Sinful Submissions

by Ed Bemand

  Early in their relationship they had reached a point when it had become obvious to them both that John derived most pleasure from attending to Beatrice’s desires and of giving her his service in mundane matters. They were glad to be with each other and took delight in the sexual expression of their desires, but the traditional behaviours left them feeling unsatisfied. John was embarrassed to admit it to her, but he had never managed to orgasm when they were aligned in that posture of love that is named to most in homage to the missionaries who deemed it the most suitable for god-fearing men and women to adopt when striving to procreate. Beatrice had wondered if some medical issue might be underlying it, but John could assure her and demonstrate that in other postures and through other methods he was entirely capable of bringing his priapism to culmination. Fearing that his inability was in some way a slight on her femininity, Beatrice took pains to prove to herself that she could bring him to climax with the skill of her fingers and mouth. Though his member was solid and his pleasure evident, he was unable to properly climax. She adjusted his posture on the bed so that he was lying on his back and she settled herself atop his member, with her legs bent and resting on either side of his. In this position she was able to control their movements and apply sufficient pressure to her most sensitive areas to grow great pleasures for herself. She was able to maintain this until she had sated herself with a very enjoyable series of climaxes for herself. When she detached from their conjoining it became obvious to her that for all that she had achieved herself, John’s member was present and stiff but somehow unresponsive. Its engorgement spoke of his arousal, but clearly whatever pressures she was applying to it were not those that he required to climax.

  Pleased though she was that the solidity of his cock could give her so much pleasure, she felt like something must be wrong for it to be maintained so without release when she had subjected it to such intense sensation as she was experiencing from it.

  Over time she embarked upon a series of experimentations upon his person to try and find which stimulation was best suited to his climax. She rapidly recognised that while John seemed embarrassed by what she was suggesting, he was in no way inclined to object. Acquiescence to her will seemed his most natural state. She devoted herself to the manipulation of different parts of his body in turn. She discovered that he was capable of a most impressive level of engorgement when his nipples were subjected to her caresses, and that it only increased when her touch moved from tender to rough. She found it fascinating how much of his arousal could stem from treatment that to her seemed more likely to create pain than pleasure. When she asked him how he felt about what she was doing to him, his cries of pain and pleasure were mixed with entreaties that she continue, no matter what. Her fingers were sore from the tightness of grip that she was maintaining on his flesh and the reddened state of his skin told her of what he must be feeling, but at no point did he ever hint that she should stop or lessen the firmness of her touch. She herself was gaining arousal from this experience and could feel her moisture growing, even though she was still partly dressed and neither of them had touched her. Impatient that her desires be met, she removed her underwear and sat astride him, trapping his head between her thighs and demanded that he please her. He did so eagerly, lapping at her hungrily. She gripped the headboard tightly and pressed herself against his mouth, gaining the force and pressure that she needed from him as his lips and tongue supplied the motion. When she had climaxed and felt able to relax, she was surprised to discover that he himself had orgasmed in the course of her gaining her own pleasure, though she hadn’t touched his cock at all.

  Suspicious that he had pleasured himself without her noticing in the course of her own orgasms, the next time she experimented with him, she insisted that he was securely bound to the bed by his ankles and wrists. Again, he showed no resistance. She found the idea of his bound submission peculiarly alluring. Even his inaction was enough to stir pleasing sensations in her. To spare her fingers the torment, she attached clothes pegs to his nipples. He moaned as they tightened around his flesh. Something about his placidity irritated her and she twisted the pegs sharply. He writhed, movements restricted by the bindings that secured him. His reaction pleased her but made her want to hurt him more. Curiosity drove her. His posture made his crotch an oddly appealing target. She could see a glimpse of fear in his eyes as he realised what she was thinking. She slapped the back of her hand down so that her knuckles slashed across his scrotum, exposed and unprotected because of his cock pointing erectly towards the ceiling. He cried out and tugged against his bonds.

