34 views
Don't Wear Panties
⚠️BDSM
August 10, 2022
22:11
Sub finally finds the Dominant of her dreams.
+++++
I stood alone at the MACTAN airport, a thousand miles away from home, waiting for a man I'd never met, but in whom I'd invested so much of myself over the last six months. I felt as if my whole future was riding on this meeting; like all my years of searching, all my hopes and dreams were wound up in this moment. I wanted so much for Alex to be right for me. I felt like if I failed again, I wouldn't have the strength to look anymore. We would have four days alone, with nothing planned but exploring each other. Four days to find out if this compassionate man of words could also be the recklessly passionate Dominant that I had spent half my life trying to find.
I had been intrigued by the idea of submission long before I knew what to call it. A magical affair in college with an iron willed older man had given me a taste of how good kink could be. He did things to me that I was ashamed to want, but he absolved my guilt by demanding them. He spanked me with my own hairbrush, insisted that I masturbate while he watched, and taught me that pain could intensify pleasure. I had few inhibitions, but he delighted in pushing at the ones that I had, and expected unquestioning obedience. He made me feel sexier than anyone ever had, and there was nothing that I wouldn't try for him, at least once.
The affair was magically intense, but like a shooting star, burned itself out in a rapid blaze of glory. Those were the eighties, and I lived in the Bible Belt, so as far as I knew, I was a sexual anomaly, alone in the world. The need to be conquered had been awakened and I would never be free of it. With no outlet for my darker side, I bound my feelings up tightly inside myself, and hid them from the scrutiny of the staid, pious, and traditional world I lived in.
Predictable reality regained its stranglehold, and I lived the life that I was expected to live. I married a man who seemed to embody the traits I thought would translate to happiness; strong, macho, and oozing with testosterone. He provided for me, and admired me, but I might as well have been a porcelain doll in a curio cabinet for all he understood about me. My passion slowly burned out as it became clear that the things I wanted in the bedroom held little appeal for him. He tried, at first, tying me up when I shared that fantasy. I liked it as much as I had thought I might, but he untied me immediately, bringing me back to earth with an awkward jolt. It was painfully obvious that he had done it just because I asked, and it was not something that he enjoyed. The high of a powerful climax fizzled quickly, replaced by the sinking feeling that there was something wrong with me. Even wrapped in his arms, I was alone.
As the years passed, it became harder and harder to ignore the fundamental problem; something I should have known all along. He was a man's man, and not really interested in my thoughts and interests. Our existence was mired in our ordinary routine, day to day trivialities were all we ever discussed, and uninhibited desire had no place there. I buried my fantasies, along with my hunger for affection. Sex became a mechanical process that we compressed to the smallest amount of time possible, so that we could get back to our increasingly separate lives.
Most of the women I knew would have been happy to trade places with me, but contentment felt more like a heavy blanket in July than anything else. My husband's manly nature had not translated to the direction and structure that I craved, but instead had left me isolated and lonely. He didn't want or need my company outside of bed, and he was unable to share what I needed in bed. I lived this half life for far too long, and then one day, I couldn't live it anymore. I put an official end to something that had been dead for years, and made a conscious decision to never again settle for ordinary.
The 80's were nothing but a bad memory, and the Bible Belt could no longer suppress the wealth of knowledge provided by the internet. With no one left to make me feel ashamed of my desires, I began to read pornography, gravitating almost immediately to BDSM. I was voracious, devouring every story about dominance and submission I could find. After a while, I realized that even the best stories were pretty formulaic, and I had to giggle at the cookie cutter heroine. She was always young, strong spirited, and determined that the hero would never break her. Even when she began to realize that she liked submitting to the devastatingly handsome ne'er-do-well, she railed against her fate, and wondered what was wrong with her for enjoying it. Not once did I encounter a woman like me. I was sure of what I wanted, and had no illusions. I needed to be dominated and owned. I just wasn't so sure how to go about getting my heart's desire.
None of that stopped me from reading and rereading my favorites, though, fantasizing about the hero. My hand often...
