I have a Daddy again. Or if I’m being honest, for the first time ever. I have gone through the horrible process of trusting someone carte blanche so many times, thinking that just because they have a certain title, that they are who they say they are.
It took me awhile to ask Gentleman Friend if he would be my Daddy. I thought he knew I was a baby girl when we started dating. I wasn’t looking for a Dom anymore–I had given up on that–but the way he treated me suggested that he knew. He liked to make the decisions, but always keeping me in mind. When I’d get indecisive and he’d tell me what to do, I flushed with good feelings I swore he could feel. And then he started calling me Little One, and I was sure–he knew.
I didn’t mention anything about it on my dating profile, but his Wifey knew Sugar Daddy, so I thought maybe the info had been passed through the grapevine. Turns out, it hadn’t.
We talked about it somewhere around a month in. I was really nervous to have the conversation, but it needed to happen. I kept wanting to call him “Daddy”, and biting back the words because he said he wasn’t a Dom. I wanted him to be him–I thought he was perfect the way he was, and didn’t want to pressure him or make him feel like he had to change in any way. So I very gingerly broached the topic of baby girls. He knew quite a bit about it and said he’d like to try to meet that need for me, but I proceeded with caution. I was prepared to scrap that entire aspect of our relationship if it seemed, for even an instant, that he wasn’t being true to himself. What we have is precious–I did not want to ruin it.
He has been slowly embracing his dominant side more and more, but today he let his Papa Bear out. In the past, if he hasn’t wanted me to do something (like see Sugar Daddy), he would give me his opinion but tell me that it was my choice. Which made me believe that it didn’t really matter. And invariably I would give in. Recently he asked me to promise him I wouldn’t see Sugar Daddy anymore. And just like that, the decision was made and it was like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders, because going back to him is not an option. I promised.
But then my addict wanted out again. I felt completely powerless–weak in the knees at the idea of some thought-erasing, adrenaline inducing, meaningless, anonymous sex. I asked Daddy for help, because I desperately needed it. I told him I was thinking about having random sex again, and asked him if I could. And he told me no.
He told me to look at him, and I did. His expression was one of total love and acceptance. And he told me no. And I felt, instantly, like my world was back in balance. I can do the things I need to do. I can work on myself, on having the relationships I want to have, and being the person I want to be, without even considering throwing myself back into a self-destructive cycle that could end in utter disaster. Because he told me no.
I am impulsive, and indecisive, and spontaneous and insatiable and passionate and prone to addiction. It is hard for me to reign it in and make the best choice unless I have a solid, immediate reason. I am a master of rationalization and ignoring the signs, of acting now and paying for it later.
I need structure and guidance. I need to be told no. I need a Daddy.
And that’s what I have.
“Wear a dress or a skirt. I want to put my fingers inside you in the car.”
This is the first such exchange between us. We are dating. Getting to know each other. Feeling our way.
But he has been watching me. He sees how I respond when he takes control–not just in the bedroom, but anywhere. He occasionally calls me “little one.”
But I have avoided titles. “Daddy” means “I love you.”
It is more than whatever I happen to feel. It means I am giving you my heart, with all its chips and cracks, and trusting you not to add any new ones.
It has yet to be seen whether or not I have a new Daddy. . .whether or not I ever will.
For now, I am going to go put on a skirt or a dress (with knee socks). Someone wants to finger me in the car.
I feel shitty and confused and weird and broken.
I don’t know what’s going on.
I met Dark Daddy. The lights were off when I got to his hotel room. He asked me to strip down to my undies and kneel in front of him on a pillow. I did as I was asked.
He told me what a good girl I’ve been, and how proud he is of the changes he’s seen in me–the development of self-control and patience. My newfound sense of self-discipline. The fact that I am beginning to see myself as more than just a sex object. He stroked my hair and my face and asked me to suck his cock.
It was really freaking big. I could only get about half of it in my mouth. He coached me a bit on deep-throating, until tears ran down my face. I love it when I get tears from giving head. It is so cathartic.
He told me to lay on the bed on my back, and then he gave me oral. He started by licking me all over, and then sucking my clit. I got loud and he told me to grab the pillow, which I used to cover my face as I screamed. When he added fingering me to the mix, I bucked and writhed. And then he put a finger in my ass and I came, really fucking hard.
