tagBDSMEducating Bunny

Educating Bunny


I had my finger on the delete button when my dom Race popped in for a chat on IM. I hadn't heard from him for nearly two months, and was tired of waiting for him to contact me for a session as his submissive. I already had abandonment issues, and I didn't know if he was playing on them sadistically or if he was just too busy.

"How are you?" he asked.

"OK ... it's been a while ..." I replied coldly. I felt hurt; he had told me that even though we weren't exclusive, he cared about me infinitely. It had never gone this long between sessions.

"I've been getting killed at work, sorry," he cooed. At 26, Race was an up-and-coming junior partner in his father's top-notch law firm in Boston. He was passionate about the law, about helping the little guy, and over time I fell hard for his charm, intelligence, wit, and character. He seemed to always be direct and open with me about his life, answering any questions and never making me feel inadequate when I worried that I was, especially about my age or lack of recent sex. He was my first BDSM experience, and I put him on a pedestal. He was a god to me, and I wanted to please him. I wanted to be perfect for him even if we could never be together in a committed relationship.

At the beginning, after meeting through an online cougar dating site, we were having two play sessions a week. I wondered how he could have the time to instruct me while at the office, so I wasn't too surprised when I didn't hear from him as often a few months, after he switched to working for billable hours.

Most sessions were about training me - both in submissiveness and in anal masturbation. I bought beads, plugs, nipple clamps, and practiced as instructed. I began to thoroughly enjoy myself, more so because it pleased him to know my orgasms were becoming more and more intense especially with the double stuffing. We rarely did scenes and he never seemed to vary much beyond a combo of anal and vaginal sex, but I didn't mind. He said he wanted to prepare me for getting together in person. I wanted to be ready to take the whole of his 8-inch cock in any orifice and at any time he demanded. Just thinking about that always made me wet.

"It's OK," I said about not hearing from him, always trying to be the understanding woman; I never felt I had a right to voice insecurity or disapproval. I didn't want to lose him through sounding negative, bitchy, or untrusting; I'd heard over and over how younger guys didn't like to date girls their own age because of drama and possessiveness. I wanted to be the confident, chill, experienced older cougar they came online to meet.

I fantasized that Race thought of me often, and longed for relaxing through our sessions as much as I yearned to please him. Even though I was uncomfortable in many ways being submissive - it felt no different from how I'd been conditioned by society and marriage, a codependent and silenced woman in a patriarchal culture - there was something different, empowering, prideful in being in a kinky, taboo relationship with a cute dom half my age and a whole continent away. I set aside my concerns about all the years spent trying to break free from being the second sex. I wanted this.


I grew up with all the baggage women inherit, and after a marriage that became less satisfying, I was left with a sense that I'd missed a lot.

The first time I found Race online I was drawn by a picture of him laying in bed, upper torso naked and nestled in white sheets, with his buffed arm around a large cat. He looked sleepy and sexy, toussled blonde hair and Nordic features. That he had bothered to upload good quality images showed an attractive carefulness. So I emailed him, "Nice pussy." He emailed back, we laughed and connected, and started up the usual generic conversation: what do you do, why younger guys, why older women.

Then his question: "By the way, I hate to ask, but it's been in the back of my mind; do I ever get to see the picture you've set to private on your profile?"

He'd taken my bait: I had privatized a couple of pictures, and he wanted the password to see them. I denied him - my one act of defiance before I learned he was a dom - because I was testing the theory that men love a mystery and would come back if I weren't immediately available. It was a hard test for me; as I said, I have abandonment issues; I expect guys to run away. They rarely disappointed.

Race came back, however. He was engaging, alternating between talking about the small house he'd just bought and wanting to know what my experience was with younger guys. I admitted they were mostly online, ages ranging from 19 to 35. Having learned the technique of "mirroring," I asked him about his experiences with older women.

"I have been with several older women, a few in a relationship, others purely in a sexual situation. Have pretty much enjoyed it all. Nineteen huh? I bet you had some fun with him! I'm not crazy about nude pics or anything, but if you had one posted up, I would have wanted to see it. I'm fine with waiting though."

