Shay Shared

This is my first attempt at writing from a woman's point of view. After much thought I felt it was the best way to tell this story. Shay is a composite of several women I've known, along with some of my own ideas. And once again, I find myself with a story that could fit multiple categories. I've put it under BDSM because there's a lot of dominant / submissive dynamic and some rough sex. It also, obviously, involves a woman being shared, so those of you not into such things have been warned.

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Not sure how I found myself in this situation. I was always a "good" girl.

Actually, as I write that I realize being good may have led me here. Never gave my parents trouble, always on my best behavior. They rewarded me for it, so of course I came to associate obedience with pleasure. Fast forward to my college years and it all makes sense, I suppose. If you can call climbing the stairs to service my second man tonight sensible.

I'm a shared girl. Paul is my boyfriend and he lives downstairs. Matt, his roommate, lives upstairs. At first I shared Paul's bedroom when I visited, but now I sort of float. My things are in all areas of the house since I don't know where I'll be spending my time day to day. Except for when they actually schedule me.

So that's why, less than thirty minutes after Paul announced he was done with me for the evening, and following a quick shower, I'm heading up to Matt's room. Much of my body is sore, as it often is after I've been with Paul, but I know Matt will be gentler. He'll let me rest, holding me and stroking where it aches before taking his turn. He makes me feel special in a different way than Paul, and he's always tender. Sometimes I hint to him that he need not be too gentle though.

I'm petite, with long brown hair and small perky breasts. Paul said that was what he noticed about me at first, but it was my nipples that sealed the deal. We were talking at a party, and I'm not sure how he knew, but with no indication that the conversation would take this sort of turn he said, "You have big, thick nipples, don't you?"

I flushed and looked down. I buy padded bras for just this reason, but nothing was out of place. Paul's eyes were drilling into mine when I looked up again. "I'm right, aren't I? They're big and obnoxious."

Mortified, I managed a small nod.

"Ever had them squeezed hard? Hard enough to make you squeal?"

My big, obnoxious nipples were poking out now and I felt warmth between my legs. I shook my head. "No. Never." But I had thought about it.

He changed the subject, but I was still in a daze from the suddenness and accuracy of Paul's appraisal of my body. I felt at a loss when he excused himself to freshen his drink, and was surprised by the panic I felt when I saw another girl begin chatting him up. Assuming my best posture, I sidled up next to him. I waited and eventually he gave me a fleeting smile. Several others had joined the group and the conversation continued. Feeling daring, I shyly touched Paul's fingers and then grasped his hand.

Paul looked at me knowingly. He knew about my nipples, and now he seemed to be staring into my mind, unsurprised at what he found there. Leaning over, he whispered in my ear, "I'm going to have you tonight."

He was right. I'd never done anything like this before, but I knew I was going to submit to him. That wasn't in question, though I did wonder if he really meant what he said about treating my nipples so roughly. In an oddly resigned way, I decided that it really wasn't up to me and I'd just have to wait and see.

Paul kept a hand on my lower back and steered me through the party, stopping to talk with friends on the way. Some of them smirked as if they knew. Speaking with a couple, Paul even joked that I was his "prey" for the evening. That got a laugh from the guy and a startled look from the girl. I was just eager to leave.

We got into Paul's car and I again marveled at what was happening. While it was totally out of character for me to do something like this, what truly shocked me was how easily I accepted the situation. It was as if I had chosen to jump off a cliff and felt completely comfortable once I was in free fall. Naturally, this is what would happen - what else did I expect?

He asked some probing questions while we drove, and I answered truthfully and plainly. No, I didn't usually go home with guys I had just met. No, I never had a boyfriend who was dominant with me. Yes, I knew what dominant meant in that context. And yes, I knew what was going to happen when we got to his house.

There was one question he hadn't asked. "Do you want to know my name?"

"Sure."

"Shay."

He nodded and continued driving.

As I walked up the steps to Paul's house I imagined myself entering through a large armored gate that would clang shut impressively behind me. I was leaving behind the respectful boyfriends, the ones who were always on time and let me pick the movie. By going through that door I was accepting the fact that this man was going to use me, probably quite roughly, and I was pretty sure I'd never want it another way again. Even so, I worked myself into a state of fear and awe as he let me through the door. My mind has always leaned toward the dramatic, and allowing it to run wild, I jumped as the door closed.

