Memories of a self-teasing sub

She was my 24/7 total sex slave.

She and I were on the same wavelength sexually, right from the start. I've never experienced that before or since either. My life had been a continual parade of frustration, meeting vanilla girl after vanilla girl, and never finding anyone who was kinky in exactly the same way I was. Until I met this one.

We met in a totally random and vanilla circumstance: at a bar, of all places. It turns out we were both from the same state, and liked some of the same music, and we chatted, but otherwise didn't think we had very much in common. I thought she was pretty, but what she was wearing obscured her amazing body. I wasn't a big dandy, and I was later told that I came off like a nice, somewhat nerdy, perhaps a bit cocky, vanilla yuppie.

Then came our first date. We went to see a movie at a film festival. I just got a vibe from her, one of arousal so palpable that I could feel it. So I felt compelled to take her hand, in a most innocent way. Then I really felt it. A certain sensitivity in her skin, one I usually don't feel from female skin until it is highly aroused. So I started touching her in my teasing way: slow, gentle, light, swirling motions, teasing, flitting unpredictable. And just on her hand! It drove her crazy. Wow, a woman whose hands are an erogenous zone? Amazing. She touched me too, and in the same way, which I loved as well. We completely ignored the movie, instead enjoying just touching each other.

We went out for drinks afterwards. Her kiss was completely open, wet with arousal. Only a handful of times in my life have I experienced kisses that desperate. Kissing has never been my favourite activity, but I love kisses like that. They are noticeably different: a completely open and submissive mouth, deeply wet, lips engorged and steaming hot, and almost panting breaths. It has always proven to be a reliable indicator of intense arousal. I was amazed at my good fortune.

After drinks, we kissed and touched for a while. I enjoyed teasing her nipples with gentle touches through her clothes. After an eternity slowly circling her around her nipples with my fingernail, I had no trouble whatsoever removing her shirt and bra-- she was eager, even desperate. Her neck and ears were also wonderfully sensitive, to which I applied my lips and my tongue.

I found to my great delight that her breasts and her nipples were achingly, unbearably sensitive. I lightly teased around them, circling, slowly, lightly, eventually performing a torture I love the most: circling just around her areola, refusing to touch the nipples. At some point I placed my mouth near them, so that she could feel my breath. I probably eventually used my tongue to torture one nipple, while my fingers tortured the other.

She refused to remove her panties that first night, or even her pants, if I remember correctly. Was she modest? Traditional? Did she want to keep her "dignity"? Did she want me to "respect her in the morning"? But then why present her breasts to me so eagerly? And what's with the trembling passion? I soon found out that, yes, there was all of that, but something more too.

The answer was simply that she loved being teased. So much so that she practiced a high level of competitve and merciless self-teasing. This evening was just part of that. She'd been raised in a traditional kind of household, and very much wanted to be a "good girl". But, her body craved, craved, ached, was mad with desire. So she found a way to combine the two: she teased herself. Mercilesslly.

Many years before I'd met her, she'd become close friends with another young woman who felt the same way as she. The two of them had come up with a game: they'd go out clubbing, and locate the hottest guys they could find, and make a pact to get as horny as they could (and get the guys that way too, of course), but not allow themselves to "do anything". This didn't necessarily mean orgasm denial: she was able to cum just by pressing her pubic bone against my leg, and she said she'd enjoyed many orgasms by "grinding" against one guy or another in a bar booth, on the dancefloor, etc. But these friends would go out and make a competition of it (they were both accomplished athletes), and at the end of the night they'd go home together and sit there and pant at each other, marvelling at and enjoying the glow from their aching and frustrating arousal, and trying to one-up each other in who had driven themselves the craziest.

She worked in a very conservative industry, and had to dress extremely professionally, but she made a point of always wearing the sexiest, sluttiest lingirie she could find underneath. She had an amazing collection of the stuff-- very hot. Sometimes she'd wear a top sheer enough so that one of these burning-hot bras would be visible beneath it, and then cover it up with a smart no-nonsense sportcoat. She loved it. "It makes me feel sexy" is how she explained it. Much later, she admitted, "It keeps me horny". And that's pretty much what she was about.

By the time I had met her, she'd been doing this for years. I was the first man who found this not in the least bit frustrating, but instead saw a way to use it against her, to amplify it, to take her to new levels of torment. Rememeber, she'd been dealing with vanilla jocks and models, the kinds of guys who just wanted to stick it in. But I had other interests... and other plans.

I had been longing for a 24/7 sex slave for my entire erotic life-- since puberty, or even before that (am I the only man who, as a young boy, found the drop-dead gorgeous and scantily-clad Barbara Eden calling her husband "Master" to be the hottest fucking thing imagineable?). It turns out that she had also longed to be a slave for just as long (um, and yes, she did look a bit like Barbara Eden). My desires took the form of active fantasies and active efforts to try to make them real. She had kept them deeper inside. Instead, she'd been tormented since puberty of "wet dreams" of being a sex slave. She'd concocted an entire futuristic fantasy world of concubines and high-tech sex pills and torments-- and they existed only in her sleep. Often she woke up after having had an orgasm.

We scheduled another date for the next night. Over dinner, I told her of my desires, fantasies, and experience so far in attempting to live them out. I told her that, if she was keen on avoiding intercourse with me until she was "ready", I was more than supportive of this. In fact, I'd deeply enjoy it. I told her that I would love the opportunity to tease her, to drive her crazy, and if it took months before she wanted me inside of her, than I'd enjoy that all the more. I don't remember if I told her I wanted to tie her up too. Or any of the other things I had planned. But I assured her that she needn't worry about my taking anything from her that she didn't want to give. I had no trouble keeping that promise. In fact I'd work to prolong it as much as I could.

She was both relieved and highly intrigued. And that night the barriers were gone, she eagerly removed all of her clothes, and offered herself to me to torment: and I applied myself to her lips and her clit in the same way I'd tormented her nipples the night before. Mad with desire, her mouth eagerly accepted my cock. And brilliantly-- and somewhat desperately-- sucked me to thorough completion, swallowing hungrily. Wonderful... I kept teasing at her. I don't recall if I allowed her to cum that night. I probably did, several times, before teasing her to an edge and leaving her there.

She had surrendered something extremely special: she'd always loved teasing herself, but this time had given control over that to me.

I think she probably endured a week of this before begging me to fuck her. After having enjoyed a week of fun, I had no trouble obliging.