Sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




Absolute Devotion Ch. 02

After Erica drove off I realized I wasn't sure where I was going. I decided to get a motel room for the night and figure it out in the morning. I made enough money to get my own small apartment, but that would take time. There were friends I could stay with, but I found myself turning away from that option for a reason that was more than a little bizarre.

I didn't want anything to interfere with my "relationship" with Erica. I imagined having my own place would give her a chance to come over in her short shorts and taunt and tease me. As much as I wanted to be with her, to be her boyfriend and make love to her, the longer I continued to constantly fantasize about her, masturbate while thinking about her, and otherwise obsess completely over her, the more I found myself enjoying this role.

Once I got to the motel room and unpacked my things, I went to sleep. In the morning I walked down to the store on the corner to buy writing paper and envelopes so I could write love letters to Erica.

I wrote about how beautiful she was in every way, how when she smiled at me it made all my worries and cares go away, and how my life would be incomplete without her in it.

I knew that to most people this would seem strange and wrong. From the outside it would look like I was a pathetic fool, throwing myself at a woman who had no intention of being with me as a traditional girlfriend. She treated me like an inferior, like I was a peasant and she was a queen, but I was growing to love our strange relationship more than any relationship I'd had with a woman in the past.

Before Jean there had been two other women who had filled the role of girlfriend in my life. Elizabeth was the first, a bookish woman who dressed very conservatively and devoted herself to learning as much about everything as she could. She barely paid any attention to me, and when we made love she just lay there beneath me, never moving or reacting in any way to my attempts to arouse or excite her. Sometimes she'd be reading a book while we made love, and I always cringed when she'd inevitably sigh and say, "Aren't you done yet?"

After Elizabeth there was Lisa. I met her in a coffee shop when I was trying to organize a group to protest construction of a strip mall on sacred Indian burial grounds. Only three people came to my meeting on the topic. Lisa was one and the other two were a loudmouthed old man who wanted to yell about every injustice he perceived in the world and a little person who smelled like ham. Things moved quickly with Lisa. We slept together on the first date, we moved in together two weeks later, and within six months she had strip mined my bank accounts, maxed out my credit cards, and disappeared without a trace.

Most of my attempts to approach women and ask them for a date ended badly. One time I approached a woman at a meeting of a homeowner's association I didn't belong to and asked if she would like to have a drink with me sometime. Everyone at the meeting started laughing at me and then I was thrown out of the meeting after being unable to verify that I lived in the neighborhood.

I would have killed an entire family, including cousins and grandparents, to be Erica's boyfriend. That wasn't going to happen, at least not in the traditional sense. On the plus side, this meant that I wouldn't do time in prison, but it also meant something more.

I fantasized about women like Erica, women who were so beautiful that their mere presence could light up a dark room, but I always knew I would never be with one. I played in a different league where women like Elizabeth, Lisa and Jean were the only women who had any interest in me at all.

Those relationships were incredibly unsatisfying. They didn't pay any real attention to me, what I had to say, or what I was interested in. The sex was boring, repetitive, and deeply unsatisfying.

I'd turned to porn and masturbation to satisfy my sexual desires because none of my girlfriends had ever come close to giving me the kind of sexual satisfaction I craved.

Most of all, my ex-girlfriends had all treated me like dirt. It was always, "Clean the kitchen" and "Don't wear those shoes" or "Why do you have such a small dick?" They ordered me around and never took anything I said seriously. I didn't mind being ordered around, but I hated the mundane things they ordered me to do. There was only so much satisfaction to be gained by scrubbing pots in my underwear while Jean drank wine and listened to Leif Garrett music.

Now Erica, who had the most incredible body I'd ever seen, wanted me to worship her and do everything she said. She wanted me to masturbate while fantasizing about her and to write her love letters every day. She wanted me to be at her beck and call like a dog.

It was the perfect relationship for me.

I finished my first love letter to Erica and drove to the post office. I told them it was a local delivery and could they please put it in her post office box for me that day. The clerk told me he would if I slipped him a fiver, which I quickly agreed to.

When I got back to the motel and checked my email on my laptop, there was an email from an address I didn't recognize. The subject line read "The present I promised you." I opened it and saw there was an attachment, a photograph of some kind. All the email said was "You should be able to get off more than three times today" and was only signed "XOXOXOXO."

I opened the attachment excitedly, wondering what it might be. The motel's WiFi was hideously slow, so it took time to download. It was a large file, a picture that was larger than the screen on my computer. It was very high density and amazingly clear.

