The First Steps in Being an Owned Slut

Some submissives appear not to know when the road to understanding their needs began or when their lives began to change. Obviously I must have had these feelings inside me for a long, long time and even remember enjoying being tied up by the cowboys as a little girl, I know exactly when it began as an adult, even though it began in small stages.

I spent the weekends with my boyfriend Michael. He had a house and on Fridays I leave work, meet him and go to his place in the country, not returning to my flat that I share with my friend, Anna, until Sunday evening. Anna obviously likes the arrangement too as it gives her opportunities to be alone in the flat with her boyfriend.

I remember the weekend when Michael had begun to simply hold my hands together over my head on the bed when we were making love. He held both my hands in one of his, which left me with an exquisite feeling of helpless whilst he had a hand free. It was during our love making so I was already quite aroused but I noticed a sudden rush of arousal surge through me and I came quickly and more than once. I didn't know if Michael had felt my increased response but I was too embarrassed to say anything. It happened again in the morning, possibly more so. At that time Michael even said I was being very hot with my hands held like that. All I could do was nod and blush as he played me until I came. During that weekend he held my hands or wrists so that I was helpless a number of times. I even kept my hands there, after he had and placed them over my head in the position he wanted, even when he didn't hold them. It happened again the next weekend too and as I found myself remembering I could feel my nipples tight and tingling and an ache beneath my crutch.

The next weekend we drove to the house the following Friday and stood in the airy kitchen drinking a glass of wine. Michael put his arms around me and we kissed intermittently with soft lips. Close up to him, holding onto him, I watched as he undid his neck tie. I remember it was a blue one.

After it was removed I lent against him again, my head on his shoulder. He took my hands in his and held them as we stood there relaxed. I felt him take my hands behind me in his, held there. It reminded me of the sex in bed; I felt a tightening of my chest and closed my eyes. I felt my wrists being fastened together with his tie. I didn't attempt to hinder him or pull my hands away. I stood passively feeling him taking away my control. By the time he had finished my face was burning and my breathing was in quick gulps and shallow. I looked up at him, knowing my eyes were wide and questioning, though offering no resistance at all. His eyes bored into me and I looked down, looking at the blue of his shirt. I pulled to see if I could escape. I couldn't.

We kissed again. My inability to move my arms and hold him as usual made me very aware of my lack of freedom as his lips opened mine. As I felt his lips on mine and his tongue entering my mouth I was aware of the texture of the tie around my wrists and my breasts pushed forward. I felt passive. I was accepting and he knew it. Accepting of his control.

He moved me back a little until I was against the work surface and I heard a drawer open next to me. Looking I saw scissors in his hand and he pulled my top down, tight against my shoulders away from my body. He cut directly up the middle of the material of my top! I raised my chin so as not to have it caught by the scissors, so as not to be in the way. I was shocked and looked at him as he did it. Cutting my clothes! Still I said nothing, not fighting him. He cut along the shoulders on both sides and it fell off me. I looked down at my bra. He cut through the front of that too, then the straps. My breasts bounced into view as he pulled it away. I couldn't believe I was being stripped like this, couldn't believe my acquiescence as my clothes were destroyed and my body exposed. My nipples were hard, jutting, like erasers.

He didn't cut my skirt, he could take it off regardless of my bound hands. His hand snaked being me and slid down the zip and pulled it until it ringed my feet.

"Don't wear tights again." I felt foolish and most un-sexy. "I want you easily accessible and looking sexy. Not in tights." I hung my head as I felt his hand open the waist band and cut through, turning me to cut the back. They clung to my legs still, a reminder that I hadn't pleased him. My panties were cut at the sides and rubbed against my lips as they were pulled through my legs, then dropped, discarded.

I was bound, virtually naked, stripped unceremoniously. I was shocked by him, by me. I stood not daring to look at him. Suddenly his hand cupped my sex. I couldn't pull back because of the cupboards behind me.

