Excerpt from Making Michael Submit:
“You’re utterly submissive to me now,” Junie said to me. “It’s miraculous. I can really see the changes that chastity have brought. Six months ago, you were this phony image of a man, a successful guy with a beautiful wife. But secretly you were pleasuring yourself in a dark corner, and your woman only served as your receptacle when you were in the mood for real sex.
“Now, you’re mine. You’re absolutely nothing, but you’re all mine. You don’t make love, you don’t touch yourself. You cook, you clean, you fawn over me, you jump two inches off the floor if I look at you cross-eyed.
“You’ve gotten more sensitive, too,” she added. “You’re gentler, more attentive to me. Your lovemaking is absolutely divine. It’s like you consume me with your mouth.”
“Princess,” I added eagerly, “my senses are so much sharper. I can tell when you ovulate. I can smell when your period starts.”
“See? Isn’t that wonderful? That’s what chastity has done for us. That’s why I’m going to keep you chaste. Right, Michael?”
“Yes, Princess. Absolutely. I’m so much happier. It’s just that today…”
“Never mind that. Something else you need to know. Your look of need and desperation enthralls me. I want more. I want more of looking down and seeing you kneeling between my legs, your entire being concentrated on only pleasing me.
“I want to see more of you looking uncomfortable and nervous,” she went on. “I want more housework done. I want more oral sex. I crave more of your sexual frustration. I love to see you shaking with desire. I want us deeper into this whole chastity thing. I want you to surrender. Seeing you like this, under my foot, completely within my power, is very arousing.”
I glanced down. Her nipples were sticking out through her bra and top. Junie’s breasts, small as they are, are major sex organs, second only to her clit. It’s where her arousal starts. She saw that I saw, and smiled.
I had an epiphany. All of a sudden, in a flash, I got it. My only salvation was Junie’s complete happiness. My dim mind, finally sharpened by months of denial, came to the realization that Junie was not getting normal sex. And that kind of sex is what my Princess enjoys most.
“Princess, I have an idea I’d like to share with you. It’s about how to make you happy. I know how much you like to make love. And I know we’re never going to do it again. Why don’t you take a lover?
“Before you answer, please understand. I don’t want to know about it, unless you want me to. I know it will be painful for me at first, but so what? I’ll get over it. I won’t be a burden to you. I want you to experience again the joy of making love to a man with a real member. The important thing is that you resume regular sex again. My only concern would be your safety.”
“Like if I picked up a man?”
“Yes, Princess, it’s danger…”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t I the one who picked you up? And took you back to my apartment for a night of sex?”
“Thanks for your concern, Michael. I think I still remember how to pick up men.”
“You’re right, Princess. Sorry.”
“Interesting suggestion. I appreciate the spirit in which you made it. I’ll consider it and get back to you.”
Making a face, she cast a long glance at my disheveled body.
“Michael, clean up your mess, wash the toys and put them away. I’m going upstairs. You cleaned my bedroom, right?”
“Yes, Princess, it’s sparkling. Clean sheets, everything.”
“Good. I’m going to lie down on the bed, and guess what I’m going to do?”
“I don’t know, Princess. Will you tell me?”
She leaned forward, her face just inches from mine, her chin in her hand, and spoke to me softly.
“I’m going to stretch out, relax and then put my hands to my face, my palms touching my cheeks. I’ll slowly move them down, over my throat to my shoulders. Then I’ll slide them down my sides, past my tummy, and over my hips.”
“Princess, you have such a beautiful shape.”
“Yes, Michael, I’m going to savor it. I’ll move my hands across my thighs and start back up my body, over my mound, up my tummy and then to my breasts. I’ll brush my fingers across the fabric.
“You can see my nipples are already hard, can’t you? I feel them without even looking. Slowly, my fingers will dance down the buttons of my blouse, opening them. After the last few buttons give way, I’ll trace the outline of my bra with my fingertip. That’s something you taught me. You tease me so well.”
“Princess, your breasts are so beautiful. They’re the embodiment of love. Think of it, for millions of years, breasts have been the original source of nourishment. Think of the love that represents.”
“That’s a wonderful thought, Michael. I love my breasts. I love looking at them. I love touching them. I like that they’re tiny. I love having them touched.
“I’ll undo the clasp between the cups and let the bra fall away, freeing them. That’s when I will slowly, lightly flutter my fingertips over them, circling my nipples.
“I’ll stop, just long enough to get up, go to the closet and undress. I don’t want my work clothes wrinkled, do I? I’ll hang up my top, put my bra away, hang up my skirt and slip off my thong. On the way back to the bed, I’ll pass the mirror. I’ll stop and savor my nude figure.”
“Princess, you are a jewel. Your body is a magnificent gift from the universe.”
“Thank you, Michael. I’ll stand there for a moment and look at my breasts. Then I’ll turn and look at my behind. Do you know, Michael, I used to think my butt was big and ugly?”
“Your ass is perfect, Princess. Your curves are totally proportional to your body.”
She stood and looked down at me. “What time is dinner?”
“Six, Princess. Tofu, asparagus and mushroom stir fry. Won’t take long, less than an hour.”
“It’s two now. If I haven’t called you by five, start dinner. If I do call you, get the strap-on, knock on my door and wait.”
Hat’s off (and bras!) to The Outdoor Co-ed Topless Pulp Fiction Appreciation Society for their appearance in the U.S. paper of record, the New York Times, The Fight to Free the Nipple, an amazing video (well worth watching). Oddly, though, it’s listed under Fashion & Style. WTF? Why not, say, human rights?
It’s legal for a woman in New York City to go shirtless just like a guy (I was going to say, “Bare her breasts,” but would I say a guy “bares his chest”? No…). Celebrating this right are the stalwart women of The Outdoor Co-ed Topless Pulp Fiction Appreciation Society, who have been at it for five years. Click on the photo for more brazen women.