Chapter 1: First Taste of Submission
The lamp on the nightstand cast a soft, honeyed glow, painting long, shifting shadows across the walls. The air in the bedroom was still and warm, thick with the smell of sex and their own mingled sweat. The sheets were a tangled wreck at the foot of the bed.
Brittany traced the line of Tyler’s spine, her finger skating over the damp, defined muscles of his lower back. He was face down, his body a landscape of exhaustion and satisfaction. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, nervous rhythm that felt too loud for the quiet room.
“You still with me?” Tyler’s voice was a low, rough murmur against the pillow.
“Yeah,” she breathed. Her throat was tight.
He shifted, rolling onto his side to look at her. The lamplight caught the gold in his wavy hair and the earnest depth in his brown eyes. “You’re thinking about it.”
She nodded, unable to form words. He’d brought it up a week ago, casually, while they were washing dishes. I think it would be hot. The idea had sent a jolt through her system, equal parts terror and a dark, curious thrill.
“We don’t have to,” he said, his hand finding hers, lacing their fingers together. His touch was solid, familiar. “Seriously. Only if you want to.”
“I want to want to,” she whispered, and it was the truth. She loved him. She loved the way he looked at her, like she was the only puzzle he ever wanted to solve. She loved his adventurous streak, even when it scared her. She wanted to give him this, to be that person for him.
He smiled, a slow, understanding curl of his lips. “Then just… see. No pressure. Just see how it feels.”
He moved then, turning away from her and settling onto his hands and knees. The position was submissive, but there was nothing weak about the powerful curve of his back, the solid swell of his shoulders. He arched his spine, presenting himself to her. The sight was intensely intimate, profoundly vulnerable. Her mouth went dry.
She knelt behind him, the mattress dipping under her weight. The silence stretched, filled only by the sound of their breathing. She could see the tight, dark ring of muscle clenched tight against the smooth, tanned skin of his ass. It seemed impossibly small. Forbidden.
Her first touch was just a breath, the very tip of her tongue, a hesitant, fleeting stroke.
Tyler jolted. A sharp, ragged gasp tore from his throat.
She flinched back. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. God, no. Don’t stop.”
The raw need in his voice unraveled something in her. The nervous flutter in her chest began to morph into something else, something hotter and more focused. She leaned in again, her long brown hair falling like a curtain around her face. This time, she was less tentative. She pressed her tongue flat against him, laving the tight bud with a firm, slow stroke.
His whole body shuddered. A deep, guttural moan rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. “Fuck, Brittany.”
The sound went straight through her, a lightning strike to her core. Her own nervousness evaporated, burned away by the heat of his reaction. This wasn’t her performing a strange task; this was her unlocking a part of him. Her curiosity ignited, turning hungry.
She explored him with her mouth, learning the texture, the taste—clean skin and something uniquely, essentially him. She traced circles around the rim before pushing the very point of her tongue against it, feeling the impossible tightness give way just a fraction.
His moans became a continuous, broken stream. His hands fisted in the sheets. “Yes. Right there. Oh, god, right there.”
He was falling apart beneath her, and she was the cause. Power, heady and intoxicating, surged through her. She worked him with a new confidence, her tongue relentless, her own breath coming in quick pants now. She could feel the tension coiling in his body, the desperate tremors in his thick thighs.
“I’m close,” he choked out, the words strained. “So close. Don’t stop.”
She didn’t. She drove him on, her movements becoming sure and demanding. This was what he wanted. This was what she could give him. Her world narrowed to this single point of connection, to the sounds he was making, to the thrilling, dark warmth spreading through her own body.
With a final, shuddering cry, his body seized. He collapsed onto the mattress, spent and breathing in ragged gulps.
Brittany sat back on her heels, her lips tingling, her heart pounding a triumphant, savage rhythm. She watched the powerful rise and fall of his back, the utter stillness that followed the storm.
He rolled over, his eyes hazy and unfocused. He looked at her, really looked at her, and a slow, dazed smile spread across his face. “That was…”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. The awe in his expression said everything.
