Our first Valentine’s day came around when Jake and I had barely been together for two months. He told me that day that he wanted me to be his submissive. He would command and control me; I was to obey and serve. And he specifically wanted to own my orgasms. He would allow or disallow them, and when we had sex I would have to wait till the last moment before asking him for an orgasm; and he would decide then if I could go over the edge, or stop and dangle on it, as a matter of a whim.

His story was much longer than that, and he had asked me to remain silent until he completely finished it. I listened while the rush of blood enveloped my body. The secret stuff, the fantasies I had only allowed to come out late at night, rubbing myself alone in my bed, this man laid them all out before my eyes and invited me to turn them into realities. I really had no choice. When he finally finished and asked me what I thought, obviously nervous, my answer simply was: “Yes, Sir.”

That year, I learned to be his slave. His control was everywhere: what I ate, how I dressed, what sites I surfed, what chores I had to do.

For a girl who had always been used to doing what she wanted (even though that often went completely wrong), it was hard to get accustomed to obedience as a normal and continuous process. I rebelled a few times, shunning his orders; but he was a good and skillful Master, taking his time to talk to me and understand me, before guiding me back to my path into submission.

It was exhausting. My spirit balked at being pushed into this submission, even though my mind wanted it. Bitter trench warfare sometimes erupted in my head. I cried, I screamed, I cursed, I whimpered. Then he soothed me, hugged me, enveloped me in his huge body, till I calmed down and was able to follow him again.

There was also the continuous sex, of course. Jake no longer accepted excuses about headaches, busy days ahead, or not being in the mood. It worked like a spiral: the more he exercised his powers over my body, the more it aroused him that he had them, the more he used them. Daily sex was the exception; he’d usually shoot his load into me two or three times a day.

Yes it was tiring, but don’t confuse that with being reluctant. I wallowed in his attentions, I guzzled up all that sex as if I had been a desert without rain for years. I became his toy for sex play, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

On our second Valentine’s day, he had a new gift for me: whips and ropes. I remember how I dreaded them when he offered me my first riding crop and four wrist- and ankle-cuffs in a pretty gift box, how I couldn’t possibly see them as a gift at all.

But soon I would. That day, he bound me across a table, my legs and arms spread wide, the ropes making it impossible to close them. Then he cropped me - but it wasn’t like a punishment at all. He stroked my buttocks with them, tapping the black leather on my naked flesh, like a caress rather than a strike. I knew real violence could erupt any minute, I held my breath as I expected him to lash out.

And I responded. God, did I respond. It wasn’t just the mixture of the anxiety and the titillating sensations across my ass… there was something else. I was under his spell. He could raise the cropping to pain level any minute, if that’s what he desired… it was completely out of my hands, I was in his power. I really belonged to him, and he could simply have the pleasure of whipping me, no matter if I suffered from it or not. It raised the floodgates of my pussy, my juice levels went through the roof. And of course, he noticed. There was no way I could lie to him, like I didn’t want this. It was in plain sight.

He didn’t even really whip me that day, he just introduced me to the possibility. And when his thumb entered me, later on, I experienced an orgasm like I never had before. Like meeting a calling, like not knowing how I could have ever lived without it.

He turned to harsher methods soon, applied uncomfortable rope bondage, acquired a real arsenal of whips, floggers, and canes, and he used them with actual force, later on in that year. Pain joined the titillation, but couldn’t extinguish it; and even the anticipation or announcement of a whipping would juice my pussy up to a day ahead. He played me brilliantly, sending me deeper and deeper down into uncharted lands of depraved, salacious submission. I wasn’t afraid of him; I marveled at him, I was so happy to follow him wherever he wanted to take me.

Today is our third Valentine’s day, and he fucks me early in the morning, before even getting up. Then he says he has something really special in store for me. I have to wait for hours; it isn’t scheduled till two o’clock. I wander around aimlessly in the house, in half-aroused, half-anxious expectation.

He begins to bind me at half past one. He postures me on my back, with my legs spread wide and upward, my hungry pussy in wide view; but my torso is slightly raised, so I still have a full view of the room. He secures my body with ropes so I can barely move a finger.

At two sharp, the doorbell chimes. When he returns to the room, there is a woman with him. It is clear that she is a tart: her heels too high, her minidress too colorful, the paint on her face too overdone. I want to jump to my feet, protect my exposure from an intruding stranger, but the bondage prevents it. I feel completely silly when the words come from my mouth: “Who is this? What is she doing here? What is going on?”

Jake says: “Relax, baby. This is Kate, and she is a whore.” Turning to Kate, he added: “Can I say that these days, Kate?”

She just shrugs: “Whatever rocks your boat, man. It is true.”

My mind is racing. Why would Jake hire a… whore? I manage to utter just single-word sentences: “But… what… she… why… here… how… I can’t… ”

With a friendly smile on his face, Jake explains: “Well, she’s a whore… she’s here because I hired her, my little one. I intend to fuck her, shortly, right there, actually…”, he points to our living room couch, then adds: “...and you’re going to watch us do it!”

I am completely speechless. This is SO far out. Kate and Jake watch me, awaiting my response. It is painfully clear how my head is just a little oval, something small and high above my pussy, centrally spread wide open to them in my bondage. Christ… this is NOT going to happen to me!

“Well, you tell your whore to leave the premises now. I won’t, Jake, I just won’t. Don’t do this to me. Untie me, this has been enough!”

