How I became a dominant man

I’ve talked about how a few short months ago I was pure vanilla. I didn’t know I was sexually submissive, and I didn’t know that people lived the fantasies that I only…well, fantasized about.

I started exploring D/s erotica online last May, and through that managed to stumble onto an online kink community. For the first few weeks I lurked on the boards, reading posts and learning. I still remember the first post I made; I was so nervous that my hands shook as I typed.

One of the first threads I read was a woman responding to a flamer – you know, the kind who writes eg “How could you let a guy hit you? You must be really fucked up if that turns you on!” She was so open, so thoughtful in her response. She talked about how long it took her to acknowledge her sexuality, not just to others but to herself. About how freeing it was to finally do so. She wrote about the complexities and contradictions in a D/s relationship, and the depth of feeling and connection possible within one. I almost cried reading it. It felt so good to know that other people had the same feelings and urges that I did. Maybe I was a freak, but at least I wasn’t the *only* freak out there.

As I became more comfortable posting, I would regularly end up in the same threads with this woman. We developed an ongoing joke – she would tease and torment me, I would cyber-spank her, she would plot to turn me bisexual. Silly.

Now I talk to her every day, and we email several times a day. We live across the country from each other, and we’ve known each other for less than a year, but she is my dearest friend. Megan almost singlehandedly navigated me through my first experiences a) as a member of an online community, b) dealing with the attentions of predatory domly types, and c) coming to terms with my sexual submissiveness.

Here’s the thing. She is the most emotionally intelligent women I know. She has the sharpest, quickest wit. She is tooth achingly sweet to everyone, and ferociously protective of those she loves. She is scary gorgeous – tall, blond, blue eyed, cheekbones that could cut you. She could walk into a room, and walk out five minutes later with anyone in the room, man or woman.

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She’s a slave.

I remember one of the first times we were talking on the phone. We were in the midst of a serious conversation when she suddenly interrupted me “Oh! I have to go! Master says it’s time for bed.”

My jaw dropped. This was not fantasy. This was not theoretical. Megan was living it. She was (is) a slave. She has a tattoo on her thigh that says “slave” in kanji.

I chewed on that for a few days. At this point, I still saw myself as a vanilla person who had kinky fantasies. But my beloved friend, my most trusted confidante, was a…slave. What did that mean?

I decided that it meant a couple of things. First, I finally got it that you can be kinky AND be normal. If that makes sense. Megan is reaaaally kinky. She’s also reaaaaally smart and reaaaaally competent and reaaaaally emotionally healthy. That suggested to me that *I* could be kinky, and also smart and competent and emotionally healthy.

Second, it meant that I was in a relationship (albeit a friendly relationship, not a romantic one) with a kinky person, and I was getting a lot out of it. More than in my non-kinky relationships (friendly or romantic). This gave me hope that I could have other relationships with other kinky people that were satisfying and fulfilling.

Megan gave me the courage, both by her example and by her daily support and encouragement, to take a chance with Richard. To be open enough to get to know him, then to meet him, then to move in with him. She didn’t give me blind support and encouragement – she asked me hard questions and challenged me to think through each of my decisions. But that, of course, made her support infinitely more valuable to me.

I could not be here now, so much happier and in love than I ever imagined I could be, without her love and guidance.

My precious friend, my dearest sister slave.

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A new position for fucking

I awoke in the early morning, and found Amy sleeping in roughly the position below, except nude of course.
With my erection already pressed against her naked ass, it was a simple matter to swing up and straddle her extended leg, press the other up and out of the way to open access to her pussy, and then force my way into her as she woke up.

With lovely easy access to her breasts as well, I found I could hold onto her thigh for hard thrusting, or lean forward and seize a nipple between forefinger and thumb, and gripping it tightly, rest my weight on that hand.

The net effect of gripping her nipple is to basically pin her to the bed by her nipple. A little pressure on her shoulder, pulling her as if trying to roll her onto her back, stretches her nipple in the most wonderful way, and gets an instant reaction from her.

It took a little persistent thrusting to open up her pussy fully for a good hard fucking, since she wasn’t fully awake when I started, but once we were under way this turned out to be a wonderful position to fuck her in. Plus, I easily rolled her over and fucked her the exact same way as she lay on her other side.

We will do this again.

Should you call your girlfriend cunt?

Amy told me, the other night while we were cuddling in bed, that she doesn’t like it when I call her cunt when I am fucking her.

WTF?

She was hoping I’d call her something more romantic, like “Sweetie,” or “Angel,” or some such name.

Now, keep in mind I don’t call her “a cunt.” No, she is “Cunt,” an entirely different creature altogether.

