camera position again. Not quite right, had to adjust my position, then I started again. This time once I got the brush in maybe half an inch or so, I felt it start to slide in easier. This wasn't as painful as I expected it to be; the smoothness of the polished wooden handle was helping. The camera stopped just about the time I got the brush all the way in. I reached back to check the angle again; shit still not quite right, had to make some more adjustments and start over again.

This time the brush slid in smoothly, and I could feel the brush sliding past the two fingers I had in my pussy, feeling the surprising amount of wetness that was starting. And suddenly when the brush was in as far as I could get it I felt my cunt was shudder with pleasure and my juices start to flow even more. I shoved a third finger inside me as the camera finished its 10 shot set. When I reached back to reset the camera, the brush slipped just a little further inside me. Even as my mind was saying, no I'm not supposed to be enjoying this, my body was enjoying it anyway. Even after reading stories that peaked my interest in anal, I never dreamed it would feel that good. I reset the camera and started pulling the brush out to get the pictures Master had asked for and suddenly I knew I was on the verge of cumming. I couldn't, I wouldn't, I hadn't asked nor been given permission to cum. I stopped, afraid to move anything, my breathing fast and heavy, trying desperately to think of anything but the sensations coursing through my body, trying to fight the desire to just give in and face the consequences later. Finally I concentrated on the only thing I could think of to control my rebellious body; I thought of having to tell Master that I had disobeyed him. Finally I was able to slow my breathing enough to continue with the pics. I managed to finish the set of pictures without cumming, but just barely. My juices were running down the fingers inside my cunt, dripping down my hand; I was so wet that the ring I was wearing on my little finger -- our ring, the symbol of the eternal love between my Master and I -- nearly slipped off my finger.

Next set. I had to take pics of the bottle in my pussy and the brush in my ass. Not again, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop myself from cumming this time. But I had no choice really, I had to please my Master, so therefore I would. I started the camera again and repeated the process. Trying to go slowly to prevent getting too close to the edge. Stopping and concentrating on not being aroused in between sets of the flash. Slowly pushing the bottle into my aching, dripping cunt. Slowly sliding the brush into my not-so-innocent-any-more ass. Shaking with the frustration of continuing without the sweet release I was craving.

I know that Master came up with this task to exercise control over me. I know that Master gave me this task because he knows I am turned on by his tasks, even when he wants me to do something I don't want to do. But I now know that there was another reason Master came up with this particular task. Master wants to bring me pleasure; and Master knew that eventually I would find pleasure in anal. And now, the next time I see my Master I will have something new to beg for. I will beg for him to fuck my ass, I will beg him to allow me to cum with his beautiful black cock deep inside my ass, just like I have begged him to let me cum from his hand or his cock inside my cunt, or his mouth on my clit. And I know that I will enjoy it, even as my ass still stings from today's assignment. My Master knows what his servant slut wants and needs, and always thinks of how to make me happy. And for that, for the way he knows me and loves me, for how amazingly wonderful he treats me, for all that I love him so very much. The next time Master Brenin came to see me was the first time I had ever allowed a man to take my ass. Even with the preparation and my own anticipation I was still worried. But I knew I could trust him completely. When he told me he knew what he was doing, I knew instinctively that he was not bragging, he was simply stating a fact.

He came to pick me up from work and we drove out to a secluded place. This time we had to rely on the truck as our "love nest," but I didn't mind. That just meant I didn't have to be quiet. He started out having me ride him, it felt absolutely delicious to have his cock inside me again. I got closer and closer, until I had to ask permission to cum. At first, he didn't say anything, just watched me for a minute. And then.

"No," was all he said. I couldn't help myself.

"No," I cried, immediately knowing that I was wrong, immediately afraid that was going to cost me for the rest of the night. The look that crossed his face was priceless, even though I stopped moving, even stopped breathing in an attempt to stop the orgasm threatening to overcome me.

"What did you just say?" he asked, as a look somewhere between disbelief, anger, and amusement crossed his face.

"I'm sorry, Master!" I gasped as I hung my head, waiting for the punishment. But it didn't come.

"Continue," he said after a moment. This time he did let me cum.

