Hello, my deviants. It’s Jessi.Before I was Jessi Fellatio, I was just… Jess. A guy who liked sex. A guy who thought he knew what submission was because he didn’t mind being on the bottom sometimes. I thought it was about position. About who was doing what to whom. I was performing a role I’d seen in porn, reciting lines I’d read online. I was a submissive in costume, but underneath it all, I was still directing the scene in my own head, chasing my own orgasm, waiting for my turn.Everything changed with a man named Marcus.He wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t loud or intimidating. He was quiet, with an unnerving stillness and eyes that seemed to see every layer of pretense I’d wrapped myself in. We’d been talking for weeks, and he’d patiently listened to me talk the talk, all about what I was “into” and what I “wanted.”The night of our first scene, my heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. I was ready. I had my list of “dos” and “don’ts” memorized. I was going to be the best damn sub he’d ever seen.He had me kneel. Simple enough. I knelt, my back straight, my hands resting on my thighs, playing the part.“Look at me,” he said, his voice a low, calm rumble.I did. And I held his gaze, trying to project a confidence I absolutely did not feel. He just watched me for what felt like an eternity. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t speak. He just… watched. And in that silence, the costume started to feel tight. The performance felt hollow.Then, he said the words that broke me. Not with force, but with terrifying, gentle precision.“Stop trying,” he said. “Stop trying to be a submissive. Just… be.”I blinked. “I… I don’t know what that means.”“Yes, you do,” he said, his voice softening. “You’re in here,” he tapped my head, “thinking about the next move. Thinking about how you look. Thinking about your own cock. That’s not submission. That’s management. I don’t want you to manage this. I want you to let go. I want you to give me the wheel.”He knelt down in front of me, so we were face to face. “Your only job right now is to breathe. In and out. Can you do that for me?”And just like that, the dam broke.I tried to answer, but a sob caught in my throat. It wasn’t a sad sob. It was a release sob. It was the sound of every defense I’d ever built crumbling to dust. The performance was over. The mask was off. And underneath, there was just… me. Scared, shaking, and desperate to be led.Tears started streaming down my face, hot and humiliating. I tried to turn away, but he gently cupped my face in his hands.“No. Stay with me,” he whispered, his thumb wiping away a tear. “There you are. I’ve been waiting to meet you.”In that moment, I wasn’t a performer. I wasn’t a “bottom.” I was just a man surrendering. Not to a set of actions, but to a person. I gave him the fear, the uncertainty, the vulnerability. And in giving it away, I was set free.The rest of the scene is a blur of sensation and emotion. The details don’t matter as much as the feeling. For the first time, my pleasure wasn’t a goal; it was a byproduct. It was a distant, warm echo of the profound, earth-shattering peace that came from finally letting goI didn’t have an orgasm that night. It didn’t matter. I had something better. I had clarity. I had purpose.That was the night I stopped being a guy who played with submission and started being a submissive. That was the night Jessi Fellatio was truly born. And I will be forever grateful to Marcus for seeing the boy behind the mask and giving him the permission to finally be seen.Love yaNaked Hugs n KissesJessi
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