Subpar Memories

[Disclaimer:THis is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.]

. . .


I sit in bed tonight and ponder the same questions that have been spinning in my head for the past two year. Then again there is perhaps nothing as bitter or overly dramatic as internal struggle. So let me start in the middle, because that is perhaps the best measure of happiness to which I can compare my current turmoil.

Imagine if you will a younger specimen of myself. A mere girl of 21. My hair was long then, strong thick and a honey blonde that shined even the dim lights of last-to-be-shut-off lamps of the last morning. I would make grand claims of my figure but I won’t even attempt that level of dishonesty. I have always been rather average in that regard, perhaps larger than average breasts with what little meat on my bones a size 14 could provide. Same size as Marilyn Monroe I would repeat when asked, like the comparison somehow made up for the body I had only six years earlier despised completely. By this time my virginity was gone, my dreams of romance long since faded, my joy with the world was alight like a thousand fireflies in the warmth of a summer night. My life was what I can only describe as decadent in every sense of the word.

I remember His body like it was the first thing I ever saw. He was a brick wall of a man: His shoulders broad and muscled, His chest slightly hairy, and the trail of dark curls leading into the top of His low slung jeans. I think perhaps His image has imprinted itself on my sexuality permanently. I remember His hands the most clearly. Even now after so many years I can feel them on my skin like it was a moment ago; their large weight stroking down my back or curving around my hips, cupping one cheek in His large palm before drawing my lips to His.

My greatest moment had to be kneeling between His strong thighs. I looked up into His eyes and the weight of the moment flew completely away and all that was left was the grip of His hand in my hair as He dragged me toward pleasure. The weight of His cock on my tongue was exquisite even as I pulled too much into my mouth too quickly and needed to stop and focus for a moment. I looked up directly into a smirk on His square jaw. He was gorgeous like that, all hard angles and unwavering strength. The taste of His skin quickly deluded to the familiar warmth of my own saliva as I tongued away the flavors I craved. His balls were large and heavy in my hand, the skin slipping and moving over the warm tight orbs inside. The moan that came from His lips was an elixir of aphrodisiacs, shooting right to my stomach and making me circle my hips in ignored need. The blow job alone took up so much of my thoughts and energy that I forgot everything around me. My body hummed with the energy pouring from Him. The tightening fingers in my hair as He guided me up and down the length of His cock brought a moan through my mouth. He answered with a groan from His own. The first salty taste of sticky precum over the back of my tongue was like the first drop of honey before one gorges oneself on the whole jar. In no time His eyes clenched shut against my gaze as He gave over to me the essence of His pleasure. I won’t lie and say it tasted sweet like candy, but it was salty and strangely fulfilling and disturbingly sticky as it clung to the sides and back of my throat. I licked Him clean until He was soft and shiny with my spit as He dangled between His thighs and rested my head against one muscular calf. His fingers combing through my hair is my favorite memory ever. He twisted and petted at the loose curls of my hair as He came down from the height of His ecstasy. I could feel the heat of His skin through His pants against my cheek.

“Good girl.”

How those words unraveled me completely.

“That must have been one hell of a blow job.”

My eyes opened as the words dragged both Him and I from our private moment of enjoyment.

“The key to a good cocksucker is love of the job.” His words were still thick with pleasure and my heart skipped at the compliment. “Isn’t that right?” He looked down at me for confirmation.

I nodded enthusiastically with a grin on my face, “Yes, Sir.”

I could feel the soon to be spoken words as the coursed through the air. I’d had threesomes with men and women at this point but never with Him and never with two men at once. He pulled me up into His lap and I met His lips hungrily. I sat happily perched on one of His legs for a long while, my head pillowed against one of His shoulders, my legs dangling between His. I loved the way I felt dwarfed by His larger body. I was so feminine and frail in comparison to Him, even though I have never been a feinting waif of a girl. At some point my thoughts brought me completely away from the conversation as I raked my fingers up under His shirt and along His bare stomach. He’d long since tucked Himself back inside his pants but my fingers must have reawakened the growing bulge in His jeans. His hand remained around me the other laying across the arm of the recliner and occasionally motioning along with His words. I could sit like that all day, pressed against his warm body, clearly possessed and owned by this wonderful and sexy man. It was getting late in the evening the sun long since set, the television and the room light the only thing keeping us from darkness. At some point my careless yawn must have dragged me momentarily into sleep because His kissed me awake with the gentle ply of His lips. I immediately gave into the kiss, my arms wrapping around him even as his tongue explored my mouth more thoroughly.

They’d decided on something. That much was clear as I slowly regained my senses, well aware of the second pair of eyes on my body.

“I think you should treat Brett.”

There was no mistaking the order in the warm husk at my ear. I hesitated. I knew better but I did and He repeated.

“Go on.”

The second order was never as warm or as proud as the first. I was sad even for this small failure. Part of me was numb with shock the other part alive and zinging with the unfolding events. I stepped out of His arms and immediately corrected myself and slid to my knees with well practiced grace. The warm sound of approval brought me back to the task at hand; I crawled to Brett on hands and knees.

