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.

“Yes, Sir.”

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.

Bad Girl (the deets)

(Bad Girl, The Prologue)

This past weekend Daddy set up a threesome for us. When we’d discussed it in the past, I told him I trusted him to pick out someone for us. When he showed me her picture, though, I have to admit I was turned off. She wasn’t my type at ALL, but Daddy thought she was yummy.

I didn’t know what the rules were. I kind of hinted at my hesitancy, but obviously wasn’t clear enough. I asked him about her personality–I thought I could tell what she’d be like from the photos she posted, but I was hoping I was wrong. When I hook up with someone from online, I don’t choose strictly on their looks. I pick someone who looks like my type of person (Daddy’s profile picture is a marathon photo, for instance), and if the person can banter, seems to be easy-going and like someone I think I’d enjoy hanging out with, then I move forward.

When I asked him about her messages though, he said she sounded “just fine.” Looking through some of her texts I had some misgivings, but I wasn’t sure how to broach it with him because he’d already made plans with her. I avoided commenting on her appearance (frankly, she looked over the top, loud and tacky), but gushed over the photos of another woman we are supposed to be hooking up with soon. I figured he’d pick up on the fact that I wasn’t so into this particular woman, but no dice.


The day before we were supposed to hook up I wasn’t feeling great. I texted Daddy that my stomach hurt, and he said that I needed to do whatever I could to feel better by Saturday because we are “meeting a new friend and need to make a good impression.” Right, then.

I was really nervous leading up to it, but was hoping that she would back out. Before she arrived at Daddy’s condo, he and I went out to dinner. He took me to this great restaurant that serves creole food and we had a really nice time. We talked a bit more about The Girlfriend and Yoga Girl, and all of our insecurities about the situation. I told him my fear that The Girlfriend may want me to be strictly for sex, and that she may not want him to care for me. He said that wasn’t up to her–she has to deal with the fact that he cares about me, and she has to deal with the fact that she cares about Yoga Girl, and if she doesn’t like it then obviously the two of them “are not forever.”

He took me home and we opened a bottle of wine while we waited for the other woman. We didn’t have sex because he wanted to make sure we were both horny as hell when she got there. I crossed my fingers that she would flake, but despite being late, she did show up.


She was even less my type in person than in her pictures. I tried not to let it show but I definitely would have never considered being with her in any other situation–you know when you’re not just not attracted, you’re actually UN-attracted? Yeah, that’s where I was.

So to force myself to be okay with the situation, I just kept drinking.

It was a bad situation all around.

We started fooling around on the couch, and eventually the three of us moved it to the bedroom. I licked her pussy and she licked mine. I licked and fingered her until she had a screaming orgasm, and then Daddy fucked me, and then fucked her from behind while she moaned and gasped and came again. After a long while he told her that he was not even close to coming, so she breathlessly asked if they could take a break.

She asked me if I had a cigarette, which I did. Daddy has me down to two a day and I’d already had my allotment for the day, but he allowed me to have another one with her out on the patio. Then I got on my knees outside and blew him. Blurred Lines came on the stereo and I started dancing with his cock still in my mouth, and then said “Wait, what happened, it’s over?” when the song ended. She burst out laughing and then I started giggling and then Daddy said if I was going to be laughing then that was the end of the blow job.

We went back inside and I pounded another glass of wine without permission.

Daddy was not impressed.

The other girl gave Daddy a blowjob of her own (a very impressive looking one, I might add!), while I got on my knees behind him and rimmed him.

“That’s a surprising development,” he said. He had asked me before whether I do that, but I’d told him it was a soft limit. Apparently all the alcohol did the trick because I did it with no issue and actually kind of liked it.

Annnd, everything after that is a blur.


Apparently there was more drinking of contraband wine, more smuggling of un-authorized cigarettes, much drunken stumbling about and many instances of disobedience and rudeness.

I told Daddy I loved him a bunch of times, even though I had promised myself I would wait to say it. At least he said it back.