He had told me he wanted to take my ass first, but when he felt how tight it was he changed his mind and decided he should fuck me first to help me open up a bit.
He fucked me doggy style, and I started coming after only a few thrusts. My pussy gripped him really, really hard, and I kept coming. He told me to do my kegels around his cock, and guided me through it.
“Grip…release. . .keep gripping…release.”
“I’m gonna come,” I whimpered.
“Not yet, you aren’t.”
I tried holding off by breathing evenly and relaxing my body, and soon he said I was allowed to come. It was a really intense orgasm…so hard it actually hurt. I sobbed and he stroked my back and told me to let it out.
Then he told me to move from where I was at the foot of the bed, and get on all fours with a pillow under me.
He lubed my asshole and his cock, and then slowly started to push into me. I groaned. He started fucking me faster and I moaned and told him it felt really fucking good.
“That’s just a few inches,” he said. “I’m giving you a chance to get used to me until I give you the whole thing.”
“Are you ready?” he asked a few moments later.
He rammed into me as far as he could go in one smooth motion, and I had another orgasm as he fucked my ass. He reminded me to use the pillow when he felt I was about to come, and I muffled my screams as best I could, even though I was pretty sure the entire floor could hear me.
We took a break and snuggled so I could catch my breath, and he asked me what I wanted more of.
“Whatever you want, Sir,” I answered.
“Okay, but I’m asking what you want,” he said.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’ll give you everything.”
And he did…until I gushed so hard he sent me to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
I begged for more and he gave me more, and then we cuddled and listened to music. I have to be honest and say that I kind of hate old school R&B. It is not for me. It made me cringe a bit.
Then he mentioned that he had to go to an event at a club he’d done the wiring for. I got a little frowny at this.
I know he’s here to work, and he needs to do what he needs to do, but I wasn’t thrilled that he hadn’t told me about this ahead of time. He’s a very flexible, non-stressing, go with the flow kind of person. . .which frankly scares me a bit. I don’t like it.
I need structure. I need to know what is happening and when. I need notice, and I need to know what to expect. When it comes to certain things I can play it by ear…but only if I am told in advance that I need to play it by ear, ha ha. Anyway, he gave me cab money, which I appreciated, and then said he needed to grab something to eat, and I was like “Seriously!? You’re not going to share your wings with me!?” But I didn’t say it out loud. Instead I gave him a huge bear hug. . .and he is as good at hugging as he is at sex. . .and then I got in my cab and left.
I thought sex would make me feel better, but I don’t feel better. WTF. I felt kind of disconnected and “off”. . .and the next day I felt pissy. . .and by yesterday I felt so bad that I decided I needed to talk to him about it.
I told him I need more time. I have no problem whatsoever with visits that are strictly for sex, but since it was our first meeting I felt like I needed more. We have talked about relationship stuff a lot, and I know he likes to go out on dates and do things that do not involve just being in the bedroom. But I’d told him I wanted to fuck him as soon as humanly possible, so he didn’t want to make me wait until the weekend when he was all moved in and didn’t have work stuff going on.
I understood. But I still felt shitty. An “I want to spend more time with you, I wish I could take you to dinner,” would have gone a long way.
And then I started to miss Sugar Daddy. And then I looked in my blocked messages folder and saw that he had texted me 7 times. And then I desperately wished he hadn’t been so awful to me so I could go back to him. Because he is a lying sack of shit, but when I was with him I felt like I was floating (although that could have been the alcohol), and I shared his taste in music, and he always let me know what to expect: Dinner, drinks, going out, staying in, what time I was to be there, what time I had to leave, etc. Of course, he also changed his mind about incredibly important things like not taking on other submissives, or my having priority in threesome situations, but hey, no one’s perfect.
I feel shitty. Shitty and weird and confused and lost and broken. Perhaps I am overreacting, but I am allowed to be like this. This is how baby girls are. We need security. We need to feel safe. I am allowed to want it and I am allowed to ask for it. I am allowed to withdraw if I don’t get it.
