How I Adore You Read online

  How I Adore You

  How I Adore You

  Erotic Stories

  BY

  Mark Pritchard

  Copyright © 2001 by Mark Pritchard.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by Cleis Press Inc.,

  P.O. Box 14684, San Francisco, California 94114.

  Printed in the United States.

  Cover design: Scott Idleman

  Text design: Karen Quigg

  Cleis Press logo art: Juana Alicia

  First Edition

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  For S., K., and especially C.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to my writing coach, Sara Miles, who is also my best friend, and to Katia Noyes and other writers and friends who gave me their encouragement and feedback. I gratefully acknowledge three ongoing San Francisco institutions that have helped shape my erotic life and that of many others—San Francisco Sex Information, Good Vibrations, and the Lusty Lady Theater—and one that has passed into history, Queer Nation: These institutions gave me and thousands of others the opportunity to think, talk, and write about being perverts. Thanks also to the folks at Cleis Press; the Christian retreat center, which shall remain unnamed, that unwittingly provided me the setting where I finished these stories; Angela at the Muddy Waters Café on Church Street in San Francisco, where I did significant editing; and above all my partner, Cris Gutierrez, whose faith in me and love for me I feel every day.

  Contents

  Lessons in Submission

  Ordinary Story

  Cousin

  Trick

  Incest

  How I Adore You

  Prom

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Lessons in Submission

  FOR O.

  1

  Go in the bathroom, take a shower, and wash your hair. Dry your body and comb out your hair, but don’t dry it. Put your clothes back on so that your hair hangs wet and limp on your shoulders, dripping water all over you.

  Come down the hall to the bedroom and stand before me. I’m sitting on the bed waiting for you, the low sun behind me in the window, blinding you to me except for my dark silhouetted form on the bed, leaning back on my hands. I’m staring at you, with the knowledge I have showing in my eyes that you can’t see. You can squint against the sun, but the most you’ll see is the glow of the light behind my blond hair. While you stand there waiting, you might wonder how to take a picture like this, the camera showing you what you can’t see: my body hidden by a robe, my eyes boring into you, the strips of cloth in my hand.

  I tell you to put your hands behind your back. It makes you look submissive, and to further enhance the picture I tell you to put your head down. Now all you can see are the splotches of water running down the front of your red silk shirt. I’ve told you not to wear a bra, and your left nipple is under a wet spot and it gets hard and pokes out, and the sleazy association that this is like some wet T-shirt scene is enough to embarrass you and further enhance your submission.

  Listen to me: “You look delicious like this. Your hair is beautiful when it’s dark and wet, and it’s probably making you a little uncomfortable to stand there dripping, which just turns me on, because I want to make you uncomfortable enough to make you realize you’ve lost control. I want you to stand there and drip like this because it’s how I like to imagine your cunt: so wet that there’s come dripping off the hairs. You’re probably standing there thinking this isn’t so hard, to stand there and let me look at you, but just think of how many things I’ve already taken away. You can’t see me; you can’t touch me. You can’t use your hands, and you can’t go anywhere. You can’t answer me or say anything. You just have to stand there and let me stare at you and talk to you.

  “In a minute we’ll go on and you’ll realize just how little control you have, but for now, enjoy your freedom. Okay, you can look at me again.”

  Raise your head, but it doesn’t do any good, the sun is still blinding you as it sets outside your window into the ocean. You feel the water dripping all the way down into the waistline of your jeans, where it stops and spreads out along your soft belly. Other rivulets have rolled off your shoulders and between your shoulder blades, under your arms, or directly onto the floor. You can shift your weight and step directly into a small puddle. The instant of imbalance from the water under your feet is enough to remind you that it’s me, not you, who is controlling your slide into submission.

  The sun sets, and you look straight into the orange ball as it balances on the horizon. Let it hypnotize you while you listen to my voice telling you the different places I’m going to put my tongue, telling you I’m going to penetrate you in places you never considered were possible points of entry. You’re used to thinking of the cunt, the mouth, and, in really uncontrolled moments, the asshole. And boys have put their tongues in your ears. You didn’t like it then, but I don’t do that anyway.

  What I do is stand up and unbutton your shirt and slip it off your shoulders. It hangs down from your waist and from your hands, which are still held together behind your back, not by any instruments but simply by your willingness to learn something about submission.

  “I’m going to make you talk,” I say. “At first it’ll be easy. All you have to do is say ‘yes’”.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you my lover?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you submit to me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love to be with me? Do you relish the sound of my voice, the weight of my hands on yours? Do you desire me, strong and solid, next to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think about my prick going crazy in your cunt? Do you think about licking the sweat from my body? Do you think about my leg going between yours when we kiss in public?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ready to submit to me? Will you do what I say? Will you be brave?”

