The Highest Purpose

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There is no higher purpose than helping your superiors cum.

We met at a McDonalds where the coffee was surprisingly good. He sat on the terrace outside and I bought and brought it out to him, exactly as he had demanded. When I meet a Dom I have no real choice in the way things develop. They have the right to decide and I am grateful for being chosen…even though there is a safety mechanism which sometimes trips in and ruins the atmosphere. In this case he was honest and large and authoritative. I was on the train and he was the driver. We drove to my home via a small supermarket so I could buy some simple lunch snacks, ready made dips and crackers.

I suggested some ice cream or a cake for dessert. He declined both. “Never indulge in too much sugar,” he explained, “and you don’t need a treat. You are going to be well fucked in the arse.” God, that stopped me for a shocked moment. Yes, I suppose that was a treat, a slave/sub treat, and if I set my mind into the right condition, that was more than I could expect or deserve.

We met six times at different locations, mainly at my house. He was relaxed, confident and learnt how to take his pleasure through a willing Ankara travesti sub. He had a big cock and he came easily and copiously. I did not make the most of him nor serve him with proper submission. I was learning to sub and was overly self-protective. I was ashamed to admit my submission and with shame you find deceptions not to do what you know you want and need. He had imaginative ways of humiliating me, on one occasion requiring me to arrive naked at an outdoor rendez-vous. I remember walking across the open front garden, naked and unprotected and being summoned by a whistle to the barn where he awaited me.

He caned me for being late, tied me to a work bench and after playing with me, inserted his cock into my bottom. I was apprehensive and totally subservient. It is what he had the right to do and I made no resistance. He was large, forceful and slowly penetrated me quite deep. I knew my place. I had no power nor desire to resist. I wanted to surrender, and as I was stretched, I welcomed him using me properly as his sub. And then he stopped, withdrew and pushed his cock into my mouth. I was tied, spread across the bench and had no option Ankara travestileri but again I had no wish to resist. I was apprehensive but I sucked. I sense it was my obligation to be opened and fucked from tail to top. His large cock was thick with lust, warm from my arse and tasted so good. It was easy and right and I felt completely right being used at both ends.

Strangely, although I knelt and sucked him, he didn’t penetrate me again. He blew his load across my face and shoulders. I was relieved and flattered. I had done my duty and we ended up sharing coffee and cigars!

I was so relaxed with him on that occasion and hoped we could move on to further pleasures at our next meeting. He called at my farmhouse, had me greet him naked and kneeling and before long was jamming his cock down my throat. It made me gag and struggle, blocked my breathing and I never enjoyed it, but perhaps that is why he did! Then he made me bend over a low wall on a terrace and present my bottom. He shoved his cock into my anus and God, it hurt. Whether it was a lack of lube, the discomfort of the foreplay, or the lack of finesse, I do not know. But I never Travesti ankara managed to take it.

And on another occasion, he took me to my bedroom and belted me with vigour. It was good, he was hugely erect and after shoving it down my throat again for some time, he made me lie on the bed. And I remember turning on my back and fearing he would fuck me in the missionary position. One part of me wanted it. I had been fucked on my back five times and the experiences were good. But this time, I did not want to admit the truth. I did not want to look at him and admit he was my Master. All the parts did not add into the equation of submission. My body enjoyed being belted. I liked anal penetration. I was aroused by the naked confrontation of bottom bowing to Top. But my mind could not acknowledge his Supremacy and declare it to his face as he plowed me into surrender. One part of me stubbornly resisted. And he pumped his seed across my chest, beside my face and onto the sheets. What a waste!

Perhaps I was too defensive. Perhaps I was not ready to admit the truth of my submission, face the reality of me. Perhaps, he should have forced himself inside me and made me howl in surrender. Of course, part of me looks back and wishes he had. And another part believes the reality of learning submission is knowing when you give yourself to the act (which is indulgent and selfish) or to the Master (which is submission of one’s core expressed through the eyes).

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32