Tales of MU

In Which Mackenzie’s Still Extant Sexual Hang-Ups Present A Wasted Opportunity In Light Of The Chapter Number

The slow strip-tease was another in a line of moments that felt like they should have been really awkward but weren’t. It was a little awkward, because I was in the process of immersing myself in submission and not quite there, and because there was a chance that Dee had heard the beginning of it…

…and because it was me, and while I was more than okay with taking off my clothes in front of my lovers, I was by no means a natural born stripper.

Taking off my clothes was something I regarded as part of the process of getting to sexy fun times. I didn’t know how to make it sexy.

Ian had said to go as slowly as I could. I didn’t take that literally, because no matter how slowly I went I could always move slower… unless one took it that there was an implied “without stopping” in there somewhere, but by the time I reached that conclusion I realized that I was possibly overthinking things.

And, astonishingly enough, I was still moving while doing so. I had my shirt up and over my shoulders. Deciding to focus on what I was doing instead of the semantic ramifications of it all, I carefully pulled one arm out of it, then used that hand to pull the top up off my head and then down the length of the other arm. Was that sexy? I didn’t know. Trying to be consciously seductive just made me feel self-conscious.

I tried turning away from Ian while I started to take my bra my off so I could turn around for the reveal, but then I realized that meant he was watching me fumble with the clasp so I turned back around.

Ian said nothing, and there was nothing in his expression except mild interest. I got my bra off, then started to undo my jeans. I had just got them down off my hips when I realized that I wouldn’t be able to get them past my shoes.

I really needed to start getting in the habit of taking those off as soon as I entered the room. Or maybe start wearing the kind of shoes that can be slipped on and off with a thought. I’d always thought of sneakers as being practical footwear by definition, but there was the question of “practical for what purpose?” when getting in and out of clothes in an artful way was part of your existence.

Obviously neither I nor the world of breakable things was ready for me to step out in heels all the time, but Two had some shoes that looked like dainty little slippers that I could probably manage to walk in without killing anyone, especially now that I didn’t have to walk up and down several flights of stairs several times a day.

Maybe if I asked her for help in finding something in a flat-sole that halfway suited me, it would sate her need to improve my dress.

“Problem?” Ian said.

This time I had stopped moving. I had my hands on my jeans, and wasn’t sure if I should pull them back up or keep going and let them bunch around my ankles while I dealt with my shoes. In a moment of panic I decided to split the difference and let go, leaving them more or less where they were while I dealt with the obstruction down the line.

This was probably about the nadir of sexiness in the whole procedure… there’s a subtle difference between baring one’s backside and having it hanging out, and the latter is never going to be as appealing as the former.

Also, a pair of jeans slipping down around one’s knees can pretty confining. Or they would have been, if they’d been stronger than me. One errant flex ended up blowing out the seam most of the way down one leg, and the shock of that sent me tumbling backwards.

Yeah, high heels were definitely not in my future. Not when I could barely manage long pants.

I didn’t blame Ian for laughing. I didn’t appreciate it, but I couldn’t hold it against him. Some situations are just inherently funny as long as no one is injured, and any situation that can be described with the phrase “exploding pants” probably qualifies. After a long moment of stunned silence, I laughed, too. It beat crying.

“Has anybody ever told you that you have a real talent?” Ian asked.

“For destroying clothes or for falling on my ass?” I asked.

“Both,” he said.

“Hey, I wore my nicest shirt for a quarter of a day and it made it out alive,” I said. “So I’m going to call this a win.”

“Stay right where you are,” Ian said. “Don’t move a muscle.”

I moved no more muscles than were necessary to get myself propped semi-upright in a position I could hold for as long as Ian wanted, and he knelt down beside me and finished getting my shoes off. He ripped my jeans the rest of the way down, then made a brief effort at tearing the other leg before deciding to pull them off in a more conventional way. That left me naked except my socks and panties.

Socks were the other awkward sticking point of stripping. They didn’t necessarily get in the way of sex, but nudity plus socks seemed oddly incomplete and accidental. People naked except for their socks looked like they’d lost their clothing somehow, not like they’d taken it off. But there was no sexy way to take them off.

Maybe that was why people wore long stockings… it wasn’t just that they looked more attractive on a pair of legs, but they also looked better coming off. I was not and would probably never be the frilly underwear type, but maybe I could look into some longer and less plainly utilitarian hosiery.