  For the remainder of the evening she explored the limits of his sensations and anatomy. She found that his balls represented obvious successful targets for all ranges of treatment from the gentle to the severe. She couldn’t perceive the rhythm that would have taken to bring him to climax using them alone, but they could definitely add much to the feeling. His nipples were fit for brief teasing to cause initial stimulus, but rapidly they would respond only to strength, as manifested by the clothes pegs which she left in place throughout. All other parts of his body seemed to have something to add to it, but the exact stimulus for his orgasm eluded her. Could he really have been driven to it last time, just by the pressure of her pussy grinding against his face? The prospect of that pleased and puzzled her.

  She had developed methods for gaining pleasure using a prosthesis years before when mere fleshy appendages had proved fallible. There was something amazingly appealing about something explicitly designed for the purpose that was so much more under her direct control than an appendage attached to a man ever could be. She left him attached to the bed where he was and focussed attention on herself for a while. She had been aroused enough by what she had done to him that it only took a few minutes for her to achieve true satisfaction with her vibrator buried deep between her lips. As her moans subsided, she regained her focus and looked at him. He was stretching against his bounds, straining to watch her, precursory drips falling from the end of his cock unto the sheets. It pleased her that her climax aroused him.

  It seemed natural that next her attentions returned to him with the aid of the prosthetic. She explored his form with it, running it across his skin, pressing lightly. She adjusted the speed setting as she moved it. He produced the most enjoyable noises when she pressed the head of it into his navel but she couldn’t imagine an orgasm resulting from such an intrusion. They hadn’t spoken since she had bound him. His noises were incoherent, expressions of pure sensation. She continued her journey. That she started to press it against his anus seemed inevitable. It had generated so much pleasure for her on penetration, so why not? As far as she knew it was a novel experience for him. The feeling as she pressed it against his tight resistance reminded her of the moment when she had lost her virginity. It hadn’t been romantic. Sweat, urgency, drunkenness and need had driven it. That first cock had felt strange and wonderfully alien to her. Foreplay was an unknown then and the pain she had felt at her partner's entry had seemed like an inevitability to deter people from this. The initial thrusts gave her momentary reason to forswear the activity forever, but then, as his hips touched hers and his member moved deep within her, as flesh ground against flesh, the purpose of it all began to make sense. Love felt less important. This pressure, this contact between two bodies, was the driving force behind it all. Now, that pressure was lacking for her, but in her lingering post orgasmic daze she was happy to indulge him. She drove the dildo deeper inside him, moment by moment. He swore, but the words were unimportant, a natural reaction to what he was feeling. After a torrent of movements and sensation, he erupted, spraying himself forth for her to judge him. She had found him in that moment.

  She untied him and they lay together, basking in the aftermath of their experience. His thoughts had been dispelled by the strength of the fires that consumed him. She wondered what it was that she had discovered. Was it what either of them had expected? His reactions told her it was something new. Had she set
out with this in mind? No, his arse had never been her plan, but the culmination of his ecstasy had. Now she just had to decide what to do with it.

  She asked him about it the day after, though initially reluctant when pressed he responded.

  “It was wonderful."

  She wouldn’t let it lie. She needed him to say what he had loved. Was it the pressure on his nipples, her rough treatment of his balls, or…?

  “It was all of it… but your vibrator felt great.”

  “Do you want me to do it again?” He blushed and tried to avoid her eyes. “Answer me.”

  “I’d love it.”

  She smiled, satisfied.

  She acquired a new toy. It was one designed to offer them both pleasure. Attached to her by straps, it mimicked the size and solidity of his phallus as it rose from the finely trimmed shape of her pubic hair. Her pudenda was obscured by its base, but hidden behind it was a protrusion that mimicked that from the front, albeit smaller in stature, that was pleasingly pressed against the walls of her sex. She had instructed him to crouch on the bed, clutching the headboard. His arse was raised and offered to her. She daubed her new appendage with lubricants and approached him slowly, smiling. His gaze remained fixed on the wall in front of him. She manipulated the unfamiliar form jutting from her crotch, enjoying the sensation of its protrusion before her, and the subsequent sensations inside her that touching it caused.