Then he turned me over and told me to get on my hands and knees. After I complied, he spanked me a little. Just enough to get me wet, to make my asscheeks tingle delightfully. I felt him caress my ass, then dip his fingers into my pussy juices to moisten my asshole. I took a deep breath, too incredibly aroused to be very afraid. Then I felt the head of his cock penetrate me, and I felt like I was being split open.

"No, please . . ." I said, involuntarily moving forward in an attempt to get away from the pain.

"Relax," he ordered. "Push back."

"I can't," I whimpered. "It hurts, it hurts so bad."

"I know it hurts," he answered gently but firmly. "You can take it, it will be ok." He pushed a little harder while holding onto my hips to keep me in place. "Stop fighting me, damn it!"
"Please, I can't. Please no, it hurts too much. Oh god please, just wait . . . just stop for a minute," I pleaded with him. If I could just have him stop long enough to allow myself to adjust to the pain before he went any farther.

"I can't wait much longer," he said, sounding as if his teeth were clenched. But he did pause, he did give me a minute to collect myself.

And once he said that, I knew how good it must have felt to him. It gave me chills, it turned me on; the words, the tone of his voice, the feelings of his own desire washing over me. And suddenly, as he pushed a little farther in, I felt a new sensation take over. A new pleasure, that overcame the pain. I stopped fighting him, there was no longer anything left to fight. Although I could still feel the stinging as my virgin asshole was stretched out, it no longer hurt as I gave in to the enjoyment. And then he brought his arms around me, fingering my clit, and I knew I would be begging him to allow me to cum again in no time. My Master had once again shown me new pleasures; taken me to new heights of sexual gratification that I had never known existed.

He had to leave me again, physically at least. But we continued, our conversations, my training, my education. Falling more deeply in love with each other as we learned more about each other; becoming more entrenched in our new lifestyle as we explored it together. Next came the series of phone sex conversations; designed with the multiple purposes of giving me pleasure, helping Master to discover what turns me on the best, and begin my orgasm control.

So tonight. As I expected it was terribly frustrating trying to get service in this damn country. And I know you sent me the text messages, but I didn't get them until after I had been able to call you again. There was one point, when I was sitting in the truck after I had moved to try and get better reception, but then couldn't get service, when I seriously was considering just cumming and taking the punishment for it. I don't really know what stopped me, I think it was that you would tell me you were disappointed in me again. That's worse than you being upset with me when I've done something wrong. So by the time I got out to the truck from the phone center, I was already wet, frustrated, and close enough to cumming. I was trying so hard to control myself and not have to ask to stop. But you kept describing the scenes and making me listen, and all I could do was visualize the scene in my mind, almost to the point of being nearly able to feel the cock in my mouth and my ass, and the teeth on my tits, and the paddle spanking me. I tried concentrating on what I was looking at to keep from cumming, but that didn't work for very long when you were forcing me to listen to you. It's bad enough just hearing the sound of your voice, but I can tune out the words and the scenes you're describing to help me. And my pussy just kept getting wetter and wetter, until I could feel my juices running down to my ass, my whole hand was covered again, even the inside of my uniform pants are wet. I was trying not to ask to cum for as long as I could, but I couldn't help myself. I was shaking, everything focused on the need to cum and the knowledge that I couldn't. I was sure a couple of times when you wouldn't let me stop that I was going to cum anyway, that I wouldn't be able to stop it. And when you did finally let me cum, I love the way your voice sounds when you tell me to cum, it was awesome. It was like I started cumming, but then it kept going and I started cumming harder, I could feel my pussy squeezing around my fingers. And when you stopped, when you ended the story, I was getting close to cumming again. After I got off the phone with you all I could do was sit there for a few minutes trying to regain myself. I was satisfied and frustrated at the same time, because I was so close to cumming when you stopped. But yes, it was wonderful, you gave me a lot of nice surprises tonight, and I thank you for all of them my Master.

Then finally came our next time when we could actually be together, after all the talking and learning and preparing. It was to be my first real experience to see how much enjoyment I got out of receiving physical punishment; no pleasure intended or involved, yet still received.

