Control Desired
of
Cathy’s Journey
genre
masturbation
Every desire has its Genesis in circumstance. For Cathy that occurred shortly after her 18th birthday when, searching through her brother’s cupboard for the umpteenth time she found a stack of magazines hidden away, that she had not seen before.
She should not have been searching, but after both her mother and brother left her alone with her father on the farm she did anything she could to overcome the daily tedium. She pulled the magazines out and sat on his bed to page through.
Living alone with a conservative father had left her naïve and curious. Her days were spent cleaning the farmhouse, collecting the eggs, preparing the meals for her father’s return in the evenings, wearing the same clothes she had worn for years. She was painfully aware of her isolation, of the sense that the world was passing by without her.
Although she had never seen them before, the magazines were clearly for adults. The first one fell open at the centre and Cathy’s heart jumped: a young woman staring brazenly into the camera, legs spread open wide, knees lifted, naked womanhood openly on display. The image was so shameless that Cathy took moments to stare in disbelief that any woman could expose herself this way. The display seemed so invasive that she snapped the magazine shut and replaced the entire pile in the cupboard. She felt the heat of her own shame in her face as she hurriedly left the room.
For the next hour she continued her duties around the house but her thoughts were consumed with what she had seen. Clearly her brother had looked at these images. Had her father? What kind of woman would do this? It could only be for money.
Eventually Cathy returned to the cupboard, drawn by an invisible thread to see. Sitting on the bed with the magazines around her she slowly consumed the contents. Image after image of women displaying everything, similar poses repeated over and over: legs akimbo, panties pulled aside or down, on all fours looking back at the camera, occasionally reaching back to spread their bottoms and exhibit their anuses; and the pictures of women pleasing men, taking penises in their mouths, looking in the camera or the men’s eyes, then letting the men penetrate them, often more than one man or women in the scene. And shockingly, the women pleasing each other: kissing, undressing, touching, openly licking each other.
Through all of this Cathy’s heart pounded, her mouth dry. One particular image had the most impact: a girl as young as herself, sitting on a chair with her legs up and open, so high that both her womanhood and the brown nub of her anus were on display, a look of resignation on her face below the title: 18 and never been kissed. For a moment Cathy thought: that’s me - 18 and never been kissed.
Over the next days she kept returning; initially just browsing but then searching for specific things: at first the men’s penises - hard, demanding. It seemed that the women taking men into their mouths were somehow deferring to the men’s demands; and this seemed natural to Cathy. The men seemed to often be in control of the women - and she somehow related to this feminine submissiveness.
But Cathy also had a fascination with the women - displaying themselves, occasionally seeming reluctant, for anyone that could afford the magazines. She progressively imagined what brought the women to the point of abandoning their principles. Until one day, in the midst of her chores she thought: how would I feel if it was me?
How would I feel? How would I feel with a group of men around me, cameras and lights, telling me what to do? Seeing… everything. Everything. Legs akimbo, womanhood exhibited, pulling bottom open, looking into the lens. She imagined a room full of men around her; and then, over the days of thinking about it, of sneaking back into the room to look at the images, she imagined one man; a fantasy figure, older, understanding, given her commands in a soft voice that she had to follow.
Alone in bed after her father had gone to sleep it would haunt her; 18 year old Cathy lying awake with one exploratory hand on her sex, throwing off the blankets to imagine herself being watched, pushing down her underwear and pulling up her nightdress. When she bathed she imagined the fantasy man sitting in the bathroom watching her; as she dressed she found herself posing in the mirror. She was - suddenly - a sexual being, aware of how her self perception had changed. Once she caught herself rubbing herself on a chair arm, eyes closed, lost in the moment of pleasure. She had never been religious like her father, but each of these steps took time. She was torn between lust and guilt, rationalising her actions. Was it wrong to fantasise? It hurt nobody. Was it wrong to return to the pictures and softly touch as she looked? The pictures existed - she had no role in creating them. They would exist with or without her.
How did she decide to live out the fantasy? One moment she was thinking about the magazines; the next the plan was germinating in her thoughts. She had to live it out. She had to expose herself for the fantasy man. She had to be the … slut that was described in the magazine comments. She barely recognised at first that this was a desire for submission; all she knew was that the thought started the tingling deep inside that could only be satisfied by fantasy and her fingers.
At first she did nothing but work it out in her head. Her mother had abandoned her father years earlier: she went through her mothers clothing for the clothing that would satisfy this need and at the back of the cupboard she found the perfect item. It was so beautiful that she wondered if her mother had missed it when she left: a black and white ankle-length sequinned evening gown, a little tight on Cathy’s body, with zipper from the ankle to the waist along the outside of the right leg. With the zipper down the dress was conservative; with the zipper up it would show her entire leg, almost to the hip.
