Basement Surrender: My First Raw Submission
The basement of the family couture house in Paris’s 6th arrondissement. Dim light filters through a high window. Everyone gone. Five o’clock. My heart hammers. J. told me to stay. No turning back now. Stomach twists—fear, thrill. The morning grope in the supply store replays: his body pinning mine between shelves, hands gripping my waist, my ass pressing back, a soft moan escaping. Wet already then. Now, alone down here, skirt hugging hips, black dress strict but teasing. He said obey fully. Our game with my boyfriend. Submit for him. But this pull… mine too. Steps above. Door creaks. Breath catches.
He descends. Eyes lock, hungry. No words. Behind me fast. Body heat hits. Arms snake waist, crush me back. Hard bulge grinds my ass. I arch. Gasp. Hands hike dress. Fingers hook red silk thong, yank down. Cool air kisses slick pussy lips. He steps back. Stares. ‘Touch yourself,’ rough voice. I do. Fingers circle clit, slippery. He kneels. Tongue dives in—hot, flat laps. ‘Delicious slut.’ Fingers in mouth, suck them. My hand fumbles his pants, strokes thick cock through fabric. Him dressed, me exposed. Vulnerable rush.
The Approach
Up now. Dress off. Naked. To the table. Bend over, ass high, legs spread. Holes offered. Tongue rims asshole, probes. Fingers too—one, two. ‘Arch more.’ Hand presses low back. Slap—sharp on cheek. Sting blooms, skin heats. Harder slaps. Bruise fire. Fingers plunge pussy, ass. Twist deep. Pull hair back. Yelps muffled by his palm. Body shakes—pain spikes pleasure. Electric. Sweat slicks skin. Fingers curl inside, hit spots. Scream builds. He stops abrupt. Eyes me like prey. But pulls out. Enough for first time. Dress on. Escape upstairs. Pulse thunders.
The Instant
Home. Boyfriend waits. Panties off, as ordered. On bed, eyes dark. He holds me, licks cum-tinged pussy while I spill details. His cock throbs against me. Love swells, but shadow creeps. Didn’t go all way. Yet guilt gnaws. Assumed too much? Next day, dread work. J.’s gaze burns. Two days later, he calls stay again. Boyfriend okays—suck, no fuck. But rules shatter. Blindfold. Kneel. Cock rams throat. Gags, drool. On all fours, ass up. Slaps rain. Then—thrust. Fills pussy brutal. No prep. Pounds. Table next, legs wide. Fingers ass, promises next time. Fills me with cum. Drained, owned.
Why ghost him after? Lied—said no sex that night. Rage? Shame? His game broke us—offered me like toy. Or J. claimed me fully. Innocence cracked forever. Heart still races recalling. Puit du dragon, June-August 2007.