Interesting turn of events with Dark Daddy. Today he broached the subject of hooking up with a couple of his exes. Two of them have asked if, in light of his rapidly approaching move to my neck of the woods, they could have “one last time with him”, for “closure.” He hasn’t been with either of them in over a year, but still goes out with them as friends. And he asked me what I thought.
I of course, told him that I would be jealous because I am dying for him to be in me, haha, but that he should go for it.
I haven’t asked him what he’s been doing–it’s none of my business, and frankly, I don’t really want to know–so I was surprised that he talked to me about it. I do appreciate it, though. It shows a lot more respect than to act as though because he is the dominant one, the way I feel doesn’t matter. I know that officially he owes me nothing–but the fact that he cares enough to run it by me, even though he absolutely does not need to and there is really no way I would ever find out–makes me feel really good.
I’m very much looking forward to meeting him in a week or two.
Lately I have been exploring my motivations for becoming involved with BDSM. It is no coincidence, that I recognized myself as a submissive almost immediately after leaving religion. I spent my life being told that I am inherently bad. That humans all walk around with a sense of shame. That there is nothing we can do about our fallen nature–we are born this way. I spent my life being told that a man–Jesus–was the only one who could save me from myself. The only one who could purify and cleanse me. The only one who could make me whole.
There were to be no boundaries between me and this god-man. He knew all of my thoughts. He was privy to all of my feelings. He knew when I messed up. He saw me all the time, but he still loved me. Granted, I would be punished harshly–with my life falling apart, and eventually eternal hellfire–if I resisted his authority in my life. But this was also somehow love. As were the challenges he brought, and the hoops I had to jump through in order to prove myself worthy–in order to be refined into something pure.
Sometime last year, I declared this all hogwash. And yet, here I am. On my knees. Begging to be remade into something beautiful. Taking words straight out of my prayers and throwing them at the feet of a Dom.
“Take everything I am.
Do what you have to do to transform me into YOUR idea of who I should be.
Leave no stone unturned, no crevice unexplored.
Know me, and love me anyway.
Whip me if I step out of line.
Hurt me just because you are the powerful one, and that is your right.
Give me what I need, because I am not capable of doing that for myself.
Make the decisions. Make it easy for me.
Set out the rules, and no matter how painful, I will follow them.
See my weakness, and make me strong.
Own me, and make me free.”
This may sound extreme. Like I was taking religion to the max. But it was all there–all of it. Here are some words from my former fellow-believers:
“He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree…
And all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory
When I realize just how beautiful you are, and how great your affections are for me
Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss, and my heart turns violently inside of my chest.
I don’t know how to maintain these regrets when I think about the way that he loves us”-Kim Walker, How He Loves Us
“The pathway is broken and the signs are unclear
And I don’t know the reason why You brought me here
But just because You love me the way that You do
I’m gonna walk through the fire if You want me to” -Ginny Owens, If You Want Me To
“Like waking up from the longest dream
How real it seemed
Until Your love broke through
And I was lost in a fantasy
That blinded me
Until Your love broke through” Rebecca St James, Your Love Broke Through
“To love you – take my world apart
To need you – I am on my knees
To love you – take my world apart
To need you – broken on my knees” Jars of Clay, Worlds Apart
These are all lines from popular Christian songs. There are tons more like this–scores. Christianity–my brand at least–was all about God as the ultimate Lover. The ultimate Sugar Daddy. The ultimate Dom.
And then there I find myself, rudderless. No one telling me what to do, how to act, who to be.
At first I love it. I go fucking wild. I explore. I give and I take and I don’t care if it’s right or wrong. But there is a fantasy, a need, in the dark corners of my mind. Like a vignette at the edges of an old photograph, slowly creeping in. The surface strips itself away, and I find, that while I am done feeling like I am dirty, bad, wrong, merely for being human…I crave someone who will take the reigns. Take control. Have authority in my life and tell me that, not only is it okay to be a dirty little slut, but it’s what he wants.
Yes, I will do that, Daddy. I will suck your cock. I will give you unlimited access to all of my holes. I will be a dirty girl for you–and you will see what you have created, and say that it is good. I am a good girl.
