My mental plan to repel the flames of hell and the burden of guilt was to plan a scenario where I would make up for everything or turn the past into something more or less ethical, especially by bringing my mistress into the relationship. However, I knew that she and my girlfriend would be too competitive to share me. It would be a battle where no one would win. After all, I did not have the leash over them, but they had it over me, at least in theory.

I slept on the couch and distanced myself emotionally from my partner, but at the same time, I would do far more things for her in order to make up for my sins, which ended up benefitting the relationship. I apologized for coming home so late, told her I had some drinks and she did not talk to me in the same way for a few days, probably suspecting something, but eventually I dedicated myself so much to compensate her that things got even better than before. Intimately, a part of me felt like this was justice for the neglected sex, although she did not owe me anything. It was only my choice to have sex or to have love. 

One of the things that did not make me feel bad was because I knew this was all temporary. Obviously this submissive role would not work out for several reasons: because I could not be too submissive in the long run and I needed a balanced and equal relationship, and because she was an absent figure like I mentioned in the first story. We were simply not compatible when it came to making a life together, but we were compatible in our interests, from music to books and now, of course, our sexual kinks. Unfortunately, only in the world of pleasure could we be together, but that was not what I wanted in the long run. I would eventually have to choose a road, and this was just a minor detour, only to come back to the main path and follow it even more strictly. At least in my head, at the time.

Not to my surprise, she failed her word and stopped replying for a month. We never ended our painting session, I did not know what happened to the paintings, the photos and the video of our rimming and pegging session. I started to be paranoid. I trusted her fully, but the new things I discovered about her made me question myself and her. What if someone stole her camera? What if she goes to a public place with her wifi on and gets the pictures hacked? Even if she is trustworthy, is she technologically competent to protect all of this private information?

I had no choice but to wait. After the last session I thought about so many possible scenarios in our sexual roles and could not realize any of them. That left me frustrated and once again abandoned, like it happened when I sent her my porn videos and masturbated, fingered myself and came with my face on. I gave so much and received so little. A part of myself felt some type of injustice and lack of consideration from her, but I would still accept her back in the blink of an eye. Her unapologetic style was so appealing to me exactly because she means what she says. Being surrounded by polite people, I never trusted their opinion on anything and only accepted friends who could actually insult me. If he never had a little friction with them, there was no true friendship. Only a cordial and superficial relationship. She proved to be true to herself, especially when she teased me by saying my ejaculations seemed to have no emotion. 'At least now I covered my face with cum'. I thought to myself in a petty or mocking way.

Finally a message from her. At this point we abandoned the emails and never wrote 4 letter essays again. The less we spoke, the more intimate we were, the more physical we were. We had to reconstruct our relationship and get back to being serious again. I sent her a book review I wrote for a magazine in hopes of getting her attention, and that was the message she replied to. There was something grabbing us to reality again, and not that infatuated addiction of sex and adrenaline. We needed to be regular human beings and process what happened. In the heat of the moment we thought about making our sessions a routine, but in retrospect it was obviously unrealistic because we had too much to process. 

We were both too correct to accept what we had done. Two people who know so much about ethics are still making these kinds of mistakes. How could we discuss morality after doing this? We needed to forgive ourselves. Until now, we had a certain sense of purity about ourselves that only needed to be tested. This shook our world view and our perspective of ourselves. Our correctness and intellectualism revealed itself to be useless if we did not apply the basics of our moral foundation. Still, with time, both of us accepted we are still human beings who make mistakes. On the one hand, forgiving myself made me want to do it again. My sex life was not great still and I had no hopes of recovering it. More than a decade and things stagnated. My hunt for a sexual alternative was now on, I just had to wait for her signal.

After giving her opinion of my review, she sent me some photos of her recent hike. Probably not accidentally, she was less dressed than usual. Her legs were visible, which was rare. Her shoulders and arms were quite firm, which I found to be oddly sexy. I also noticed on our dinner, when we first met, how her skin was nearly perfect, and I never said that to her to not be considered a creep, but it was impossible not to notice. It was not a skin full of life, with its own unique beauty, with its pores and marks. I say technically perfect, but not exactly beautiful. There was something cold about her skin because it had no glow. Still, her long and flawless neck was very attractive, and the photos reminded me of it. As usual, her long nails that I so much worried about when about to be pegged. Was it even possible to slide them up my ass?

I complimented her photos in general, not focusing on her physical appearance, but providing some hints about how she was complementing the scenery. She also shared some of her recent works in painting and drawing, which I really enjoyed, and that led me to the inevitable question: where the hell are my drawings? I left that question for the conclusion, not wanting to disrupt our reconciliation.

'Speaking of paintings, did you end up finishing the ones from our session?'

'I told you we would have to finish the session. Just because I said I could finish them later, it doesn't mean you will be absent from it.'

The change of tone and the will to show her logical superiority was a hint that she was assuming her mistress role. She had been kind until then, but her condescending question turned the domination switch On.

