"Good girl."
I love it when he calls me his 'good girl'. It makes me feel so appreciated. Such simple words. So easy to say. So easy to forget to say.
"Go on, then."
"Now? But I was going to water the garden."
"I'll do it. You go sit down at the computer for an hour or so. I'll start dinner too."
"Goodness. Thank you, darling."
"Anything for my sweet girl."
He curled his warm fingers around my cheek and I leaned against his hand. My brown eyes swam in the green of his.
If only I knew what I was getting myself into.
Oh, but I knew. I knew only too well. Just admitting these things made me practically shit myself. Thinking about them made me wet. Talking about them made me need to change my underwear.
I just wanted it to happen. I needed it to happen. Something. I don't know why, and I honestly didn't care what or how. I just wanted something off the wall. Something scary or crazy. Something out of my deepest, darkest fantasies. I needed it. Needed to know. Needed to feel.
Yes, my fantasies have driven me crazy lately. Affecting me at inopportune times. Shopping. Watching television. Washing up. Sometimes it's hard to resist the need to masturbate. I love to masturbate.
Fortunately, I found a man who has managed to keep my demons at bay. He leaned in to kiss me at that moment, and as I always do, I melted. I married him when he told me I wouldn't find anyone like him ever again.
He was right.
I hope you don't think I'm sick. Well actually, I've often thought the same thing myself! I mean, well okay, I was a bit wild in high school. By that, I just mean a bit. My fantasies always outstripped my realities. I've always loved masturbating. I loved to fantasise. As my sex-toy collection grew, my fantasies grew more and more elaborate. And more bizarre. And more extreme.
Though I'd sucked a few cocks, and given a few hand jobs, just about everything I knew I was taught. By my Johan.
His warm, slightly minty tongue slid into my mouth, filling me with him while his hands found my ass. I kissed him back fervently. Thinking about this stuff always made me hot. Kissing him made me hotter.
With one last squeeze of my ass and one last slice of his long, strong tongue into my mouth, he broke the kiss.
"Get in there," he growled, grinning.
"Yes, Sir!" I giggled, and darted out, but not before yelping when he smacked my ass as I skipped past.
Thanks to that little tête-à-tête in the kitchen, I was already wet when I sat down to write. But that alone wouldn't explain why I locked the door and slipped my panties off.
No.
You see, I have to admit I was turned on by the thought of writing down my darkest fantasies.
I'd never been this far before.
The thought that I might have one, or more, actually occur was intensely arousing.
I should tell you about myself. My name is Shannon Bree Stollson. I've been married to the man who stole my cherry for almost eight years. I'm twenty-seven years old and I'm reasonably slim and I'm told I'm attractive.
My hair is blonde but I'm not natural. Well it's streaked blonde so you would know anyway, even though I shave my pussy. I do that for my husband. He insists. He says he prefers it that way, and now I do too.
I met him while at the beach one weekend almost ten years ago. He was a big blonde hunk then, and he still is. I was in high school and at the time was busy readjusting my bikini when he walked right up to me and asked if I needed a hand.
I could hardly speak. God, he was just so gorgeous. I still get weak-kneed when I see him naked. Or in a suit. Or in almost anything. He's a sharp dresser.
Five minutes later he was asking me out. We've been together ever since.
Nowadays he runs his own business consulting for medical importers and exporters. But then again, he could do almost anything. He speaks six languages fluently.
Though I keep house, our two children are under four and are in day care two days a week. Monday and Tuesday. They also enjoy staying at their grandmother's house on Sunday and Monday nights. Which of course gives us ample time to continue our torrid love life.
"Our weekend" he called it, when he insisted on the habit.
As the years went by, I adored "our weekends", and gladly accepted his continuing to work on Saturdays.
I gladly accepted a lot of things. As our love life became more and more crazy, I accepted a lot!
I accepted his dominance right from the beginning. It was only a few short years later than we formalised the relationship. We had discovered the BDSM lifestyle through a friend of his, who brought us along to a munch. That's where like-minded people get together and chat about things.
