A Real Dom's Chronicle Ch. 03

Chapter 3: Transgression and Respect: Towards Full Ownership

I

I know, reader, you are likely to just jump to the first play scene. But I think you are better off reading what comes before. It'll enable you to understand the fucking and licking and spanking and tears that are to follow. If you must jump ahead, however, don't judge; you are in no position to do so justifiably.

There is a misperception about BDSM that we might call the "50 Shades Syndrome", and that everyone who has deep experience in the lifestyle knows and comes up against: that it's about the imposition of authority, will and power. I will not bore you now with an excursion into the territory of consent, or an explanation of how power, allegedly invested in the dominant, really lies with the "submissive". What I do want you to know is this: that all the practices D and I engage in flow from her desires; it's her desires, her needs, that are the background against which my actions are calibrated. I don't care one bit whether you, the reader, believes this. Neither do - or can - I care about whether or not you believe in the veracity of my account. Nor do I need to, because D and I know that whatever we do, and whatever the words we use to describe what we do, describe her or myself - our relationship personifies that most precious human capacity: respect.

Words. You may think they don't matter. They do. Here, for example, is a list of terms that in one way or another are significant to us. These are words I have instructed D to read aloud to herself and to contemplate. She is then to check how her body reacts to each.

Asshole, Atonement, Bitch, Cock, Cockminx, Cunt, Dirty little slut, Fuckangel, Fuckdoll, Fuckholes, Fuckmeat, Kitty, Liebling, Mine, Plaything, Pleasure-dove, Pleasure-pain, Punishment, Purification, Schlampe, Self-adoration, Sir, Sweetheart, Whore, Yours.

Inevitably D ends up masturbating after a few minutes of the exercise. She then writes an account of her self-pleasuring. These are some of the most delicious, erotic passages I've ever read, though I'm not at liberty to publish them without D's explicit consent.

Let me just pick on one word and explain its function to you: self-adoration. At least in my experience, a woman's capacity to experience pleasure, real, deep pleasure, stands in direct correlation to her physical self-image, all things being equal (that is, absent psychological trauma connected to sexual abuse, misadventure, etc.). D is full-figured. She is lovely. Her body does not match the child-like physical ideal dished up to us at every turn, the ideal women are enjoined to live up to but can rarely if ever meet after age 18 or so, and men are enjoined to desire. Luckily, D's self-knowledge regarding her pleasure-body is highly developed for someone in their late teens. I want that self-knowledge to merge with a real sense of self-appreciation. I mentor D through that process.

I set D a series of daily tasks. One of them is for her to undress and to gently caress her body; her hair and face, her neck, shoulders and arms; her breasts; her sweet mound and cunt, her legs and feet, and to whisper, "I'm beautiful. My Sir knows this, and I know it to be true." This has become a pre and post masturbation ritual for D. I've instructed her also to "walk tall and show the light of your eyes to the world", and in an email asked her to "treat your body and mind like the most delicious garden, a garden that is mine to till, to plough and sow so that you, all of you, may grow and flourish. In this I need your help. Spend a little time everyday and think, 'how can I care for my Sir's garden today? What would please him?'"

So let there be no mistake: as far as I'm concerned, a d/s relationship is a relationship of trust in the context of respect and care. It's a truly intimate relationship. Read everything I write and have written about D and I with those things in mind. You will then be better able to understand what occurred during our third meeting on 28 May, 2015.

II

As soon as we enter the apartment D falls to her knees. That action repeats itself in my mind over and over again to this day, in slow motion: the movement of her flowing hair, the straightening of her spine, the prim positioning of her hands on her thighs, the dutiful closing of her eyes and downward nod. I'm filled with pride. Not a word needed to be said. D is beginning to truly embody her submissive little slut self, that part of her that has been aching for reconciliation, for self-acceptance.

I take a deep breath, slow myself down, control my desire to simply push her onto all fours and slide my cock inside of her. I walk around her in slow circles, contemplate D, how she might feel, check her sped-up breathing, her heaving chest, flushed cheeks, guess at the wetness of her anticipating, young cunt. I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper,

"Today, my dirty little slut, is the day we will turn your asshole into a fuckhole. What do you say?"

"Ah ... yes, ok Sir."

"What's your safeword?"

"Puppy."

"Make sure to use it if you have to. If you don't, I'll assume you want the things I'll do to you to happen. Ok?"

"Yes, Sir."

I ask D to get up and follow me to the couch. She knows to lay herself across my lap. Slowly, I stroke her hair and tell her how beautiful she is; how I care for her; and how all of this is for her own good, for her own flourishing. D thanks me. Her gratitude is sincere, authentic as the slight quiver in her voice attests.