A smile touched her own lips, small and secret. The nervous girl from ten minutes ago was gone. In her place was a woman who had discovered a new, potent language. And she was suddenly, fiercely eager to learn more.
And she was suddenly, fiercely eager to learn more.
A slow, dazed grin spread across Tyler’s face. He was still breathing heavily, his chest glistening. “Wow,” he breathed, the word full of wonder. He reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek. “That was… I don’t even have words. I loved it.”
He shifted before she could reply, moving with a renewed energy that belied his recent release. He got back onto his knees, assuming that vulnerable, offering position once more. But this time it was different. There was no hesitation in his body, only a raw, open want.
“More,” he said, his voice a low command tangled with a plea. He spread his legs wider, sinking his shoulders down into the mattress, arching his back even deeper. The presentation was deliberate, complete. The tight ring she had teased was now softer, glistening and relaxed from her attention.
A fresh wave of heat flooded through her. This was her doing. She had done this to him. She moved behind him, her own desire a sharp, answering pull low in her belly. She didn’t pause. She leaned in and pressed her face into him, her tongue finding its home with an instinct that surprised her.
It was wetter, hotter than before. She licked into him with a deep, probing rhythm, her tongue working past the initial resistance. Her free hand reached around his hip, her fingers gently closing around the base of his thick, veiny penis. It was already hard again, heavy and hot in her palm. She began to tug in a slow, steady stroke, matching the pace of her tongue.
Tyler cried out, a broken, guttural sound. His body tensed, then shuddered violently. A deep, internal pressure released, not in a single event but in a series of them. A warm, dense puff of air escaped into her mouth, filling it with an intimate, musky warmth.
She didn’t pull back.
The gas came again, another soft, deep release that bloomed on her tongue. It was the most primal, unfiltered part of him, and instead of repulsion, a dizzying intoxication swept through her. This was total surrender. This was him, completely out of control because of her.
She drove her tongue deeper, fucking him with it, her hand working his shaft faster. She was lost in the rhythm of it, in the taste and the scent and the sheer, shocking reality of it all.
His moans became incoherent, his body buckling under the dual assault. “Brittany… I’m… oh god!”
His climax was a raw, tearing shout. His body went rigid for a moment, a taut bowstring, before he pulsed in her hand, spraying streaks of hot release onto the rumpled bed sheet beneath him with a final, shuddering gasp.
He collapsed onto his stomach, his breathing a ragged symphony in the quiet room. Brittany stayed on her knees, her own heart thrumming, the taste of him still a faint, intimate ghost on her lips. She felt powerful. Unraveled.
After a moment, he rolled onto his back, his chest still heaving. A lazy, satiated smile played on his lips as he looked at her, his brown eyes soft with affection and something new—a kind of reverent awe.
“My turn,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Her confidence wavered. “Your turn for what?”
He reached out, his thumb stroking the inside of her knee. “To return the favor.” His eyes held hers, steady and sure. “Can I? I want to taste you there. All of you.”
The air left her lungs. Her stomach did a nervous flip. That was a line she hadn’t crossed. He’d kissed every other part of her, worshipped her body with his mouth, but that… it felt different. More exposed. More vulnerable.
“I’ve never…,” she started, her voice small.
“I know.” His hand was warm on her leg, an anchor. “You trust me?”
She looked at him—at the earnest openness in his face, the same man who made her coffee every morning and held her hand during scary movies. She did trust him. Completely. She gave a single, sharp nod.
“Okay,” she breathed.
A brilliant smile broke across his face. He moved with purpose, shifting to lie flat on his back in the center of the bed. The lamplight caught the sheen on his skin, the powerful lines of his torso. “Come here,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Sit on my face.”
Her breath hitched. The directive was so crude, so blatant, yet the look in his eyes was anything but. It was pure, unadulterated want. She climbed over him, her knees bracketing his shoulders, her body trembling slightly. The position felt incredibly dominant, and yet she had never felt more nervous.
“Easy,” he coaxed, his hands coming up to rest on her hips, guiding her. “I’ve got you.”
