The Story of I Ch. 01

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I had never done this before. It felt exhilarating, but at the same time, disquieting. I was sitting across from a rather corpulent man whom I’d never met, only emailed a handful of times after finding him online. Through those terse communications, we had gained a vague understanding of who we were and what we each wanted, and therefore felt it would be worth our whiles to meet. Both of us were married to women, but felt we were both bi. Curiously, though, we had had most of our sexual experiences with women. From my three brief same sex encounters, I thought that I was mostly a bottom with men, and he, in his one experience, had been a top. So, there was some likelihood we were compatible.

We had a drink together at Bar None, a respectable place a mile or so from his house. Then, being agreeable about things from our conversation, we went back to his house, me following in my car. We met at his front door. Although this adventure would be new for each of us, we had agreed that once we entered, and he had shut and locked the door, our cordial egalitarian relationship at the bar would be over. As the top, he would now be in charge.

“Tonight,” he stated, perhaps rehearsing for his role, “my spouse is away, but due to return in three hours, so no matter what happens, you will not be spending the night. This evening is more or less for setting the ground rules,” he continued, “for what might follow, if anything, because nothing is guaranteed.” I nodded, as he unlocked the door and ushered me in.

“I have to find out what you know, and what you need to learn,” he began without expression, closing the door securely and turning the lock.

I had read enough about being a sub to know that I should cast my eyes downward, and also, to say, “Yes sir.”

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, again, keeping my eyes focused at his feet, but when I bent over to untie a shoe, he gave me a swat on my left butt cheek. Caught off guard, I twisted around to complain, but wisely restrained myself. Was I going to like this, I wondered.

“You have to learn to do it my way, and not yours,” he instructed without emotion.

Although, I had misgivings, for some reason, I endeavored to carry on, and adopted my role’s appropriate response, “How would it please you, Sir, for me to undress myself?”

“That’s better,” he said. “I want you to take off your shirts first. Next, pull your pants down to around your ankles, then turn away from me and untie your shoes so I can inspect any future offering.”

I did as he instructed, slowly unbuttoning my shirt and slipping it off. Although he didn’t specifically command me to do so, I decided to play my part, to flirt with him so to speak, by turning as I was taking my T-shirt off over my head so that he could see me from varying angles, my muscular deltoids, biceps, pecs, and abs. Although mardin escort I was thin, I was muscular. And I kept my hair shaved close, making my chest appear bare, to better allow the light and shadow to define my toned torso.

I undid my belt and snap, unzipped my jeans, and jerked them down to my ankles. As I bent over away from him, I repeated the action with my briefs. Hearing no comment or other instructions, I began untying my shoes and removing my socks, slipping off one, then the other. I also tried to exaggerate the motion, accentuating calfs and gluts, hoping he would be pleased. When I finished, I heard his next command, and turned around to face him. Unexpectedly, my phallus was filling, nowhere near to being a full erection, but definitely enlarged.

“You’ll do for tonight,” was his non-committal comment. Then he added, “Now, you will undress me.”

I started forward, before I realized that I shouldn’t have.

He put a hand up as if to say stop, which I understood, then he motioned with it for me to turn around. “Bend over and grab your ankles.” Two spanks with cupped hand on each of my bare ass cheeks followed.

“What did you learn?” he inquired, nonchalantly.

Still in the “learning position” with now flushed cheeks, and smarting buttocks, I responded, trying to keep any vexation to myself, “How would you like me to undress you, Sir?”

“Good boy,” he affirmed. “You may stand and face me.”

After he explained his preference, I did exactly as he had dictated, first stripping off his shirt, then untying and tossing aside each shoe. Finally, I undid his slacks, slid them down, and let him use my head to steady his balance, while he stepped out of them. Then I lowered and removed his boxers trying not to stare at what I saw bobbing up between his legs. Finally, he told me to take off his socks and to stay there on my hands and knees.

“Come with me little doggie to the bathroom,” he calmly commanded.

I followed him on my hands and knees across the pile carpet of the living room, down the hardwood hallway, to the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

“Get into the shower,” he barked crisply. Once I had entered the shower stall, he followed.

“I am the alpha dog in this pack,” he stated, “and it’s important that you learn that. Do you agree?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.

“Good,” he said, “I want you to sit on your heels, and put your hands palms-up on your thighs, and keep them there. I want you to beg me to show you who is top dog.”

“Please, Sir, show me…,” I began, and although I tried to keep my eyes cast downward, I saw him holding his penis, now less erect, and aiming it at me. All of a sudden, I was hit with a warm splash on my chest. Taken by surprise, my impulse was to shield myself with my hands. This reaction was countermanded, somehow, by van escort reasons unclear to me at the time. Was it my acquiescence to his authority? My growing investment in playing the submissive role? Or the seductive warmth and weirdness of this all. Whatever it was, I stayed statue still, as I felt the urine stream move up to my neck, onto my chin and, finally, to splatter against my lips.

