Chapter 2 part 4 A Submissive Female Of New York City

                              Chapter 2 part 4
A Submissive Female Of New York City


1982 it was. Fall.

Phil spent every afternoon alone. Both his parents were at work. His big brother went to a different school now. He didn't come home until late, late in the evening.

Phil was hungry. He opened the freezer. He saw ice cream! Tasty. He served himself a big bowl.

It was very good. He served himself another bowl. And another.

He was still hungry. He helped himself to some buttered toast. And more. And more.

1983 it was. Winter.

Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, please come put a penny in the old man's hat, went the record.

"Christmas is coming, and guess who's getting fat? Ha! Ha! Ha!" Phil's older brother loved making jokes like that.

Filled with a sudden, violent rage, Phil grabbed his piggy bank and threw it at his brother. It missed him by inches and hit the wall, shattering into fragments.

Their mother, hearing the loud crashing noise, found them seconds later, staring at each other, one face appalled, the other livid. The floor was filled with broken glass and scattered coins.

Phil never forgot his mother's face, filled with rage, mottled rage, the kind that makes you cower and run to the cellar, her eyes wide open, glaring like a tiger.

"I hate you!" she screamed. "I hate you from the bottom of my heart!"

1985 it was. Summer.

Phil and his mother were looking at the family photo albums.

"What happened to the cute little boy I used to have?" she scolded, pointing to an earlier incarnation. "Look at you now. You're like a barrel!"

Phil put his emotions in check. He would not let her see him cry.

"You are going on a diet right now. No more excuses. And no more books for you. You should run around and play, not sit around all day reading. Go run around the block five times, or no dinner for you."

Phil arrived late to dinner, heaving and exhausted. There were glasses of orange pop for the others, but water for him. Dinner was his favorite food, spaghetti, but he was served only half a plate.

"Stop gobbling like that!" his mother scolded. "No wonder you look like a barrel."

"Why can't you chew your food?" asked his father.

Phil tried to reach for a second helping, but his mother slapped his hand away. He was not permitted dessert, which everyone else ate with relish.

At one in the morning, Phil's stomach was growling. He snuck into the kitchen and devoured half of a box of cookies his mother had hidden in the pantry.

Entering his hotel, Phil noticed the staff giving them knowing looks.

They think...they think you're a prostitute, he said to Sue.

Let them, she replied. She unzipped the dress before even stepping into the elevator. When they reached the room, she pulled off her panties and left them on the doorknob, a racy do not disturb sign.

And there she was, nude, and Phil was falling on the bed, and she was falling on top of him, and those luscious tits were on his mouth.

He sucked them, they tasted so good, her scent and her hair were all around him, she was kissing him on the forehead, cradling him against her, whispering in his ears.

He'd done this before, in lap dances, but only for a few, precious minutes, with the merciless timer running, before the inevitable moment when he was asked for another twenty to go on. Sue never got tired of cradling him. She cooed at him as he suckled, stroking his hair, caressing his cheeks, nuzzling his ears.

Even for the most mature man, taking breast into mouth is fundamentally maternal. Deep memories of old feedings come back, a return to the safety and security of the earliest times on this earth. Sue felt this too. Soon she was murmuring, "suck it baby. Suck mommy's tits. Good boy." It felt right. It felt special, and close. Phil thought of his own mother. That memory sent a shiver down his spine, but now he had a comforting teat to banish the old anxieties.

When he finally let Sue go, she looked at his crotch and giggled. There was a visible wet spot on its front.

Only now did he take a good look at Sue's nude body. She didn't have the innocent, princess-like look of a girl. It was the hard, rough edge of a woman who knew her way around. Her tits were big and motherly, with deep dark aureoles. Her pubic hair was brown, even though the hair on her head was blonde. It must have been dyed.

You know, although technically you're not a virgin, emotionally you are one, aren't you? she asked.

"I guess so. You're the only person to come to bed with me for free."

"So if I do this right, you're going to remember this night for the rest of your life," Sue reflected. "My cunt is wet just thinking about it that way."

Phil shivered at the blatancy of the forbidden word cunt. They'd used it before online, of course, but it was another thing to hear it out loud. Sue was already thrusting her fingers into hers.

Desire touched Phil. Masseuses let you touch their pussies, but, since the man is lying down and the girl standing, he hadn't been able to explore them, just stroke the outside a bit.

He wanted to invade Sue's space, invade her body, treat her as the plaything he had always craved. "Say it out loud," Sue reminded him, guessing what he was thinking.

"I want to... to molest you," Phil said, finally settling on the right word.

"Don't worry about getting me off," said Sue. "Just take whatever you want."

"But don't I have to give you—"

"No. You don't. I'm a submissive. I take pleasure from your pleasure."

Phil was too horny and too male to dispute the point. He slid his fingers inside her, poking, probing, penetrating. She was putty in his hands. He dug deeper, curling his fingers, finding something soft and leathery.

She moaned as he stroked it.

Phil jammed his hand in harder. He put his left hand on her outer folds and pinched her clit, far from gently. He began to play with her private parts, as a boy might play with modeling clay. He squeezed her clit. She yelped. He pinched it. She screamed. Then he wiggled it between his fingers, while slicing into her cunt with his right hand.

And he had her, rolling and tossing her head, her entire body shaking. So intense was she that he felt his own erection diminishing a bit. He pulled his fingers out, dripping with liquid, his nose wrinkling a little at the smell.

Sue lay prostrate. "Holy fuck. Do you do this with your whores?"

To be continued