"You are soaking!" He laughed. I wanted to cry in shame. I felt my own slipperiness against his fingers and he slid inside me. For some reason he kissed me and my body pushed up to his as well as it could with no hands to hold him. "You really are aroused, you little slut! You are excited by this, aren't you? Look at your nipples for Gods sake!" My face reddened immediately. I knew he was right. What was wrong with me? I wanted to defend myself but found myself opening and closing my mouth without being able to. God, I felt like a slut! My pussy was gushing, my nipples were rock hard. I really wanted to be made love to just then, I needed it. I was really horny and I knew my body showed it. As I looked at the floor I could see the blush over my chest, a blush of arousal.

"You want this. It excites you. Doesn't it?" Eventually I nodded imperceptibly. "Tell me."

"Yes."

"A sentence. Answer me in sentences."

"Yes. Yes I am excited. By this."

"Again. Fuller." I wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground.

"I am excited by this," I repeated foolishly. I looked down at his hand. I whispered "I like being bound, being stripped, having my clothes cut from me, feeling helpless." I was so horny and at the same time so embarrassed because I was saying the words. I desperately wanted him to give me an orgasm. It all seemed like a dream. It seemed like a fantasy. I couldn't touch myself because I was bound. It had to be him. I needed him to. I began to move up and down on his fingers, fucking them. I felt so cheap and yet I was really needy. Please.

"Please what?"

"Please. Please." I heard myself pleading. Asking for it. Desperate for sex. Virtually naked, only tatters of tights on my legs whilst Michael was fully dressed.

"Say it properly."

"Please. Please Michael. Let me cum. I need to cum. I need you to give it to me."

"Not yet slut. No, not yet, but you're learning. You need to beg when you need it." I sobbed softly. "You are a slut, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes. I am a slut." I would have said anything just then, but, oh god, yes, I was a slut. A dirty slut. What other kind of girl would get so wet like this, because of this. How had it happened? How had I got into this? I could feel my hands held by the tie, my breasts thrusting, my thighs sticky, my hips jerking, my arousal still growing.

"Do you like this? Do you like being naked for me, being tied up, being a good submissive girl?" His hands were on my breasts. I could feel them on me, not needing my permission, caressing, squeezing, so aware of his touch. I could feel my heart pumping so loudly in my ears.

"Yes. Oh, Please." He looked at me and I knew I needed to speak fuller. "Yes, I like being tied and naked for you. It excites me."

"Good." His fingers were rhythmically squeezing my nipples. "I am sure we can find many inventive ways of making you realise your place. We might have to buy a few things. You might have to put up with a bit of discomfort but Im sure you'll put up with that. You'll know that you shouldn't make those basic decisions about yourself as a slut, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes." He led me across the room by my nipples. He took me to the table and lay me face down. The surface felt so cool against my heated breasts and the hot cheek of my face. I was very aware of my hands still tied behind me, my bottom sticking up, my vulnerability, my lack of any control. He spread my legs with one of his feet making me feel even more exposed. I could imagine how I looked. My pussy showing clearly, my bottom. I arched my hips higher. I felt him undoing his trousers. Felt his hard flesh. He opened me, slowly pushed it deep inside me, a spear deep inside, a spear capturing his prize. I was lubricated for him, not needing foreplay this time, but he felt big. I was wet so he didn't find it difficult to enter me, I was easy. An easy slut. I cried out softly as I felt him fill me. His length opened me and then fucked me. His flesh pulsing inside me. My vagina in spasm along his length.

"I actually like you as a slut. Though others possibly might think you are not very nice, I can cope with you being the slut you are. Only if you are a good slut though. Do you want to be a good slut, do you want to be my good slut?" His cock slid in and out now exquisitely slowly, almost torturing me.

"Oh god yes. I do. I want to be want to be a very good slut for you." Breathing was hard. Words more difficult. The very idea that I was being fucked whilst tied filled my head almost as much as the feeling of Michaels cock possessing me. I couldn't be held responsible, strangely I felt freed by being bound. I shivered with both excitement and fear and I forgot I was a nice girl and became his wanton whore. I groaned as he stopped again, pleaded until he began moving again, though only a little. Finally he began to fuck me, really fuck me, and I cried out his name and vulgar words and my need and things I knew not. He fucked my passive body that could only receive what he wished to give.

