|
The Acolyte: First Seduction
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
I stood at the window, wondering just how I had come to be here. Me, a sex
slave to a beautiful woman! Here I was, a grown man, taken completely out of the life I had known and thrust into one that I could barely have imagined. Well, that's not entirely true--I had imagined it, hadn't I?
***
It all began, really, when I was a tender sixteen years old. I was really
clueless--some said I was a geek--
but I was good-looking enough if very young. I had had only two
girlfriends; there had been very heavy
petting (they seemed to get great pleasure out of my attention to their
breasts and neck), but little else.
Once, in a fit of passion, the second my two lovelies introduced me to the
joys of adult sex--or at least to
basic sex. I was hooked.
***
The summer of between my sophomore and junior years of high school, I
spent much of my time with the
gaming community and with other computer literati. Sex was not a big part
of our lives, and yet there were
women around, and we dated them. Not seriously, but friendly.
One evening, while a party began to wane, I trooped up to the
attic-bedroom of a lady barely known to me,
on the pretense of looking at a new book, sword, or some such. I don't
remember now. Oddly enough, I
followed her without thought to her Athenic beauty; tall, statuesque,
chiseled and blonde, she was the
Norse equivalent of the Greek ideal. She was only nineteen, but capable
and sure in most things, but not
everything. She moved with a cat-like grace, bounding up the stairs two at
a time. In anticipation, as it
turned out.
There, in the web of her ambush, I innocently perused the dusty volume she
had shown to me, finding it
vaguely but not particularly interesting. After several minutes of
scanning it for some sign of importance,
or perhaps of interest, I looked up. Something was wrong. Not wrong in the
critical--life-in-the-balance
kind of wrong, but wrong in the sense of unusual. Wrong as in surprise.
"Well, maybe it's not so interesting," she began.
I didn't say anything; I had no experience against which to measure the
feelings now coursing like black
lightening through my soul. It was a feeling I would learn to savor and
even to crave. But for now it was
alien, and I stood frozen. She was there, not far away, and there was
something in the air that was
unfamiliar. I remained poised, like a deer caught in the headlights of an
oncoming car.
"But there is something else that is more so." She seemed to purr out the
words.
Still I remained frozen, unable to move. I felt an uncontrollable urge to
turn about, but an equal one pulling
me in the opposite direction. The two forces canceled exactly, and I
remained rooted to the floor.
"Put the book down." The words etched themselves on my consciousness,
leaving smoking engravings on
the part of my brain that was, and is, in charge of sexual response.
Slowly, completely compelled, I put the
book down. Even more paralyzed, my eyes remained glued to it, in
fascination, as if it was the cause of my
new, alien response. A few hundred heartbeats seemed to pass, though it
seemed like hours. A faint shiver
ran through my system; perhaps goose bumps dotted my flesh. I don't know.
The spell was temporarily
broken by the soft sound of the door closing, sealing this world, her
world, from the dying noise of the
party. At the break in the spell I found myself finally released from the
compulsion, and I turned to flee.
I don't know, even to this day, why I determined to flee. Perhaps it was
the masculine side of my mind
striving against control; I don't know. There is something of it still
with me today, something that spices
my encounters with Alana and her friends. In any case I did turn to flee,
but turned directly into her strong
arms, arms that bound me for an instant, and then, as I turned my face
into hers intending a challenge, she
planted a full, passionate kiss on my stunned lips.
I did not return the kiss, but offered only passive resistance. She rose
to the challenge, forcing her tongue
deeper into my mouth, trying to gain my acquiescence. I could not. I was
too young, and too surprised. But
nor could I flee.
***
Her arms still securely around me, she guided me to the bed and, tongue
still gliding over my neck, ears
and still resistant lips. She unbuttoned my shirt, planting unreturned
caresses along my neck, chest, and
stomach. Her touch should have brought electricity, but instead it brought
only more defiance. She pulled
away from me slightly, her weight pressed against me, while we both lay in
her bed. She looked at me with
some annoyance, and I began to sense that perhaps this was very, very
different from the encounters I had
had before. Slowly, she pulled my shirt above my head, but did not remove
the sleeves from my wrists,
pinning them. She smiled as I began to realize my position, smiling at the
submission she had won.
"Don't move." Now she really purred. "Don't say a word. I want your
body--and I've made it mine. Tonight
I will take my pleasure with you, and you will do nothing to resist me." I
started to say something in
response, but the words died in my throat as her spell wove itself
completely around me. She pulled my
arms tight above my head, instructing me to leave them there and not to
move them. As if in a fog, I
complied.
Her bed was a futon stretched out on the floor; hard and flat. This was
something I had only sensed in that
gray fog of semiconsciousness that plays in the dark recesses of human
sexuality. Satisfied with her spell,
she then stood above me, legs astride my now helpless form, taking
pleasure in her towering presence of
command. Looking me directly in the eye, she reached down and fluidly
removed her T-shirt, revealing
ample, rounded breasts whose large aureole sported very interested
nipples. Tossing the shirt aside, she
played her hands up her jeaned hips and onto her waist, continuing upwards
until they massaged those
transfixing breasts and teasing her own nipples. She smiled at me,
noticing perhaps that my breathing had
shallowed.
Stepping cat-like to one side, she shed her jeans in a single motion.
There were no panties beneath, and her
blonde bush beckoned with slippery promise. I had never seen a _real_
blonde before, and I nearly lost
control. A stern look from her forestalled my error, and she again stood
above me, legs apart, allowing my
eyes to play up the long calves and shapely thighs. Teasingly, she began
to move her hands over her body,
slowly, caressing her own legs, her waist, and her hips. Then, with
deliberate slowness, she moved one
hand between her legs, spreading herself above me, playing with her soft
folds. Her other hand played up
to her breast, gently coaxing the nipple further. Ripples of pleasure
played across her body, and she arched
her head upwards in an obvious orgasm.
