Loyal Katie, the Submissive
Combining exhibitionism with submission makes Katie special
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When I moved to New York I was 26 and a new PhD, with a job at Columbia University as a postdoc. Columbia is an Ivy League School and I felt super lucky to get such a job. The rent on an apartment in Manhattan was, however, beyond my reach, with my rather small postdoc salary. Because of this, I suppose, Columbia offered me an apartment at below market rates, one I could afford.
The apartment was small, but nice. It had windows facing the street, and windows facing other apartments. I could see inside their apartments and watch my neighbors move around. Shortly after I moved in however, the neighbors got window shades which they always kept down. This ended the 'living in a fishbowl' effect both for them and for me. That gave them privacy, and in effect it also gave me privacy, since they could not see me. In addition, I did not have to pay to have blinds installed!
The apartment above them might have been able to see into my apartment, but I was fairly sure the angle was such that if they saw me move about, all they'd be able to see was my feet, unless of course I pushed myself up against the window.
The bedroom faced the street. I was on a high floor, and since it faced East it got the morning sun, a particularly nice feature in the fall and winter, so I had not yet installed shades or blinds on the bedroom window. Also while it was possible to see into my window, especially if one used binoculars from certain vantage points, the probability someone would be spying on me when I was not properly dressed was tiny, so as my Australian lover from my sophomore year in college would always say, "No worries, mate."
So, all was good. I worked hard at my job spending long hours in the lab, and I would come home late at night dead tired. I ate a lot of pasta because it's easy to cook ravioli when you can barely stand from fatigue. On Sundays I would cook some beef, usually a hamburger, just to stay healthy.
I should give you some background. In High School I was always the smartest kid in the room. I tried to hide it, but often the teachers would not realize that, and they would inadvertently "out me" and my brainpower. I knew boys don't much like girls who are smarter than they are, so despite being a bit pretty, I was a virgin when I entered college. I was the only girl amongst my friends who was still a virgin when entering college.
My best friend Mary, for example, had slept with every single boy in our grade, and a couple of the teachers, to boot. She would never say, but from the way she and my father used to look at each other, well, I guess I don't have to spell it out now, do I?
Mary and I had a live and let live friendship. She did not pressure me into sex with boys, loving me as I was, and I did not judge her with her promiscuous ways. Mary was a great friend. One time she even let me hide in the closet and I got to watch her and Pete go at it. To this day, I've never forgotten that! That memory is burned into my brain. It was the most exciting moment of my pre-college adolescence.
It was kind of unusual being a virgin because I grew up in a rural area, in the mountains, in a "poor white trash" part of the country. My family fit right in, I have to say. Sex in that part of the world is a more casual affair than it is in the suburbs of the big cities. I felt sort of inadequate that no boy had tried to lay me in high school. Had a decent boy actually tried, I would have done the deed happily, just to have fit in.
At college I was no longer the smartest, but rather sort of in the middle. Okay, maybe it was the upper middle. In college my good looks had more of an impact, and my body cooperated by deciding finally to let my nascent boobs grow into the breasts of a grown woman. They even grew to be a tad on the large side of average, with long nipples. I was thrilled.
I was still intellectually oriented, and quite naturally the boys who liked such girls were the ones who asked me out. I started to have dates and rather quickly I lost my status as a virgin and I drank an entire bottle of Cold Duck to celebrate. I liked a lot of the boys who asked me out, and I figured birth control pills were part of God's plan for me, and so I saw no problem with having sex in a rather casual way. Hey, it was the way I was raised. I told Mary all about my now exciting love life, and she gave me massive approval.
Just to be clear, while incest is probably more common in the area I grew up in than it is in the suburbs of the big cities, I and my entire family were untouched by such things. I did have one friend who was pregnant in middle school, and rumors were rampant that the father of her baby was her brother or her father, and even she did not know which one it was, but that was it. My father, and none of my brothers, would never have tried anything like that with me. If they had, they would not have lived to brag about it!
Sexual talent for a woman is a lack of hang-ups and a desire to please, or that's what I thought, at least. I became dynamite in bed (according to what men said, which I heard from a male friend), and I was popular. Nevertheless, I did not really enjoy sex in college as much as the other girls, and no man ever gave me an orgasm, even with fingering and oral sex, and also not with copulation.
I became something of an actress, truly excellent at faking orgasms. I quickly learned men liked it when a girl climaxes, and they liked it when a girl moans. I could do both, and I did, even if I was always faking it. Nothing at all rocked my world. I began seriously to wonder what was wrong with me.
