“Kneel.”

Her voice left no room for thought. Only obedience.

I sank to my knees slowly, the floor cool beneath me, my breath catching in my throat as I looked up at the two of them. My body hummed with nerves, but deeper still… with trust.

She stepped in front of me and drew something silken from the bedpost — a long black blindfold, smooth as breath, cool as shadow.

She moved behind me once again, and I felt the fabric press gently over my eyes.

Darkness.

Soft.

Quiet.

The loss of sight made everything sharper — the rustle of movement, the sound of his breath, the ache between my legs.

Then… something brushed against my cheek.

Light. Unexpected. Teasing.

It wasn’t a hand.

It wasn’t lips.

It was something else — soft, firm, unfamiliar.

I tensed slightly.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered, voice lower now, wrapped in velvet and steel.

My lips parted, trembling, heart thudding as I obeyed.

Open.

Vulnerable.

Waiting.

The soft brush against my cheek shifted, growing warmer, firmer, until I realized what it was.

Without sight, every sensation was magnified—every breath, every movement.

“Open your mouth,” she had repeated, and I did, trembling with anticipation.

Then, his hard erection entered my mouth.

Slowly. Deliberately. At first just the head of his hard penis.

I swallowed around him, my tongue circling the head of his hard cock. It was bigger that what I expected but I was able to close my lips comforatbly over him, a rush of heat flooding through me.

“You don’t need to swallow the whole thing,” she whispered in my ear “just take as much as you can, my little whore. Use your hand to stroke him and keep sucking”

His cock felt foreign in my mouth but, the sound of him breathing harder strangely aroused me. It did not take long before I could taste the salty pre-cum leeking out of this beautiful cock. I moaned and moved my mouth, tongue and lips in rythm with my stroking hand.

I never felt so powerful and in command. Surrendering and giving pleasure at the same time. All that mattered was his pleasure, his enjoyment.

It was not long before I could feel his cock starting to jerk. I knew he was gonna come and I was ready for it. His strong hands grabbed my shoulders and he exploded inside my mouth. I gulped and tried to swallow every drop of his cum, like it was the most valuable, priceless drop of essence.

His cum was thick and tasted  salty, bitter and sweet all at the same time. It left a slight metallic aftertaste in my mlouth but I did not mind, it felt like I was in seventh heaven after being used like this. His cock grew limp and I let out a moan of dissapointment when it slipped out of my mouth.
I was still catching my breath, lips parted, flushed and trembling.

She leaned in closer, her fingers gentle on my cheek.

With calm precision, she scooped up the warmth I hadn’t managed to swallow — a trace left behind, exposed and intimate.

“Can’t waste a drop,” she murmured with a playful smile, bringing her fingers to my lips.

I opened without hesitation.

The act was quiet, slow — almost reverent.

Her touch lingered just long enough for me to taste him again, this time more deliberately, more fully… like a ritual.

  She brushed her fingers down my arm, slow and light, and gave me a reassuring smile.

***

She took my hand and guided me to the couch.

The room felt still, like the night had settled in around us and wrapped us in something private, something safe.

She sat first, folding herself with quiet grace. Her legs tucked beneath her, feet resting under her thighs, bare and unbothered. Her body was completely exposed — and yet there was no tension, no performance.

Just ease.

She faced me fully, her back straight, her shoulders soft. The kind of posture that didn’t demand attention — it invited it.

I sat beside her, suddenly aware of how much I was still holding in my shoulders, my hands, even my breath.

She noticed, of course. She always noticed.

Her eyes were kind, steady, never once glancing away from my face.

“You’re doing well,” she said softly. “You’re still here. Still open. That means something.”

I nodded, unsure of how to respond, but needing her words more than I realized.

She smiled — not a knowing smile, not teasing. Just warmth.

“This isn’t about being naked,” she said. “This is about being seen — and not looking away from yourself when someone else does.”

I looked down, unsure again.

She reached for my hand and placed it gently in her lap.

“I’ve spent years learning to sit like this,” she added quietly. “Not just physically — but emotionally. To be at ease in my own skin. To not hide from the softness in me.”

Her voice was calm, almost like she was telling a story she’d told to someone else long ago. Maybe even to herself.

“Being a woman… isn’t just about bodies or curves or sex.”
“It’s about presence. It’s about choosing to feel, even when it’s uncomfortable. About listening to your own heartbeat, and letting it lead you instead of fear.”

She looked at me again, her eyes open, without expectation.

“You don’t have to rush,” she whispered. “You’re already becoming her.”

And I believed her.

“It’s just us girls now,” she said, her voice calm and honeyed. “You can relax. You can ask me anything.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” she continued. “What it means to be seen as a woman. What it means to be touched, to be wanted. To give your body and your pleasure to someone who knows how to take their time with it.”

She sat across from me, still calm, still glowing with the quiet kind of confidence I longed to feel.

Our hands were resting between us — mine slightly trembling, hers steady.

Then her voice softened even more.

“Do you want to know what it feels like?”

I looked up at her.

She didn’t have to clarify.

