All She Needs To Do Is Ask

The following is a work of erotic fiction and is in no way meant to represent real people or events. It is completely written and owned by me, OfStarsAndDreams. My short stories are generally written on behalf of others and do not necessarily reflect my personal interests, fetishes, or personal history.

Contents: F/m. Group F on solo m. Loving/affectionate BDSM. Girlfriend. Consensual. Dominance/Submission. Service submission. Chastity (m). Control. Orgasm control/delay/denial (m). Dry orgasm. Feminization/Crossdressing. Sissy. Lolita fashion (on m). Public sex. Vaginal fingering. Gifts/Presents/Pampering. Public displays of affection. Blue balls. Objectification. PiV/Vaginal sex. Sex toys (all varieties). Oral sex (m on F). Anal sex (with toys, F on m). Anal play (on m). Strap on use/pegging (F to m). Teasing. Kissing/nuzzling/cuddling. Bondage. Shibari. Embarrassment. Filming/Performing sex on webcam/video chat. Exhibitionism. Domestic services. Anonymous sex. Gossip. Swingers. Lube. Female on female/lesbian sex. Group sex/orgy. Nipple play. Double penetration (anal on m). Prostitution (suggested, mentioned). Cuckolding (suggested, mentioned)

Let's begin!

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My friends always tell me that my girlfriend is controlling. That I'm pussy whipped, being led by the nose. I mean, I can't say I don't understand why they think that. But they just don't understand, they don't have the same perspective I do. They're on the outside looking in.

And honestly I couldn't care less about what they say anyway. My girlfriend... she's everything to me. She's never once forced me to do anything. She doesn't threaten me, or nag me, or hold things over my head. I've never been made to feel like I have to do something I don't want to do. She's not like that at all. Sure, she'll push me a little, but it's always in my best interest. And doesn't everyone try to help their partner improve, in some way or another, to be a better person, or to strengthen their relationship? It's not any different than someone trying to convince their spouse to go for the better job, work harder on their presentation, or explore new things together, right? She's just giving me a patient nudge in the right direction, is all.

Truly, she's the sweetest, most loving woman I've ever met, and she's always been very honest and fair with me, since the very beginning. I never feel like I'm out of the loop, or that I'm not being considered, it's just... well...

She has very specific tastes.

Don't get me wrong, it's not that she's demanding. Like I said, she's not pushy. She doesn't beg or try to squeeze things out of people. Rather, she knows exactly what she wants and has no interest in settling for less, or in playing pretend to make someone else happy. That's something I love about her. And the thing about it is this - whatever it is she wants, I want nothing more than to give it to her. For someone like me to be somehow worthy of such an amazing, incredible, intelligent and undeniably enticing woman.

Surprisingly, I actually met her on Tinder. I know, not a great place to go looking for a long term relationship, but, to be honest, back then I really hadn't been interested in finding one. I just wanted to have a bit of fun with someone looking for the same. Frankly, I just wanted to get off, no strings attached. At the time I would have told you that I wasn't looking for romance, but, as it turned out, I had simply never met the right woman.

Her profile had a picture of her in tall black boots, manicured nails, and a long jacket with a hem that sat just at the end of her skirt. Her hair was swept up in a loose knot and she was wearing classy dark sunglasses. Somehow both vaguely professional and serious but also incredibly sexy.

I was completely shocked when she agreed to meet me for lunch. I'd felt like she was so incredibly far out of my league that she'd never even contact me, but there we were about to meet up for a casual date. I knew there was a chance she was one of those dine and dash girls looking for a free meal, but I decided to take the risk. We were meeting in a cafe after all, not an expensive bistro.

Still, I was a bit surprised when she showed up. I remember standing up to greet her, almost shaking with nerves - I'd never felt this nervous around a woman, not once in my life - and then her, standing vaguely by her chair, checking her phone, seemingly impatient or even agitated. After a bit, uncertain of what to do, not wanting to seat myself before she did, I pulled out her chair for her. It was only then that she sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

And who said chivalry was dead?

She didn't talk about herself a whole lot, but she didn't exactly ask me about myself either. She was surprisingly distant, if anything. I struggled to get a good read on her. Mostly she talked about things - events, concepts, things she'd read, even current politics. She made no attempt to avoid touchy subjects that could potentially offend a lunch partner.

