Discovering My Inner Slut

I met Jake at the party of an old college friend who lived in Brooklyn. It was an annual event meant to celebrate the beginning of summer, and every year Dan seemed to invite more people.

I had been standing alone on the balcony for several minutes, wanting a break from the noise inside, when Jake tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hello there," he said. "I thought you looked lonely out here."

Even before I turned to look at him, I felt a frisson of pleasure run through me. There was something about his calm, commanding voice that struck a nerve somewhere deep inside me. And when I saw that he was tall, broad-shouldered, and well built, the frisson settled between my legs in a distinct tingle. I have always been attracted to tall, rugged men, and Jake was the epitome of my type.

We introduced ourselves, swapped stories about how we knew Dan, talked about our careers (I'm a lawyer; he's a financial advisor), and shared some personal history. Before I knew it the evening was over, and Jake was asking for my phone number.

"This isn't one of those times I'm going to give a man my phone number and never hear from him again, is it?" I teased as I scribbled the digits on a scrap of paper I'd found in my purse."

"I can't imagine any man being stupid enough not to call you, Abby," Jake replied with a smile. "I'm planning to get to know you much, much better."

There was something about the way Jake emphasized the word "much" that made my knees feel momentarily weak. As he reached down to kiss my cheek, I felt that pleasant tingle once again. The air was almost crackling with sexual energy.

Jake was true to his word. He texted me the next day and asked if I would have dinner with him the following Friday. That first date was soon followed by another, and I found myself spending a good part of my days thinking about our time together. We talked effortlessly about a wide range of subjects, and the chemistry between us was palpable. There was something about the way Jake looked at me with his dark blue eyes that made me feel he could see deep inside me. It was both exciting and a little scary.

After each of our first two dates, Jake kissed me at the end of the evening before putting me into a cab to take me home. One part of me respected him for not trying to get me into bed right away, but another part of me wished he didn't have such scruples. I couldn't remember ever feeling such a strong attraction for a man, and his kisses left me pulsating with frustration.

So when he suggested we go back to his apartment at the end of our third date, I had to work hard to hide my excitement. I didn't want to look too eager, after all, though the truth was I'd shaved down there that morning and chosen my sexiest panties and bra.

I wasn't sure what to expect when we got inside. I thought Jake would probably offer me a drink or take me on a tour of the apartment. Instead he came up behind me and gripped my shoulders with both hands.

"I have this feeling about you, Abby," he said in a quiet voice, "and I want to see if it's true. I think you are longing for someone to take charge of you and push your sexual boundaries. I think you want someone to dominate you."

I opened my mouth to reply but couldn't make any words come out. One part of me was shocked and offended. What kind of woman did he think I was? Then I realized that the crotch of my panties was soaked, and I'd never felt so aroused in my life.

Taking my silence for assent, Jake steered me further into the apartment and bent me over the dining room table. He lifted up my dress and yanked my panties down to my knees. Then he started to gently caress my ass.

"I think you've been a naughty girl, Abby," he said in that deep, authoritative voice that pushed all of my buttons. "I think you've been having dirty thoughts because I can see how wet your pussy is. What do you think should happen to naughty girls?"

"I don't know," I finally managed to stammer.

"Do you think they should get their pretty bare bottoms spanked, like this?" He pulled his hand back and gave my right ass cheek a stinging smack. "And this?" He did the same thing to my left cheek.

"Yes," I whimpered, aware simultaneously that my ass stung like hell and my clit was throbbing like an overworked boiler.

Jake continued to spank me for several minutes, stopping now and then to brush the back of his hand against my pussy. When he finally stopped, he slid his thumb inside me and began to play with my clit with his middle finger. By this point I was making high-pitched moaning sounds and squirming to create more friction with his finger.

"Are you going to come for me like a good girl?" he asked as he increased the speed with which he was massaging my clit.

"Yes," I whispered between moans. "I'm going to come. I'm going to come."

And a second later I did just that. I'd never had such an intense orgasm before, and it seemed to go on and on. Long after I thought it was over, I kept having these unexpected aftershocks of pleasure.

Jake pulled me up from the table, turned me around, and kissed me. It was a long, slow kiss that made me feel dizzy. Before I had a chance to recover, he picked me up and carried me to his bedroom. Once there, he stripped off the rest of my clothes and put me onto the bed on my knees and forearms.

He ran his hands up and down my back several times, stopping to massage my shoulders each time. The he took my right hand and pulled it back until it was resting on my ass. He did the same thing with my left hand, so I had to turn my head to balance on my head and shoulder.

"Spread your ass cheeks," he commanded.

Slowly, hesitantly, I spread my ass cheeks as far as I could. I had never done this for a man before, and it struck me that it was the most submissive position a woman could be in. One part of me didn't feel comfortable in this position, but another part of me felt on fire. The idea that I was on my knees giving Jake a bird's-eye view of both my pussy and my asshole was making my clit throb again even though I'd just had an orgasm minutes earlier.

The next moment I felt something hard rubbing against my pussy. It took me a moment to realize that it was Jake's cock, and when I did I let out a deep, involuntary moan. Jake laughed.

"You like that, don't you, Abby?" he asked, and I agreed that I did. "What would you like me to do with this hard cock?" he went on.

"I'd like you to fuck me," I groaned, struggling to keep my ass cheeks spread wide.

Jake took his time, rubbing his cock back and forth in my slit and letting the tip slip in and out of my wet hole. It wasn't until I pleaded for it that he slid the full length of his cock inside me and began to fuck me in hard steady thrusts. After a minute, he ran his right hand down my back and into my hair. He made a fist and pulled my head back sharply.