She had sent a photograph of her left foot that was life sized and so clear it was as if it were dangling right in front of my face begging for my love and affection.

It was like it was Christmas. After years of surfing the web and masturbating to pictures of women's feet and legs I had received the most perfect picture of the most perfect foot imaginable, and it belonged to a woman I knew and loved. My heart was racing, my body was shaking, and my cock was so hard it felt as if it were going to explode.

It took me no more than thirty seconds to get myself off while looking at the picture. Every curve, every wrinkle, every tiny detail of Erica's gorgeous foot was right there in front of me. It seemed to be pointing up in the air and curled just enough to highlight the soft, wrinkled skin of her foot's wonderfully high arch. Each of her long toes was bent down and her big toe, with its perfectly manicured pink toenail, glistened with just a slight hint of sweat or oil. It was begging me to suck on it.

Her skin was so flawless, and that extended to her foot, which showed no sign of cracked skin or callouses. She had to use some kind of skin care product, a cream or oil of some kind, to keep her foot so perfect and so flawless. Her heel, which I dreamed of biting in a loving way, looked so strong and so delicate at the same time.

Even after my orgasm, I could not look away, and my cock remained fully erect. I started talking to the picture, telling it how beautiful it was, that I loved it, and would treasure it forever.

With tears in my eyes I started masturbating again with a furious passion. I was crying as I called out Erica's name, over and over again, professing my love for her. After I came the second time, I went to the bathroom and took a cold shower. I could not stop shaking and crying. I could not stop thinking about Erica and how much I wished I could be with her.

Looking at my tear-stained face in the mirror after my shower, I told myself, "This is more than I deserve and I can't believe how happy I am."

I was happy, but part of me kept saying I was sick, this was wrong, and that I was being ridiculed and made fun of by this woman. I didn't care. This was easily the most sexually fulfilling relationship of my life and for the first time ever I was in love.

I went back to my laptop and saw Erica's foot in all its glorious detail and I found myself getting hard again. It took me a half hour to get off the third time, but after I did I sent a return email that said, "Three times in an hour. Thank you, my love."

A reply came moments later that read, "You can do better. XOXOXO."

I drove to the computer store and got the biggest screen available that was compatible with my laptop. It cost me a great deal of money, but I didn't care. I wanted a screen that was large enough for me to put the entirety of Erica's foot in full detail on it. My laptop was unable to display the entire photograph at one time at full size and I wanted to rectify that before spending the afternoon looking at it and worshipping it.

I called the sex therapist that Jean had sent me to after I started to show a lack of interest in sex with her and an inability to get an erection. I had told her I didn't want to take any erectile dysfunction medication when I had seen her before, mostly because I didn't want there to be any chance of getting an erection with Jean and disappointing Erica, but now I told her I'd changed my mind.

"Let me ask you," I said after she wrote a note to my doctor recommending he give me a prescription for an erectile dysfunction medicine, "Is there anything I can take that will help me be able to get, you know, an erection more often and have more orgasms?"

"Well, you take this medication as needed, as in whenever you are about to have sex."

"This is the thing, I've always had trouble getting an erection more than once per day. My girlfriend told me that her friend's boyfriend regularly has sex with her three times a night. Is that unusual?"

"It all depends on the person," she told me. "I take it your girlfriend wishes you could be the kind of lover her friend's boyfriend is?"

"She mentions it, especially when, you know, I can't get it up. When I came to see you before I didn't want to admit I had a problem, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it isn't going to just pass. I'd like to become the kind of lover my girlfriend deserves."

"And she wants you to be able to make love to her three times in a night?"

"To be honest, I'd like to make it four so she'll shut up about how her friend's boyfriend is so great in bed."

She laughed. "There are different treatments and medications these days, but as far as what you're asking, to go from being a man who has trouble getting an erection to start with to a man who gets an erection four times in a night is not really possible. Even if it were, it isn't something I'd recommend. This kind of change in your sex life is something best done gradually, with therapy combined with medication and treatment."

"Is there something out there that you wouldn't recommend? I mean, you said..."

"I said I wouldn't recommend that kind of radical treatment even if it were available."

"Is there something out there like that?"

"Not that any doctor or therapist who wanted to keep practicing would recommend."

"So, there is something?"

"You want to go from a man who can't get an erection at all to the world's greatest lover overnight. Do you know what you are asking for?"

"Yes, I need to do this."

"There is this man who used to be one of the best doctors in the area of sexual dysfunction. He lost his license to practice because he used radical therapies that were rejected by the FDA and everyone else with half a brain."

"Can he help me?"