Although bending over and pulling off a pair of tube socks was among the least erotic acts of disrobing imaginable, there was something about having someone pulling a sock off your foot that transformed it into an erotic act. In the same way that socks left on looked accidental, taking them off seemed deliberate… it was a way of saying yes, I’m going to personally see to it that you are this much more naked.

“Did you lock the door when you came in?” Ian asked me as he threw my second sock away over his shoulder.

“Yes,” I said. There wasn’t even a momentary blip of fear or uncertainty there. After a year of dorm life, it was force of habit. Twisting the knob to lock it was part of the act of closing a dorm door.

“You said that Steff’s using you this weekend?”

“Yes.”

“From the time she’s done with you, no getting off for a week,” Ian said. “But I think this was a little too easy for you. I want you to play with yourself every night before you go to sleep.”

I blushed. That would be harder, and not just because it increased the danger of inadvertently breaking the injunction. Getting started would be as difficult as stopping, if not more so.

Masturbation was not a habit I’d ever acquired, at least while I was awake and aware of what I was doing. I was a lot less hung up on sex in general, and even sex involving me in particular, than I had been. I no longer reflexively thought of myself as dirty… but thinking and feeling were not the same thing. For that matter, thinking and knowing were different things, and whatever I thought and how often I thought it, it would take a long time to erase the knowledge that had been chiseled down deep in the base of my brain but my grandmother’s loving hands.

I had taken too long in responding, so Ian slapped me on the cheek. He was careful to avoid my mouth… my demon-teeth weren’t sharp, but they were magic enough to split my lip if it was driven into them.

“Do you have a problem with my orders, cunt?” he said.

“No,” I said. The single sounded naked and abrupt, but Ian and had tried and then vetoed the style Sir and hadn’t given me anything else to use in its place.

“Then you will obey them?” he asked. “You will obey me?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Because I talked to Amaranth, and she told me she’s decided the next condition for wearing her collar… I think this will help you work your way up to it.”

“What… what is it?” I asked. I couldn’t really imagine what she had in mind. I couldn’t see how pleasuring myself would be a condition, and while I wasn’t terribly… deliberate… about it, I had always been pretty good at pleasing Amaranth with my hands.

“She told me I could tell you,” Ian said. “But I think she should do that. Now, you owe me one more service before your term is officially up, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes, Master.”

“Yes, Master,” I repeated dutifully.

“No… I don’t like that one either,” Ian said. “Sorry. Maybe just my name?”

“Yes, Ian,” I said.

“Perfect,” he said.

Three nights in a row of oral sex… it really was something I felt like I could get used to. The old saying about giving being better than receiving came to mind. It just suited me.

While the last thing I wanted to do was bring my father into my bedroom, the knowledge that he saw it as a betrayal of my demon nature only made it better.

My grandmother had treated me as little more than a beast. She’d controlled me with fear and locks. But here I was with absolutely nothing between me and a human being… his flesh in my mouth, hot and swollen with blood. My teeth just touching his meat.

And the only thing I wanted to do was please him, serve him.

Also, I felt less… for lack of a better word… dirty about going down on Ian than I did a lot of the other things I could do in the bedroom. It was intimate. It was meaningful and fulfilling.
There was no purely physical pleasure on my part to bring any aftershock of guilt or shame, and there was very little mess.

Maybe it would have been better if I didn’t feel bad about sex at all, but coming to terms with my sexuality meant I had to come to terms with everything. Sex would probably always be dirty to me. But there was a vast country spreading out between the extremes of recoiling from that dirtiness and wallowing in it, and in that country there some pretty pleasant vacation spots.

So I sucked Ian’s dick for all that I was worth, and that was quite a bit. We did it right there on the floor, him sitting with his legs splayed and me crouching before him, my head bobbing up and down in his lap. He was less active than he had been the other times. It was like he’d made his point and now it could be understood that whichever of us was moving more, he was ultimately responsible for it. It was at his direction and he was in control.

My mouth went up and down the length of his shaft, and it do so at his pleasure as much as for it.

After he finished, there was a lot of holding and cuddling, still down on the floor. All boasting aside, Ian wasn’t an automaton and his frail mortal flesh couldn’t make good on his promise right away. All mortality aside, he was a nineteen year old boy and it didn’t take him long.

When it came to positions, we were pretty unoriginal. There had been a phase after Ian had realized that my arm strength was more than enough to support my weight where he’d wanted to do things with me upside down or hanging from various things, but we’d run into problems of balance, coordination, and control. Apart from the risk of damage to the dorm room and its furniture, anything too gymnastic in nature now tripped my embarrassment triggers a little too hard. We mostly just stuck to the classics, which were, after all, classics for a reason.