"You're a horny slut, aren't you, Abby?" he asked, as he continued to pound my pussy with his cock.

I started to object, but then it occurred to me that a woman on all fours who is spreading her ass cheeks for a man she's only recently met is in no position to protest what is so patently true. Besides, the words made my clit throb even harder.

"Yes," I managed to gasp between moans. "I'm a horny slut."

Saying it seemed to push me over the edge, and I began to come again immediately.

The next few days I spent in a fog of lust. I found myself masturbating several times a day, more than once in the bathroom at work. And when I wasn't masturbating, I was almost continuously wet. I began to worry that my colleagues could smell my arousal.

Although some people might have welcomed this state of affairs, I felt deeply unsettled. My mother had raised me to be a feminist, and I had always thought of myself as a strong, independent woman. I was on the partner track at a prestigious New York law firm, for God's sake. What would people think of me if they knew I referred to myself as a horny slut during sex?

But Jake had put a key inside me and unlocked a door into a part of my sexuality I had tried to repress. The truth was I'd suspected it was there for a long time. When I'd watched adult videos in the past, or read erotic stories, I'd always responded strongly to scenes where there were shifts in power dynamics. And on the few occasions when I watched or read about a woman getting spanked, I felt hot and bothered for days afterwards. I'd actively avoided reading Fifty Shades of Gray for fear of how I might respond to the main character's embrace of her submissive nature.

I was supposed to be meeting Jake at his apartment that Friday for a drink before we went out to dinner. I suspected he might be hoping to fit in a sex session before we left for our meal. By Thursday evening, however, I'd decided I couldn't keep seeing him. My plan was to meet him at his place on Friday (it was against my principles to end things with a text or email) and let him know the relationship wasn't working for me. When I made the decision, I felt an immediate sense of relief.

But when I arrived at the front door of Jake's apartment building late Friday afternoon, I got cold feet. Just the thought of being near him made my pussy hum, and I decided it would be safer to call him from the street.

"Jake, it's Abby," I began, when he answered my call.

"Abby, I can't wait to see you," he replied. "Are you on the way?"

"That's the thing," I said quickly, wanting to get it over with. "I'm calling to cancel. I've decided this isn't working for me. I can't see you anymore."

There was a long silence, during which I was tempted to end the call and run.

"I'm flabbergasted," Jake replied at last. "I thought things were going so well. We seemed to be having such a good time together."

"I did have a good time," I replied, "and I like you, Jake. It's just...well, it's complicated."

"Where are you?" Jake suddenly demanded.

"I'm standing on the sidewalk in front of your building," I admitted reluctantly.

Well, why don't you come up and tell me why it's complicated. I think you owe me that much."

He was right, I thought. I was taking the coward's way out. I would just tell him what was making me uncomfortable about the relationship, and then I'd be on my way. It wouldn't be pleasant, but afterwards I'd feel better about myself.

Three minutes later, Jake was opening the door to his apartment to let me in. Once inside, I began talking immediately.

"I'm sorry, Jake. I know this must be a shock since we seemed to be getting on so well, but I didn't feel comfortable after our last date. It wasn't actually the date so much—it was the sex."

"Really?" Jake asked. "I thought the sex was amazing. You seemed so into it."

"I'm not saying the sex was bad," I replied, "but it left me feeling uneasy. I'm a feminist, Jake. I've always thought of myself as a strong, self-reliant woman. How can I live with myself if I let a man spank me for being a "naughty girl" and tell me I'm a horny slut?"

"But you are a horny slut, Abby. You just don't want to admit it."

"What did you say?" I demanded angrily. Jake had just confirmed my decision and made it very easy for me to leave.

"Wait," he said, as he saw me turn to go. "Just look at the presents I got you. Then if you still want to go, you can leave."

"Presents?" I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. "What presents?"

"They're in my bedroom," Jake said, and he turned quickly and headed down the hallway.

After a moment's hesitation, I followed him. I'll just take a quick look and leave, I told myself.

Jake stopped at his bedroom door and let me go in first. I felt ambivalent about going back into that room again, and just the sight of Jake's bed immediately triggered a gentle pulsing between my legs. Images of what had happened there began to play through my mind, and the pulsing grew stronger.

Distracted, it took me a moment to focus on the four items sitting on the bed. There was a collar, a leash, a dog bowl, and a riding crop. I stared at them for a moment, my legs suddenly like rubber.

"Wh...What's the dog bowl for?" I finally managed to stammer.

I became aware that Jake was right behind me now, one hand on my left shoulder, the other traveling up under my skirt and between my bare thighs.

"That's for you to eat your dinner from," he whispered in my ear.

I let out a deep moan, partly because the image of myself eating out of a bowl on all fours was so hot, and partly because Jake was now playing with my pussy like a virtuoso plays on a violin.

"Now get on your hands and knees like a good girl and crawl to the bed," Jake commanded.

I didn't hesitate. I did as I was told.

Later—much later—after he'd put the collar around my neck, led me around by the leash, made me eat out of the dog bowl, and disciplined me with the riding crop, I found myself back on Jake's bed. I was on my knees again, spreading my rosy-red ass cheeks with both hands, and letting out a steady stream of high-pitched whimpers. Jake had the full length of his cock buried in my ass, and he kept bringing me to the edge of orgasm without actually letting me come.

"Please," I finally begged. "Please let me come."

"Say it," Jake commanded.

I'd resisted so far, but the last shreds of my will slipped away.

"I'm your little whore," I moaned. "I'm your little whore."

And I am. Now, when Jake calls me, I always come running, eager to spread my legs, ready to do as I'm told.