'And when do you want to finish the session?' I said almost with remorse, thinking I was about to commit a crime once again, but the adrenaline rush was commanding me. A part of me also thought that failing her sexually would result in a far greater revenge. This fear of her revenge made me realize that I had put myself in a sexual slave position due to her power over me. She had too much information about me and could easily use it. If I gave up on her, I can't imagine her accepting the rejection. Revenge was inevitable, so I had to comply, which surprisingly made me even hornier. I am not sure if this was just my imagination, but my hole started to expand and get wet when I thought about being with her.

'Come to my place tomorrow. I will have things ready for our painting session. Please be professional'

I thought the last sentence could only be ironic.

'Before you arrive' she continued 'you will have to do something for me.'

This was when things got uncomfortable yet exciting for me. I discovered I enjoyed following her orders for some reason. Was I really submissive? I did not care that much about pleasing her and I actually wanted to be worshiped, and I was never really obedient throughout my life. Correct? Yes. Obedient? On the contrary. 

Maybe it was my sexual despair talking. Maybe something maternal in her. In the end, I posted my nudes as a way of affirming myself, but I always had the duality of affirming a certain type of masculinity by displaying my hard penis and also showing my butthole in a vulnerable position, signaling a need for penetration, and this side was maybe a need for comfort, a moment to be taken care of because I had been taking care of for so much long. I wanted to be touched in a soft way, something I never experienced before. Receiving was something I longed for, and my intimate side was not fulfilled with the receiving part. Only the giving part.

Due to my desire to please in order to receive, I had to accept what she wanted, and I never imagined her kinks would be as kinky to the point of embarrassing me, but interestingly enough, when I overcame the taboos of what I just did, I started normalizing it and craving more.

'I want you to clean yourself, then you will insert a tail butt plug. You will have to insert it before arriving so your ass is already warmed up and expanded'

I wanted to be true to her, but driving an hour with a butt plug on, with a tail, would not be easy, so I thought I would insert it before reaching her home.

'And how do I know you will use the butt plug? Because after you clean yourself, you will pour milk into your beautiful, rosy butthole, and then close it like a bottle of wine using the anal plug. Flinch your hole well and nothing will come out of it.'

My first thought was to wonder how the hell she had come up with this idea? Who was she, after all? Did she have previous subs? I would not ask her, and the logistics of putting milk inside my ass would be too complicated, so I just said 'fuck it' and did what was told.

The trip was rather uncomfortable, always trying to retain the milk inside my ass, and not actually believing what the fuck I was doing. I actually laughed out loud because of how depraved we both were and how ridiculous the whole situation was. I am also pretty sure some milk left the hole, but in general not much of it spilled.

When I arrived, she looked at me disdainfully and asked me to undress. She had the professional focus and she wanted me to pose naked once again after putting the camera in the same place and not mentioning anything about recording. I simply entered the living room and obeyed her orders. She knew that depriving me from cumming was the best tool to control my behavior. She asked me to repeat some poses once again to give the final details. In some of them she included my furry butt plug and in others the original poses were kept. 

'Done! Come and check them out.'

The paintings were different from anything I'd seen after being drawn so many times. She always created a type of scenario out of her creativity. It seemed like she wanted to put me in those scenarios in real life. One of them was me in all fours being watched by a whole stadium, the other was me surrounded by men with bigger cocks than myself, the other was me being fucked in the mouth and with a double penetration that almost ruined my hole. Still, other paintings were more dignifying, where she painted me in a good light, with a book hiding my private parts, with a certain aura. Another was very gentle on my musculature and penis, making it seem bigger from a certain angle but keeping it realistic in terms of proportion.

One was with the two of us, when I was cumming in all fours in her mouth. Her eyes were closed in that painting, longing for cum, although in my view she had received my semen very mechanically. Probably because she was imagining the painting in her head. After all, she was still working and very professionally. I noticed the drawing inspired by my expanded hole after being pegged, and she turned my hole into a fruit dumper. It had several types of fruits coming out of it, like a surrealist nightmare, and the last one, of course, was a painting of our pegging session. The atmosphere of the painting was cozy, warm, and she was not portrayed as mechanically fucking me, but rather considerate and gentle, caring for me, and I was painted as more effeminate while still relatively muscular. The model type, not the bodybuilder type.

I thought she was also missing her intimacy. There was a void in her experience because she could not act it out, so she represented her kindness and warmth in art. Just like I tried to create beauty with my artistic nudes to compensate for my imperfections, she created art, apparently, to show superiority and also to show warmth. Her highbrow attitude did not allow her guard down, she was highly ambitious and intelligent, and her strokes were intimacy simulators. When she looked at them, she looked at an ideal, a representation of what she wanted to do or to be, since she could not achieve it.

'Now put your head on the couch and your feet and legs up high. Point your cock towards your mouth.'

I felt a shiver in my spine from hearing that. The embarrassment would be far worse than I imagined. Yet, I could not stop it. I was not really shaking, but I was unable to talk or to say anything. I had been reduced to an animal with no free will and it was too late to change that. She started playing with my tail and rotating the dildo. I suspected a milky bath on my face from my cum and my whole body covered in milk from the enema. I wondered if she would put the plug from my ass to her mouth or make me lick it, but first she decided to sit on my face...