Eventually she started talking about men. Specifically about how men in the current culture were shockingly self interested. They were only looking out for themselves, completely unconcerned with the happiness of their partner. She explained that it used to be the case that men were looked down upon if they couldn't satisfy the women they slept with, that they actively endeavored to bring them to orgasm, and that men currently had no similar expectation and thus were almost universally bad at sex. I was a bit surprised by how brazenly she discussed such things in public with a man she'd just met.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep with her that day, or in our immediate dates to follow. The first time, in fact, that I performed any sexual act with her at all is when, unprompted, she had me get her off in the dressing room of a high end clothing store. She'd called me in to help her with some buttons, but then slid my hand up under her skirts. I didn't know how to respond, so I just went along with it.

I remember it very clearly. At that time I had still not yet seen what was under those skirts - nor would I that day either. I was pressed up against her in that tight room, her legs spread just enough to allow my access, my face nearly squished against the wall of the dressing room. I remember the feel of her soft, smooth skin, as gentle as a velvet glove, growing slick and wet under my touch, the way her body arched and pushed against me as I pushed myself slowly inside her, curling my fingers up against her insides, my thumb resting against her clit.

I had to do it blind, which made me pointedly aware of how she felt, every small detail. I did my best to map out her anatomy in my head, not for my own sake, but to give her as much pleasure as I could. I was eventually awarded with a tiny gasp, quiet and restrained - she didn't want to make the staff aware of our actions. When I felt that shuddering tremble, her body pushing into my arms, her pussy squeezing down around my fingers, I felt an overwhelming wave of complete satisfaction.

She then tidied herself up, made herself presentable, and gave me a sweet, intoxicating kiss. Affections were not uncommon from her - despite her seeming severity she seemed to enjoy doting on me, buying me little things, and even being physical, after her fashion. It was not uncommon for her to lock her arms with me, or hug me, to touch my face and clothes, or even run her hands over my shoulders and arms. But that was the first time she'd truly kissed me, a real kiss and not just a peck on the cheek or forehead.

I think it was at that point my fate was sealed.

Of course, she made no offer to return the favor, and I didn't insist, or even bring it up. Instead I ended up carrying her bags, my cock sore and aching, tucked up into my belt to hide the obvious stiffness. I worried the whole time that someone would notice until it eventually subsided. I drove her back to her place, and helped her carry her purchases inside.

I often ended up doing small things like that for her, carrying things, opening doors, helping her in and out of cars. I'm not even sure why I did them. She seldom asked. But there was always this... lingering expectation, I guess. She wouldn't do them herself. Instead she would just wait next to whatever offending task needed doing. If she wanted to go through a door, she would stand next to it until it magically opened for her. And that magic usually ended up being me, eager to please her. She would wait, browsing her phone with her carefully tended nails, as I carried boxes or cleaned up messes or bought her an umbrella for the rain.

And, after enough time, I ended up doing other things. Small things at first, little favors she asked for. Her, sitting on the couch, asking me for a glass of water. To fetch her shoes so we could go out. And then, over time, to drive her to the salon and wait while she had her hair cut, or her nails done. To run down to the store and fetch a current magazine, or a hot coffee from her favorite local shop, or, perhaps most egregiously, to wait outside and do research for some work she was doing for a client while she spent several hours at a day spa. I can't begin to tell you why I did it, other than that I really wanted her to be happy.

It's not like it was thankless. She was always so sweet to me when I was done. She'd kiss me and giggle and rub my nose with hers and tell me how happy she was that she'd found a man like me. We'd watch movies on the couch, with her in a fluffy robe, curled up in my arms. It felt like heaven.

Over time our relationship grew more sexual. She seemed unconcerned with my needs, but she had a strong appetite of her own, so it ended up working out. When the mood struck her, regardless of what I was doing, and sometimes even regardless of where we were or if we had company, she would find some place and use me to get off. That's really the best way to describe it. She certainly seemed very into it, and legitimately into me, but in some ways I was not much more than a human sex toy. I would have thought she was taking advantage of me, just using me for my mouth, my hands, or my cock, but she would always swoop me up in her arms after, shower me with kisses and praise, little sweet nothings and nuzzles.