August 10, 2022
22:11
Sub finally finds the Dominant of her dreams.
+++++
I stood alone at the MACTAN airport, a thousand miles away from home, waiting for a man I'd never met, but in whom I'd invested so much of myself over the last six months. I felt as if my whole future was riding on this meeting; like all my years of searching, all my hopes and dreams were wound up in this moment. I wanted so much for Alex to be right for me. I felt like if I failed again, I wouldn't have the strength to look anymore. We would have four days alone, with nothing planned but exploring each other. Four days to find out if this compassionate man of words could also be the recklessly passionate Dominant that I had spent half my life trying to find.
I had been intrigued by the idea of submission long before I knew what to call it. A magical affair in college with an iron willed older man had given me a taste of how good kink could be. He did things to me that I was ashamed to want, but he absolved my guilt by demanding them. He spanked me with my own hairbrush, insisted that I masturbate while he watched, and taught me that pain could intensify pleasure. I had few inhibitions, but he delighted in pushing at the ones that I had, and expected unquestioning obedience. He made me feel sexier than anyone ever had, and there was nothing that I wouldn't try for him, at least once.
The affair was magically intense, but like a shooting star, burned itself out in a rapid blaze of glory. Those were the eighties, and I lived in the Bible Belt, so as far as I knew, I was a sexual anomaly, alone in the world. The need to be conquered had been awakened and I would never be free of it. With no outlet for my darker side, I bound my feelings up tightly inside myself, and hid them from the scrutiny of the staid, pious, and traditional world I lived in.
Predictable reality regained its stranglehold, and I lived the life that I was expected to live. I married a man who seemed to embody the traits I thought would translate to happiness; strong, macho, and oozing with testosterone. He provided for me, and admired me, but I might as well have been a porcelain doll in a curio cabinet for all he understood about me. My passion slowly burned out as it became clear that the things I wanted in the bedroom held little appeal for him. He tried, at first, tying me up when I shared that fantasy. I liked it as much as I had thought I might, but he untied me immediately, bringing me back to earth with an awkward jolt. It was painfully obvious that he had done it just because I asked, and it was not something that he enjoyed. The high of a powerful climax fizzled quickly, replaced by the sinking feeling that there was something wrong with me. Even wrapped in his arms, I was alone.
As the years passed, it became harder and harder to ignore the fundamental problem; something I should have known all along. He was a man's man, and not really interested in my thoughts and interests. Our existence was mired in our ordinary routine, day to day trivialities were all we ever discussed, and uninhibited desire had no place there. I buried my fantasies, along with my hunger for affection. Sex became a mechanical process that we compressed to the smallest amount of time possible, so that we could get back to our increasingly separate lives.
Most of the women I knew would have been happy to trade places with me, but contentment felt more like a heavy blanket in July than anything else. My husband's manly nature had not translated to the direction and structure that I craved, but instead had left me isolated and lonely. He didn't want or need my company outside of bed, and he was unable to share what I needed in bed. I lived this half life for far too long, and then one day, I couldn't live it anymore. I put an official end to something that had been dead for years, and made a conscious decision to never again settle for ordinary.
The 80's were nothing but a bad memory, and the Bible Belt could no longer suppress the wealth of knowledge provided by the internet. With no one left to make me feel ashamed of my desires, I began to read pornography, gravitating almost immediately to BDSM. I was voracious, devouring every story about dominance and submission I could find. After a while, I realized that even the best stories were pretty formulaic, and I had to giggle at the cookie cutter heroine. She was always young, strong spirited, and determined that the hero would never break her. Even when she began to realize that she liked submitting to the devastatingly handsome ne'er-do-well, she railed against her fate, and wondered what was wrong with her for enjoying it. Not once did I encounter a woman like me. I was sure of what I wanted, and had no illusions. I needed to be dominated and owned. I just wasn't so sure how to go about getting my heart's desire.
None of that stopped me from reading and rereading my favorites, though, fantasizing about the hero. My hand often...