You will not make me hide my body. Your chains will give me pleasure instead of pain. If you make me fight myself, it will only be so that I can become myself. The quintessential submissive–fragile, yet strong. Dauntless and unafraid, yet unable to take even a harsh look from your eye, a harsh word from your mouth. You will teach me to walk with my head high, to be proud to be me and proud to be yours, so that I feel nothing less when I am crawling to you across the floor.
I am on my knees.
In your arms.
I will do that for you.
You are more than tits and ass and mouth and pussy.
You are more than your body.
It’s enough, already.
You are more than your body.
Don’t walk with your head down.
No more being treated like a thing.
You are more than your body.
Dark Daddy and I are getting closer.
We have talked on the phone a number of times, and I am always thrilled to hear from him.
We have asked each other hundreds of questions.
We have been brutally honest, even with the very real possibility that we may tell the other something they do not want to hear, and they may leave.
He has told me that if I did not put my family first, he would know that I do not know what responsibility is, and he would go. But that if he has a primary Baby Girl, she will always come first and will never become a secondary, regardless of whether or not he is a primary to her. (A far cry from Sugar Daddy, who flat-out said that I should get no say in how many women he adds or how much time he spends with women added after me, since I am married and have children.)
We have yet to meet.
He lives in the part of the country where I used to live, and will be moving to my city for work next month. I am excited. He no longer scares me. He is intense, yes, but he makes his expectations crystal clear, and I can take them or leave them. He wants to know me inside and out.
The other Daddy who I was considering has bowed out because he cannot handle the fact that I am married. I understand this and I appreciate it. This is not a game to him–real hearts and lives are involved here–and he knows that with how intense the Daddy/Girl relationships get, there is just no way he would be okay with it. Good for him.
There was another…my usual type. Fascinating, charming, rich (has been to Hawaii 24 times!?), loves to wine-dine-then 69…and for a beat, I considered meeting him. Dark Daddy won’t be in town for weeks yet. It would not be cheating, though I do already feel a certain loyalty to him, since we are still just getting to know each other. This other man mentioned putting me in the bar of a ritzy hotel, approaching me as though we were strangers, and handing me his hotel key (a recurring fantasy of mine). He mentioned horseback riding. Claims to mix the sensual and the sadistic like peanut butter and chocolate. And like peanut butter and chocolate, he is far too smooth.
I have been there. I have done that. Gone for the men with the clever lines and big plans and money to burn. I think it’s time I deviate from that script. Choose a different path. Like talking for months before we ever lay eyes on each other. Trusting someone who has talked me through panic attacks and listened to me cry about my ex–someone who commands that I be real instead of demanding that I not cause drama. Someone who is working class, who wants to teach me to shoot hoops, who does not expect me to ever do a threesome again due to my all-encompassing panic at being displaced. He is funny. Confident. Smart. Insightful. Strong. Protective. He understands women. He understands me.
He is the one I should give the chance to prove to me that I can have more. We still have a few weeks to go, but at least if this time I am making a mistake, it will be a better one.
I’m playing this week. I ran it by Dark Daddy and he says it bothers him a little bit but I’m not his yet and I deserve it. It is with the Dom I mentioned before–the one who is heavy on the humiliation. We’ll call him The Sadist. We went through what I didn’t like from last time and he will modify the session accordingly. We didn’t have sex last time, and we may not this time. For The Sadist, it is more about the sensations, the experience of new things, and the release. Though he will never be my Dom, he is lightyears away from Sugar Daddy, who considered his training of me to be secondary to getting off. He may just be an interim release for me until Dark Daddy gets here, or we may get to know him and his play partners and become part of their circle. Either way I’m feeling good about it.
Over the weekend I went to a Polyamory group. It was a good time. I connected with some new people, and there was another woman there who has also recently had a break-up with her other significant other, so we related quite a bit. We both said we felt like we were back in grade 10 with the listening to sad music and the crying our eyes out, and how funny it was that our husbands were helping us process our break-ups. Like me, her fantasy is a big, happy, poly family. More hands, more connections, more love. Don’t know if I will get that any time soon, but it’s nice to know there are like-minded people out there.
I did get asked out by a Daddy who was at the poly group–he came right out and said he liked me, which was cute–but I am not interested.
Honestly, on the inside, I think I’m already taken.