Change Of Life 1

{WARNING: Very graphic SM sexual detail. Debasement.}

The deepest changes in one's life can creep up on you and you're almost completely unaware. Finding one's ruler, is a case in point. I was living in New York City at the time; I was attending a linguistics conference and staying at the Waldorf. She was staying there while visiting a friend—she lived in California. We encountered each other through some strange events over room keys—those cards they use. I was in 603 and she was in 503. She hadn't been paying much attention and arrived at my door, 603, without noticing. And her electronic key worked. I was making coffee when a beautiful blonde with light brown eyes came into my entranceway, and looked around, momentarily confused—the layout was exactly the same as in her room. Then she recovered and made a joke. By the time we'd both talked to management, and had a new key made for me, for my recoded lock, we were captivated with each other. We met at every spare moment I had at the conference. In her room, usually. And we found each other very hot. Besides her allure, she was more than my match in brains, and in every other way. By the time the conference ended, three days later, my heart was hers. "I think I was waiting for you."

She replied that she'd dreamed of me the night after our first mixed up encounter. I'd turned out to look like the dream image. The next day, she had to leave for her home in the California.

Back at the college in Boston, I pulled every string I could think of, to get time off to visit, and since it was August, I succeeded.

She met me at the airport in Los Angeles, and came back to my hotel room. Our sex was as hot as in New York. "Did you miss me?" she said, moving her arms back slightly, drawing the sweater tight over her breasts.

"I missed you

and

them. Let me gobble them up." We kissed for hours and she discovered a game that really turned me on. "Tip your head back and open." I didn't know, but she was smiling. I saw her mouth working to give spit. "Want it?"

"Please, Honey."

It was cool on my tongue, and my cock jerked up. The momentary disgust faded.

She touched my cock, then feeling its hardness, held it tight as she pressed against me. I think that's when she knew for sure about me. And about what she wanted.

"Do you love me?" she said.

"Yes, honey. I've fallen hard, you know that."

"Do you want to be mine?"

"Yes, but please say what you mean besides loving you and only you, like crazy."

"Well, just now, you were my thing to spit in as I please." She paused. "My spittoon."

"I see." The thought thrilled me.

"My spit is already in your belly. In fact, you're mine, already, my pet," She smiled. Taking my hand, she placed it on her pussy. It was very wet.

As my body reacted, in turn, I said, "Yes, I am. I'm yours. Your spittoon, if you choose."

A few hours later, we were in bed fucking. It was taking some time for me to come—I guess I still had some fears—so we talked.

"I want us to be together, always, my love," I said.

There was a slight smile, and she was thoughtful for a few moments. "I'm in love, sweetie. And I want my way, with you. I felt it when you swallowed. My way. My way only." With her hand, she took my cock. "If you mean it, say that you're mine, my way, always."

The words were momentous, stunning. I could not think. I could only blurt, after a couple seconds, "Yours forever, my love. Your way."

She hugged me and laughed, a little relieved. "I was going to wait ten seconds, then say, 'We need more time.' You're lucky!"

Soon after, she came to join me in Boston, soon after I'd begun teaching my classes.

We freshly fell in love walking along the Charles River. She had the wonderful habit of throwing herself into my arms, placing her arms around my neck, and hanging there; like a kid.

All lovers, particularly the knights of old, have spoken of their slavery. And I think it was more than a metaphor. Here it was way more. My desires ran rampant, and entrenched my utter subjection. She'd have me kneel before her. The first time was like a joke, but she said, "Beg for a glimpse of my pussy." I'd seen it many times, and this turn of events was new. My face must have shown the thoughts.

"You've seen it before, because I wanted to, pet. Understand?"

"Yes, honey."

"That isn't changing, sweetie. If I want to, I'll show it to you. You never lacked for my pussy, did you?"

"No, Honey."

"You've been happy with 'when I please.' And you will be. Just acknowledge my choice. Beg for a glimpse."

"Please honey, let me see."

She looked at me, steadily. "Say it again."

"Please let me see." I surrendered in my eyes.

"Of course, dear." She exposed the whole of it, and watched my face. I was pure desire. The cunt almost seemed to have a personality. One that was inscrutable. The lips appeared to tightly together; it was an illusion of course, but naturally they shielded the mystery, beyond. I shivered under its power.