I came twice as his slick cock pounded me. He came too. I wasn't sure if his cumming gave me greater satisfaction than my own but it felt like it. He pulled from me and I cried out feeling the void left by his hardness. My head was lifted and he pressed against my mouth from the other side of the table until I realised what was needed and I took him inside, his cock covered by secretions from both him and me. I took him, cleansing him. I had never done that before, taking his cock still covered in either me or him or both. The taste of me and the taste of him strong in my mouth. Separate tastes, blending as one. It felt an incredibly dirty thing to do. I loved it

He told me to stay in that position, leaving me over the table for what seemed like a long time but I was content as the pulses ran throughout my body and my used body rested. I felt his semen leak from me and drip from me. At first I was mortified but gradually accepted even this humiliation as I had to accept that I had no choice. I began to accept my docility, my acceptance. It didn't feel wrong, bad and naughty perhaps, but I felt somehow content and safe.

Eventually he released me and after rubbing my wrists for me gently I was sent to shower but not dress and when I was clean and tidy to come back down to him. As I walked away I could feel the pleasant slipperiness between my legs and the slightly used feeling. I worried as I washed under the shower. Worried what he thought of me. Whether he would want to rid himself of me. Would he see it as a character flaw? Would he still want me? But I found that I took faith from what he had said. That he liked me as a slut. I didn't know how he could but I had to believe him and accept it.

He was reading a newspaper drinking a glass of wine when I came downstairs with a towel around myself. It only took one glance at his face and knew what was expected of me! I shyly removed it and draped it over the back of a chair. I was self consciously naked whilst he was clothed. We drank and talked about nothing as one does in normal situations, and though I was very naked and he was very dressed, gradually I relaxed. Undressed and vulnerable I found that I felt very submissive to him. I found myself imagining kneeling on the carpet like a slave or something. I wanted to do anything he said. He complemented me on my body a couple of times and the pleasure I felt was pronounced. I was aware of my low key but constant arousal I felt even just being there naked.

That night, in bed, he took my hands above my head again. "Do you want your hands tied?"

I looked at him, my cheeks flaring, and my stomach full of butterflies. I couldn't speak, my throat was dry. I couldn't admit it. It wasn't what I should do. My mouth opened and closed a few times while he patiently waited. "Yes. Please." During the seconds after speaking I thought of the throatily whispered words. Why did I say that? What was I thinking? I was aroused again. At the thought of my hands tied.

Go and fetch the tie. I knew exactly where it was. I slipped from under the duvet and padded naked downstairs into the kitchen, my breasts feeling bigger as they bounced. I gave him the tie, feeling like some little girl, slid next to him again and even put my hands above my head again. Being good. Being a slut. Being a good slut for him. He kissed me and I felt his hard cock against me as we touched. He knelt and I saw its hard animal like form as he tied one hand, running the tie behind one of the wooden posts of the bed head and then tying the other.

I lay on my back passively, breathing in gasps. His hands caressed me gently, sliding over all my skin, down my legs, over my stomach, over my face. All over except my pussy and tits. I ached for him to touch me there. His fingers played me like an instrument. I struggled to kiss him, struggled to press nearer, to press myself against him. I began to plead, to beg. It wasn't fair. I could feel my juices, in embarrassing amounts, leaking from me. His caresses became even gentler. I wanted to feel the firmness of his hands, the strength of his touch. I wanted to be taken not treated like a delicate piece of glass.

"Please." I was actually begging!

"Please what?" Teasing, taunting.

"Not so gentle, Michael. Please." I whispered this, so ashamed of myself wanting it like that.

"You want me to be rough with you?" Mock surprise.

"Yes. A little. Yes. You can tell."

"Yes I can tell."

His fingers suddenly entered me. My body jerked and arched off the bed and a groan came from my throat. He removed them and I again begged though this time totally inarticulately. His slippery fingers traced over my breast and squeezed a nipple. I pushed to him. The other nipple was squeezed in his fingers. Again his fingers harshly fucking me for short seconds. I needed fucking. I needed it desperately. I was going to burst.

"What are you?"

"A slut! A slut!"

"Whose?"

"Yours! Please take me." He rolled me over, pushed my knees up so I had to push up my bottom, my hands still tied. He took me from behind as earlier, it seemed appropriate, and like a bitch in heat I responded. He took me like an animal and it was what I needed. I needed to know I was his bitch. I found myself mumbling that I was his bitch slut as I was taken. I felt it. I came and came.