He sure seemed to like pictures, and being as I am a photographer but also known in my profession as a writer, I always hesitate to reveal too much until I feel the guy can be trusted with my true identity. So, I held off, again amazed at my restraint. Then he asked if I had Yahoo IM, and we went online in real time.

I told him I was a writer of erotica; I sent him a URL, and he reported back that he enjoyed it very much. Apparently a lot of others did too, as I had a steady stream of inquiries from married men. I talked to some, but never let it go anywhere. Been there done that - there was nothing in it for me if a guy wasn't available. Besides, I knew what it was to be the wife betrayed, so I wasn't anxious to a mistress - in that sense of mistress.

I don't recall how we got so sexual so fast, though online dating tends to be exactly that, but before I knew it he had texted me to send a clear picture of my pussy so he could jerk off that night. Stunned, I texted back that I didn't carry any such pictures on my work laptop. I was actually offended, prudish, and considered ending things. I stayed offline for a week. When I returned, he asked where I had been, and I said I'd been busy working, which was true.

I never realized I was already addicted. We talked a bit more, and when I joked - a standard line I had cleverly come up with- "I am not the bunny (as in prey)," he responded immediately: "Yes you are."

I had thought I was going to be in control of my relationships from now on. But I was immediately transported and realized he was right. I had willingly become his pet.


Our next chat was lively and engaging, and he said he enjoyed talking with me. He seemed to like letting me know that women found him attractive, especially one hot women at work who had been asking about him, but whom he had been ignoring for most of the year. I asked why.

"Because women are horrible, nasty, nonsensical creatures - the better looking the worse. The more you ignore a really beautiful woman, the more she wants you. All the other lawyers take every opportunity to grovel and drool on her, so I do the opposite. I've already heard from friends that she's asked about me a couple times."

I never asked again about his other women, knowing that he was often on the prowl; anyway I figured I had an edge now. I joked about how women think guys are like hairy women, and men think of women as property or pets.

"I've owned my fair share lol," he replied.

That's why I fight being the bunny. I have been captured and I want to be free. I am a feral soul.

"Haha. I don't want to capture you. Just cage you for several hours at a time."

I appreciate that difference, I laughed.

"It's a large one. Especially if you enter the cage on purpose," he said. I'd gone through my late husband's things and found thousands of BDSM images, fetish gear - including three mysterious gas masks - and schoolgirl clothes. Also a lot of lingerie, spikey heels, and fuzzy gloves and masks. At first I was outraged and betrayed; then, over time (he was a hoarder so it took some time to declutter), I began to get turned on. Race bowled me over. And he introduced me to the idea of BDSM.

I was eager to try being submissive with Race; I said I would have to be able to totally trust him, It'd have to be playful -I'm not into pain ... so there would have to be agreed-upon rules -know what I mean?

"Yup. Totally. It always has to be that way, safe for everyone to let go."

I was so relieved, yet not really knowing where this conversation, or this relationship, was going. Everything in me wanted him and he got me thinking about BDSM and the roles it assumes.

"I, of course, know the difference between a woman, a girl, and an animal," he said. I noticed the measured, erudite cadence of his speech, the careful writing. I deemed him a well-educated detail man. I knew he had been in military school and his ancestry was Swiss, so I assumed he was an orderly, tidy, take-charge young man. "I'm sorry to learn that you were afraid."

Well, it went into BDSM so fast, I wasn't sure what was going on - I guess it was fear - for a lot of reasons, I told him. I found it easy to confess my heart's fears and desires.

"You steered us there as much as I. I was surprised when you did, really. I felt you went to it fairly quickly. I have a tendency to bring that out though, and most women feel really comfortable being that way with me." That wouldn't be the only time he told me, over our nine months together, that women were drawn to be submissive to him. His manner was so seductive, so understated, so confident.

There was something different about him, I confessed. A level of refinement, something deeper, undefinable. I guess my fear was that his interest in me was only about the genitals, and that wasn't what I'm after anymore. When I first started online dating, I just wanted a guy to want to fuck me. That wasn't difficult, but finding good material was. Now I want something richer than that." I was amazed at how honest I was being with him; I suddenly realized my days of just giving myself sexually online to every guy who asked for it were waning.