Paul dropped his jacket and keys on a chair and indicated that I should do the same. Without a purse or jacket to occupy my hands, I just stood and waited. It occurred to me that I didn't know what to do, but just as quickly I realized that he would tell me when he was ready. Hmm... maybe I would be a natural at this.

I waited patiently until Paul returned from the kitchen with two bottles of water. He sipped from one and made no move to give me the other. He sat in a chair and beckoned me over to him, holding up a hand when I was standing where he wanted me.

"So let's see these big nipples."

I nodded, expecting that. But I didn't expect to be shaking when I went to pull up my shirt.

After taking a few breaths I pulled the shirt over my head, keenly aware that Paul was watching my every move. I dropped it and began undoing my bra. I wanted to go slowly, but Paul spun a finger in the air, indicating I should move it along. The bra fell on top of the shirt and I straightened up. My breasts were small, but I hoped Paul would appreciate their firmness. I had a moment of panic as I realized he hadn't actually said he liked big nipples. Would he think they were freakish and a turn-off? I was now sweating.

"I'm betting you shave too. Let's have a look - drop the pants."

Nodding again, I bent to take off my shoes. "I said drop your pants. Not take them off."

Flustered, my now trembling fingers worked at the buttons. Taking a big breath I pushed my jeans and underwear down to my ankles and stood back up. I had never felt so exposed in my life, not even at a doctor's appointment. Paul could see everything - my poky brown nipples, my landing strip, everything. He then had me put my hands on my head, re-doubling the intense feeling of exposure. But his next command brought it to a new level. "Turn in a circle. Slowly."

It wasn't just that he wanted to see everything. He was demonstrating that I would be complicit in debasing myself. That he could humiliate me and I would go along with it. I felt in a daze as I rotated for his viewing pleasure, and these realizations and feelings swamped my mind. Later I would learn that this sensation of being overwhelmed was called "sub-space", and this had been my first visit.

Eventually he had me stop turning and rose from his chair. Paul now touched me in various places - sliding his hand up my thigh, feeling the smoothness of my back, the ripples of my stomach muscles, the curve of the bottom of my breast. Now he stood in front of me and took my nipples in his fingers. The mere touch had me gasping with pleasure. I closed my eyes. He stroked and plucked at them softly as he spoke. "No one has ever treated these roughly?"

I shook my head.

"None of your boyfriends gave them a squeeze? Just to see what would happen?"

"No, they were all gentle. Afraid I'd stop them."

He nodded knowingly. "Well, we're going to see what you can take. Because I love being cruel to nipples like these. Are you ready?"

I nodded, terrified.

"Open your eyes."

I looked at Paul now and saw immediately he would not feel guilty for a moment about being rough with me. It was chilling to realize that he could actually enjoy hurting me.

Paul held my gaze for another moment and then began applying pressure. I gasped and bit my lip. It hurt and was nothing like being touched by any of my previous boyfriends. He rolled my nipples as he squeezed and I began to whimper, loving it, realizing I could take it. But then a cloud came over Paul's face and for a split second I realized how much trouble I was in. This was just the warm-up. He wasn't really squeezing hard before. NOW he was!

My knees buckled as the pain hit me full force, and I cried out. He kept up the pressure and I knew I'd have to tap out. "Stop! Stop!"

I was surprised when he did. Paul's hands came away from my breasts while mine shot up to soothe my poor nipples. I looked at him accusingly while he simply looked back at me.

"That hurt." When he didn't react I added, "A lot."

His non-reaction was making me very uncomfortable. I moved my hands back to my sides so he could see everything again. I even straightened up, knowing it would present my breasts better. I was met with more stony silence.

"Do you... Would you like to do that again?" I asked softly. "Sir?" Wait, 'sir'? Where did that come from?

"If I do, I'm not stopping this time."

I nodded. I actually felt sorry for stopping him. Again, I wouldn't realize it until much later, but this was when I began to recognize that I wanted it to be his right to use me as he desired. I braced my hands against the small of my back. "I'm ready, sir."