"I don't know if you can really call it helping you, but what you say you want is basically what he tried to do. Before he lost his license and practice and went completely mad he announced he was going to create what he called 'an army of sexual supermen.' He's completely insane."

"What's wrong with making men into better lovers?"

"His test subjects lost their ability to reason. They became obsessed with sex to the point of not being able to engage in any kind of critical thinking. They lost the ability to make moral judgments. They became like human sex robots, only good for one thing. Most of them were sold to an Eastern European sex trafficking ring because no one knew what to do with them."

"Wow."

"Yeah, so I want you to reconsider what you think you want and concentrate on what I recommend, which is medication combined with therapy and treatment while allowing for change to happen gradually."

"I don't have time for that. Where can I find this doctor?"

"One of his test subjects is still in the city. Why don't I see if he'll sit down and talk to you. He's in a sex addiction recovery group trying to fight against his urge to have constant sex. Maybe meeting him will help you see the light."

The meeting was arranged and I met Bill, the sex addict who had received treatment from the man who called himself Doctor Love. He met me at the library, saying it was one of the few places he wasn't tempted to try to fuck someone.

Immediately after meeting me and exchanging pleasantries, Bill went into the long and detailed story of how he met Doctor Love, became one of his test subjects, and began needing to have sex constantly. He told me he spent his entire life savings, apparently a sizable fortune, on a week at a resort populated by high-priced call girls. There he'd compulsively had sex twenty times a day and still was left wanting more. He'd turned to masturbation to relieve his compulsion when he could find no willing partners.

"How many times did you get off in a day when you did that?" I asked.

"I didn't count, but I'd jack off, drink a glass of water, jack off again, have some breakfast, and then jack off again. The whole day was like that. Every day was like that."

"How did you stop?"

"Chemical castration. I flew to Bolivia where there is a farmer who does it using some chemistry set they made for kids in the 1970s."

"It was that bad?"

"It was worse than bad. Listen to your therapist, but if you don't want to heed my warnings, Doctor Love is operating out of a basement apartment in shantytown. He lives beneath a flower shop, which isn't hard to find because it is the only flower shop in shantytown."

"The only way I can make the woman I love happy is to cum over and over again all day long. I don't care about the side effects. I just want to make her happy."

"You're an idiot."

I found Doctor Love and started to explain my predicament to him. He didn't seem to care about the particulars, only that he'd found a new test subject. He brought me into his lab, a filthy room that contained an examination table and several medical carts and devices that looked like they came from a 1950s era mental hospital.

I started to change my mind when I saw his lab, but then I thought about Erica and how she said I could do better than three orgasms in an hour after I saw the picture of her beautiful foot. I wanted to please her and if Doctor Love could turn me into an insatiable sexual superman, it was worth any risk involved.

He hit me in the back of the head with a hammer, using a great deal of force and instantly knocked me unconscious. When I woke up I was strapped to the examination table with my genitals enclosed in a Ziploc bag.

"Almost complete," Doctor Love said in an excited tone. "Your woman is going to be so pleased with you."

I nodded and found myself feeling very tired. Moments later I fell asleep. When I woke up I was walking down the street in a green track suit. I didn't immediately recognize where I was, but I could feel that I had an erection straining against the fabric of my track suit.

Two women who were obviously prostitutes based on their outfits stepped out of an alley and asked if I "wanted to party." The offer greatly interested me, but I thought about Erica and my devotion to her and declined the proposal. Instead I asked where I was and how I could get back home.

They recommended a bus that would take me in the right direction, but I decided to call a cab instead after realizing my wallet, cell phone, and keys were in a fanny pack strapped around my waist. I took them out, discarded the fanny pack, and called for a cab.

When I got back to my motel room, I pulled up the picture of Erica's foot on my new giant computer screen and masturbated furiously for thirty seconds before getting off. My erection did not go down, so I masturbated again and again while staring at the picture and moaning Erica's name over and over.

Still hard, but out of breath, I opened my email and sent another note to the email address that had sent me the photograph.

"Ten times so far," I wrote. "I love you with all my heart."

The response came ten minutes later. "I'm proud of you, my sick little monkey. XOXOXO."

I found myself masturbating while looking at the email and thinking about Erica. Then another email popped up from her.

"I'm playing tennis at the club at 3pm. Come cheer me on. XOXOXO."

My heart skipped a beat and I smiled so broadly my cheeks started to hurt as much as my sore, but very erect, penis. I got off again and then took a shower and got dressed and drove to the tennis club. There was some kind of amateur tournament going on and there were four courts. There were men playing on two of the courts and women on the other two. There were a dozen or so people cheering on their friends and family at each court, but I didn't see Erica. It was only two-thirty, I had arrived early, so I sat down and waited for her match to start.