  She made him her's that night. She fucked him with all the abandon and disregard that men had previously shown her. When he begged for mercy, she drove deeper. When he pleaded, she held him tight, claiming him with the experience that they shared. That night he lost his virginity in a way that was more meaningful to him than his paltry previous experiences had ever been. With their simultaneous orgasm that night they achieved something new and special. Inevitably, their relationship changed. John was past denial of the source of his pleasure and Beatrice knew that she enjoyed fucking, but finding this way in which by fucking him she could fuck herself exactly as she wanted it seemed to be the discovery of what she had been craving in all her previous encounters.

  When Beatrice first told John that he should dress the part he was enacting he was shocked but was beyond argument. She dressed him for her amusement. The skirt that she made him wear rose pleasingly above his arse as she prepared to fuck him. The fabric brushing against her flesh was a delicious reminder of his submission to her. She added to his attire with each occasion. Their relationship developed in steps as she made him more the object of her desire and pleasure. Her previous dalliances with other women had been casual and fleeting, but somehow the development of this man, her lover, into a feminine form was more pleasing than any snatched moments of casual intimacy that she had had before.

  Once he was accustomed to wearing feminine clothes for their lovemaking, it seemed such a little step for him to wear them the rest of the time. Possibly he could have objected but he didn’t. The skirts he wore in the house were not those that any girl would have worn in similarly comfy and informal occasions, but they tantalised them both constantly and led to her being tempted to take him ever more regularly. It was now such a common occurrence that her donning her cock was deemed a normal part of relaxing. She would attach it as soon as she returned to the house of an evening, and leave it in place, donning loose trousers over it when it was not immediately needed. The bulge it made in her clothes ensured that it was never far from either of their minds.

  He was doing the washing up one evening, dressed in a short skirt that allowed glimpses at his bottom and a flimsy top that she had insisted suited him, when for some reason his appearance drove her to distraction. She told him to stop what he was doing and kneel in front of her, then lowered her trousers and insisted that he suck upon her artificial cock. He did as he was told without question. Obedience to her whims was being more than second nature to him. She tangled her fingers in his hair, which she had insisted that he allow to grow longer. His motions were tentative and uncertain but her grip tightened as she pushed herself harder into his mouth. Gentle movements brought her no pleasure here. Only with vigour could what he was doing stimulate here. In time, the savagery of her motions became such that she could feel that wonderful wave starting to build in her. She climaxed with her artificial phallus buried deep in his throat. When she was done, she glanced down at the floor and could see splashes of milky liquid gathering on the tiles between his knees.

  They had both found what they needed.

  Were John and Beatrice wrong for seeking and finding their pleasure together where they did? They were happy together, and because of their acceptance of what each other needed, much more able to be so than if they had been forced to hide themselves from each other. Their path may not be the right one for many, but they seemed to be happy with it. Their activities were personal and private. They involved no-one else, but they gained the satisfaction they needed from them. What they did is beyond the realm of sin and judgement. Those who do not hurt others commit no sin.

  Seven: The early adventures of Melinda with boys

  And now perhaps it is time to consider in more depth Melinda, the lady who was so instrumental in Juliette's discovery of her sexual proclivities. By the time that Juliette met her she was in her early fifties and had long since become reconciled to the focus that her career had taken. It may be hard to see the links between her as she was as a younger woman and what she became.

  She was never really pretty. As a teenager the sharpness of her features and the gangliness of her form made her feel uncomfortable around other women, most of whom she regarded as being considerably more attractive than her with their pleasing softness and easiness of movement. She preferred to spend her time around boys, with whom she felt less concerned about the limitations of her skills with cosmetics, or the fact that it wasn’t until she was almost twenty before she had filled out enough to actually necessitate wearing a bra.

  Despite, or perhaps because of her choice of predominantly male friends as a youth she became sexually active quite young. Around them she didn’t feel as concerned about what she perceived as her flaws. She was athletic and enjoyed the hazardous pursuits favoured by most boys at a certain age. Climbing, riding bikes down steep slopes, jumping into rivers off bridges, all suited her rough physicality. It was inevitable that some of her friends would see her dishabille or even undressed in these circumstances.