"Come close and kiss me right there." I saw the soft nest of her pussy, its narrow slit looked moist. My cock hardened. My face went towards and my tongue sought the cleft. Parting the lips—I knew I had permission, I tasted her and felt her gentle hands on my head. I was smelling her, and her slick wetness was on my tongue. My heart melted. I continued, and when she responded, I would have brought her off, but she said, "Come inside me, Baby."

Her ascendancy and my surrender intensified, as did our love. I remember when each new element of

us

took shape. We were fucking; it was happening lately that I was taking longer to come—I attributed it to stress—and she often became impatient, even if she had not come. This time, she'd gotten very hot, but I was taking some time. I saw a decision on her face. "Love, pull out of me, and jerk off."

I did. And I was a little ashamed, as I took my cock in hand.

"I want you to come onto the floor."

I spurted immediately. The shame had intensified, but I was super hot. She saw it.

"Come for a hug, hottie," she said, quite pleased. Her arms enveloped me. "Your cum goes where I please!"

"Yes, it does."

"Your cock is mine. Say it."

"Yes! My cock is yours." I pressed close. Again, she placed my hand on her pussy; my fingers reveled in the dampness. It was mine, though in a different sense. My Mecca. I suppose a lover will commonly say, "my cock/cunt is yours." But we'd given a special form to the idea.

One day, she said to me, while I was in her arms, "You've been so good, doing whatever I say."

"Mmmm."

"It's time to put a word and a promise to it...

If

you want, my love."

"Yes, honey." I thought of the knights serving their ladies. "Is it

serve

?"

She laughed. "Well, that's close, but I was thinking

Obey

, Utterly. Totally."

"Yes, I see." My heart raced. I didn't know what to make of it. The only thought, besides being hers, was of the old church wedding vows, when the bride—not the groom—would promise to 'love, honor, and obey.' It was already clear she had a little more than that, in mind, but the similarity was disconcerting.

"Do you want that, love? You are loved and mine regardless, but I'm offering this. I will rule you, if you want. Think about it."

It was odd that

she

was offering that

I

obey, but my whole body became electric. I was aroused. I thought it over for no more than five seconds. "I want it. Let me be your obedient subject, as well as your lover."

"Promise? Utter surrender?"

"I promise. I want it. Yes."

"Great! I accept you. When appropriate, you may refer to me as

Isis

. Think of me as the goddess who rules. Now go and cook dinner." She was joking, partly, for my slavery was more of the soul. I had never been saddled with all the housework.

I started to feel very safe with her, and opened up about all kinds of things, among them extreme humiliation. She seemed somewhat concerned and wondered where it came from.

I wasn't sure, but told of some incidents in the remote past.

"Hmm... there's more to it, but I don't object to that sort of thing—provided..." She trailed off and looked at me.

"Yes?"

"Provided, that from now on, only I do it!"

"Ahhh. Thanks, honey. I wish I understood myself."

"When I order it, then, you'll be humiliated."

"Fine!"

"There will be no limit to it—but I choose when and if. I think that will sometimes be fun."

My body shivered. "Why fun, my love?" I blushed.

"I once humiliated a date, and I enjoyed the hell out of it. I see more possibilities, since you have to obey. And I like to see you like this, molten," she said, taking my hard cock in her hand. Then she ground her whole body against me. Bringing her pussy to bear against my cock, she erupted. I knew I was not to move. I held her tight as her body spasmed, then relaxed.

My leaning was now under her loving control. A couple days later, I'd made some dismissive remark about a book she was reading. She was in the bathroom, seated on the toilet; I heard the sound of fluid, hitting the water.

"Come here," she said. Standing, she wiped her pussy, and tossed the paper into the toilet. The water was a yellow abyss. "Kneel and lick the rim of the toilet bowl."

I knelt, but hesitated. "Yes."

"Now lean over and get busy." I smelled her waste. There were a few drops on the rim. I licked the cold porcelain. My cock was up. I wondered where I was going; how low. "Thank me."

"Thank you, Isis."

"You may apologize, now," she said.

My heart was pounding I thought of myself in a tweed coat, delivering a lecture, to respectful students. And I'd just licked her toilet. I realized I was entirely hers and began to have a sense of the "no limits" she'd spoken of. "I'm sorry."

"That's better. A further lesson is not necessary."

I shivered as I thought of the smell. My cock was up, apparently unnoticed. My heart melted. My willingness to lick, shamed me. Yet her love could even contain my ignominy.

"Brush your teeth and gargle. Then come and kiss your Isis."