It was too much for me. I gasped as she did, not spilling come, but with
surprise. I was not conscious of my
hardness pressing against the confines of my shorts and jeans; I was
literally overwhelmed with this
encounter by feminine surety and nearly coughed out my surprise. Pouncing
like a tigress, she collapsed
upon me at once, obviously furious. With one hand she held my arms firmly,
pinning them by grabbing the
shirt that still bound them together. Her weight came down upon me,
pinning my midsection, capturing the
head of my swollen cock. She glared at me through with all the intensity
that her green eyes could muster,
which was considerable, and her other hand shot behind her and captured my
balls, even through the jeans.
All of this in a fraction of a second. The speed of the attack had thrown
me completely off track--as was
her intent. A few moments passed with her eyes still boring into my soul
before she spoke. It was like I had
waited for five years for her to talk when she finally began.
"I told you," she started in a low monotone, a full octave below her
normal husky tone, "I told you not to
move and not to speak." She waited for several moments for her domination
to sink in. "You will not
disobey me again, or you will leave here without coming, and with a great
deal of discomfort." She
squeezed my balls hard, for emphasis. No one had ever done it before, and
it got my attention like nothing
else ever had. "And just for that, you'll service my pussy until the break
of dawn, when I may let you
come." She paused in thought, and then continued, "And if you move, even
once more, you'll pay the price.
I am not playing--don't move."
Too many conflicting thoughts ran through my head--I couldn't focus on any
of them and in the end, there
was only one thing to do--submit. And so I laid perfectly, rigidly still
as she removed the belt from my
jeans and firmly tied my wrists together. She removed my jeans with the
precision of a skilled craftsman,
deftly sliding the cloth from each leg without hindrance. She deliberately
positioned her pussy only inches
from my face as she bound my legs together, my jockey shorts still in
place. I ached for her; I ached to run
my tongue over her blonde delight. It was to be the first time for me,
making love to a woman's sex this
way, but it was not to happen for a time yet.
Pausing to allow the musk of her scent overpower my nostrils, she slowly
rose to a kneeling position,
drawing a knife from a hidden place near the futon. I strained to see
through the arch of her pussy and
thighs, and my heart skipped several beats as the blade descended towards
my genitals. Quickly, surgically,
she cut the jockeys from my hips, drawing the remnants of them from under
my ass. She then rose, using
the severed underwear as a blindfold, affixing it in place with a pin from
her hair.
"Hmmm," she purred again, now happy with the situation. "How nice and
helpless you are." Something
hard and cold touched my inner thigh--I could not tell what it was. I
nearly gasped, and she caught the
near-failure, offering one more, perhaps the last, warning. "Don't even
think of making a single sound--not
even a gasping breath." Next, soft fingers played over my neck and
shoulders, working down to the
nipples. Later, they would be captured in close pins, but not tonight.
That particular test was completely
unknown to me, so it did not cross my imagination, though it might have
passed by hers. Testing, she
played with my body, sensing that I preferred the soft, light touches.
These caused maximum reaction, just
barely short of the limit she challenged me to break. She teased me to
hardness for a long time, and then,
pausing only long enough to shift position, straddled my head.
Her scent and her sex surrounded me powerfully as she played along my
inner thighs. Her sex hovered
very close to my face; exactly how close I could not tell but it was
close. She then played a very light,
almost hair-like caress across the underside of my balls, and I was
undone. I gasped sharply.
Now angry, with a reaction that matched her earlier shift between soft and
rock-hard, she delivered a
single, very sharp blow to my balls. It was not hard, but sharp enough to
cause me to convulse forward
with the surprise of it. I came forward directly into her pussy, smearing
my face with her juices as I tried to
marshal against the surprise and startlingly low level of pain. She leaped
from my face, for several awful
moments I did not know what to do. Was the scene over? What was I to do?
The answer was not long in coming. Her husky voice ambushed me out of the
darkness of my blindfolded
reverie. "You were warned, and now, having ignored my wishes and shown
that you have no discipline, I
will teach you something you need to learn." Gruffly, she rolled me over
onto my stomach, while warning
me not to cry out. "Remember," she said, "if you cry out it will only be
worse." Several very short
millennia passed before the first narrow, sharp line of pain chiseled
itself across my buttocks. She was
using some sort of narrow rod, made of who knows what, something that was
flexible enough to transmit
an incredible amount of stored energy directly into my exposed ass-flesh,
leaving a bright red streak. I very
nearly did cry out, but some part of my consciousness forced the cry down
my throat, barely in time. A few
moments passed, and she cooed, "Now then. You will receive five strokes
for being a very poor boy-toy.
If, during any of those five strokes you cry out, you will receive three
more for each cry." A few more
moments passed before she purred, "Ready?"
She put some good force into the four remaining strokes, but not as much
as the first one. I was able to
stand the humiliation of it, and in fact had exactly the opposite reaction
to what I would have expected. My
cock actually pressed against itself, threatening to burst. During the
strokes her breathing became irregular,
and excited, she was unable to continue full-heartedly and as soon as the
fifth stroke had been laid, she
rolled me over and in one motion impaled herself upon me. We both came
immediately.
***
A long time passed before she stirred, this amazon who completely
possessed me. She removed my
blindfold, tossing it aside casually, peering at me through slitted cat's
eyes. She seemed to consider
something for a long time, and then slowly began. "As I remember, my fine
sex pet, you have a debt to
fulfill."
|
|