“When a man is close,” she continued, “when his body is pressed against yours — not inside yet, not moving — just there...”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if remembering.

“It’s this… heat. This weight. You can feel his breath at your neck, his chest at your back. You feel the way his hardness rests right against you, not forcing, not rushing — just claiming space that was always meant for him.”

She opened her eyes again, meeting mine.

“You feel the anticipation in your skin before you feel it anywhere else. Like every nerve is leaning forward.”

I swallowed, her words settling into me like ripples on water.

“And that pressure,” she said, almost in a whisper, “that presence of him pressed against you, waiting… it’s more intimate than anything else. Because your body knows what’s coming. And it welcomes it before your mind even catches up.”

She paused, letting the silence stretch — not awkward, just full.

Then she smiled again, gently.

“It’s not about being taken,” she said. “It’s about allowing. And when you allow it fully… that moment just before he enters you?”

Her hand brushed over mine again.

“That’s when you realize how ready you already were.”

She tilted her head, eyes warm but knowing.

“Being with a man, really being with him — it’s not just about the act. It’s the way he touches you when your body opens for him, the heat between your thighs, the way your breath syncs when he moves inside you.”

I listened, quiet, my body still humming from everything that had come before.

“It’s the tension building, the pleasure swelling — sometimes slow, sometimes wild — until your whole self is pulsing around him, tightening, holding, needing.”

She leaned in, brushing her lips near my ear.

“And when it’s right… it’s not just his body inside you.”
“It’s the surrender. The letting go. The feeling of being filled in every way.”

She pulled back to meet my eyes again.

“So, tell me…” she said softly, brushing her fingers over mine, “what are you ready to feel next?”

“I want to expereince being Her”

She looked at me, eyes steady and warm, her voice soft but firm.

“If you really want to have the full, real experience of being a woman in this moment,” she said, “you have to go all the way. You have to let yourself be taken — completely. Not just the body, but your trust, your surrender, your willingness to be enjoyed.”

I nodded, trying to hold her gaze, feeling both nervous and strangely ready.

She smiled gently and reached for my hand.

“When he moves inside you,” she explained, “you’ll feel this deep fullness — like something warm pressing and stretching in a way that’s both tender and intense. It’s not just physical; it’s like your body is opening up to hold him.”

Her fingers traced softly along my arm.

“There’s a rhythmic friction, a dance of movement and sensation. It’s warm, wet, slick — your body’s own invitation. And every little motion sends waves of pleasure that ripple through you, tightening and relaxing muscles you didn’t even know you had.”

She paused, searching my face.

“It’s more than that, though. It’s the connection. The vulnerability. The trust that lets you be raw and real. Your skin tingles, your breath quickens, and sometimes… sometimes time slows down. The world narrows to just you, him, and the moment.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling deep inside me.

“To have this,” she said softly, “you have to let go. Let him in. Let yourself feel everything — the fullness, the pressure, the warmth, the wetness, the electric pulses. That’s where the real magic happens.”

Her eyes softened as she squeezed my hand.

“Are you ready for that?”

I hesitated, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

“I’m afraid it will hurt,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” she said gently. “The first time can feel intense, sometimes even a little uncomfortable — but that’s not the same as pain. Your body knows what it’s doing, and when you’re relaxed, when you’re with someone who respects you, it’s usually more about the stretch than the sting.”

Her hand rested lightly on my cheek, steadying me.

“It’s a good kind of stretch, like opening to something new. And if you need to pause or breathe, that’s okay. There’s no rush.”

She looked into my eyes, calm and patient.

“Trust your body. Listen to it. And trust that I’m here, with you.”

She smiled warmly, her voice soft but filled with conviction.

“If you allow it, the gift will be mind blowing. Orgasm is more than just a moment of pleasure,” she began. “It’s a full-body experience — a release that ripples through you, starting deep inside and washing outward.”

Her eyes held mine, steady and knowing.

“You’ll feel a wave of warmth rise from your core to your skin, like something blooming and unfolding inside you. Your muscles tense and then release in rhythmic pulses — sometimes fast, sometimes slow — like waves crashing and pulling back.”

She leaned closer, her breath gentle against my cheek.

“It’s a mind-blurring euphoria, where everything else falls away. Sometimes your vision narrows, sounds soften, and you feel completely suspended, like floating between the moment and forever.”

Her fingers traced a lazy circle on my hand.

“There are electric tingles that shoot through your limbs, your spine, your chest — a warmth that’s both fierce and tender. You might let out a deep breath or a moan, something raw and true.”

She squeezed my hand reassuringly.

“And after? There’s this glowing stillness, a peace that fills you — like you’ve been undone and rebuilt all at once. That’s why it’s worth it. Because it’s not just about the physical pleasure; it’s about being fully seen, fully alive, and fully free.”

She smiled again, softly.

“When you let yourself feel all of that — the fullness, the connection, the release — you discover a part of yourself you never knew before.”

She stood slowly and reached for my hand, her movements unhurried and full of care.

“Come,” she said softly, her voice like a warm thread pulling me gently forward.