“I will do no such thing, my dear. I have paid €300 for her, and whores don’t do refunds, right?”

Kate shakes her head.

Jake continues: “Thought so… so get out of your clothes, do your bathroom thingies, make yourself fuckable!”

She starts undressing.

But there’s no way I’m done with this yet: “Jake! What are you doing? This is NOT funny! Seriously, stop… or I’ll be out of here!”

Jake doesn’t respond; instead he just steps up to me. He extends a finger, and inserts it briefly into my spread pussy, then he brings it to my face. The glistening is clear, but he also makes me taste it. All I can do is blush in admittance.

“Still, Jake… I really don’t like this. I’m giving you everything you want! How can you bring another woman here? Even paying for her? “

“Are you jealous of her?”

“Of course I am! Which woman wouldn’t be?”

“Well, you know I like steak a lot, right? Still, I wouldn’t want to eat steak every day… sometimes I want a piece of salmon, a stew, or even just a greasy hotdog. Just like I could never be happy with just a single girl… I would constrain myself if I remained faithful. And tell me, is that what you really want? Do you want me to constrain myself just because it makes you feel good? That doesn’t really become you, don’t you think? You’re my submissive, and you are supposed to please me… and pleasing, in this case, also means setting aside your petty jealousy for the sake of my unhindered satisfaction with any body I choose to take. “

He really strikes a chord there. It is true; I have submitted to him, and made myself a subject of his rule. Of course he doesn’t owe me any accountability, it is a one-way street. And he has given me so much, he has changed my life and I feel so much better than before since I started serving him! It really isn’t my place to object, if this is his thing, he has every right to pursue it.

He looks at me until I turn down my eyes in a universal gesture of compliance; then he says: “Good. I’m happy that I don’t have to gag you.”

He turns to his whore. She’s naked now. It feels like a thousand stabs in my chest when he envelopes her waist, pushes her down on the couch, spreads her legs, reaches for her pussy. Thank God he doesn’t kiss her. I want to close my eyes so I don’t have to watch when he enters her, but I find I have to keep staring at the scene developing before my eyes. And besides… he has bound me here, in full view of the proceedings. He didn’t just hire a hooker to have his fun in some sleazy hotel… he has brought her here, he has created this whole scene for the specific purpose of me watching it. His ways have often been mysterious to me, until the final revelation of his intentions, when I finally understood how he deepened my submission to him… he was always right, he has never failed my trust, no matter how hard the road has been. And now he WANTS me to watch… and as his sub, trusting him to shower his wisdom on me as he has proven so many times before, how can I not obey him? I keep my eyes open, and let the thousand daggers pierce my chest. I have to make every effort to hold back my whimpers when the shaft of his dick slides into her slit, so incredibly slow and displayed at the best angle possible, as if it is staged especially for me… and yeah, probably it is. He may be fucking someone else, but there is little doubt that I am the sole target of this entire show, I am the real focus of his attention.

And that’s exactly what I love to be. No matter how much it hurts, I can do nothing but bathe in the rays of his being. And those rays converge into arousal without fail, even now. Blood rushing, panting breath, the gentle quivering in my belly… there can be no doubt about it, the view of my man fucking his whore translates into a bout of gulping salacity without any effort.

He doesn’t actually pay much attention to her. Even if his dick is sliding into her, his eyes are only on me. He observes me, examines the responses expressed on my face, before his eyes travel down to drink in my spread pussy. His loins are hammering away at a whore, and he wants to study how that affects me. And I know that he looks through me with his crystal ball. He sees my fear, my despair, my disgust, my anger. And he also sees how they all pivot around somehow, converging into the arousal of finding new depth to my submission.

I realize that I yearn for a touch. If it cannot be me to take his dick, I want to play my pussy with my own hands, if need be, if that’s what it takes to quench the outbreak of fire in my loins. But of course I can’t do that. My hands are tied away, and I have no way of reaching my exposed pussy myself. I must just lie there, as the flames of lust envelop me.

He has turned over his whore, her torso is draped belly down on the couch with her ass across it, knees on the floor. Behind her is my man, aiming his sword at her sex, ready to drive inside. How can I stand this? I feel my mound getting sticky first, then positively juiced. But there is no way that I can soothe her, comfort her with a touch. She just lies there, throbbing, yearning for a touch that doesn’t come.

He enters her, and his thrusts start pounding her. It is my goddamn favorite position, and he only knows that too well. Fear grips my throat, when I see him, sharing it with another woman right before my eyes. I must watch it, it is the aim that I watch it.

I don’t know too much about whoring, but I have always heard that girls should make an effort to pretend that they are cumming. If that is true, Kate is very good at it. She moans and gasps as he rides her. He has already shot inside me in the morning, so he doesn’t exactly cum easy. He fucks her brains out for minutes at top speed. Then he shoots, grunting a primal cry at the sky.

He pays his whore, and she leaves.

Shooting twice often suffices him; but that doesn’t mean that my pussy lacks regard for the rest of the day. He rubs me, he fingers me, he licks me, he unleashes his collection of toys on my body. I’m allowed three orgasms that afternoon, and two more later that evening. He works hard on each of them, so they hit me like explosions.

When he finally leaves my battered sex alone, deep into the night, I rally my thoughts. Yes, he has done it again. He has gone into my fears and taboos and turned them around into my highest rapture. I fall asleep as the happiest woman in the world.