I told him I wasn’t being loud, and then proceeded to scream, on purpose.

I bit Daddy’s ass hard–he later told me I was lucky he hadn’t responded by yanking me up by my hair and slapping me.

I wandered out onto the patio and tried to curl up and go to sleep under a towel.

I was so hammered that after the other girl left, Daddy put me to bed and set the alarm for two hours later. He said I was in no condition to get into a cab until I’d had some sleep. When he woke me up, I was still totally drunk, but in slightly better condition. He put me in a cab as I apologized profusely, and he just kept saying we’d talk about it in the morning.

He told me to text him when I got home safely, and by some miracle I managed to do that. He responded with “Sleep well, Baby Doll.” Swoon.


The next day we had a confusing and heated discussion via text.

He said I had acted like a drunken teenager.

I told him I only did that because he made it clear I was to fully participate and it was the only way I could make myself fuck someone I wasn’t remotely attracted to.

He said he’d had no idea I wasn’t attracted to her.

I asked him what he would like me to do next time instead, and he said “Not get hammered and act out? I expect better from you.”

I felt bereft. I felt sick all day and cried on and off. I went back and forth between being upset that I’d embarrassed and disappointed him, and feeling enraged that I’d been put in this situation in the first place. I texted him later and asked when he could talk. He said the next day (today). We squabbled a bit more and then, realizing that this conversation needed to be had in person in order for it to be at all productive, decided to leave it.

Tonight after work I went to Daddy’s condo. I was late because we were short staffed so I had to close. I texted Daddy that I would be there as soon as I could, and he responded with “sigh.”

I felt so nervous waiting for him to come to the door and let me in. I couldn’t look him in the eye and followed him back to his unit like a chastised puppy trailing behind its master.

Daddy shook his head. “Well, while we have this conversation you might as well be naked,” he said.

I obediently undressed and stood in the living room with my hands behind my back–a modified version of the submissive position.

“Bad Girl” by Madonna was playing. Despite my genuine heart-sickness over being in so much trouble, I had to stifle a giggle. It was clearly atmospheric. He made me stand there and listen to the entire song while he moved around in the kitchen.

When he came out he handed me a glass. I expected it to be just straight Coke–a message of some sort about how my drinking days were over–but to my surprise it had rum in it.

Daddy sat on the couch and I continued to stand. I held my drink in my hand and kept the other behind my back.

I stood there naked while he detailed my transgressions from Saturday night.

“It will never happen again,” he said when he was done. “What do you think is going to happen if you ever behave that way again?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak.

“You probably don’t want to know what is going to happen.”

“No, Sir, I don’t,” he said, but the message was crystal clear–I would lose him.

“Now,” he said. “You are not obligated to sleep with anyone if you don’t want to. Ideally, you would have told me you weren’t into her when I showed you her photo so I could have cancelled.”

“I tried to tell you Sir, but you made it clear I was expected to go through with it.”

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t into her–you just said you were nervous. You need to be more clear about that. Next time you choose the girl.”

“But what if we like their picture but we meet up and I can’t stand them?” I asked.

“Then we need a signal–say you have cramps or something.”

“Okay, Sir.”

“Well,” he said. “At least there were a couple of good things to come out of Saturday night. One, we know you lick ass.”

I smirked.

“Two, it was very nice getting to cuddle with you for a couple of hours while you were passed out snoring like an asthmatic old man.”

I smiled.


The Runner

I didn’t tell my husband about my date, but I’m sure he knew what I was up to. I went from complaining that I don’t know anyone yet and have no social life, to announcing that I was going to such and such a bar. I also haven’t exactly been hiding the fact that I’m back on Adult Friend Finder–I mean, I didn’t tell him, but I’ve been browsing it while he’s in the room. What makes me certain that he knows what I’ve been up to though, is the fact that when I told him I was going out, he didn’t ask who I was meeting. He knows I am at it again.