Anything that put the man on top was appealing for obvious reasons, but since Ian had no inclination to move things along in the direction of the bed, he did it from behind instead. I was getting so many opportunities to appreciate Amaranth’s care in picking out deep, plush material for the floor of our dorm room.

I thought I understood his reasoning… or what was going through his head, since reason probably didn’t exactly enter into it. He’d offered the bed to Dee. Even though she’d turned him down, there was probably still some fragment of an image of her in his mind that he was avoiding, whether because she was naked and not his girlfriend or because she’d seemed so drained or some combination of that all together.

I didn’t mind. The bed had its uses, but we had a whole big… well, we had a room, anyway, and there was enough space between the love seat and the wall for me to get down on my hands and knees and Ian to crouch behind me.

Ian had both enthusiasm and stamina, but the quirk of male sexuality was that the former could win out over the latter in the blink of… well, the blink of something. Ian liked to practice-control, sometimes almost to the point of self-denial. It was his way of sticking it to his father, I supposed, or at least proving to himself that they were different.

Going again so soon probably helped there, but it seemed like he didn’t need much help. He was taking his time, exercising a level of proficiency at the slow burn that Amaranth would have approved of.

For my part, I might have appreciated his skillful, uh… hand… a lot more if I hadn’t spent the past two nights being teased and fondled and played with for the promise of a big payoff if I was good. I’d been good… I’d been better than good… and now Ian’s thick cock was thrusting into me, but he seemed to be doing it just fast enough to keep the whole thing going, and not quite hard enough to get anywhere.

It was like he was digging around for every last ounce of desire, every bit of desperate need I had packed away somewhere.

It felt good, but lots of things felt good. I didn’t want good, I wanted… needed… something a bit more explosive. I needed the relief.

I tried to figure out how to voice this longing, but when I opened my mouth it came out as a sort of… well… whine.

“You’re a horny little cunt, aren’t you?” Ian said.

“Yes, Ian,” I breathed, and my hips rocked backwards as I said this. It wasn’t a conscious decision, it was more like my body decided to act out the words. It helped, a little bit. I did it some more. “Yes, I am.”

“You think I should let you come?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s not up to you, though, is it?”

“You promised,” I said. I tried to thrust back against his thrusts, but he just switched to move with me.

“So I have to?”

“No,” I admitted.

“No, what?”

“No, Ian.”

“I’ll let you finish,” he said, “if you’ll give up underwear for a week.”

That gave me pause… and after that pause, a full stop. I was going shopping with Steff and Two in a couple days.

“I need to try on clothes,” I said.

“Take a pair with you,” he said. “But no wearing them outside the dressing room. It’s not a big thing. You mostly wear jeans anyway. No one will know, except for us.”

I did mostly wear jeans, and Amaranth had me mostly wearing tight jeans. Chafing was a small problem, though since the crotch of my pants weren’t a magical weapon it was more a matter of distraction than discomfort.

And Steff liked me in skirts. That wouldn’t normally be a problem, but we were planning on going out…

“If I told you not to wear underwear regardless, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?” Ian asked. “Even if I decided to pull out and finish myself some other way, or something. You’d do it.”

“Yes, Ian,” I said.

Of course I would. All the same thoughts would be going through my head, but all the little objections and obstacles my brain threw up didn’t matter. They didn’t matter because none of them were things that mattered, in the long run. They wouldn’t endanger anyone or screw up my grades, and the relief that came from submitting was better and deeper and more important than the relief of knowing there was an extra bit of cotton covering my lady-bits.

“Well, I’m being nice and giving you a choice,” he said, and there was as a knowing edge to his voice.

What passed for Ian’s sadistic streak was usually a lot more straightforward. It was less a matter of liking pain and more a matter of dominance expressed through other means. There was a kind of cruelty here, although it was a playful one.

“Just kidding,” he said, and then he pulled me back while he thrust in hard.

It wasn’t over then and there, of course. He was just getting started. It was what you might call the beginning of the end, though. I could feel it building up inside me, and after three days of close encounters, near brushes, and false starts, there wasn’t much assembly required.

When it broke, I broke with it. My arms gave out and I collapsed, body wracked with what might have been called sobs if I’d been crying. Ian kept right on going, plowing away with more workman-like vigor until he was done, then he held me and gently shushed me. I realized that I was crying… well, sex did that, sometimes.

Emotion was emotion, and if it was strong enough the eyes didn’t care what it was.

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Characters: Ian, Mackenzie