The first night was really difficult because of the pain. I think the worst parts for me were the clothespins on my nipples and clit. Both are extremely sensitive, and it was excruciatingly painful. Even when Master Brenin began slapping my tits it wasn't as bad as the pins. And even after he took them off I could still feel the pain; my nipples were still sore from that days later. Also, even though I know it wasn't meant to be, it was painful when Master went hard and fast, whether it's fucking me or fisting me, but particularly when he was fisting me. Even when it feels good; I know that sounds strange, it sounds strange to me to say something can hurt and feel good at the same time. By the fourth night I was still hurting from the previous nights; my pussy was swollen and felt raw; so it was hard for me to stay aroused. Four wonderful nights that passed in a blur of pleasure.

I know I came a lot from Master Brenin being in my ass that first night; with no double penetration, nothing more than anal, I came three times in a row. It was incredibly painful, he was fucking me so deep and hard in the ass it tore a little bit. Even just his thumb in my ass on the following nights was painful. Not like deep inside, but at the entrance, like the salt from your skin was irritating.

I was absolutely horrified the first night when I started crying and couldn't stop. Especially when Master Brenin made me kneel on the floor until I could get control of myself. I never cry like that, and I felt like he was so disappointed in me. The pain started it, but I was so disappointed in myself that I was not able take more; I felt like I should have had a higher pain threshold. And the harder I tried not to cry, the worse it became. I deal with pain every day, between a permanent back injury, a pinched nerve in my shoulder, and migraine headaches; hell, I broke my ankle and walked across the fucking drop zone, and then had my ankle reset without any pain meds without crying like I did from something so simple as a few spankings and some clothespins.

The second night was absolutely incredible; yes, I was very wet. I don't think I've ever been that wet before; although Master seems to do that to me more and more. I only wish I had been that wet every night for him. He had me riding him, after telling me that there would be no orgasm restrictions; that I could cum whenever I needed to. I was incredibly close, but not quite ready to cum. And then he said, "Cum all over your Master's cock."

I loved it when he told me to cum on his cock. It was awesome; I don't know if I will always be able to do that, but there's something in his voice when he tells me to cum that goes straight through me. Of course, there's just something about his voice altogether; as I was giving him a blow job, I also loved it when he told me how good it felt and that I was making him cum in my mouth. Between his voice and the taste and feel of him in my mouth, I could have cum from that alone if I had permission.

I was incredibly surprised but also very grateful and touched that Master Brenin was so sensitive to how much pain that first night put me in. I was really expecting to have the first night repeated the whole time he was here. I had been warned ahead of time that this visit was for pain and punishment, not for pleasure. The first night was definitely, incredibly, and wonderfully that. But I'm not sure how well I would have been able to handle that for four days in a row. Master Brenin continually amazes me at how well he knows me, how well he can tell what I can or can't take. I know I have to get used to the pain, and it helped me so much that he put me in incredible pain the first night, and then backed off after that to give me a chance to adjust to it.

From that point forward, I never looked back, I never questioned that I wanted to submit to Master Brenin. No, it wasn't easy, I fought my obedience training, and it seemed like every other day I was doing something uncharacteristic and unacceptable of a submissive. I argued with my Master, I whined and complained about tasks he gave me, and sometimes I was just plain insubordinate. I have learned this is a natural process for a new submissive, and one that I am still working very hard to overcome. But every day I make a little more progress as I learn my Master better, and as I learn myself and understand my true desires more thoroughly. I am now being considered for collaring, and nothing could make me happier. I find as every day goes by, all I'm living for is to serve my Master and see happiness on his face that I have been able to instill.

Dedicated to all my sisters in submission, and to all my sisters who wish they were strong enough to submit. ~Cara Caeth

If i could have just one wish, i would wish to wake up everyday to the sound of Your breath on my neck, the warmth of Your lips on my body, the touch of Your hand as you spank my ass, and the feel of Your heart beating with mine as i kneel at your feet . . . Knowing that i could never find that feeling with anyone other than You. (Modified from the Love Poems of Courtney Kuchta)

There can be a true grandeur in any degree of submissiveness, because it springs from loyalty to the laws.