She led me to the bed, where the sheets were still slightly rumpled, holding the warmth of the evening. Everything felt quieter now — less about what might happen, and more about what was happening. The shift inside me. The softness I was stepping into.

At the edge of the bed, she turned to me, her fingers brushing lightly at my hips. Not demanding, not suggestive — simply inviting.

She helped me ease out of the last barrier of fabric, her touch delicate, as if tending to something sacred.

Then she lay back on the bed and patted the space beside her.

“Lie with me,” she said, “just like this.”

I joined her, our bodies curled on our sides, facing each other. The space between us was close but unhurried — our breath mingling in the quiet air.

Her eyes searched mine, and when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“This isn’t about rushing,” she said. “It’s about being still long enough to feel what’s really there.”

She gave me one last searching look — not asking, just making sure — and I nodded.

That was all she needed.
He had returned.

I lay on my side, completely bare, the satin sheets cool against my skin.

She faced me, eyes warm, fingers brushing soft strands of hair from my cheek. There was something grounding in her gaze — like an anchor holding me steady while the rest of me trembled.

Then I felt the bed shift behind me.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to.

The heat of his body pressed close, his chest warm against my back, his breath steady near my neck.

And then I felt it — the unmistakable firmness of him, hard and hot, nudging between my thighs.

I gasped, just a little.

Without a word, he slipped a hand around my waist and gently pulled my leg up and over his hips.

I was open now — stretched in a way that made my heart beat faster, my breath shallow.

I could feel him — not inside me yet, but there. Pressed right against me. Waiting.

The thickness of him nudged softly at my entrance, warm and real, the anticipation making my body clench in response.

And between us… silence.

Except it wasn’t empty.

It was full of breath, heat, unspoken promise.

I stayed still, surrounded by them — her steady gaze in front of me, his quiet strength behind.

Balanced on the edge of something I couldn’t take back.
He rubbed his hard cock against my opening. Playing, teasing, giving pleasure.
I leaned back into him, my final surrender, not to receive, but to offer.
I felt a soft, warm fullness as he entered me, at first uncomfortable, being stretched open.
He stayed still, just inside me, allowing me time to get use to his size.

I moaned, pushing my hips towards him, wanting more, wanting all of him to be inside me, filling me.

A tilt of my hips, a softening of my spine. My hand found his wrist and held it there, steadying him as he moved inside me. And for the first time, I understood what it meant to give pleasure, not just to feel it.

Every reaction in him — the tightening of his fingers, the way his chest pressed more firmly against my back, the small, involuntary sounds he made — lit something inside me. A warmth that wasn’t about being filled or taken… but about being the reason he felt so alive.

I had become his. I felt more powerful than I ever had. I was soft, yes — but not weak. I was open — but I had chosen it. I had invited this, and now I was feeling unfold inside me, experiencing it unfold in him.

He was stretching me open, patiently easing into a rhythm that felt like exhaling after holding my breath too long.

A gentle friction pulsed with every shift; my body buzzed with tingles that traveled down my thighs and up my spine.

It wasn’t loud or overwhelming. It was quiet, like a secret unfolding from the inside.

Emotionally, I felt suspended—our breathing mingled, time slowed, and I sensed how close our bodies were in both flesh and feeling.

I realized right then: this wasn’t just about being fucked.

It was about being safe enough to let him in—and letting myself feel more alive than ever before.

His thrusts became more rapid and when he tensed — when his rhythm faltered and I knew what was coming — I reached around, grabbing his hips as he exploded inside me. he had found pleasure and release inside me…

But something shared with me.

His pleasure became mine.

And I had never felt more connected. More seen. More real. Completed.

The room was quiet now — not the kind of silence that demanded words, but the kind that wrapped around us like a second blanket.

I was still lying on my side, my body humming with a softness I didn’t have a name for. Not pleasure exactly… not anymore. Something deeper. Like a deep sense of calm.

His arm rested gently around my waist, fingers trailing idle shapes against my stomach. Not possessive. Just… present.

Behind me, his breathing had slowed — warm and even against the back of my neck. Every now and then, I felt a slight shift in his body, like he was adjusting to stay close without disturbing me. It made me feel wanted. Not just touched — but kept.

She hadn’t let go of my hand.

Her thumb moved lazily over mine, like a quiet reassurance. Her body was close, still curved along my front. Then, after a moment, she propped herself up slightly, steadying her head on the palm of her hand. She looked at me — really looked — and smiled.

There was something in her gaze that made the air catch in my chest. Not triumph, not curiosity. Just… warmth. The kind of look that said, "You're safe now. You're seen."

I held her gaze for a heartbeat longer than I meant to. My eyes stung, but not from sadness. From release. From being known in a way that words couldn’t hold.

The weight of what had just happened began to settle over me. Not as a shock, but as a kind of awe. That I had opened myself — willingly. That I had given, and received, and survived it… changed.

No one spoke for a while. There was no need. The room felt thick with breath and memory, and I lay there, floating somewhere between presence and dreaming.

My body was tired, but not sore. Touched, but not taken. There was something sacred in the quiet. Something unspoken in the way they stayed close without asking for more.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like a visitor in my own skin.

I felt… real.