I Learn My Place Ch. 01

The inspiration for the details of "She Learns Her Place" (another story I've posted here) is a fantasy that occurred to me a few years ago. I can't really be sure why I had it, but it has definitely stuck with me over the years, and I never fail to get very turned on when I think about it. In this fantasy, I'm in the submissive role.

Anyway, the fantasy follows about the same lines, but involves a guy named John who I went to high school with and, among other things, had a near perfect body - especially his pecs, his abdomen and his arms ... and a perfect butt too. He was on the swim team for years, and it showed. Not only was I jealous of his body, but I found that, over the years I knew him, I was attracted to him physically. But, I have to admit I never "liked" him in the way that I was attracted to women.

Nothing ever happened between us, and aside from the fantasy, I don't think I really would have wanted it to. But I've always liked to keep the idea in the back of my head, and wonder what would happen if I someday had the opportunity. It's sort of my "forbidden fantasy."

This particular fantasy takes place in the present. He arrives in town for a job interview, and he stays in the apartment where my wife and I lived. His arrival is matched by a heightened sexuality, as I can tell right off that my wife also notices his physical attractions, which have not been diminished at all by the passage of time.

The first night after he arrives, my wife and I have very passionate sex ... because we know he is there in the next room. Although my wife and I say nothing to each other, we are both fantasizing that John would join us, and hoping that he hears us, or walks by the half open door and watches us.

The sexual tension builds over the next two days, but nothing happens. Early Friday morning, I leave to take my wife to the airport for a week-long business trip. When I return, John is up in the kitchen, wearing only his tiny bikini underwear, of course. He didn't expect that I would return so quickly, and that I would have a perfect view of his perfect body ... or did he?

That day was his big interview, and we got together afterwards to celebrate. He chose the meeting place : an outdoor bar down near the river, that on Friday afternoons does quite a "singles" business. It's not the classic singles' bar, but it's filled with young, unattached people who are looking to spend some time with the same. Being married, I'm not out for this sort of thing, and I'm just wearing jeans and a simple shirt. But John is single, and looking good in his suit and the dress shirt stretched tight across his chest.

While we're there, many women come up to us, and once they look at my ring finger, they're glad they don't have to make conversation with me and they can just home in on John. He loves every minute of it, and he loves having an audience. And I love watching him. In fact, I couldn't choose who I'm more jealous of, him or the women swarming around him. Eventually, some dancing starts, and I get to sit back and watch him, watch his body, watch his power over these women, and enjoy my hard-on.

There's an element I've very recently added to this fantasy. At one point, John comes back and rejoins me after dancing, and his dance partner actually takes an interest in talking to me. She starts to flirt with me, and very expertly, being not at all obvious. Eventually, she convinces me to come out and dance with her, which I am not entirely reluctant to do, as she is very attractive.

While we dance to a quiet number, she simply seems to enjoy holding me and having my company. Me too. After a moment, she starts to talk, very quietly, without pushing me. She mentions how good John looks, and I admit that I notice how well he's doing. She convinces me to admit that I'm jealous, but not exactly of him. She gets me to say that I like watching him. Then, she throws me off by saying that she knows how I feel, she knows that it's nice to watch. Becoming defensive, I tense up ... and there's where we get the line, "I'm not saying that you have to watch . . . he could watch . . . I could watch."

The fact that she sees my desires so well throws me off, though, and is the excuse for me to leave. John doesn't object, he'll meet me back at my place.

Of course, when I get back, I'm entirely frustrated and turned on. But instead of relieving my tensions by touching myself, I only frustrate myself further by slipping into microfiber boxer briefs and a t-shirt. I try to watch some TV, but my hard-on never relaxes. But that's just what I want, isn't it?

Eventually, John comes back, very "up" from his evening. I find this very stimulating, but I'm even more stimulated by the impression that he's done something more than dance with the attractive young women that filled the bar that evening. I have to twist around to hide my erection from him.

But I don't make things easy for myself, or shrink away from my opportunity. I suggest that we share a joint, just like we did in high school, and he happily agrees. When I come back out, he has of course changed into his t-shirt and silk boxers-stretched tight across his beautiful round buns.

You know what happens. We talk, and somehow the conversation turns to the perfection of his body. But we're two guys, right? Although we are entirely familiar with hard-ons, we know that they're intended for women, not men, right?

So when I notice that he's got just about the biggest, stiffest shaft I have ever seen (in fact, the only full erection I've ever seen before, other than my own), I can just tell myself that it must be the remnants of his earlier activities, and I should just try to ignore it, like I'm trying to ignore my own hard, pulsating cock, which must be perfectly obvious under my skimpy boy-cut briefs.

John, of course, is simply amused by my predicament and, after taking off his shirt, continues to talk about some imagined imperfections in his perfect pectorals. And of course, using this excuse to run his hands lovingly over his chest.

By this point, I grow silent, now completely hypnotized. I can only sit meekly and watch his performance, being too shy to make the first move. This permits him, without saying a word, to reach down and move his shorts aside and reveal his deliciously hard shaft to me, and to slowly stroke himself, all as I simply sit there, transfixed.