At breakfast I was still expected to be naked. It felt odd. He was dressed in jeans and T shirt as I sat naked. Being naked whilst he was dressed made me feel less than him in some way, as though I wasn't quite as human, more a pet. I liked that in some ways. It wasn't cold. The sun lit up and warmed my body at times as I moved. I wanted to please him. He told me that I was only to wear what he allowed or demanded of me if I was with him. If he didn't specify, I was to ask. He would only accept one layer of clothing unless I was given special permission. I may be allowed underwear in the house, though often no underwear if wearing other clothes outside. He told me that sometimes I would be allowed more freedom but only sometimes. I passively accepted everything he said, repeating it back to show understanding and acceptance. I didn't know if it was a game or what but it excited me, thinking of having to do what he said.

We had sex again, again with my hands tied, a slow and caring lovemaking, which, I realised guiltily, I would have liked him to push further into the realms of the socially unacceptable. But then, without me needing to say anything, as my orgasm approached in lazy way, he changed and took me harshly and I screamed out and bucked wantonly out of any control. I lay after, as he lay warm and sleepy next to me, thinking of what I was. Thinking of all I had actually wanted. I pushed against him but he dozed and then I fell asleep wanting things I found surprising and unexpected.

We didn't leave the house that weekend. The most I wore was bra and knickers. Often my hands were tied. Once I was tied spread eagled on the table with my legs apart for him and later like that on the bed. It felt really excitingly dirty being displayed and not being able to stop his hands, mouth or cock excite my body at his whim. It was all his decisions. I made none sexually, had no control. I wasn't allowed to though I didn't want to and it made me feel precious. He even fed me as I sat naked with my hands tied up once. It made me so aware of his power over me, so aware of his dominance.

Acceptance

At work on Monday I found myself with a silly smile on my face a few times and saw knowing grins on the faces of other women. My nipples and pussy were sore from the days before, pleasantly reminding me of the uses to which I had been put. My wrists felt tender too. I still couldn't comprehend that I had done all I had done, accepted his control, felt such deep sexual responses. I thought about him. I thought about me. I thought about the embarrassment of being naked when he was dressed. I was finding it difficult to concentrate on work at times, finding my thoughts drifting back to my acceptance of myself as sexually submissive to Michael, being bound, standing, sitting laying open and naked, my body used, taken. I also realised that my knickers were constantly wet. It stunned me, leaving me breathless and blushing.

I had thought about it from the moment I was alone. I certainly couldn't ignore it. The sex had been unbelievable. Nor could I believe I had acted in such a way. I felt both ashamed and excited by what I had done, quite proud that I had had the guts. I hadn't put up any struggle being tied or having my clothes cut from me. Being fucked like an animal and slut. Having to be displayed naked for him. I guess none of it was really, really bad, not like taking drugs or murder but it was very, very embarrassing.

I still couldn't believe it. I certainly had never thought much about being humiliated, tied up and being told what I could and could not do. But my body and mind refused to obey me when being dominated by him. Despite my very best efforts my knickers were constantly soaked and were coated with a white crusty mess when I took them off. I found my mind wandering back, reliving the control and humiliation. Guiltily, my masturbatory needs increased dramatically, embarrassingly so, as I relived some of the memories.

During the week I had received a parcel. An expensive blouse to replace the shreds that were left from the one he cut up. Very slightly more sheer than other and beautiful. A note with it said he would buy a replacement bra when I was with him.

The following Friday we drove to the his house as normal, making inane conversation, I with butterflies in my stomach wondering what would happen. Inside the door he held me and kissed me for a long time before telling me to leave my bag, hang up my jacket and follow him into the sitting room.

"Stand there. Hands together, behind. Don't talk." I could tell from the tone of voice that it was happening again. I could tell what was expected of me and I felt my blood quicken. I stood in the middle of the carpet as he sat and simply looked at me. I was blushing already, feeling the submission smoother me. Minutes went by. My breathing increased as he had me stand immobile, waiting, doing as I was told. I knew I was waiting to be instructed to do whatever he told me next. I knew thats what he wanted. I secretly wished this, hoped he would know. I had slipped easily into that situation. The thought was both embarrassing and arousing. I was nervous and tense though, very unsure of what he would say.