"I'm glad that you feel that way," he said, hooking me more with every understanding and comforting line.

It was how much you wanted that picture of my pussy that threw me off, I laughed.

"It's generally less about sex than seduction and power to me," he explained, words that would haunt and justify everything nine months later. "I do want to see all of you, but that's not what I get off to. That's just a mental image in my head."

I asked what got him off, and he said, "The talking. Like I said, I read my porn, not watch it."

I confessed that when I was captured I felt powerless, but now that I was becoming more free, more myself, I wanted to explore power, not just sexually but in all relationships, including work and friendship.

"Sexual submission is a totally different thing; the two types of power aren't really the same. Oh, last question," he asked before we ended our IM chat. "Do you ever masturbate by playing with your own ass?"


I was on a path to learn about power, submission, and the art of seduction. I really was the bunny.

I found myself sitting at the computer far more than I wanted to, even if my work is mostly online. I wanted to be available 24/7; I never wanted to miss a chance to connect with Race. At this early stage, we connected frequently. It always began with a nice chat; he was a gentleman and asked how I was, taking a short but sincere interest in my work and life. Then he would ask what I was wearing, when was my last orgasm, and the session would begin.

I was instructed to address him as My Lord or Sire; I had to tell him when I was close to cumming, and I had to ask permission to cum. It pleased him if I wore only lingerie around the house and ran my errands not wearing any underwear. Especially I was to wear a butt plug on some outings, to get used to the feeling of being stuffed anally. I opened an account at Victoria's Secret and proceeded to buy beautiful underthings, hoping that some day I would be able to take them off for him in person, as he kept mentioning that we would be getting together before the end of the year. It was all I thought about anymore, I wanted him so badly.

"Do you cum from anal sex?" Always the shocking, titillating opening line, sending me momentarily off-balance, never knowing what to expect.

"I can yeah - my entire body is one huge electricity conduit," I said hopefully. I had been without a regular sex partner for more than ten years; my late husband had been a pedophile and a submissive personality, but I hadn't known about this other life until after he passed. I had grown so unfulfilled with him sexually that I ended our relations ten years before he died; by now I was a case study in untapped libido.

I was so used to exploring myself sexually, and finding new pleasure spots, I felt knew myself pretty well. "The hairs on my body, touched just so, can make me cum," I responded. I was imagining his touch on my arms, and already getting rather wet.

"I like to know what I can expect to help a woman to the brink."

Bingo. I felt myself sliding down that brink, ready to please him in any way possible, ways I had never imagined in my Ÿber-vanilla, protected life.

Race surprised me by calling that evening for our first in-person session. I was so shocked, I had performance anxiety. I wanted so desperately to please him, I couldn't cum well. He was fine with it, and texted that he was pleased with me. I saved that message for eight months.

Before our next session, I told him I was getting the idea that he had a great sex life. "Haha, that I do," he said. I'm hoping to reignite mine as well, I told him.

"Let me know what you have on, and we could ignite your sex life for the immediate time being," my firestarter said. His voice was filled with vitality and warmth, a softness and caring tone also filled with mystery and spunk. I said I was not wearing bra or panties, and described how tight and sexy my jeans and camisole top were. I'm a rock climber, did I mention, so I'm pretty buffed even at my age.

"Good girl," Race said. I liked the way he made me diminutive.

"How about you imagine that you are about to knock on the door of the hotel room I've gotten for us to meet for the first time in Phoenix. I've left the little security latch open so that the door is cracked slightly and you can simply walk in. I'm sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room holding a stiff drink, and my feet are up on the coffee table. I'm wearing a nice suit and tie. I make you a drink and you sit on the edge of the bed. We make small talk. You pretend to not be nervous. You've worn a slinky black dress as I asked you to."

I was breathless. It was so exciting. "You can contribute here, Darling," he said, capitalizing the term of endearment, which always made me feel respected. I loved that detail.