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She has since claimed to be teasing me, but what am I to guess from this? I know the humiliation I make her feel sometimes through word and action is very hot, for both of us. So, does she really not like being Cunt, or is this a ploy to make me think she really doesn’t like it, and therefore I’ll use it more, heightening the humiliation factor.

Amy doesn’t play mental games.

She does tease, though.

I just think she doesn’t like being Cunt.

Amy is easily the smartest person I know. I have shifted to a new technique when debating topics with her. Namely, don’t pick any position, because Amy will outflank and outmaneuver any logical position with my old nemesis, accurate facts. I hate accurate facts. And she seems to know them all.

Amy reminds me of a Vulcan. All brains and thinky thinky until pon farr hits, and then she’s an excited mass of sexual passion. Seriously, Amy is very intelligent and articulate, but during sex, when she has been properly aroused, she speaks, but the sounds don’t form proper words. All she can say that you understand is “no,” and “please.”

To me, she has become thoroughly female. Completely, 100% cunt.

And what other word could I use? Vagina? Pussy?

No.

I remember running across the word “queynte,” in my old Chaucer reading days. A form of “cunt,” and also meaning knowledge, or cunning if you like. The word “cunt” seems to have been formed from the feminine syllable “co,” pronounced “coo.” Long recognized as a feminine syllabel, you see it today even in phrases like “hootchie-coo,” for example.

While nothing is certain, it is put forward by some that the word evolved through numerous usages, possibly through the Latin “cunae,” which you will recognize as related to “cuneform,” and is seen in the word ” cunnus,” Latin for “vagina.”

The final syllable is often linked to Scandanavian usages of the word meaning “wife,” or “woman” or related meaning such as “kone,” “kut,” “kuton,” “kunta,” and “kutte.”

The Dutch are given credit, ultimately, for the addition of the “t” to the word, and their influence seemed to have been what resulted in the final shape of the word. To run the risk of over-simplification, the “cu” seems to have evolved from the Proto-Indo-European language, the “n” from the Latin, and the “t” from the Dutch, to find a final amalgamation in the word “cunt,”

It’s first recorded in England as a street name in various redlight districts of cities such as London and Oxford, which had streets named “Gropecuntlane.”

Cunt.

A fine word, with a distinguished pedigree, but currently in disfavor, and out of polite usage.

I, however, am not so polite.

When I am fucking her…

Amy is Cunt.

Amy’s breasts

I write this in bed tonight, in the dark. Amy lies beside me nude, the duvet pulled down to her waist, her soft breasts bare in the pale light and her nipples semi erect. I stroke her breasts very, very lightly, feeling their softness, the firmness of her nipples. Even in her sleep just the slightest touch makes them harden.

I can’t touch them like this; not when she is awake.

The slightest touching of her breasts, let alone her nipples, sends her into immediate arousal. Touch them for more than a few seconds, and she begins to writhe and grind and whimper, so much that in can be hard to even keep contact with her breasts as she lies beside me in the bed, squirming and heating up quickly with desire.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

I swear, her breasts have a direct connection to her clitoris. She has a phenomenal sex drive as it is, and with such sensitive and responsive breasts it’s hard not to keep sending her into a state of eager and compliant arousal.

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Amy compelled to pull her t-shirt up and show her breasts

Amy has learned that she has two kinds of orgasms. The first is an all encompassing clitoral orgasm that leaves her exhausted and satisfied. The second type is less focused on clitoral stimulation, and milder, without relieving the urge for the first type. This second type can come repeatedly, sometimes without even touching her. There have been instances when she has been very aroused, and something I say can send her into this second type of orgasm.

With extended breast play, Amy can go through multiple orgasms. Oral sex especially sends her into one long orgasmic plateau. When aroused, she has no idea how many she has had, nor how long she has been having sex. I have no idea either, as I don’t know when she is having them. I am aware of when she suddenly holds her breath while I am playing with her clitoris, but I don’t know if that exactly corresponds with her minor orgasms.

Her big orgasms are always solo; she doesn’t have multiples of those. When I first started playing with her, I couldn’t identify those either. Amy would just go very still, and hold her breath, not making a sound. She focused entirely on the sensations washing over her, but to an outside observer, it looked like nothing was happening at all.

Lately, during her big orgasms, she has been moaning ever so slightly, and rocking a little from side to side. Still not much demonstration of the powerful sensations she describes rushing over her, but more evident than before, if just barely.

I have teased her about becoming my anal slut. She hates that, and resists the idea very strongly. The other night, I held her in my arms, and ever so slowly, began to separate her ass cheeks, and slowly stimulated her ass hole. Her hips betrayed her arousal, and when I whispered in her ear about fucking her ass, she came twice, the little orgasms that don’t relieve desire.

She is not happy with the implications of that.