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My younger years through age 33, I put myself to sleep with a unique sort of lullaby. No sooner would my head hit the pillow before I would start imagining scenarios that included surrender of control and receiving pain to and by a man or multiple men. It wouldn’t be until I was about 30 years old until I realized just what these fantasies meant.
As a young adult, a friend gave me a copy of Story of O for my birthday. I read the back cover and a few pages one evening and called her up the next day asking, “Why did you give me this book?” She said, simply, “You are submissive.” Years would pass with little more than a bit of dabbling in online chat before I would explore my submissive side.
First there was D. He lived many miles away from me. We had a brief encounter; my first
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involving pain. Then there was P, who helped me explore humiliation, pleasure, pain and rope. I may write stories about them at another time. I will start with Mister and Miss, two people I spent three months with just beginning to learn where I fall sexually and romantically as polyamorous, a service submissive and a masochist.
Mister identifies as a sadist and Miss is his submissive who identifies as a switch. We formed a triad relationship for a whirlwind three months. I followed Mister and Miss’ orders in all things, but as Mister’s submissive, I deferred to him above all.
When it comes to service submission, this was the very best of times for me. Mister, no question, got the best of me to date. I have since become not as quick and happy to serve others and believe this is a good thing because it is very important for a submissive to give to those most deserving of his or her service. I had to learn this at some point.
I kept Mister’s house clean, ironed and laundered his clothing, cooked for him and when he cooked, I chopped things, kept up with the dishes and fetched what he needed to prepare his meals. When he hosted parties, which was on a nearly weekly basis, I was made to dress in a bra, apron, panties and heels. I would serve and care for his guests. Through it all, my panties (the few times I wore them) remained absolutely soaked. Mister
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had rules for me: unless given permission, I did not use furniture, I was naked in his home and I only ever called him Mister or Sir. Days in which I was not with him, I would text a picture of what I was wearing for the day in the morning and a naughty picture in the evening. I was required to wear an anal plug ten hours a week, spread out however I liked. I got credit for double time if I wore the plug while at work (at the time I worked in an office). I was permitted five orgasms a week, when not with him, but I needed to ask his permission before having these orgasms. I could date and play with others, but I had to ask permission and have discussion with Mister before doing so.
I loved the rules, the structure, giving him control and serving him. I craved receiving pain for him. I have not, before or since, felt the delicious fear I felt when playing with Mister. For the entirety of the three months with Mister, my pussy was a gushing faucet.
To be continued…