"Hi there," I heard Erica's voice say from behind me as her hands came around either side of my head and covered my eyes. "Guess who."

"The love of my life?"

"Very good answer," she said as she pulled her hands away from my eyes and came around to sit down next to me. "I'm glad you came... so much today. I'm also glad you came to see my match."

She was wearing her tight pink tennis shorts along with white sneakers and ankle socks. Her perfect legs were shining in the sun, and when she saw how intently I was staring at her legs she told me, "I found this great sunblock that makes my legs look shiny. I bet you want to jack off on them right now, don't you?"

"More than anything," I confessed.

"More than you want to make love to me?" she said with an arched eyebrow.

"I'm not worthy of that," I told her.

"What if I told you that I wanted you to make love to me?"

"I would think you were just teasing me."

"And you would be right," she said with a smile. "I tell you what, though. My boyfriend Mike fucked the shit out of me last night. It was probably the best sex I've ever had. It started with me going down on him in the kitchen after dinner. I was on my knees taking his whole cock down my throat and he grabs my head and just starts throat fucking me without mercy. I don't usually gag when I suck cock, but he had me gagging on it last night..."

A man was waving at Erica and motioning for her to come down to the court. She patted me on the knee and said, "I gotta go, but I'll be listening for your cheers," before getting up and scampering down to the court.

I was almost hyperventilating as I listened to Erica's story of sex with Mike. It conjured so many images in my mind. With having her so close to me, her bare thighs close enough to touch if I only had the courage to do so, I felt I was losing my mind. I wanted desperately to jerk myself off right in the stands, but the people gathered to watch the matches would see me and probably have me arrested.

I resisted the temptation and waited as Erica got onto the court with her tennis racket. She looked so beautiful, so strong, so much like a goddess that I could not look away. She saw me staring at her and blew a kiss in my direction which made my heart stop for a moment before beating again.

Everyone was sitting quietly while watching the match, with the occasional groan or clap when someone scored a particularly notable point. The woman playing Erica looked out of shape and inexperienced at playing tennis. Erica won the first set in a sweep and then looked up at me, making a sad, puppy dog face and mouthing the words "Why aren't you cheering?"
It felt bad to cheer for someone who was absolutely routing their opponent. The poor girl Erica was destroying on the court looked upset and like she had completely given up on even trying. Erica aced her next serve and her opponent threw down her racket in disgust. She walked over to the line judge and talked to him for a minute before it was announced that she was conceding the match.

Erica walked off the court after glaring angrily at me. She went into the clubhouse and emerged wearing sweatpants. As she came up into the stands towards me, I could tell that she was upset with me.

"I asked you to come here and cheer for me," she said. "I didn't hear you cheer ONCE."

"But you were killing that poor girl," I whined. "It didn't seem right."

"I asked you to come here and CHEER for me, monkey boy. When I ask you to do something, you do it. Now I have to punish you. See these sweatpants? Unless you start behaving yourself you will never see my legs again. Now, take me back to your motel room."

"Yes, Erica," I said, looking down at the ground, my erection still very much present. I didn't know why she wanted to come to my motel room, but I was not going to disobey her again.

She told me to open my laptop and turn it on. I did exactly as she asked and she took it away from me. She found the picture of her foot, which was still open on the big screen, and deleted it from my files.

"Are there any other copies?" she asked after opening my email and deleting the original email and then permanently erasing the picture and the email from my computer.

"No, Erica, there aren't any other copies," I said, tears welling up in my eyes as I realized I would no longer be able to see the incredible picture of her gorgeous foot.

"I got your letter today. I'm impressed you got it to me so quickly," she said. "Get on your knees in front of me, monkey boy."

I knelt down quietly in front of her and stared down at the floor, trying to hide my tears.

"I want you to write me another one and I better get it when I check my post office box. The first one was so beautiful, showed so much heart and soul that if it came from a real man I might be tempted to run away with him."

"I know you would never run away with me, Erica. I'm not worthy of your love."

"Tomorrow I'm playing another match and I expect you to be there and you better be cheering me this time," she said.

"Yes, Erica."

"From now on I want you to call me Miss Erica, okay?"

"Yes, Miss Erica," I said, still staring at the floor.

"I'm going to leave now, but when I close that door behind me I'm going to stand out there for a few minutes. I better hear you jacking off and calling out my name or I will be very upset."

