September 30th:
The night of my true awakening as a woman, as a human being – the opening of my soul; the chance to embrace my true self, my submissive self ... what a remarkable feeling, this feeling of being alive, and now I know that there is no turning back.
I had, at the urging of these deeply submissive desires, gone online to a site dedicated to assisting those in the BDSM lifestyle find partners. I made myself a little profile, not giving away too much of me, not posting a picture for fear that someone I knew would discover my slutty, little secret.
Of course there were instant emails from Dominant men, from submissive men, from kinky couples, but none struck me too much as being anything interesting. I read one profile of a gentleman who sounded intriguing, but I was too scared to write to him, still trapped inside of my fear of the unknown. Oddly enough though, several days later I received a message from
Him
that was eloquent and intelligent, it definitely caught my attention and I replied ... that was the door creaking open.
We met for coffee the next day after work. He looked totally normal, still dressed in his clothes he had worn to the office. I don't know what I was expecting him to be wearing – a cape or something obnoxious and obvious - but you would never know that this man sitting across from me was an experienced Dominant who, according to his profile, was into rope bondage, chastity piercing, anal play, spanking ... my head was spinning. I have never been so at a loss for words; I was uncharacteristically grasping for how to explain my thoughts to him. I'm usually so eloquent and charming and funny and witty and sarcastic, yet as he examined me with his eyes, peering right into the depths of my darkened soul, I was at once unarmed. So vulnerable and small and stupid – he knew exactly how to press my buttons, gently but firmly.
"Rory, explain to me what exactly it is that you're doing here sitting across from a handsome Dom such as myself?" The words rolled off his tongue like nothing. He didn't have an air of ego or conceit, but rather, he seemed warranted in his query.
What was I doing here?
My words were stuck inside my throat. I smiled and then giggled in an attempt to divert his attention from my unease. I twisted a chunk of hair around my finger and bit my lip. Then I really felt the weight of his gaze, the fact that he was reading my every emotion. He made me melt to nothing, to a little slut that admitted to smacking my own ass with a ruler, and willingly clasped safety pins on my own tender, sweet, pink nipples. I spilled my entire insides out to this strange and handsome and commanding man. He didn't flinch. He asked me if I wanted him to spank me, he even offered to take me back to his house now and take care of me and my little ass that was begging to be tortured. I could formulate no response other than to hang my mouth open and sense the wetness that was ever present between my legs. He knew this. I declined his offer to spank me, citing an early morning, but in reality I was petrified. I wanted to get a handle on the situation – I felt completely out of control and that was an unfamiliar feeling to me.
He walked me to my car after dinner, guiding me with his hand placed gently on the back of my neck. We kissed sweetly, but steamy enough to make me flush with excitement, leaning up against the side of my car. He smiled at me as he guided me into the front seat of my car, and then asked me, rather inquisitively, if I was wearing any panties.
"Yes." I answered naively. Not knowing what he would demand next.
"Take them off and give them to me." I was shocked. I stared at him wide-eyed and protested.
"Right here? But, but, everyone can see." I complained, but was so highly turned on by his commanding demeanor.
"I'm not asking you, Rory." He smiled only slightly, serious and sinister.
"But, but..." I looked around, and couldn't see anyone blatantly watching us, although there were apartments directly in front of us. I looked at him. All I had to do was slam the door and drive away. But I hesitated. I looked at him and then closed my eyes, bit my lip and ran my hands up underneath my skirt, pulling my pink and fuchsia thong from my wet cunt. I balled it up in my hand and thought about the decision that would change me forever.
"Give them to me, Rory." He gently coaxed me. I looked at him and held my hand over his, still not unleashing my grip on the panties, pressing my lips together with deep thought. His eyes were conveying a sense of trustworthiness though, and I let them go into his hand. "Good girl." He praised me as he stuffed them into his pocket.
"Oh my god, what have I done?" I said aloud, more to myself than to him. "You have my panties." He smiled that sinister, deviant smile, clearly enjoying this. He chuckled softly.