Looking me in the eye again, he grasped my nipples and gradually applied pressure. He watched my face twist as the pain grew. It got worse and worse and the small part of my brain that wasn't otherwise occupied wondered if he had reached the limit of his grip strength.

The pain was overwhelming, colors were swimming before my eyes. And I was so, SO proud that I was able to keep my hands behind my back. Finally, he paused, keeping my poor abused nipples in his fingers, which meant more pain was probably coming. "So..." Paul asked casually, "feel good?"

I opened my mouth to answer and he clamped down hard again. He did what he said he would do - he made me squeal. As I whimpered he hissed at me, "Answer my question! How does it feel?"

"Ooohhh! It hurts, it hurts!" Looking him in the eye I added, "But it goes straight to my crotch!"

With that, Paul released me and darted a hand between my legs. He smiled and gave a sneering laugh when he felt how wet I was. "That's what I thought."

After that Paul had me crawl to his bedroom, kicking off my jeans as I went. And so began a long night of him using me. That's what I have come to call it when we have sex. We're not making love, we're not fucking. He's using me, as is his right.

So how do I find myself, months later, climbing the stairs on my way to my second encounter of the evening? It took a while, but the foundation was laid that first night.

Not being much of a drinker, I had stuck to ginger ale at the party. So when I woke up the next morning in Paul's bedroom I had no trouble remembering what had happened. The soreness I felt in parts of my body were also good reminders. True to his word, Paul had been unmerciful with my nipples. One of his favorite games was to see how well I could divide my attention - kneel on the floor with back straight, keep my hands behind my back and kiss him lovingly, all while he squeezed my poor nubs. He seemed to especially like it when I whimpered into his mouth.

My jaw ached because Paul liked a lot of oral sex interspersed with whatever else we were doing. He particularly enjoyed having me clean his cock off after fucking me for a while, so we did a lot of "back and forth" between my pussy and mouth. And 'down there' was very sore too. Paul's cock wasn't over-large, but it was thick. He spent some time experimenting with different angles until he found a position that drove him inside me in a way that both hurt and made me orgasm. Once he found that sweet spot he pounded into me relentlessly. I made a lot of noise whenever his cock wasn't in my mouth for cleaning.

At first he allowed me a few orgasms, but as we continued he then required that I ask permission. By the third or fourth go-around he was saying no. It was frustrating, but again, his right. I wondered idly how often I'd get to cum, going forward.

Paul was still sleeping when I woke up and tried to find my clothes, forgetting that most of them were still out in the living room. When I continued the search outside the bedroom I suddenly froze as I realized there was someone in the kitchen. Dishes were being washed, so I quickly slinked back to Paul's room after snatching up my jeans.

I nudged Paul as I slid back into bed. He smiled at me, then grabbed my hair to pull me in for a kiss. "Good morning! How do you feel?"

"Sore", I said, smiling shyly. "But I kind of like it."

"Sounds about right."

"Who's in the kitchen?"

"That's Matt, my roommate."

"You didn't tell me you had a roommate."

"I didn't tell him I was bringing a girl home either, but I'm guessing he figured it out from the racket you made last night."

I groaned in embarrassment. "Oh, my god."

There was nothing for it but to be brave, so when Paul went into the kitchen for coffee I followed. Matt introduced himself and was nice enough to pretend he hadn't heard me shrieking through several loud orgasms the night before. He was funny and interesting and soon my discomfort faded.

After breakfast I wanted a shower and a change of clothes. Paul called a rideshare for me, having first extracted a promise that I would return in the afternoon with an overnight bag. This was all happening awfully fast, but it felt oddly comfortable. I was already looking forward to spending more time with Paul. And I wanted to see how much further his roughness and sexual control of me might go.

That afternoon I returned in my own car, dropped my bag in the living room and once again my clothes hit the floor in short order. Keeping me naked while he remained dressed seemed to be a big part of Paul's playbook. To me, it began to feel natural. The pain he inflicted on my nipples didn't - that was always an ordeal - but I couldn't hide the fact that it made me wet and more than ready for his cock.