  To everything you answer yes. Your voice goes through an interesting change—it gets deeper and fuller and connected to the desire that’s in the burning center of your body—a desire that, at its deepest, has nothing to do with me, a desire that started when you were a child and imagined submitting to someone stronger, an older girl, a character in a story, anyone who understood your need to have control and responsibility taken away and replaced by her will. You were Scout, and Gregory Peck gently put you over his knee and spanked your butt as you told him your sins, things he already knew but you only become good again if you tell him. It’s that voice I want, the voice that’s naked and uncontrolled, the voice that knows the desire to fuck and the desire to get fucked are the same thing, that knows there’s nothing bad about needing pleasure or giving up control, that only the strong have something to give up in the first place.

  “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” You swallow, and with every word you look scared at first, then relaxed as you give it up.

  You have a lot to give up. I really want it. It’s this transfer and acceptance of desire that amounts to your submission.

  Your skin burns orange in the light. Even if you look away for a minute, you see spots. The sun is too low to hurt your eyes but bright enough to intoxicate and hypnotize you with its brilliance. The whole room seems to burn with light that gets more and more intense; then in the space of a few moments it d
isappears. You are still blinded by the image of the fiery red ball, so you can’t see me lie back on the bed and open my robe and masturbate while staring at you standing there blind and helpless.

  “Close your eyes,” I say. It doesn’t matter, you still see the sun. Water is still dripping from your hair, more slowly now. “Open your pants. Open the belt, the top button, and the zipper. Pull them lower on your hips so I can see your cunt hair. Lower than that. Just high enough for them to stay up.” I look at you and stroke my cock. “I’m having a fantasy,” I say, “about jacking off onto your belly, so that the come runs down into your pubic hair and gets caught there. I comb the come into your cunt hair until it’s coated by my come, so that instead of smelling like cunt you smell like sperm. It’s another way of taking something away from you, of colonizing your body, so that you don’t even smell like yourself anymore.”

  I get up and walk over to you holding a strip of cloth. My cock is hard but you can’t see it because your eyes are closed, the image of the sun still imprinted on your corneas. “Put your hands at your side,” I say, and go behind you and blindfold you with the strip of cloth.

  “Would you do that?” I ask. “Would you wear my smell on your cunt...let’s say, to work?”

  “Yes,” you say.

  “Tell me you’ll wear my come on your body whenever I want, you to.”

  “I will,” you answer.

  You have to say more than that now. You have to tell me you’ll do everything I say, and you have to tell me in detail and use hyperbole and go beyond what I’ve said. You have to show that you’re turned on not only by the images of what we’re talking about, not only by the fact that what you’re saying expresses your desire as well, but also by the sheer fact that saying dirty and taboo things to me, these words coming out of your supposedly clean mouth, amounts to a further loss of control, to a deepening of your submission.

  Example:

  “I want your come on me. Shoot it on me, put it on my belly, on my face, on the lips of my cunt. Smear it into my wet hair, let it become part of me. I want your smell on me so that I’ll belong to you, so that as long as I wear it before it washes off, I’m yours, as if you needed a sign, as if you didn’t know I’ll do what you want.”

  I need to hear this from you. Not only to make you do things but to make you admit to them. There’s something about the voice that’s more intimate, more alive than the body itself. The voice can do things the body can’t. If I do something to you, you can always pretend later that it wasn’t really what you wanted, but if you ask for it in advance, if you beg for it in the most imaginative language, if you use that voice that comes from deep inside your desire, then it reveals even more than your actions. Don’t think you can fool me, either. You may be a good actress but I know the difference between somebody telling me what I want to hear and the real expression of need and desire that amounts to confession, which is another word for submission.

  After I blindfold you, I stand behind you and reach up and touch your nipples. You aren’t allowed to relax and lean back against me, so no matter how weak in the knees you get, you have to maintain your balance.

  Now you can push your pants down farther—they fall around your ankles—and touch your cunt. The rule is that you have to tell me whatever it is you’re doing as I stroke and pinch your tits.

  “I’m parting my cunt lips. They’re already wet, not just way inside, but all the way out, even the outer lips have come on them. They’re hot and slick; I love the consistency of my juice at this time of month. Now I’m touching my clit. I’m holding it between my thumb and forefinger and stroking down along it like a prick. Now I’m pushing my finger underneath it so that I can rub myself—ugh.”

  You can’t do it so good that you can’t talk. You have to be able to tell me what you’re doing. You have go slowly enough and do it softly enough to maintain the narrative. What I’m getting from you isn’t your hand; what I’m getting from you is your voice.

  “My clit is hard. I—” You pause and gasp. “I like touching it with my two fingers pressed together like this....”

  Don’t stop talking.

  “I’m rubbing it. I can’t stand it. Yes I can.... Just don’t stop. What you’re doing to my nipples is driving me crazy.... I’m rubbing my clit—I’m rubbing my clit—”

  I make you stop. Put your hands at your sides again. I keep touching your breasts. The nipples are as hard as pebbles of glass. You imagine them cutting my lips.