  Her particular friend was Scott, a school contemporary of hers who had been her companion through many years of adventures. For so long had they spent time with each other that mere differences of gender seemed beyond any notice. Until, of course, when puberty struck. Scott started to become interested in other girls, ones who had flourished more rapidly than Melinda, who knew the exact length of skirt that was guaranteed to capture the eye of boys but was just able to escape the complaints of their parents and teachers. When Scott first began to express his desires for Amy Melinda expressed disinterest but concealed inside it was anger and a sense of rejection. Why should he be interested in some other girl more than her? Why would he prefer sniffing around after some little blonde thing when Melinda and he could have so much more fun together? Melinda didn’t see very much of Scott for a while after that.

  She tried to find a boy for herself, one who would offer to her what Scott no longer wanted to, but it was impossible to recapture what they had shared together as children. The boys her age she tried to talk to became shy and nervous around her, they didn’t seem to know where to look. Apparently what used to seem like normal fun ways of passing the time weren’t appropriate with a girl any more.

  Older boys seemed much more able to express their interest in her, but with a bluntness that surprised her at first. They had no intention of going on childish adventures with her. She found herself chatting with a boy called Phil. He was several years older than her and he would finish school that year. He was seemingly comfortable to not be one of the best looking or most popular boys in his year. He was thor
oughly average. His results made up the middle of league tables, his sporting abilities were sufficient to ensure that he was never left to last in the selection of teams but he was equally unlikely to earn any glory for himself. When he asked her if she’d like to “go out” with him on Saturday, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

  Melinda had an older sister, Claire. Melinda sometimes jealously wondered if it was Claire’s excess of round feminity that had led to her more angular and androgynous physique. Looking back with a couple of decades of hindsight, Melinda would wonder how she had ever felt any amount of jealousy for her. By then of course, Claire was fat and lacking in sexual appeal, had several children and a husband who Melinda was well aware relied on prostitutes for his satisfaction, whereas Melinda, though perhaps slower in maturing, had somehow reached a level of seemingly ageless sex appeal to many men and women.

  Claire got wind of Melinda’s intention to spend the Saturday evening with Phil. Her enquiries as to what she was going to wear for the occasion were met with belligerence. She tried, as tactfully as possible, to point Melinda towards wearing something flattering and at least a little girlish and Melinda had grumpily gone along with it, though she was secretly pleased for the advice. She had drawn the line at makeup. Too many times she had been horrified to see just how much time and effort Claire would invest in her appearance, only for the end result to be something that Melinda found more garish and repellent than alluring. Of course, some people clearly liked what Claire was doing. As Melinda knew but was sworn to secrecy about, Claire’s first abortion had been at eighteen.

  On that first occasion, Phil’s idea of “out” transpired to mean sitting by a secluded portion of the river outside of town with a couple of big bottles of cider. Melinda was relieved that she had not let Claire talk her into wearing anything as horribly impractical as a skirt. Any truly feminine garments would doubtless have been ruined forever by the encounter. Melinda was inexperienced with alcohol at the time and found the taste rather off-putting, though the effect it had on her state of mind was enjoyable enough. He had consumed the first bottle with only a modicum of assistance from her before he had built up his courage enough to ask if she wanted to “do it”. Initially outraged by his forthrightness, she couldn’t deny that his company had been otherwise pleasant and she was eager to keep it. To distract from the idea without completely rebuffing him, she suggested they go for a swim. The river they were sitting by was relatively clean and she had swum in it many times with Scott when she was younger. Phil seemed even more embarrassed by the prospect of this than he had about “it”. To encourage Phil to play along, Melinda started to strip off. She felt momentarily self-conscious but shrugged it off and stood before him naked and smiling, letting him see her slim body and small breasts. She dived into the river. She splashed water in his direction and teased him until he stripped off and joined her, initially trying to hide his erection from her, the need was taken away as soon as he got into the river and was surrounded by the cold water. Initially they were innocently playful, splashing each other and chasing in circles, but as their familiarity grew the touches grew longer. Before long they found themselves in each other’s arms, their young bodies against each other.