She added to this high red heels, black pantyhose and a matching set of black panties and brassiere. In the bathroom there was unused makeup, in the bedside drawer a pair of earrings: everything that Cathy needed to transform from the naïve farm girl to the brazen women in the pictures.
And then came the day.
As always, her father left before dawn. She awoke to an empty house and lay in her bed forever, knowing, not knowing what she had planned. She rose eventually and spent half the morning doing her chores and then the moment had arrived. Amongst the many vinyl records owned by her father was one song: Je’ Taime. She knew nothing about the source but played it, standing listening to the clearly sexual intonations of the woman in the song.
And then she moved to her parents room, opened her mothers cupboard, disrobed and started transforming. Black underwear and stockings; makeup with cherry red lipstick; skin tight evening dress and finally the moment of standing before the mirror, presenting herself to the fantasy man that would take control.
She could see her entire body in the long mirror, with the bed behind. She imagined three men watching her, seeing the image reflected in the mirror, with one of the men given her instructions. At 18 she was thinner than her mother - still gangly with hardly any breasts at all; but her evident youth suited the fantasy of the older man directing her, taking his time to strip away her innocence.
In her imagination he began to speak now, using the language that had shocked her in the magazines.
“Hello Cathy. You’ve never been a slut like this before, have you?”
She shook her head, lowered her eyes briefly.
“Turn around. We want to see all of you.”
Cathy rotated, watching herself as best she could from all angles. When she stood facing herself again he continued speaking: “you’ve started touching your little cunt secretly haven’t you?” The language was extreme, but imagining that turn of phrases sparked a twitch between her legs, setting her heart pounding.
She almost whispered: “I have.”
“Lift your dress and show us your panties.”
Even with the zipper open it was difficult to raise the length of the dress, but she eventually stood with legs exposed, the cloth bundled under her chin, panties peering out, hardly visible.
“Higher Cathy. Don’t hide it away.”
She managed to pull it up so that the panties were clearly evident, even a glimpse of her belly above them.
“Keep your legs open Cathy. Turn around slowly so we see your bottom in the panties. Slowly. Stop. Bend forward.”
The material was pulled tightly against the curve of her derrière now and she imagined how the men would be able to see through the ephemeral material, staying long moments in that position until eventually he told her to face the mirror again.
“Don’t lower the dress Cathy. Pull your panties right up against your cunt. Let us see the lips.”
The fantasy man in the mirror was taking his time to humiliate her now; she felt the tension between the shame of doing this and the excitement. Because there was no man; she was showing herself to herself, crafting her own willing subjugation. She pulled the top hem of the panties high and her pussy lips were clearly pressed against the panties, pulled slightly open and - shamefully - slightly moist.
“Very good Cathy. Push the panties and pantyhose to your knees now. Keep the dress up.”
Lowering the panties, keeping her legs open to hold the material up she was displaying herself as openly as the women in the magazine. She stood bottomless for the mirror, feeling the cool air of the room on her bottom and genitalia, the trill of excitement at the three men examining her.
“Such a sweet cunt Cathy. It’s never been used by a man, has it?”
She shook her head.
“Take the dress, pantyhose and panties off and sit on the bed Cathy. Keep the heels on.”
Cathy fumbled with the clothing, realising that the intensity of the experience had left her trembling. She imagined her every move being watched and, true to her nature she set the clothes aside, carefully folded, before sitting facing the mirror again.
“Keep your legs open wide Cathy and sit forward so we can all see your cunt. Like that, yes. Now pull your cunt lips open.”
Cathy pulled her knees apart, seeing her pussy lips parting slightly until she drew them open herself. This would be degrading if any man has been there, but the humiliation of the pose, seeing herself obediently sexually subjugated by this fantasy started to overwhelm her. Her legs trembling, she could not stop herself from sliding a finger into her vagina, seeing herself behave like a promiscuous whore for the imaginary audience.
“What a slut, Cathy - fingering yourself in front of us, fucking your chubby little cunt as we watch.”
At those words all of the tension, the excitement, the thrill of the moment burst into a shattering orgasm. She watched herself, hips bucking, cunt wide open, fingers flicking against her clitoris or deeply into her pussy as she moaned and writhed, breaths coming in gulps until she could not prevent a final cry as the pleasure consumed that place between her extended legs.
She lay back on the bed, catching her breath, shocked by the intensity of the moment, confused by her own desire for male domination and what it had done to her. Even now her pussy was gently twitching. She knew that this experience had changed something in her; that she would repeat it over and over in her quest for release, that her submissiveness was imprinted in her sexual desires.