I don't know if she really waited outside the door or not. She never came back and I never heard or saw her out there, but if she did, I know she would have liked what she heard. I lubricated myself with a special lotion I'd gotten that was designed specifically as a sexual lubricant and began masturbating immediately. I called out her name loudly and continuously, making statements like "I love you Miss Erica" and "Miss Erica is the most beautiful woman in the world" and "I am masturbating for you, Miss Erica."

I grieved the loss of the picture of Erica's foot more than I grieved the loss of any girlfriend I'd ever had. I was upset at myself for letting her down and disappointing her by not cheering for her during her lopsided tennis match. I was determined to make it up to her.

I went to the store and bought several sheets of poster board paper, the kind used to make the kind of placards and signs held up at sporting events. On one I wrote "I love Miss Erica" with a big red heart in place of the word "love." On another I wrote "Miss Erica rocks" and on another I wrote "Kill her Miss Erica."

I then went to the mall where I knew there was a store that made custom t-shirts. I had them make one that said "Miss Erica's #1 Fan" in big letters with hearts surrounding the words. I spent the rest of the night masturbating over and over again while thinking about her and imagining her forgiving me and letting me kiss her beautiful feet.

The next day I continued masturbating while thinking about her. I was tempted to look for other pictures of women's feet on the web, but resisted the temptation because I didn't want to think about or look at any woman other than Erica. When the time came to get ready to go to her tennis match, I put on my special new t-shirt, rolled up my signs, and drove to the tennis club.

She didn't come up to the stands to see me, but when I finally saw her, walking across the court in her pink tennis shorts, my heart started beating rapidly. I could see the muscles in her thighs and calves flex and relax with every stride she took, the perfect lines of her gorgeous legs shining in the sunlight, and my breathing got so heavy that a woman sitting in the stands came over to me and asked, "Are you okay?"

I just nodded quietly. There were more people in the stands than there had been the other day. It was the second round of the tournament and would be more competitive.

At last, Erica's match was beginning. Her opponent looked strong. She was a tall woman who looked like she worked out regularly and had biceps like iron and very muscular legs. I found myself worried that she would destroy my beloved Erica, who was strong but undeniably feminine in the traditional sense.

As Erica prepared to serve to begin the match, I held up my first sign, the one that said "I heart Miss Erica." She did not look in my direction, but some of the people in the stands began looking at me funny. Erica served and there was a lengthy volley before Erica's opponent hit her return out of bounds and the point was awarded to my beloved.

I got up on my feet and cheered loudly. I continued to cheer every time Erica scored a point and I booed whenever her opponent won a point. Erica narrowly won the first set and after she did, I held up the sign that said "Miss Erica Rocks!" and yelled out the phrase as I did so.

She didn't look at me at all during the match, and after she lost the second set, forcing a deciding third set, I held up the "Kill her Miss Erica" sign and yelled out "You can do it Miss Erica! You can do it!"

She didn't look at me, but I could see a smile come across her face that I was sure came as a result of my actions. It warmed my heart and I began feeling good about myself again. I continued to cheer her on, my erection nearly bursting in my pants as I kept looking at her legs and how wonderfully they moved with grace and precision around the court.

During the third set, a man who worked for the tennis club came over to me and told me I needed to "tone it down" or I would have to leave. I told him I was there to cheer for my girl and he told me that I was upsetting the other people in the stands. I agreed to tone it down, but I continued to cheer, just not as loudly or obnoxiously.

Erica won the final set and the match and I rose up and clapped and cheered wildly. People had moved away from me in the stands, but I ignored them. All I cared about was Erica and making her happy with me again.

After the match ended, I waited in the stands, hoping Erica would come and see me. She didn't, and I left the tennis club feeling very disappointed and sad. She hadn't forgiven me. I needed to do more.

When I got home there was an email from the account Erica used to send me the picture of her foot. There was a picture of a pair of strappy high heel shoes, probably taken from a catalog, and a message that said, "Would you like to see me in these?"

I wrote back, "Yes, Miss Erica, I would like to see you in those shoes very much."

"I play in the third round tomorrow at 7pm. Bring your signs and wear your t-shirt. Get yourself off in the stands while I'm playing."

I stared at the message with my mouth open and my eyes widened. I couldn't possibly honor her request. I would get arrested, or worse. I tried to convince myself she was kidding.

When I didn't respond after ten minutes, Erica sent a follow up message.

"Find a way. Don't let me down. XOXOXO."

I wrote back, "I will, Miss Erica, I promise. I love you always and forever."

devotion   absolute  

Feb 11, 2018 in femdom

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