  I lay you down on the bed, and you go on masturbating as I watch. You don’t have to talk while you do it. You just have to show it to me. This is the first time you’ve ever done this in front of someone else.

  You stroke yourself. As you get closer to coming, a secret escapes your lips and makes you come. After your orgasm you keep your fingers pressed against your pussy; the fingers of the other hand are unconsciously pressing against your breastbone, reaching in for your center of desire and selfhood that you are submitting to me.

  I attach your wrists to chains. You begin trembling. I attach your ankles to chains. You become afraid. I put my hand on the spot you were pressing a moment before, and your fear stops.

  You are splayed open on your bed. I start talking quietly to you again about how beautiful you are, about how much I desire you. You answer “Yes” again and again, like a mantra.

  While you’re tied there I kneel over your head and put my cock in your mouth. I penetrate you like that. I penetrate your cunt. I penetrate your asshole with my finger. I go back to your head and put my fingers in your ears while my cock is in your mouth. You can’t see anything, you can’t hear anything, you can’t move, the only reality is my taste. My taste and smell and weight fill you, blocking out everything else. You aren’t frightened, you don’t want to get away, you submit.

  2

  It’s dark except for the ceiling light, which casts a dim glow in the middle of the room. As soon as we walk in, I tell you to strip as quickly as possible. Then you get on your knees.

  This is a pose you have to learn: Sit with your feet underneath you and your butt on your heels. This posture, used traditionally by the Japanese, has both humility and dignity. It’s stable, and you can remain in this pose for a long time. But the best part about it is that, even though everyone can get into this pose for at least a few minutes, it becomes quite painful after a while, especially when you finally try to stand up and walk again. Yet it isn’t dangerous; you can’t really hurt yourself by remaining in this posture for thirty or forty minutes. Therefore, this act of submission will teach you about humility and pain.

  As you rest like this on your knees, your legs are together. I couldn’t touch you between the legs if I wanted to, not without your moving. That is not what is involved tonight.

  When I bring in a bowl of hot water and a washcloth, you are waiting on your knees in the circle of light. I strip off my clothes except for my shirt, which I wear open. Wearing clothes while you are naked is intended to remind you of my power to grant you comfort and safety, or to take them away: to grant you pleasure, or to withhold it.

  You have your head down. You can’t see me anyway, not until I enter the light. As you kneel in the soft yellow glow, your head down and your hands behind your back even though I haven’t told you to put them there, you look deliciously submissive, and I pause to stare at you and fantasize about how your mouth is going to feel on me.

  I advance into the light and tell you to look at me. This is the first time you’ve seen my cock. Even if it makes you shiver, you look at it. It’s the only chance you’ll have to look at it for a while. I bring my body closer and closer until you are close enough to touch me with your mouth. Then I stop.

  You lean forward until I can feel your breath. Then the first touch of your tongue, alarmingly warm, caresses the underside of the cockhead. Your tongue slowly circles the head, then you push up with the tongue so that you can lick down the underside of the shaft. That part of me is so sensitive the fir
st time it is touched, and your warm mouth makes me tremble and groan as you work your way down to my balls.

  Now your hands are gently touching my legs. You lean back slightly and take the whole cockhead in your mouth and wipe your tongue back and forth across the slit, tasting fluid. Your fingernails scratch slowly down my thighs. There is a mirror across the room in which I can watch you kneeling and sucking me.

  You are allowed to bend forward as long as your butt is on your heels. That means I control how deep I go in your mouth. When I move forward, you take me deeper. When I move back, you gape at the missing presence.

  I move forward again and tell you to touch my balls while you suck me, and to move your mouth rhythmically up and down. I can’t tell you much, though; it feels too good. I’m touching my own nipples. After a few minutes, I’m already getting close to coming.

  I pull back and ask you to talk about what we’re doing. You describe the texture and taste of my prick, the sensation of being penetrated in the intimate hollow of your mouth, the enormity of my cock on your tongue. You also describe the pain in your legs and ankles and feet, the contrast between the spasms of pleasure you feel when you suck me and the pain and discomfort of kneeling to do it. You beg me to come in your mouth so that you can get the pleasure of my orgasm and so the pain will stop.

  Oh, well, it’s a false assumption that you get to change positions just because I come, but you’ll find out soon enough. For now, beg me some more. I’m still touching my nipples. After a while the pain makes your voice frantic. I like that. I don’t care if it’s pain or desire that makes your voice quaver; you’ll find out soon enough there isn’t much difference.

  I slip back into your mouth, and tell you to touch me everywhere you can, especially underneath the balls, behind the legs, and right before I come, my asshole. You pump me with your mouth. I don’t really come very fast this way, unless you’re awfully good at this. So this goes on for a long time. I don’t know how to describe it to you except to say that, in addition to the pleasure I’m getting from you, the sight of you in the mirror sucking me excites me and helps me come.