She held me tightly in her arms afterwards. I was trembling at first, but gradually, in direct contact with her love, so to say, I became relieved. That was the sequence. So it always was. She had a fine imagination, and every couple weeks would make me squirm; and love me after. At first, I tried to understand her, what made her tick. She loved me, yes, but had this odd kink of wanting to see me squirm. I attempted to tease her, at one point. We'd been three quarters of the way to a fuck, when she told me, "Jerk, my perverted pet."

"Yes, Isis, my love. You have odd leanings, yourself." I was near.

She smiled and said, "There's nothing odd about me, pet. Who is it that is jerking off, hard as a rock, instead of fucking?"

I saw the point, blushed, came.

In between these times, she showed her love, directly, as ever. Kissing, pressing, and so on. But one thing particularly concerned her. It wasn't so much the acts, as where I was reading about them, e.g., in the Marquis de Sade.

I had continued fantasies about cold bitches, whores. It showed in my fascination with Sade and in the porn I sometimes used... with her permission. I confessed some incidents in my past. A time I'd hired a pro who quite coolly whipped me and had me jerk off.

"I don't understand this cold bitch thing, sweetie. What does it get you?"

"It's sometimes a turn on."

"It's a man's thing, I think."

"It's hot."

"Well, the fantasy is."

"In person, too, precious. Remember the incident I told you."

"You are very silly. It was in person, but you got off because of your fantasy about her and her acting it out. You thought she cared in some way. And in any case, you were in control."

That hit me. The politeness. The apparent gentleness in the harsh measures; she'd wanted her money. "It wasn't real, I guess."

"Now you're getting it."

After that, her measures were often especially harsh, and I thought it was just her business-like approach to kink. For, as always, she'd welcome me into her arms, after. And, without saying too much and making it a chat, she had me talk of the effects. I confessed to desolation, at times, and felt unhinged. If there are no boundaries, does a person exist? She would say, "You're absolutely mine; you exist, and you're not going anywhere" and the distress would ebb.

One day as I was about to leave, for shopping, and I was holding a list. She said, "Pick up a cantaloupe. It's in season."

I did, and when I was unpacking the groceries, I showed it to her. "It's a nice one."

"You'll be fucking it, tomorrow." I was stunned. She wanted to know if I'd give up my dignity. The next day, she said, "Pet, go find the cantaloupe, and make a nice smooth hole in it."

I did, and brought it.

"Do you like the hole, pet?"

I thought of what I was about to do. Everything fell away inside me as I said, "Yes."

"Get your cock up, and fuck it."

I took out my cock, and it was already hard, from the shame.

"I mean, I know you love me and all, and wouldn't fuck anyone else on the sly, but see, you're quite turned on! By a melon!"

I blushed. "Yes."

"Give her a name, pet, and tell her what you want."

"Cathy, I want to shove into you."

"She says 'fine,' Stroke to full erection, then do it."

I gave my cock only a few strokes, then I held the melon, shoved in, and felt it cold and slippery around my cock.

"Give her a few thrusts, baby. Tell her how you like it."

I did. "Cathy, you're so smooth and I'm so hot!" I was close, instantly.

"You want to shoot, pet. Tell her. Tell her how she feels"

"Cathy, I want to come inside. You're slick and squishy; warm, now."

She says, Do it.

And in a few more strokes, I shot off, into her, totally ashamed.

"You came quickly, pet. I know about you and holes."

"Excuse me, Isis?" Sudden fear.

"In a cool vegetable hole, you shot in a couple minutes. In my cunt, you seem to take forever. You'll find out what a woman thinks about your preference, somewhere up the road."

"I can imagine."

"Hot pussy is somehow not the be all and end all, is it?"

I could not speak.

"My juices don't have the same effect as cantaloupe juices."

I was dying inside. She knew. I was focused on myself and didn't give much thought to her feelings.

"Well, my hole will be off bounds for you, for some time" she said matter-of-factly, "and that will help you learn what is superior to you."

"Yes, Isis."

"My cunt is great to jerk off, and in the past, it's given many a good fuck."

"I know."

She said these words quite dispassionately. I didn't see any anger. I was re-assured she wanted me, though I despised myself.

-----

Her interventions took on a rather brutal quality. She'd talk of my 'useless cock,' and how its spew deserved being in the toilet, where she often directed me to put it. I was told I was a self absorbed wanker, and I figured she was really into her role. "You don't see beyond the head of your dick." I wondered if there was animosity, though I didn't doubt her love. Always, she was tender, after. Once I spoke of my utter discouragement at hearing 'useless.' She took my face into her hands. "Pet, your cock is not of use, in fucking me. In my life, others have almost always stood up, nicely. I love you, however, and I own you. So you should know you're of great use!"