He spread his legs as I approached. I sat back on my heels between his legs.

“May I?”

I could still see the look of shock and excitement in his eyes. Part of him didn’t think that this was possible and yet there I was smiling up at him coyly, asking to unzip his pants.

“Do you want it?” His question made me blush almost as much as the promise in His voice.

“Please, may I suck your cock?”

Brett nodded and I rose up to my knees. I kissed the bulge in his jeans, well aware that He wanted a show as much as He wanted the act itself. I mouthed him gently, kissing and nipping as I exposed his stomach. Brett’s stomach was smooth and hairless, not even a happy trail as I licked at the exposed flesh. I worked his pants and boxers down his thighs even as I kissed and worshipped the smooth plains that were freed from the cloth. His pubic hair was trimmed so short it was faint stubble on his skin and I took my time laving the nearly bare skin. He bucked up against me eagerly. If this was daring I would hate to think what the rest of the experience would be. I admired the smooth growing length even as I rubbed it in my hands, stroking and caressing it in cyclic pulls before I kissed the tip chastely. He groaned so loudly I was startled as I kissed down his shaft and began to suck one pale bare orb into my mouth.

“Shit she’s good.”

I stopped for a moment and licked my lips. “Thank you.”

I returned to my task happily, my mouth taking in first one ball and then the other, my hands caressing and petting up and down his inner thighs and occasionally running my nails over his skin so he’d arch with pleasure.

“No more playing.” His words from behind me made me shiver. Large warm hands guided me to lean on the couch with my arms as I pulled Brett into my mouth. My hips pulled way back until I was essentially on hands and knees spread between them. The hand in the middle of my back had me arch my back appropriately even as my skirt flipped up over the exposed skin of my lower back. The pale unfettered line of my ass made Brett groan again.

“No panties… She is a naughty girl.”

Brett suddenly seemed aware and happy to play the game, his fingered tracing my lips even as I sucked and licked him.

“Before fun comes punishment.”

“For what?” Brett’s question was innocent and with any other Dom would have been completely founded.

“I hesitated to serve Brett and I forgot to kneel as I got out of your lap. I’m sorry, Sir.”

I heard the chuckle behind me and shivered again. Brett seemed distracted from the answer as I deep throated him once before taking my time to inch up and down his cock slowly.

“Twenty.”

The number was small enough for such small infractions. They were a gift.

“Thank you for punishing me. Please spank me.” It was a needy whimper if anyone ever made one. These first twenty would hurt. They were punishment, but after that would be the pure pleasure that only pain could give me.

He pulled the paddle out from beneath the couch; He knew before we even started. He always knew. I straightened and locked my frame, well aware that the paddle was punishment and my reward would be His hand later.

The first blow is never the worse. The second is bad, but the third is by far always the most painful. The first blow is always more shock than pain, the second is real and hurts, and the third you have full faculties to experience the burn before, during and after the actual strike. I groaned and fought not to hump my hips back into the blows. I would stay still as He wanted.

“I didn’t realize you were this warmed up, pet.”

I groaned loudly as he struck me with four successive swats, each heavier than the last. “Thank you, Sir.” I gasped and returned to the blowjob. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. He knew then where I was and the next twenty strokes were every bit of the punishment they needed to be.

“Thank you so much, Sir… Thank you, Master.” I was babbling even as I licked and sucked and stroked the cock in front of me. My ass was in pain and on fire, but I’d been punished: freed of my transgression completely. Then came only the pleasure. His hands gave me just that.

“Shh… good girl. Slow down.” His smooth caress over my red ass made me whimper even as he guided me back and forth in a slow mockery of sex.

“I’m getting close.”

He pulled my hair so I was up and off Brett’s cock. “Just his balls for a while, pet.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I practically purred as He rubbed His hands over the sore spots on my butt and delighted in the rough callous on His palms. He didn’t bother with preparation we both knew that I didn’t need it. Instead He pushed into me in one long and sharp thrust that pushed a moan through my lips, which were currently pressed to the underside of Brett’s scrotum.

“Suck my dick.” Brett’s former shyness left him completely as he guided my head back down his erection. There was no more foreplay here, just the rough, raw fucking that we all wanted desperately. His body slapped against my own as He drove into me, determining the rate at which I serviced His friend.

“Fuck!” Brett held my head as he thrust through his final throws of passion, the sight of my debauchery too much for his aching cock.

He did not slow behind me. Instead, I licked Brett clean with bumpy passes of my tongue as He continued to use me for his pleasure. I gripped His cock with well trained muscles and He groaned appreciatively, digging His fingers deeper in to my hips.

“Good girl.” The grunted exclamation sent shivers down my spine and I rocked back into Him. The sharp twist of my nipples arched my spine appreciatively. He pulled me back, until I was tucked back against His chest, my legs spread wide by His own. I kissed Him over my shoulder even as He ground one thumb into my clit, making me scream with pleasure. I wrapped my arms behind His head reflexively, knowing that He loved me spread out and on display, completely unable to interfere with anything He wanted to do to me. An appreciative growl in my ear told me He noticed the effort. My shirt slipped up over my head quickly, by bra was practically ripped from my chest. A vicious twist of one nipple and then the other and I groaned and tossed my head back onto his shoulder, exposing my neck to the bite that followed. I panted out my pleasure, trying to focus on His orgasm to stave off my own but I quickly realized that’s not what He wanted.