We both realised we were already practicing. I was already his submissive. He was already my dominant.
We read lots of stuff together and drew up a contract. I was so nervous and so excited. I eagerly signed it. I gushed into my panties as I did.
So began our life. It's easy to be a good submissive when your man is such a fucking turn-on. I mean, even in my fantasies, when it's just one man, it's always my man. Always.
He's so imposing. Everyone looks at him first when we walk into a room. At first I didn't like it. But after a while it just made me proud. And thankful.
Thankful that it was me on this Adonis' arm. But he is so much more than an Adonis. He's not cocky. Just self-assured. He knows himself well.
And he is about to know me even better than he ever has.
I started typing.
This is a bit embarrassing to admit. But when I get wet, I'm only allowed to clean myself with my fingers and my mouth. Which usually just makes me all the wetter. Which is kind of self-defeating, don't you think?
He chuckled when he made that rule. He knows me so well.
I have slut fantasies. Fantasies where I'm taken unwillingly and fucked till I love it. Who am I kidding? I love being fucked. And I mean completely fucked. Sweaty and sore. All holes. I am not too keen about anal, but I like it after the initial shock and pain. I don't look forward to that feeling. It makes my tummy tumble. But after that, I do love it. I feel so slutty too. Naughty. Dirty. Delicious.
I loveeee sucking too. Especially big ones. Though not all my fantasy men have enormous cocks. A couple of my girlfriends really envy me! But I don't know why. I mean, if he were a bit smaller, it would be a lot easier! A cock is a cock, right? I can't imagine a tiny one being much fun though. Is it wrong to genuinely feel a bit sorry for those guys?
I just think sucking is so yummy though. I can see his face and actually know whether I'm being pleasing. I mean, it's gotta be pretty hard to fake! Right girls? I also spend a fair bit of time on my knees too. Oh! I don't mean like that! Let me explain!
Johan is my husband and lover, but he is also my Master. I like being able to kneel at his feet. So I have three really big cushions in various places around the house. With time, one really does get used to kneeling a fair bit. As long as one's joints and back are okay I mean. I guess I also feel sorry for the subbies who can't do that. I love looking up at him from down there. I love seeing the look in his eyes.
I love knowing a man's cock is hard because he is excited about fucking me. It's basic and animal. It affects me deeply. It makes me horny and I like being horny. I mean, I'm no "spread my legs at the drop of a hat" type slut. God, the men at the supermarket, or the women for that matter, would have a fit. No, I am very straight-faced and can conceal my horniness well.
I mean, God. I've never done 'anything' really wild. I've never slept with anyone but Johan. I'm just a regular girl, who went through college, and had normal type young girl fantasies and stuff. Save myself for marriage, etc. Not strongly, I just hadn't met anyone who I really wanted to do it with.
When a friend mentioned erotic literature and a website one day, I had a look and was hooked. I read and read and fantasised and wished Johan would just take me. I mean we were going together and everything, and I was thinking, god he's such a hunk. I wonder if I should let him fuck me? I masturbated endlessly wondering what it would be like. But I could never throw myself at him. I'd probably even resist. God, then a thought occurred and a feeling went through me that I never got over.
What if he forced himself on me?
Now let me make something perfectly clear. He would not have been raping me. 'That' thought was not what I was thinking about. The idea of being ACTUALLY raped is not what I'm talking about.
What made me tremble with carnal lust was the idea of being forced, when I WANTED it.
Because I did want it, and I recognise that now. To be honest, I recognised it then too. I recognised it as he pushed his big cock into my virgin pussy and I came as the pain hit me. I bucked back at him and screamed. I breathlessly told him to fuck me harder. He split me open and I cried with ecstasy.
I became a slut almost overnight. Not a slut for any guy. Just for my guy. I discovered the joy I felt in giving pleasure almost immediately. Johan had me kneel in front of him and we spent a whole day practicing and talking about sucking cock.