"And my spewing on the floor, Isis, isn't that useless?"

"It not for you to say, pet. But I'll say I love when you do as told; when you're in distress and not a shred of your pride is left, I get wet."

She showed her loving and passionate side just as often. She'd press against me: "You've got me hot, pet"--grinding against my cock. I was happy to be thrusting it against her, though I knew I wouldn't be entering. After a bit, and we were both hot, I'd usually hear, "Thrust, and come on my belly, pet." Or something similar. Once she had me fuck her crease and come just beside her hole. She looked down. My come was dripping an inch from her hole. "Just the place for it, Sweety. So near and yet so far."

My pride burned, but I said, "Thank you, Isis."

She said, smiling, "You were very near my hole, and you didn't even try to get in. So who is it with the odd leanings?"

I blushed. "Me."

With these events, it was pretty clear what she did, afterwards, on her own.

I didn't know what to make of these leanings of mine. Besides the

cold bitch

, I'd get off with some weird fantasies I wasn't telling her.

She used the porn for humiliation: One time she asked me to find a picture of a sleazy ho, opening her cunt. "You like open cunts, don't you? Find one and jerk off."

"Yes, Isis." I showed a picture. "Is this ok?"

Her glance was brief. "Ewww." Then she smiled: "Your taste, sweetie," she explained. Jerk. Talk."

I stared at it. "Her hot cunt is welcoming me." I was jerking and I was very hard.

"You imagine she's offering herself to you, for your cock."

"Yes."

"You're deluded! She's

not

hot, and she'd only offer herself if you paid her a handsome sum. Not for the joy of your limp cock."

"Yes." Somehow that aroused me.

"You can't handle a cunt that's hot for you!"

I did my best to take in what she had said, but that kind of scene, ho presenting, continued to arouse me. Isis knew it. I began to prefer the colder pictures, where cunt was exposed, and I imagined the model saying, "You aren't getting any. Stroke off." There were also some things I imagined these hoes doing that I did not share.

I guess she saw what kind of world was taking shape in my head. A sexual refuge, so to say. I attributed any harshness to her ability to be cool.

After a few weeks of this, she said, "You have fantasies of obeying cold bitches and terrible things they do;

they

get you off. So I'm giving you a holiday with one. You'll pay, of course, but I'll set it up. So she'll be cold, unconcerned with pleasing you.

"Thank you, Isis." My cock was stirring.

"The degradation is your preference and choice, so, pet, she has a free hand. You're hers for that time. And I'll try to arrange a little surprise for you."

"Thank you."

"And pet, your coming is fine; whatever she permits or doesn't. Follow her orders to a T. Your nature."

"Thank you, Isis.

"Write to me all that happens, after you're back. So go and do as I say."

"Yes, Isis."

That's how the assignment came about. I went. Came back. Saw my love's reaction, of which I will give an account, later, then took to writing it all down.

==

My love. I'm obeying you. I'm yours only; here is what happened with your assignment.

You instructed me as follows: "You are her property, entirely under her orders. Her name is Tanya. I've heard reports about her, but never met her. "

I called Mistress Tanya, and made an appointment with her. When I arrived at her door, she answered; a statuesque blonde who looked like strictly business. But she had a bright smile that was kind of disarming. "I'm Mistress Tanya; that's what you will call me. If you walk in, you are accepting that you're my slave. You have this one time, now, for a few minutes, to speak on your own, as a person, and converse with me."

I went in.

I told her about you, Isis; but acknowledged her to be fully in charge.

"Be aware that the one you call your Isis has left everything to me, and without going into detail, I will degrade you. I have no respect for wankers and you will get a sense of my feelings; your Mistress requested openness."

I shivered and my cock stirred.

"If you now pay your tribute and come with me, you are consenting to whatever degradation I wish." I handed her $300 for the holiday—a couple hours in an afternoon. My cock would serve a cold empress.

"Follow me to the basement." I went down some old stairs, but when the door was opened I saw a fully equipped dungeon: horses, pillories, hooks on floors and ceiling. Cross-like frames. It was like in the stories. There was a low chair secured to the floor, and on it a steel tray, like waiters use. Near it, a table with several items, including a couple small bottles whose labels I couldn't make out.