That this need would never go away.
She should not have been searching, but after both her mother and brother left her alone with her father on the farm she did anything she could to overcome the daily tedium. She pulled the magazines out and sat on his bed to page through.
Living alone with a conservative father had left her naïve and curious. Her days were spent cleaning the farmhouse, collecting the eggs, preparing the meals for her father’s return in the evenings, wearing the same clothes she had worn for years. She was painfully aware of her isolation, of the sense that the world was passing by without her.
Although she had never seen them before, the magazines were clearly for adults. The first one fell open at the centre and Cathy’s heart jumped: a young woman staring brazenly into the camera, legs spread open wide, knees lifted, naked womanhood openly on display. The image was so shameless that Cathy took moments to stare in disbelief that any woman could expose herself this way. The display seemed so invasive that she snapped the magazine shut and replaced the entire pile in the cupboard. She felt the heat of her own shame in her face as she hurriedly left the room.
For the next hour she continued her duties around the house but her thoughts were consumed with what she had seen. Clearly her brother had looked at these images. Had her father? What kind of woman would do this? It could only be for money.
Eventually Cathy returned to the cupboard, drawn by an invisible thread to see. Sitting on the bed with the magazines around her she slowly consumed the contents. Image after image of women displaying everything, similar poses repeated over and over: legs akimbo, panties pulled aside or down, on all fours looking back at the camera, occasionally reaching back to spread their bottoms and exhibit their anuses; and the pictures of women pleasing men, taking penises in their mouths, looking in the camera or the men’s eyes, then letting the men penetrate them, often more than one man or women in the scene. And shockingly, the women pleasing each other: kissing, undressing, touching, openly licking each other.
Through all of this Cathy’s heart pounded, her mouth dry. One particular image had the most impact: a girl as young as herself, sitting on a chair with her legs up and open, so high that both her womanhood and the brown nub of her anus were on display, a look of resignation on her face below the title: 18 and never been kissed. For a moment Cathy thought: that’s me - 18 and never been kissed.
Over the next days she kept returning; initially just browsing but then searching for specific things: at first the men’s penises - hard, demanding. It seemed that the women taking men into their mouths were somehow deferring to the men’s demands; and this seemed natural to Cathy. The men seemed to often be in control of the women - and she somehow related to this feminine submissiveness.
But Cathy also had a fascination with the women - displaying themselves, occasionally seeming reluctant, for anyone that could afford the magazines. She progressively imagined what brought the women to the point of abandoning their principles. Until one day, in the midst of her chores she thought: how would I feel if it was me?
How would I feel? How would I feel with a group of men around me, cameras and lights, telling me what to do? Seeing… everything. Everything. Legs akimbo, womanhood exhibited, pulling bottom open, looking into the lens. She imagined a room full of men around her; and then, over the days of thinking about it, of sneaking back into the room to look at the images, she imagined one man; a fantasy figure, older, understanding, given her commands in a soft voice that she had to follow.
Alone in bed after her father had gone to sleep it would haunt her; 18 year old Cathy lying awake with one exploratory hand on her sex, throwing off the blankets to imagine herself being watched, pushing down her underwear and pulling up her nightdress. When she bathed she imagined the fantasy man sitting in the bathroom watching her; as she dressed she found herself posing in the mirror. She was - suddenly - a sexual being, aware of how her self perception had changed. Once she caught herself rubbing herself on a chair arm, eyes closed, lost in the moment of pleasure. She had never been religious like her father, but each of these steps took time. She was torn between lust and guilt, rationalising her actions. Was it wrong to fantasise? It hurt nobody. Was it wrong to return to the pictures and softly touch as she looked? The pictures existed - she had no role in creating them. They would exist with or without her.
How did she decide to live out the fantasy? One moment she was thinking about the magazines; the next the plan was germinating in her thoughts. She had to live it out. She had to expose herself for the fantasy man. She had to be the … slut that was described in the magazine comments. She barely recognised at first that this was a desire for submission; all she knew was that the thought started the tingling deep inside that could only be satisfied by fantasy and her fingers.
At first she did nothing but work it out in her head. Her mother had abandoned her father years earlier: she went through her mothers clothing for the clothing that would satisfy this need and at the back of the cupboard she found the perfect item. It was so beautiful that she wondered if her mother had missed it when she left: a black and white ankle-length sequinned evening gown, a little tight on Cathy’s body, with zipper from the ankle to the waist along the outside of the right leg. With the zipper down the dress was conservative; with the zipper up it would show her entire leg, almost to the hip.