I expose her panty-clad ass. I adore her ass. I adore how D made the effort to wear lingerie: her fishnets, and red, silken panties rather than thongs. I adore her fullness, her taught, pale skin ready to be reddened. She trembles slightly with anticipation. I slide the red cloth just down below her cheeks.

Whack! Whack!

"Thank you Sir!

Caress her skin as softly as I can. Lovingly. With the other hand I grab a fistful of D's long, black hair and pull until her head lifts up high.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

"Thank you Sir, thank you!", D whimpers.

Blushed cheeks. Blushed like a little girl's face vis-à-vis her first crush. I spread them with both hands and admire her asshole. So virginal. Unopened. Unstretched. Unfucked. I drool a little saliva on it and begin to circle its puckered, rosy limits. Now and then a little dip below, a little attention to kitty. Moist, good little kitty. Moaning D. Lovely D. I grab the bottle of water-based lube and let some of its contents run down D's ass-crack, scoop a good portion towards the little hole and slowly insert my right middle finger. What tightness! Am I really going to be able to fuck this? Surely not. With my left hand I begin to caress fuckhole 2, sliding my fingers up and down her slit with the odd circling motion around her clit. D likes it, likes it indisputably. Those whimpering moans. If you could only hear them! Sweet and wanton, wanting, at the same time, urging me on irresistibly.

My finger in her asshole moves a little. Round and round rather than in and out.

"Try to relax your asshole. Try to learn how to."

"Yes, Sir."

Sweetly uncoordinated pulsating follows.

"Tighten up. Good ... Let go. That's it. ... And again. Good. Very good."

"Thank you Sir."

A little more relaxed, my finger finds a smidgeon more room to play. Slowly I withdraw.

A few more blows on her ass shake D out of her ass-focused state. (Never let her settle in completely.)

"You dirty, dirty little slut."

"Thank you Sir!", D responds to her favorite tag.

More lube. This time my thumb. It slips in easily, and just behind its first knuckle is held in place by D's anus. And again. Slow circular movements. Nothing hasty. Steady. Steady while the other hand administers the odd, unpredictable blow to D's swelling ass. I barely hear the moans, the thank you's. My mind is following hers, into her asshole trying to fathom its elasticity, its limits, its give, when a few millimeters of backwards motion is greeted by a little sucking sensation. Good. D is relaxing. Mind back to her moaning, trembling. Don't forget her clit now. One thumb in her ass, a finger circling her pleasure-button until, as is now almost inevitable, a soft "may I cum, Sir?" trickles over D's lips.

"Under no circumstance are you to cum," elicits a frustrated, "Ok, Sir."

I stop working D's cunt. More lube. I ask D to reach back with both hands and spread her ass. Two fingers, left and middle, left hand. Slowly. Carefully. This is no time for pain. Pleasure must win out first. Both fingers are inside now, first knuckles deep. Now a slow stead slide inside, full fingers deep. Moaning. Whimpering. Slide back. Slowly. Don't hurry. All the way. And back again. Always the same speed, at snail's pace. More moaning. Pleasurable moaning. More finger fucking. More lube. More. More of everything. Stop.

I move D's hands from her ass, place them on either sides of her body. A few more well-meted-out smacks, a few more thank you's, and I reach for the medium sized silicon butt plug, the kind that doesn't taper too radically at the base end, and so doesn't allow the first ring of muscles to contract too far, keeping the ass reasonably open when fully inside. I insert the plug with small, slow back-and-forth fucking motions, taking care not to push prematurely. I take my time. Every 15 strokes or so I move 2-3 millimeters. Lovely D. Lovely asshole. You are learning to fuck. We have time. Lots of it.

A gasp, a grasp, a sucking grasp and in it goes! Delightful. D plugged. Now, give her a little while to get used to her new guest. Massage her cheeks, firmly. Whack! Elicit some gratitude. Whack! Whack! My dirty little slut.

Slowly I pull on the plug. A little more, and pop it goes! And back in. Slowly, but without stopping. In it goes. And again. Repeat the procedure until we approximate fucking, fucking in slow motion to be sure, until there is a real sense D's ass can cope. Then let it rest inside.

I tell D to get up. She knows to keep her eyes shut. I place the mask on her eyes, undress her completely, admire her. Her she is: naked, blindfolded, and butt plugged. Blushed, beautiful, breathing heavily, aroused. I kiss her. And how she kisses back, my hungry, hungry little slut. And how wet her slit is. So silky wet.

"Do I still need to tell you to spread your legs?"

"Sorry Sir."