"I put my drink down and walk over to where you're sitting on the bed. I lean down and kiss you."

I was still breathless, and now mindless. However, I did have a very silky, slinky LBD, and I described it to him, how it fit my curves and my muscular hips and thighs. "Would you be able to wear it on a plane, or would you have to change in the room?"

I could do whatever it would take to bring him to me face to face.

"Or you could stand right in front of me and change into it while I watched, without us ever having done more than a hello hug and kiss on the cheek. It heightens the sexual drive and tension of the moment."

Whatever would turn him on.

"I pull you to your feet from the bed, take your drink and put it on the bedside table for you. I'm looking you in the eyes without kissing you as I begin to allow my hands to travel over your body. They move out in opposite directions from your hips, not diving straight for any one place, but gently trailing over you. I lean in to kiss you as one hand finds and firmly grasps an ass cheek."

He interrupted the scene to tell me that I could get undressed and run and grab one of my sex toys, and my camera. I was excited, but shocked that he wanted me to take pictures of myself. My late husband had perverted his incredible photographic talent into shooting unsuspecting teenagers in suggestive poses, including our next-door neighbors. He had been shooting girls and adult women in various states of undress, though never nude, since his teen years. I didn't want to follow in that footpath; I wanted to keep my art pure.

I lied, and said that my battery was recharging. Race let it go. He never pressured me about anything; I always had choice.

"I continue to kiss you, then break away, still standing just in front of you, looking you in the eyes. You feel my hands dip and take the hem of your dress, feel it slowly pulling up over your body. Your bare thighs are exposed first, then you feel cool air on your buttocks and the soft skin around your vagina as the dress gathers above your hips."

I was so there, it was so real. I was determined to make it really real. I had to become his perfect sub, the best he ever had.

"I stand, returning your kisses, pressing my tongue gently into your mouth, allowing you to undress me slowly. One hand reaches out and gently strokes your hip, your stomach, your upper thigh as we kiss. For a brief instant my hand rises to rub your breast. Then returns to the less sensitive parts of your body, sometimes gently tracing over the mound about your slit.

"Instinctually your raise your arms just before you again feel cool air, this time on your nipples which immediately begin to stand up. I take the dress and walk to the closet to hang it up, leaving you standing completely naked in the middle of the room. I walk back and resume my place in front of you, now standing completely dressed while you are naked before me.

"I take one of your hands and kiss the knuckles gently, then press the palm against the slight bulge in my trousers. I begin to loosen my tie. You become lost in fondling my penis through my pants, and before you know it, I am naked from the waist up, and I am guiding your hands to my belt buckle."

In my mind, I was already doing that. We were so on the same page. I jumped in and described how I would remove his shirt and caress his shoulders, back, chest, nipples, abs ... slowly, suggestively at first, then around to his belt buckle, running my fingers around the waistband but not diving in just yet. Then 'round to the beloved zipper.

Race said he was enjoying this very much. "Is your pussy full of the toy right now?"

Yes, oh yes My Precious Lord, full of thee.

"Good let's continue then."


I was in an altered state as Race continued the fantasy.

"Before you get my buckle undone, I place both hands on your hips and with a little force push you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you are suddenly sitting. I smile down at you before kneeling in front of you. I begin kissing your calves and knees as my hands gently push your thighs further apart. I lean in and begin to kiss and lick inward first on your right, then left thigh.

"It is clear where my mouth is headed."

I loved his humor. I longed for his tongue.

"I reach up with both hands and, for the first time, firmly hold and knead your breasts."

My nipples were so hard. This didn't feel taboo at all. Why had I been so upset at finding that my husband liked kink? What a pity we had never explored it together. It might have saved our marriage.

"I push you onto your back, and you feel my kisses begin to fall on your outer labia; first one side, then the other, then light kisses above, even slightly on your clit. My hands come back down, and as my tongue begins dampening your outer lips, I use my thumb to spread you open very gently. My tongue rises up and almost immediately makes contact with your clit, causing it to swell and come out from under its little hiding spot."

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