She lowered herself slowly, her hands braced on the headboard for balance. The world narrowed to the space between her body and his. She felt the warm puff of his breath first, then the wet, shocking pressure of his tongue as it swept a firm, broad stripe over her.
She shuddered, a full-body convulsion that made her gasp. Her fingers tightened on the headboard.
“Tyler…”
His response was a low, approving hum that vibrated through her entire core. It was the only encouragement she needed. She sank down fully, surrendering her weight to his hold, letting her body settle over his mouth.
And then he began to explore.
His tongue was not tentative. It was large and knowing, tracing the tight, nervous ring of muscle with a relentless, circling pressure. It was so much more intense than she had imagined. The sensation was sharp, foreign, and then, as he persisted, it began to bloom into something else—a deep, radiating pleasure that began to melt the tension from her limbs.
Her head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips. She dared to look down, past the curve of her own breast, past the trembling line of her stomach. The sight was obscene and beautiful. His eyes were closed in concentration, his features completely devoted to his task. And there, against his stomach, she saw his penis, already thick and full, beginning to swell again, rising steadily as he licked her. The sight of his arousal, so immediate and visceral, fueled her own. She ground down against his mouth, a slow, deliberate circle, asking for more.
He gave it to her. His tongue pressed harder, probing, fucking her with that wet, intimate point of contact until she was seeing stars behind her closed eyelids, until the only sound in the room was her own ragged breathing and the wet, hungry sounds of his worship.
His tongue pressed harder, probing, fucking her with that wet, intimate point of contact until she was seeing stars behind her closed eyelids, until the only sound in the room was her own ragged breathing and the wet, hungry sounds of his worship.
Then he changed the angle.
He wasn't just licking anymore. He pressed his face deeper, burying it into her, and his tongue stiffened, pushing into her with a single-minded purpose. It was a shocking, invasive pressure, a wet, insistent penetration that felt nothing like a tongue. It felt like a slick, living thing, a warm, soft penis spearing into the tight ring of her butt hole.
A sharp, involuntary gasp ripped from her throat. Her legs began to shake, tremors running up her thighs as her muscles turned to water. The sensation was too much, too intense, a direct line to every raw nerve ending in her body. Her butt hole clenched wildly, a frantic, uncontrollable spasm against the relentless thrust of his tongue.
"Tyler," she whimpered, her voice strangled.
He groaned in response, the sound vibrating through her, and doubled his efforts. His hands clamped onto her hips, holding her down, his tongue driving into her again and again with a aggressive, rhythmic force. She was losing herself, the pleasure blurring into a overwhelming, total-body sensation that short-circuited her control. Her vision swam, the room tilting. She was just a collection of nerve endings, a vessel being filled.
And then she felt it. A deep, internal pressure, a gathering weight that had nothing to do with pleasure. Her body, stretched and overwhelmed, betrayed her.
A massive, solid log of shit pushed out of her, past the invading pressure of his tongue, and directly into his open, waiting mouth.
Time froze.
The world snapped back into a horrifying, high-definition focus. The warm, earthy smell of her own poop filled the air between them, thick and intimate.
Beneath her, Tyler went utterly still. For one eternal second, there was only the sound of her panting and the dense, organic scent. Then, she felt his throat work against her, a single, convulsive swallow. He’d done it. He’d swallowed the entire, thick log.
A sound of pure, mortified horror escaped her lips. She scrambled off him, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, falling back onto the mattress and scrambling away until her back hit the cool wood of the headboard. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, her entire body trembling.
Tyler slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. His face was flushed, his lips smeared. He looked dazed, his brown eyes wide and unfocused. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his gaze finally finding hers.
The tears that had been building now spilled over, hot and shameful, tracking down her cheeks. "Oh my god," she choked out, her voice a broken whisper. "I'm so sorry. Tyler, I'm so, so sorry."
He blinked, the dazed look in his eyes clearing, replaced by something else entirely. He looked at her, curled into a ball of humiliation against the headboard, and a slow, strange smile touched his lips.
"Don't be," he said, his voice rough but steady. He sat up fully, not breaking eye contact. "That was the hottest thing that has ever happened to me."