I also made a point to give her pleasure even when she wasn't coming onto me. I'd find her when she was reading a book, crawl myself up under her skirts and send her into waves of shuddering delight. It was only then that I'd slip my own cock inside her, feeling her tight slickness, enjoying my own surge of pleasure.

And that's really where the problem started. Over time she seemed to grow disinterested in sex. I somewhat doubted that her once voracious appetite had dried up, so it seemed weird that she was seeking it from me less and less. Instead she seemed restless and irritated. I was worried she was meeting up with someone else, or that she'd lost her feelings for me. But at the same time she wasn't any less sweet with me. She just didn't want to fuck me.

Of course, after I abandoned my ego I knew deep in my heart what the answer was. She just wasn't enjoying it. She was never the type to fake an orgasm, and, much to my increasing worry, she never seemed to get off while I was actually inside her, no matter what I did. Whatever I tried, however I attempted it, it was obvious she just wasn't into it. I started to stress, worried that I was fucking up, that I was losing her. She was an extremely sexual creature, and it was clear to me that if I couldn't satisfy her she'd go seeking someone who could.

Finally I brought it up to her. She seemed to regret doing so, but she openly acknowledged that, yes, actually, I was rather bad at sex. She tried to let me down easy, but she didn't sugar coat it. I didn't seem to be getting any better, and, to be frank, I wasn't exactly that well equipped for the job. She'd tried to give me notes, and, to my credit, I did my best to follow them, but it simply wasn't doing the trick. To be clear, my oral was top notch and I never failed with my hands. I could do a great job at, say, getting her off unobtrusively in a movie theater. But the actual sex was strictly disappointing.

I felt shattered.

But it got worse. She admitted that not receiving adequate pleasure was a dealbreaker, stating reasonably that, despite her feelings, she refused to live the rest of her life like that and if she wasn't satisfied she'd have to break up with me. She also said that she had no intention of having lousy sex on my behalf. It wasn't worth her time or energy.

But there was at least a small silver lining, a caveat. I was still incredibly good at oral, after all. So she could try to make it work. She didn't want to have sex, at least proper sex, anymore, but she'd be open to staying with me if I continued to get her off by other means. She said she would miss being properly fucked, but if I learned to compensate by using various toys on her then she'd give it a try. She truly did care for me, after all.

It seems crazy to agree to something like that but I couldn't bear the thought of losing her. I still can't. I would have done anything to make her life better. If she'd told me I had to wake up every day at 3 AM and scrub the toilet with a toothbrush I would probably have done it. No, I definitely would have done it. She is my world. I couldn't imagine ever being with anyone else. Sure, it made me feel lousy, I'm still only human, but really all I wanted was for her to keep smiling at me and telling me how happy I was making her.

So I agreed.

I won't deny it, at first it was bad, really bad. I'd be constantly aching, running off into the bathroom to jerk myself off leaning over the toilet. It was agonizing. But, honestly, over time I got used to it. Going down on her just became another regular chore, not much different than doing the shopping or fetching the mail. My own sexual pleasure became disconnected, separated from hers. They didn't exist on the same plane anymore.

And it's not like she left me completely high and dry either. When the mood struck her she'd use toys on me as well. Various masturbaters and rings. Her favorite, though, were vibrators. She liked to press them into the area under my balls, sending the vibrations deep inside me, into my prostate. She'd slide the buzzing head up and down my shaft, delighting in the way it made me squirm. She'd keep me on the edge for ages until finally letting me get myself off while she continued to use her various devices. I didn't even mind her keeping me on the brink for so long like that. When I did finally cum it was almost overwhelming, such a huge overpowering pleasure coursing through my body, my cock twitching and throbbing in my hands as the sensations washed over me like a flood. Something I could never get myself just jacking off alone.

She did really enjoy being there when I got off, and most enjoyed it when it was showy and dramatic. Usually this meant times where I hadn't gotten myself off in some time, when it went through me like a rocket, whole body shaking, shooting giant loads of cum out over my stomach. It got to the point where she asked for me to not masturbate at all when she wasn't around. She said she wanted me all to herself. I could see how delighted she was, how excited, every time it happened - usually she'd have me go down on her again after I finished, even if she'd just cum before playing with me - and I just couldn't refuse. She lit up from head to toe when I agreed.