She added to this high red heels, black pantyhose and a matching set of black panties and brassiere. In the bathroom there was unused makeup, in the bedside drawer a pair of earrings: everything that Cathy needed to transform from the naïve farm girl to the brazen women in the pictures.
And then came the day.
As always, her father left before dawn. She awoke to an empty house and lay in her bed forever, knowing, not knowing what she had planned. She rose eventually and spent half the morning doing her chores and then the moment had arrived. Amongst the many vinyl records owned by her father was one song: Je’ Taime. She knew nothing about the source but played it, standing listening to the clearly sexual intonations of the woman in the song.
And then she moved to her parents room, opened her mothers cupboard, disrobed and started transforming. Black underwear and stockings; makeup with cherry red lipstick; skin tight evening dress and finally the moment of standing before the mirror, presenting herself to the fantasy man that would take control.
She could see her entire body in the long mirror, with the bed behind. She imagined three men watching her, seeing the image reflected in the mirror, with one of the men given her instructions. At 18 she was thinner than her mother - still gangly with hardly any breasts at all; but her evident youth suited the fantasy of the older man directing her, taking his time to strip away her innocence.
In her imagination he began to speak now, using the language that had shocked her in the magazines.
“Hello Cathy. You’ve never been a slut like this before, have you?”
She shook her head, lowered her eyes briefly.
“Turn around. We want to see all of you.”
Cathy rotated, watching herself as best she could from all angles. When she stood facing herself again he continued speaking: “you’ve started touching your little cunt secretly haven’t you?” The language was extreme, but imagining that turn of phrases sparked a twitch between her legs, setting her heart pounding.
She almost whispered: “I have.”
“Lift your dress and show us your panties.”
Even with the zipper open it was difficult to raise the length of the dress, but she eventually stood with legs exposed, the cloth bundled under her chin, panties peering out, hardly visible.
“Higher Cathy. Don’t hide it away.”
She managed to pull it up so that the panties were clearly evident, even a glimpse of her belly above them.
“Keep your legs open Cathy. Turn around slowly so we see your bottom in the panties. Slowly. Stop. Bend forward.”
The material was pulled tightly against the curve of her derrière now and she imagined how the men would be able to see through the ephemeral material, staying long moments in that position until eventually he told her to face the mirror again.
“Don’t lower the dress Cathy. Pull your panties right up against your cunt. Let us see the lips.”
The fantasy man in the mirror was taking his time to humiliate her now; she felt the tension between the shame of doing this and the excitement. Because there was no man; she was showing herself to herself, crafting her own willing subjugation. She pulled the top hem of the panties high and her pussy lips were clearly pressed against the panties, pulled slightly open and - shamefully - slightly moist.
“Very good Cathy. Push the panties and pantyhose to your knees now. Keep the dress up.”
Lowering the panties, keeping her legs open to hold the material up she was displaying herself as openly as the women in the magazine. She stood bottomless for the mirror, feeling the cool air of the room on her bottom and genitalia, the trill of excitement at the three men examining her.
“Such a sweet cunt Cathy. It’s never been used by a man, has it?”
She shook her head.
“Take the dress, pantyhose and panties off and sit on the bed Cathy. Keep the heels on.”
Cathy fumbled with the clothing, realising that the intensity of the experience had left her trembling. She imagined her every move being watched and, true to her nature she set the clothes aside, carefully folded, before sitting facing the mirror again.
“Keep your legs open wide Cathy and sit forward so we can all see your cunt. Like that, yes. Now pull your cunt lips open.”
Cathy pulled her knees apart, seeing her pussy lips parting slightly until she drew them open herself. This would be degrading if any man has been there, but the humiliation of the pose, seeing herself obediently sexually subjugated by this fantasy started to overwhelm her. Her legs trembling, she could not stop herself from sliding a finger into her vagina, seeing herself behave like a promiscuous whore for the imaginary audience.
“What a slut, Cathy - fingering yourself in front of us, fucking your chubby little cunt as we watch.”
At those words all of the tension, the excitement, the thrill of the moment burst into a shattering orgasm. She watched herself, hips bucking, cunt wide open, fingers flicking against her clitoris or deeply into her pussy as she moaned and writhed, breaths coming in gulps until she could not prevent a final cry as the pleasure consumed that place between her extended legs.
She lay back on the bed, catching her breath, shocked by the intensity of the moment, confused by her own desire for male domination and what it had done to her. Even now her pussy was gently twitching. She knew that this experience had changed something in her; that she would repeat it over and over in her quest for release, that her submissiveness was imprinted in her sexual desires.
That this need would never go away.
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