Daddys Princess Pt 01

I wasn't always a Daddy.

In fact, I spent most of my adult sexual life being implicitly submissive, deprioritising my needs in favour of the needs of my partners.

If you were a fly on the wall back then, you would have typically seen me on my knees, licking, sucking on, eating out...essentially gorging myself...on pussy from all over the world, cute and tight, ugly and loose, hairy and trimmed, shaved and waxed...each and every one of them would cum from the attentions of my greedy mouth. Most would simply spasm. More special ones would leak rivulets of cum onto hotel bedspreads. The best would gush torrents into my face.

And if you looked closely, you'd see me masturbating as I ate - always deferring my needs to theirs.

It did my ego no harm knowing that I was good at eating pussy, but in time I came to realise how empty it left me feeling. A lot of my partners would be too worn out to give me handjobs, blowjobs or fuck me afterwards. And I wouldn't push the point - I would simply masturbate to get it over and done with.

This is what I mean by 'implicitly submissive' - happy to serve, but always left scrabbling for myself at the end.

I think my upbringing and resulting worldview drove me in that direction. My mother was very much a feminist and as a result I was indoctrinated in the history of modern patriarchy, its stunting effect on the personal growth of girls and women, its poisonous withering of their hopes and dreams. I was therefore always particularly conscious of the need to be respectful in my dealings with women, including in bed.

Some of the women I fucked did of course ask for the romantic aspects of sex to be roughened-up a little, but I always felt these desires were performative rather than genuine. You know the kind of thing - a bit of giggling at a light slap of the ass, a horny little smile from a playful pulling of the hair and the usual, overused, request to be fucked "harder". They communicated these things but didn't really seem to want them, and so I didn't really enjoy doing them. I figured it was simply best to show them that men can deliver intense orgasms with the powerful muscles of the lips, the tongue and the mouth. So I always put them first.

I suppose there must have been some acknowledgment on my part that I had a submissive streak: from my late teens, I became very interested in cross dressing and fantasising about acting the slut. When I finally had my own space, I spent a lot of money on women's clothing, with a particular fetish for the sluttier elements - crotchless panties, corsets, basques, short dresses, high heels. I would dress most days and fantasise about being used by men.

In time, I grew brave enough to live out my fantasies. I was soon meeting men through internet chat rooms and inviting them to my place to treat me like a piece of meat. I would get so turned on being pushed to my limits, offering every part of myself in complete service.

These are stories for another day, perhaps, and it's enough for now to say that towards the end of this period of wondrous experimentation I met a woman who changed the course of my life.

I was in my early thirties when we were married, and I slowly spread myself out lazily into all the usual corners of life: work, neighbours, friends, investments, pets, kids. My wife was beautiful, had a hot body and squirted hard. I was content.

During the next 13 years or so, we experimented sexually: dressing up (her, sadly), toys, mild BDSM, porn, mutual anal play (how little she knew of my interest there).

But in the last few years I found myself on my knees all over again.

Towards the end of that period, I realised that I had grown resentful of my implicit submission. My sexuality reacted to this resentment by slowly revealing to me a more dominant style. When having sex with my wife, I would fantasise about a dominant me who would channel his resentment into acts of control: spanking, choking, slapping, directing every part of the scene.

There is no doubt in my mind that the thought of these acts turned me on because they were overtly disrespectful to women: they ran precisely against my upbringing and worldview and this meant that they were utterly and deliciously taboo.

In time, it became harder and harder to get aroused by my pathetic acts of sexual service and all I wanted to do was dominate.

I couldn't bring myself to tell the mother of my children that I wanted to do these things to her, so rather than try to address the matter head on, I started to hire hookers who I could treat however I wanted.

My initial experiences were middling in terms of satisfaction. Apart from the usual bait and switch practices and the inherent danger in engaging in this sort of activity in the country where I live, I became acutely aware that whilst I was able to take on a more dominant role I wasn't enjoying fucking these women - and this was because they didn't enjoy it themselves. Sure, they made all the right noises, but the greeting offered by a dry pussy is entirely underwhelming. And it was hardly surprising - this was work for these women, and nobody gets turned on by work.

Nevertheless, I continued. To avoid the baiters and switchers, I became more selective in who I chose to hire and I started to meet only high class (and high cost) escorts. Before long, I met a Norwegian lady - let's call her Luna. She was about 5'5", had flowing auburn hair, blue eyes, delicate white skin and homely curves. She didn't exactly have a bombshell look, but she was certainly very pretty.

The first time we met, everything was kind of dull. I was assertive, but not really dominant. But I noticed that she seemed more genuinely invested in the endeavour than any ladies I had met before, so I asked her about the motivations behind her career choice.

She told me something that I will never forget - she went into escort work because she was irredeemably promiscuous and loved to be used. She was going to let people fuck her anywhere and everywhere whatever she did - she just figured that she might as well make money (and lots of it) whilst doing so. We talked about therapy, family, life - everything. I was enchanted by her cutting intellect, her self-awareness and her Nordic charm.

Towards the end of what would turn out to be our first meeting, she laughed as she told a story of one guy who wanted to face fuck her: he was actually rather timid in his efforts, and she told me how she thought to herself that she wished he would do it much harder than he was...

...and I was hooked. I couldn't shake the thought of her, on her knees, hands bound behind her, me standing over her and fucking her face and throat for all I was worth.

So I met her again.

And my inner dom was finally set free.

I was fascinated by how she would become wetter and wetter as I treated her more and more like nothing but a set of holes for my pleasure, and we spent many hours together exploring each other's darker sides, such as her desire to be raped. We also shared lighter moments - eating at fancy restaurants, walking around the city and always talking. She would even let me pick her Tinder dates for her (turned out she wasn't fucking only for work).

Of course, nothing lasts and soon she was off out of the country. We stayed in touch over the course of a few months, then one day she messaged to let me know she was quitting and would resume her studies to become a psychologist.

My completely new sexual persona was now fully hatched, but I was left with no way to satisfy it.

My frustrations built, and I spent more and more time on my knees at home.

I was disgusted at the self abasement I felt serving my wife like that.

I got the idea to put myself on Tinder to see if I could try to find a woman who would willingly submit to and serve me.

I met only a handful of women, and we fucked, and I was rough, and they were wet, but nobody came close to Luna's mesmerising and utter submission.

There was one lady who let me push her quite far, and I spent a few months meeting her whenever I travelled abroad for work. That was however more of a sugar daddy type of arrangement, and as time went on her demands became quite irritating - so I cut contact with her and returned to Tinder.

All was looking hopeless and I was feeling more and more distraught at the prospect of living with a raging dom locked up inside.

It was at this moment that I came across a profile for a geeky Asian lady.

Something about her nerdy looks caught my attention, but not in a conscious way - something deep inside the lizard brain, an animalistic sensing on the part of the hunter at the vulnerability of its prey.

I read her one word profile, and my heart missed a beat: "sub".

I swiped.

And that's how I met the amazing young lady whom I now call Princess.

To be continued...