It was not that long afterwards when she told me, cuddled up in bed, that secretly she'd always really liked having that kind of control over someone. She'd always been somewhat interested in chastity, but had never tried to pursue it. It was, until that point, just a fantasy she'd entertained, something she could get off to, but a fantasy she'd relegated to the realms of porn and erotica. She said that we were already pretty much already there, and that she just couldn't stop fantasizing about my cock locked up in a cage. She told me it wouldn't change anything about what we already did in the bedroom, since I only got off with her anyway. It would really just get her hot knowing I was wearing it. She then asked me, point blank, if that was something I would do for her. She was seldom so direct, and I could see how much she really wanted it. Even talking about her seemed to be lighting a fire in her, her body pushing up against mine, almost eager.

Of course I was apprehensive. Who wouldn't be? But I also remembered how unsatisfied and bored she'd been having "normal" sex, how excited she'd been lately, how she'd been taking more of an interest in my body, and just how happy she'd been doing these kinds of things with me lately. She frequently expressed such immense happiness for how I saved myself for her, keeping my orgasms all for her viewing, kissing me and stroking my cock throughout the day to remind me of what I was doing for her. So I thought about it and decided I'd try. For her. I wanted her to want to be with me, and not just go through the motions for my sake.

Which is how I ended up with my cock in a tight metal cage. She'd bought me an expensive, elaborate model, one that couldn't be finagled off with a bit of effort. I still remember the first time she put it on me, the cold feel of the metal, my growing apprehension and the sinking realization as the cage clicked shut and she locked it tight around me, then tugged at it experimentally to make sure I wouldn't be able to remove it, even if I tried. Not that I would have. I'd never want to disappoint her like that. I could feel it at all times, no matter where I was or what I was doing, I could feel it there resting against me under my clothes. It was a constant reminder of her control over me and what exactly I was being denied. Every moment of my day became sexual in a weird, subtle way, which only made the whole situation worse as I felt my cock straining against its new prison. She was of course absolutely thrilled. She even made me show her multiple times over the next few days just so she could relish the sight of it. She kept the key on a necklace around her neck so I could always see it. She might as well have been holding it over my head, teasing me with it.

She really did love to tease me. She'd rub her hands over me, sliding them down my pants, doing everything she could to get me so incredibly hot and bothered. She'd edge me, use her toys on me, stick her vibrators right up to the metal of the cage. She started to use multiple toys at once, one pressed below my balls so I could feel it churning through to my insides, the other on the cage. She had this almost cruel delight for using them on me while I got her off, then leave me hanging as soon as she had. She'd leave me desperate for days just so that when I did come it would be even more dramatic, more stimulating for her. She'd sometimes even fuck herself as she watched me get off, riding some toy cock or other, almost torturing me with what I was being denied. And she seemed to love every moment of it. If anything it fired her up, made her kiss me more passionately, put a skip in her step. Even her performance at work improved. How could I say no to that?

Things really took a turn, though, on one particular night when she decided to have some fun with me after what had been almost two weeks of teasing. She'd had me laid on the bed, my hands up above my head, tied lightly with a sash so I wouldn't reach down and try to touch anything. I had been twisting, turning, almost dying with how far she'd brought me without allowing release.

She'd been holding one of her vibrators right above my ass, when, almost as if it were out of simple curiosity, she moved it lower. She pushed it, gently, until the very tip of the device was slipping in. I didn't say no, or try to stop. In all actuality, I probably made a rather undignified noise of need and desire, desperate for any sort of stimulation that might send me shooting over the edge. I'd have probably done pretty much anything at that point just to finally cum. She asked if I wanted to try something a little different. My head was in too much of a blur to really process it, but I willingly consented, perhaps blinded by that aching, overwhelming need for release. So, cooing and praising me, she grabbed some lube - I only later questioned why she had any on hand at all - and gradually worked the toy into my ass, slowly loosening me up bit by bit until, before I knew it, she had pushed it all the way inside me. Then she was fucking me with it, pushing it up against my prostate. I could feel it sliding in and out of me, filling me up, grinding up against my insides. The buzzing was hitting me from both ends, the one buried inside, the other pushing down onto the cage.