“Please, Master… May I come?”

“Not yet.” The groan told me He was close even if missed the tell tale rough hitch in His thrusts.

“So good….Thank ….you, Sir.”

His hips moved faster and His breath hitched once and then twice before He trusted without control, His cum pouring into my splayed open body.

I moaned at the feeling of the pulse of His cock. That pulse of the warm flesh inside me told me everything that I needed to know.

“Now pet.” He whispered into my ear, grinding his thumb against my clit in rough circles and I came at His fingertips.

For a moment He held me close, stroking me from collarbone to pelvis in long broad swipes of his hands. His fingers caressed below the upper edge of my skirt, which didn’t cover anymore than the tops of my thighs at this point anyway. I captured His lips with my own.

‘Thank you, Sir.” I whispered against His lips into his wide smirk.

I stood and walked to the bathroom, my hips swinging gleefully as I retrieved a wet cloth. Brett looked almost shocked as I smiled up at him and cleaned him quickly with the damp cloth. He didn’t look surprised at all, pride and amusement twinkled in His eyes as I dropped to my knees and lovingly cleaned His cock. I kissed His cock gently as I stroked his balls clean before tucking him back into his pants. My own cleanup waited until last. I jumped into the shower and rinsed off as quickly as possible before I hurried back to the living room to sit as His feet. I loved sitting at His feet. His broad fingers in my hair soothed me, but Brett’s hands pulling me up onto the couch between them downright shocked me. Brett massaged and kneaded the muscles in my lower back and ass, my head lay in His lap as He rubbed my shoulders and stroked over my hair. We spent the night watching movies before He and Brett carried me off to bed.

There is nothing quite like being held between two pairs of strong arms, simultaneously pleasuring two other people and being the focal point of their passion. He never shared me before that night and rarely after, but more than just His body or His hands, more than His smirk, He left the imprint of his entire being on my sexuality.

This is why I’m sitting up tonight; my robe tied around my naked body my head running the circles of memories in tormented loops. It’s not that I want Him back, no. His life and career took him one direction; me and mine took a different path. He wanted something different than I had to offer. He wanted to mean more to me than everything I’d dreamed of until then. I want that feeling back more than anything in the world. I want the safety of His fingers in my hair their grip tight and demanding one moment and soft and teasing the next. I want the press of His body behind me with the press of another in front of me.

Life isn’t that simple though. Passion comes with a price and the things that I want pull further and further away from me and I seek the things that I know I need. I could have pretended that I could give him that importance. Perhaps I should have stayed with Him and said fuck the consequences. But I’d spent fifteen years of my life working toward one goal and an eight month relationship didn’t seem worth the sacrifice, even if I did worship the ground He walked on. I watched Him drive away and didn’t shed a single tear. Relationships are replaceable… lifelong dreams aren’t.

Only two years later what I’ve discovered is that since cutting out all of the discipline and the spankings, since taking away the distraction of sex, I’ve gotten worse. I can’t think… My work is sloppy and unfocused. Some nights I lay awake for hours, my mind spinning and twisting and still unable to make even the most basic of decisions. I’m struggling and failing to do what I’ve always dreamed of doing. Without the ability to let go outside of my career I’ve lost the ability to keep control in it.

Only there aren’t enough hours in the day. Hours I spend drawing and drafting, researching and reading. The vary things that made me a formidable force in my chosen industry leave no time for the ins and outs of a relationship. What Dom would let me work 20 hours a day before crashing for four and doing it all over again. Forget a Dom, what person would want a partner that spends more time in the work room than in her own apartment. No one wants a lover who will constantly cancel dinners and plans, shift everything on its head for work. Hell I couldn’t even get someone to agree with the sharp short angles I cut my hair to, or the tiny self deprecating apartment cluttered with work and no signs of life except a cat in constant need of attention.

So when a dear friend emails me and tells me that I just have to meet this friend of hers, I don’t know what to think. She says that he’s been in the scene for years; lost his sub about six months ago and is looking for something serious now, but what does that mean to me. I’m too busy for a relationship: too dedicated to my job to sacrifice the quality of my work for the quality of my bedroom play. You can’t have it all. No one can. So who am I to string some poor man along knowing full and well that by the time he wants a bigger commitment from me I won’t be willing to give it. But the emails keep coming. Only this newest one isn’t from her it’s from him. And just the tone of the email gives me goose bumps down my spine. He doesn’t say much, just that he’s interested in meeting me after hearing so much from our mutual friends. His words make me think. They make me dream. Despite all of the warning bells about the busy routine I’ve sunk into. I’m worries that I’ll have to choose again. I’m scared out of my mind that I might someday pick someone over my dreams and regret it more than anything else when he leaves. Nothing lasts forever; not even my need to hide from my own desires. They’ll win every time.

Now I can finally sleep with only one question left: what to wear to my friend’s next party.

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