After college I went to graduate school in organic chemistry and there I met an older grad student, Brad Lions, and the answers to my sexual frustrations revealed themselves. I fell in love for the first time, and of course it was with Brad. Most girls Brad dated also fell in love with him I suspect, but at least in my case, he loved me back. Brad was the solution to my sexual frustrations. He was the man for me.
Now graduate school is over and I work in New York, and alas and alack Brad works in Los Angeles. He came to visit me for Thanksgiving break and that really cheered me up. Brad and I were in love, but I had one concern. It's a bit embarrassing because I'm 26, and this concern makes me sound like an immature high school girl.
Okay, here it is. It's confession time. I worried Brad liked me more for my body and my sexual talent, and therefore he liked me mostly for the purpose of getting his rocks off having sex with me, than he did for me as a person. That is, sometimes I worried he did not love me, the woman Katie, but rather he simply loved having sex with me.
Don't get me wrong. I loved having sex with him, too. For me, though, sex was an expression of love, and for him it seemed more to be recreational fun. He was also obsessed with recording everything. I can't tell you how many pictures he had of me naked. He also wanted me to walk around and in general just to be naked while we were in the apartment together. He was naked too, for what that was worth, but that's not my point.
Sometimes I felt he spent so much time, energy and money photographing and video recording everything that he forgot to enjoy things in the moment, you know? It was an obsession with him. A lot of the photos he took of me I would never want anyone besides Brad or me to see, and I know in some sense I was being stupid to let him take them, but I trusted him. Besides, it was really sexy to see myself in such compromising pictures. Being naked all the time led to photo opportunities galore. I thought it was sexier when I was clothed, or partly clothed, but Brad disagreed.
When I would cook us dinner in the tiny kitchen, he would come up behind me and fondle my breasts, and press his (usually) hard cock into my bare behind. He wanted a reaction, I'm sure, but I found it more annoying than arousing. I was exposed in the kitchen, too, but as I said, the neighbors who would otherwise have had a perfect view of me naked in my apartment had their shades permanently down, and they couldn't see me. Besides, I doubted they wanted to see me.
Brad would sit at the dining table waiting to be served, and I would come from the kitchen, naked, holding the food filled dishes to serve him. He would take videos of me doing this naked. I knew they were just for his own jollies for when he went back to Los Angeles, far away from me, so I let him enjoy his little peccadillos.
He would give me directions. For example, he would tell me to hold the tray of food in just the right way so that the water bottle and the wine bottle each obscured a nipple. One time he had me drop an apple over and over again until he caught the falling apple with his camera exactly at the moment in free fall when it was hiding my pussy. Sometime he would want a sexy pout on my face, sometimes an embarrassed and humiliated look on my face, and sometimes he even wanted me to smile for the camera.
After dinner, he would often do the dishes, and that was nice. I would sit and read the newspaper, naked of course, to keep Brad happy. During his visit and near its beginning, I decided to tease Brad and got his video camera. I thought it would be fun to film him walking towards me for a change, once the dishes were done. I wanted to surprise him, so I had to quickly figure out how the video camera worked.
It took only a minute or two to figure out how the camera worked, and I amused myself gazing at the videos Brad had already made of me. Looking at the index quite a few of them were named Susan. There was Susan 1, Susan 2, all the way up to Susan 7. Curious, I looked at Susan 3. I've always liked the number three.
Susan turned out to be a pretty young thing, around my age or most likely a few years younger, and naked in Brad's LA apartment, the same one I had been naked in a few months earlier. He had filmed some of the same scenes of her that he had filmed of me, with an extra fillip. He had apparently put the camera on a tripod and filmed them having sex. Actually, no, as I watched I realized the camera moved around to get closeups of their private areas interacting, so obviously there must have been another person in the room, filming the two of them having sex.
I was not too surprised about Brad having a tart in LA. I had thought in depth about our separation across the entire country. I knew Brad could not go three or four months without sex. Sex is part of his personality and he was just not like that. No monks in his ancestral background, that's for sure!
I proposed we have an open relationship, since he would cheat on me in any event. We were free to do as we liked, as long as we each still loved each other. I had done nothing promiscuous myself but now I knew Brad certainly had! I idly wondered: Aside from me and this slut named Susan, did he have a third tart in Chicago? What about our fourth largest city, Houston? Did he have a little naked sexpot waiting for him there, too? How many of us were there? Those southern belles can knock your socks off, or so I hear.