Finally, as if he realizes that I am at his command and will do only as I am told, he reaches over and, after one final glance at me, takes each side of my head in his hands and lowers my mouth onto his hard cock, before pushing it past my lips and into my mouth.

As I've never sucked a man off before, I don't know exactly what to do. But I know what I like and I try to do it for him. Apparently, I'm eventually a success, and he comes. But that's not all that I'm willing to do for him. Never does a word pass between us, but for the rest of that evening I explore every inch of his perfect body, serving and pleasing him as best I can, without ever a thought to satisfying my own throbbing cock, until I eventually pass out from the sheer exhaustion of my pleasure.

I wake up the next morning, on the couch next to him. We're both naked. For a minute, I'm frightened and confused, wondering how to explain what happened between us. Eventually, I gather up my courage and turn to look at him. I begin to mumble some story about how I didn't know what I was doing, and I hoped he wouldn't get the wrong impression.

He just looks back at me, impassive. Then it seems that he's getting impatient with having to listen to my miserable story, and I'm momentarily worried. But instead of getting angry at me, he just reaches over and casually flips me over on my stomach. He doesn't even have to be forceful with me, and I of course shut up immediately. He calmly spreads open my legs and takes me from behind. He hadn't done so last night, and as it's the first time I've been penetrated, it's not easy. But he's very strong, and he gets himself all the way in, and he comes inside of me. And I come too.

Then he just as calmly pulls himself out and goes off to take a shower. And the only thing I can wonder is if I have permission to move.

Of course, for the next week, I belong to him completely. We don't talk much, and I don't even care to wonder whether he's my friend or not. But I enjoy pleasures I never knew were possible.

Even after my wife returns, and my normal life resumes, I take every chance I can to sneak away and be with him. He knows that he has me completely under his control and he enjoys it. He even calls sometimes, when he knows my wife and I are home together, and he tells me to leave and come over to his place. Sometimes, he doesn't even let me take a shower before going back home.

That was about the end of my fantasy. But, a few years later, I thought up the next episode. I know that some time passed before this occurred to me because we had since moved from our apartment to a two-level home.

One night, I had to work late and I called home to tell my wife. She told me not to worry, that she had plans with some friends and she might not even be home when I got home, so I shouldn't bother calling. Nothing unusual in that.

Happily, the project I was working on is postponed so I can leave the office at about 7:30 pm. I'm happy that I'll just have a relaxing evening to myself. But I'm way more happy when I arrive home and see John's car parked outside our house. Thinking that he must have just came over to see if I was there, I very expectantly bound into our house, the erection already pushing against the fabric of my slacks.

As soon as I enter the living room, I hear sounds from upstairs. The sounds of John fucking someone. At first, I'm completely thrown off. He's never involved anyone else ... we've always been alone together. But then again, I am intrigued by the idea, and I begin to sneak upstairs.

Imagine my shock and horror when I round the corner of the stairs and see . . .

... my wife thrusting herself up and down very excitedly on John's massive cock, as he lies back on our very own bed . . . the same bed where he had so often taken me when my wife was away!

After a moment where I stand transfixed, staring at the sight in front of me, I simply retreat downstairs. A thousand and one ideas are filling my head, not least of all that my wife is cheating on me. All of the instances when she was away during the past few months begin to flood back to me, as I realize that she had plenty of opportunities. All those nights I was working late at the office ....

I also cannot shut out the noises I hear from upstairs. She's expressing herself like she never had when she made love to me. She's telling John how she's absolutely dying for his cock ... how she can't wait for him to make her come ... and when she does, it's louder and more intense than I had ever done for her.

But actually, what I'm really thinking is that I can't blame her. I too was a slave to John's cock, and I knew why she was doing what she was doing. I knew it ever since that first night when he was in our apartment ...

So, I turn around and sneak back upstairs again. This time, John is on top of her, pushing his perfect torso up on his muscular arms, and I have a perfect view of his chest and abdomen as he thrusts into my wife. And again, I just stand there, transfixed. And he looks up, and sees me. But he only gives me that same look of indifference, and keeps on pounding my wife.

Like a zombie, I walk into the room, saying nothing. At first, my wife is so carried away that she doesn't even see me. But when she does, she panics. She starts saying, "oh my god, oh honey, it's not what you think, I couldn't help myself," etc.

John is much calmer. He just stops his thrusting, pulls out of her and stands in front of me. He looks at my wife and says, "Don't worry baby, he's not angry at you. At least, not for the reasons you think."

When my wife looks at me, and sees that instead of being angry, I'm just staring with meek desire at John's body, she slowly calms down. Instead of being worried, she begins to get even more turned on ... turned on by John's power over me.

John looks at me, with that same impassive look, "Well, the time has come, Mark. Why don't you show your wife the way things are now. Why don't you show her what you really want to do."

And that's what I do. I drop to my knees, and ...