Mmmmm. It took a heartbeat to realise I had a lot of power when on my knees. Listening to him moan at my various touches made me cream. I absolutely loved it. I wanted to suck him all the time, and I was 'always' disappointed when I didn't get the opportunity.
I realise now I was becoming demanding.
"High maintenance."
I knew I had a high sex drive. I read about it. It was normal for a young female to have strong desires when first introduced to sex. Much like males. But apparently more so, given the fact that my first experience was good. That can be crucial, so I've read.
All I knew was I found myself thinking about having sex with Johan all the time. In school, after school, at dinner, when out with friends, sailing, skiing, anything, anywhere, anytime.
It got to the point where I started to beg him.
Yeah, yeah, I know. How demeaning. But honestly, I didn't think about it that way.
I just wanted my fix.
"C'mon baby, don't you wanna fuck me?"
God, I was such a slut.
"No? Awww. Then can I suck you? Would that be okay? Please?"
Conversely, he actually 'was' pleased. I mean, what big-cocked, hot blooded, Scandinavian guy wouldn't be? He was making his own personal slut. Who wouldn't be pleased?
I had all the necessary assets. I had the body. I still do. I had the open, accepting mind. I had the enthusiasm and the strong desire to please. And I had a man who satisfied me wildly beyond my frantic masturbatory imaginings.
After outrageous sex one afternoon, we were kissing and cuddling and talking, as we always do.
"I'll marry you one day..."
I rolled over, onto my tummy, looking down on him.
He was lying on his back, breathing heavily.
"You will, huh?" I smiled widely.
"If you'll have me," he winked.
"I'd have you. I'm not an idiot."
"What about now, then?"
"What?"
My tummy tumbled.
"Will you marry me?"
"Are you asking?"
Duh. Okay, so I was looking for time.
He nailed me. He always does.
"Shannon. Don't hedge me, baby. You know you're mine. You always have been. And you always will be. I can't see any reason not to."
I reached up and caressed his face.
"Nor can I. Of course I'll marry you, baby."
I settled down a little and found myself some interests.
At nineteen, I was still so reliant on Johan. As his star rose, I wanted to feel like a success too. Marriage to a twenty-eight year old business executive was fun and sometimes exciting, but I wanted something I could call my own.
So I took some college courses. I had designs on becoming a graphic artist. I actually did quite well at school. It was hard getting a job, though. And Johan was no help.
"Why do you want to work, there's no need!"
But I needed to feel useful.
So while Johan worked his fingers to the proverbial bone, I went to school and boy, was that fun. I enjoyed all the looks I got, walking around the campus in my short skirts and halter necks. I fended off dozens of advances from guys during those years and actually got into one jam with a guy who pinned me against the wall in the college bar one evening.
God, it made me so wet, but thanks to a friend, I squirmed out of his embrace and fled home into the arms of my husband who kindly fucked my ass off.
I was so nervous. He'd warned me so many times about wearing the clothes I liked to wear.
"One day you are gonna get attacked wearing stuff like that."
"Don't be so old-fashioned."
"Well, don't say I didn't warn you."
I wish I had a dollar for every time he said something like that.
So when I returned that night, he had no sympathy.
"You stupid slut. He probably thought you were begging for it."
"But I wasn't though," I complained. "I didn't say anything. He just grabbed me and pushed me against the wall and started feeling me up."
"Hey, I've warned you a hundred times, if you dress like a tart, you'll be treated like one."
"That's not fair. I like my clothes."
"You probably loved it anyway."
"I did not!"
"Bullshit. Show me your cunt."
"Noooo!"
"Now!"
"Oh, it's not fair. YOU make me wet. Not this. Not being felt up by a complete stranger!"
"I don't believe you. Show me your cunt, NOW!"
"Ohhhhh..."
I remember picking up the hem of my short skirt and there for my Johan to see, was a big patch of wetness in the gusset of my panties.