He used me for the next few hours through several of his orgasms. I cleaned off his cock with my mouth after each, even when he had cum inside my pussy. There were no orgasms for me though, and I began to get a little desperate. The way Paul treated me in bed turned me on tremendously, and I found the fact that he treated me so well outside the bedroom intensified it. Being allowed very few orgasms would not be easy for me. But again, it was his right, and I could accept that.

But it didn't mean I couldn't try. Once while riding him I decided to see if I could get off quietly without him noticing. His hand was around my neck, so I figured I had reason to be quiet, but the subterfuge didn't last long. Paul was only holding me with enough pressure to keep me in place, not restricting my breath, and he noticed when I got unusually quiet. "Do NOT try to cum. I'll know."

Caught, I nodded and went back to concentrating on his pleasure. I believed he would know, and I never tried that again. But there was still the power of feminine persuasion. I began talking and cooing to Paul as he enjoyed my pussy. I was super wet and could see how much he loved it. Whispering in his ear, I told him how perfect his cock was for me, how much I'd like to cum all over it and how I would of course clean him off afterward. He just smiled knowingly and shook his head. I huffed in frustration, but kept my hips moving.

As we continued with no relief in sight for poor Shay, we heard the front door open as Matt returned from work. My natural reaction was to quiet down, but it gave Paul an idea. "So you want to cum?"

I nodded eagerly.

"All right, I'll give you a way to earn your orgasm."

Having to do something to earn an orgasm sounded very degrading. I liked it already.

He continued. "You can cum now, but only if it's loud enough that Matt can hear you wherever he is in the house."

On the one hand, that would be humiliating. On the other hand... Paul sweetened the deal by saying I could even choose the position. I agreed and asked to be on my back.

Clearing my throat for the performance, I flipped over and assumed the position Paul had taught me for when I gave it up on my back: Knees up and legs spread, wrists crossed above my head, eyes open and looking off to the side. The first few times we did this he ordered me to keep quiet so he could whisper nasty things in my ear and be sure I wasn't having unauthorized orgasms. But this time he wanted to hear it.

After several hours with no release it wouldn't take long either. Once I was in position Paul took a moment to simply look at me. I felt very exposed and submissive with my pussy on display and my face turned to the side as if I had no choice in the matter. That, plus the fact that I was about to scream my lungs out for the benefit of Paul's roommate returned me to sub-space.

Paul leaned over and slid his cock into me with authority. He could now find that ideal pain / pleasure angle very quickly, and so, he let me have it. My body rebounded off the mattress with each thrust and I began moaning out my pleasure. Paul urged me on, calling me names and telling me to let him hear it. Soon I was gasping and grunting, my release imminent. What sent me over the edge was Paul calling me a slut and telling me to cum for him, reinforcing the idea that my orgasms no longer belonged to me.

He gave a hard push and then stayed still a moment while I sailed over the edge. I shouted out my release as the waves rode over me again and again. Paul then moved a bit with them, prolonging my orgasm and leaving me barely conscious. He had cum too and now rested on top of me, cock still nestled in my pussy. I didn't want to move for a long while.

Eventually Paul pulled out and I immediately went to clean off his cock with my mouth. I had never had that predilection before, but found I enjoyed the idea now that it was now expected of me. A moment later Paul nodded toward the door and said, "Go get us some water."

We were thirsty of course, but I knew his real intention was to send me out where Matt might see me after my noisy orgasm. He did at least allow me to put on shorts and a spaghetti-strap top. I didn't even ask for my bra, suspecting Paul would prefer it if my nipples were on display through the shirt.

Quietly, I padded out into the hall and toward the kitchen. Sure enough, Matt was at the table reading on an electronic tablet. I shyly said hi and went to the fridge for water. His eyes never left the tablet, but Matt's mouth crinkled in a sly smile as he said, "There's Gatorade in there too. Sounds like you could use the electrolytes."

"Sorry", I mumbled as I fled back to Paul's room.

Paul found it hilarious and the fact that I was mortified seemed to turn him on again. He demanded more pussy, and I pretended to feel sorry for myself as I spread my legs. We both loved the dynamic of him taking what he wanted, and poor little me having no choice but to submit to it. He whispered nasty things in my ear as he fucked me and again would only allow me to orgasm if it was loud enough to wake the dead. Neither of us lasted long.