"You can get them back. Do you want me to tell you how?" He dangled the proverbial carrot in front of me. I nodded my head and pleaded for him to tell me how to undo this regret I was no feeling for having given a complete stranger the panties I had worn all day long, that were saturated with my passionate juices. I was lamenting my slutty ways and chastising myself, not paying attention to his implicit instructions of how to get the panties back.
"When you are ready to be spanked into submission, you are to call me and say, 'I've been a very bad girl, and I need to be punished, Sir.'" Those words would jumble around my head and cause me much suffering down the line, simply because I could not recall the exact phrasing of that instruction.
"Additionally, from now on you are to address me as either Sir or Daddy. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir." I felt flush with naughty arousal. I wanted to say Daddy, but that seemed too naughty.
The next morning I awoke after I had rubbed it out again for the second time since I had met him, and picked up the phone and called him. I got his voice mail. I left a long, blabbering message about how I had enjoyed our meeting and was looking forward to seeing him again.
When I got to work, I checked my email. There was an email from Him:
"
Rory, do you not remember my instructions? I told you to call me and I told you exactly what to say. However, you did not comply with my instructions. Think about it and try again.
"
Shit!! I couldn't remember exactly what he told me to say. I thought about it, twisting my hair around my finger, wracking my brain for the proper phrasing for the following three hours until my lunch break.
I found a quiet spot outside and phoned him again. "Hi, it's Rory."
Shit, I was already sounding stupid.
"Um, I have been naughty and I need to be spanked." I felt so dumb as I spoke these words on his voice mail. I felt like everyone around me knew what a stupid slut I was.
No return phone call, but when I checked my email back at the office, there was one waiting from him. "
Rory. You are making me impatient. I know that you're inexperienced, but paying attention to details is key. Here is what you are to say.
" He wrote what I was supposed to say, and I called him on my way home from the office, humbly begging for forgiveness, and using as many "Sir's" as possible. I admitted that I had been a very bad girl and I need to be punished by Him.
October 1st –
I walked across the street and up to his doorway, dressed exactly as he had told me to: a skirt, high heels, a button down shirt
without
a bra,
but
he wanted me to wear panties this time because he wanted to take them off of me himself, he explained. I was to wear my hair in a pony tail because he wanted to see the tattoo on the back of my neck. I sighed as I thought of the fact that he had, in his possession, the panties that I was wearing the night I met him. He had ordered me to take them off at the end of the night, after I admitted that I wanted to feel his hand against my ass, spanking me until I begged him to let me orgasm. The thought of that just makes me so wet.
I got to his door and called him on the apartment intercom. He had told me that he would be down in a second. The seconds turned into minutes and I was standing there on the street, alone with my thoughts, feeling naked:
what am I doing here, what would people think, what is going to happen tonight, am I doing the right thing, oh shit, I really am a slutty whore!
Was I following my gut or my cunt? I was following both, I determined. I looked around the street, arms crossed in front of me to protect my unprotected breasts from strange eyes and biting breezes.
I bit my lip and shifted on my tall, yellow heels wondering why he was making me wait out here so long, and just when I felt desolate and rejected, he walked out from another side door along the eastside of the building, and toward me. I smiled and then looked down with sad, seductive gratitude.
He studied me, tilting his head and taking me in with his piercing brown eyes. He looked casually handsome in jeans and a tee shirt, very unsuspecting. He smiled at me, but just barely.
"I see you followed my orders, little one." His eyes looked pleased. He flicked my nipple. It perked up through the flimsy material that my shirt was made of. That startled me.
"I did, Sir." I whispered tentatively; my cunt was on fire, and a rush of blood to that region made me feel lightheaded with desire. I knew how to show respect with my words.
"Good girl." Oh, how that sent me out of my body. Just a compliment from a strange man –
what kind of slut was I?
My head was still spinning; my heart was in my throat, my stomach swarmed with butterflies.
He took my hand and led me into his building. My chest heaved with anticipation.
He pressed the call button for the elevator and we waited for the doors to open. Once inside, he undressed me with his eyes, silently purring in delight, and He pushed the greasy button with a faded "3" to propel us to floor three.
Mid-way up to floor "1," he snickered, leaned toward the control panel and pulled the STOP button. My eyes widened in panic. My heart raced and adrenaline pumped through my body. My throat closed completely up.