I reach for the Magic Wand. My dirty little slut is about to lose her vibrator cherry. And without warning, running on medium high, I press the vibrating knob against D's cunt, steadying her body with a hand on her throat. After not more than 30 seconds, the familiar plea:

"Please Sir, can I come?"

"Come."

And as a shuddering wave grazes her body, and a moaning sob escapes her lips, the butt plug falls to the ground, D's knees buckle, and for a second before she regains secure footing she seems to be held up by only my grip around her throat. She comes to. Steadies.

"Thank you Sir ... oh my God."

"Sit down."

I sit down opposite D and watch her closely, admire her. I've said this before and don't tire saying it: the tension between her sweetness, her innocence so apparent in her features, her youth and her desire to be slutted, defiled, broken down and put together again, is intoxicating, consuming. Then I remember.

"I have a little present for you. Get on the couch on all fours, facing the wall."

I leave the room and return with a newly-bought fox tail. A real fox tail. A real fox tail with a medium sized, steel butt plug at the end of it. I thought of buying it because D once told me that when she began reading Kelsey Cole as a young teen, she would often dream of being a wolf. I thought it might please her to be a little wolf-like and to combine the realization of that fantasy with some ass training. The reader may appreciate that wolf tails are much harder to come by than fox tails, but here it's really more about the fantasy-driving Gestalt than anything else, don't you agree?

I run the tail along D's spine. She shivers. "What do you think this is?"

"I don't know."

Whack!

"I don't know, Sir. Sorry Sir."

"Touch it."

"Oh ... it's furry. It's like a furry tail."

"That's right, my little slut. It's a tail. I'm going to make you my little bitch."

Now I apply some lube to D's asshole, and with slow ins and outs drill the steel plug into her. And how snuggly it fits!

"You look very cute, D."

"Thank you Sir."

"Touch it."

D giggles, "It feels nice, thank you!"

I open my trousers, slide them down my legs, step out of them, spit in my hand, moisten my cock more out of habit than need, and slide myself in D's kitty. I can feel the plug graze my head through a thin layer of skin as I slide all the way in, all eight inches of fat girth.

Sobbing. D's cute sobbing.

"How do you like being fucked with a butt plug up your ass?"

"Please!"

D is not hearing the question. I repeat:

"How do you like being fucked with a butt plug up your ass?"

Instead of an answer, D's sobbing is getting louder and is now interspersed with the odd, "please!", then "may I come?"

"What?"

"May I come?"

"Come you fucking dirty bitch."

She does. As always. And pride rises in my chest as the tail twitches along with D's twitching asshole, and - like the slightly smaller plug before, and assisted by my fucking - falls out of her hole. I'm proud of her. I'm proud of her capacity to let go, to experience and then embody pleasure. My little slut.

III

Since the steel plug left D's asshole of its own accord, so to speak, I mused about her readiness to take cock. I decided I'd give it a try. I asked D to turn around, lie on her back, and to raise her spread knees toward her face, exposing her asshole.

"I'm going to put my cock in your ass", I said.

"Ok", D responded a little hesitantly.

"Use your safe word if you need to."

"Ok."

I lubed my cock, poured a little on two fingers and slide them into D's pre-plugged hole. Heavy breathing and a relaxed face signaled pleasure. I backed out my fingers and immediately replaced them with the tip of my cock.

"Take a deep breath ... breath out ... and relax your hole."

D obliged.

"Do it again."

This time I gently pushed until my head disappeared into D's asshole. She gasped. No safe word. I let it rest.

"Touch your clit."

D obliged. D moaned. My pleasure-dove, how orgasmic you are!

And slowly I drove in. Deep breathing. Clit circling. I rested. I waited. I listened. And, some more. More. A guttural "Uhmmmm" from deep inside. When I was about half way in I began to fuck, and to fuck slowly. I loved the tightness on my fuckmeat. I loved this new episode on the path to ownership.

Now D was rubbing her clit very fast. Then crying. Real crying. A tear rolled down D's cheek from underneath the mask, then another one. No safe word. "Uhmmm ... oh my God." Sobbing. I continued to fuck. Only half way. I placed my hand behind D's neck, put my forehead against hers and whispered,

"Now your asshole is Fuckhole 3."

Sobbing. Kissing. Grateful kissing as I empty myself into D. I stayed there until my cock went limp and, pushed by her twitching muscles, slid out of her newly baptized third fuckhole. And then there was nothing but gratitude. Gratitude for the first deep experience of pleasure-pain. Gratitude for being taken control of. Gratitude for helping her breach a once firmly believed in boundary. Gratitude for transgression born from respect for D's barely articulated but strongly felt and intuited desires.