“Swallow it, Omega,” he directed with matter-of-fact-ness.

Again startled, I did as I was told, opened my mouth and tried to swallow as much as I could. Some of it splashed out and down my chest, or made me almost cough, but I summoned my best effort to follow his instruction.

“Good boy,” were his only words.

“Now I want you to wash me.”

Having learned from the previous two times, I stayed sitting on my heels, face dripping with piss, and asked him how he would like to be bathed.

Then I did exactly as I was told, turning the shower on, getting it to an appropriate temperature which he liked, and then began shampooing his thinning black hair and rinsing it. Using the shower gel, I lathered up his hairy torso, protuberant belly, taut buttocks, thick thighs and finally his now impressively enlarging cock.

“Rinse me off, Omega,” he bade me blandly.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, “and how may you wish to be rinsed, Sir?”

I did exactly as I was told.

“Now rinse yourself off,” he continued. “Get the shower balmy hot, then turn off the water.”

I complied with all three directives.

“On your knees,” he ordered, his now fully enlarged cock poking into my nose. “Relieve me, Omega”

When I asked for direction, he invited me to find my own way. So, I began by running my palms up his inner calfs and thighs, lightly touching the sides of his scrotum with the backs of my hands. Wrapping my palms onto the front, then sides of his thighs, and finally around to his buttocks, I then slid them down the back of his legs to his ankles. Passing my hands once more to the inside, I repeated the circular motion several more times, up and down again, with slightly varying pressures. I blew my cool breath onto his beautifully hard and still dripping wet cock which jerked upward in response. I put my lips lightly against its head and moved them in circles around and around it, then along the top, sides, and underside of his shaft before returning to the tip. In a theme and variations manner, I retraced my motion, this time using my short beard hairs to lightly graze all the surfaces. I heard him sigh, “Good boy.”

His enjoyment was doubling my pleasure. My satisfaction at being a capable lover gave me immense gratification, and my own cock now standing at full attention, gave me a feeling for the power I had, even in this submissive position.

“Take me,” he soon commanded, and I put my warm and ankara escort wanting mouth around his glans, licking and wetting his cock and sampling his slippery pre-cum, with its slightly briny taste.

I slid my lips up and down and over his bulbous cock head, gradually taking in more and more. He began slowly thrusting, fucking my oral cavity, and I began moaning, but when he plunged too deeply and his stiffness hit the back of my throat, I gagged. Pausing only briefly to recover, I forced myself to keep going, in and out, trying to meet his thrusts, sometimes with discomfort, sometimes without. Finally, he began groaning. I sensed he was about to come. I prepared to swallow whatever he produced, but to my surprise, he withdrew himself from my mouth. Using his hand, he massaged himself to climax, squirting cum all over my forehead, my eye, my cheek. I felt it clinging to my eyelashes, dripping down my nose, lingering on my upper lip.

“Catch it all with your hands, Omega.”

I waited until he had grunted his last, when nothing further was being expressed. I remained silent with the gobs of cum, oozing down my face, onto my beard and into my outstretched hands.

“Scrape my power juices onto your tongue, Omega, so you can have a taste for what a real Alpha can do.”

I used fingers from both hands to squeegee it off my forehead, my eyelids, my cheek, and layered it onto my tongue, protruded as if I were taking holy communion. I showed him what I had collected.

“Good boy,” he complimented me.

“Now swallow it.”

“Yes sir,” I voiced with my tongue out, and I took his cum within my mouth and, in one gulp after another, swallowed it all, without gagging.

“Clean me off with that raunchy little tongue of yours,” he growled. Again, I complied, not sure if it was intended as commendation or humiliation.

“Now shower off,” he ordered, “and when you’re done, come back into the living room.” He toweled off quickly, then left the bathroom.

I did as I was told, tempted to relieve myself with the slippery shower gel in my hands, but thought better of it. Afterall, he hadn’t given me permission to do so, and my detumescence would certainly have been noted. Also, I wasn’t sure whether I should be trotting into the living room on all fours, or walking in on two feet. I opted for the former and heard his approval, “That’s a good Omega. You are a fast learner. Now get dressed,” he stated. And once more, after inquiring and learning how he wanted to see me dress myself, I put on my clothes.

Standing in his terry cloth bathrobe, he walked to the door, unlocked it, opened it, and blandly stated, “It’s time to go.”

Once outside, I turned to shut the screen door, but before I could do so, he added, with hearty emotion, “Now that was awfully fun. Let’s do it again.”

Free to resume my normal disposition, and strangely elated with what had just happened, I walked excitedly to my car and fantasized all the way home about what I would do in bed that night. “But I didn’t get his permission,” I reflexively reacted in a panic. Then I smiled, in an impish sort of way, and shouted defiantly to the passenger seat, “but I don’t have to now.”

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