Mercifully, he took the kids to the playground while I was getting ready. It is always painfully awkward getting all dolled up to go see another man, while my husband is still in the vicinity.

I put on a red pencil skirt and red heels, and made my uncomfortable way to The Runner’s place (I’d forgotten how much cheap heels hurt the feet!), where we were meeting before dinner. When I texted that I was there, he met me at the door to the building and led me inside to his condo. The Runner mixed us a couple of drinks, and we sat on the couch and talked, before moving outside to his huge patio to enjoy the sun. We chatted and got to know each other a bit–we mostly talked work, cities we’d lived in, sexy adventures and fantasies.

We went into the kitchen to top up our drinks, and wound up groping and kissing.

“Do you want me to bend you over the end of the bed?” he asked.

“Yesss,” I moaned.

His cock was perfect. Thick, just the way I like it, but average length so when he is pounding me he doesn’t smack my cervix and make me yelp in pain. He fucked me hard from behind while I screamed and grasped the sheets. The relentless pounding on my g-spot from his big, fat cock made me moan “I’m going to  squirt.”

“Squirt for me.”

I started to rub my clit and in less then a second I was gushing all over his floor. It was torrential. After I squirted he came, talking dirty, and then told me to get on the bed. I was expecting a break and gasped that I needed water, but he said he wasn’t done with me yet–that when my pussy got too sore he was going to take my ass. He mounted me while I lay flat on my back, slowly fucking me until I squirted all over his cock again. He came a second time, ate me out for a few minutes, then got us both glasses of water.

“Are you worn out?” asked The Runner. “Because I could go again right now.”

I laughed. “I think I need a few minutes. Maybe another drink, some time in the sun…” He gave me a jersey to throw over my head, and we went outside.

He said it was actually a good thing we were out there, because hopefully then the neighbours would know that he hadn’t murdered me. I’m a bit of a screamer.

When we moved back inside it was more of the same. More animal fucking, dirty talk, and me screaming my head off. We fucked for hours. He is the only man I have ever met who can come and still be hard immediately after.  At one point I gasped “This is physiologically impossible!” He just laughed and told me I hadn’t seen anything yet.

When I was dying of hunger, we decided it was time to hit the bar for dinner. As we were getting cleaned up, there was a knock on the door. We looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and I stepped out of sight.

“Hi, there. We received a call that there was some screaming. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine, officer.”

Oh my god, it’s the police. 

“Are you alone?”

“Uhhh…no, I’m not. Come on out,” he said to me.

I popped out from the living room. “Hi!” I said brightly.

Then The Runner and I both dissolved into laughter.

The cop smiled good naturedly. “So, we received a report that there was some screaming, and your neighbours were concerned. They weren’t sure whether it was pleasurable screaming, or someone was in trouble, so we told them we’d come check it out. Is there anyone else here?”

“Nope, it’s just us,” laughed The Runner.

“Do you mind if I take a look around?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

The officer checked out the all the rooms and was satisfied that we did not, indeed,  have anyone whom we were torturing stuffed inside a closet. We apologized profusely for wasting their time and were assured that they get tons of calls like this, and then he left to continue keeping crime off the streets, and we left to go eat.

Good times.

After dinner we went back to The Runner’s condo for rounds 4 and 5, this time with me gagged with his boxers.

Round 6 is tonight.

Wagon? What wagon?

I have a date this afternoon. I am nearly salivating. Drinks on a patio and then hopefully back to his place for something more…substantial.

I was never really in recovery. I was just experiencing what they call “sexual anorexia”–going cold turkey instead of taking active steps towards changing.

I’m hungry.

It’s time to binge.

The Other Side: Part II

(You can read part one of The Other Side, here).

It started with The Switch. I’d been dumped a couple weeks before, and I was ready to get laid again. I had a few friends in the kink community who’d communicated an interest. Since I was now a free agent, allowed to screw whoever I wanted without having to ask, I started flirting.

I sent The Switch a message, and he wrote back, telling me that he was working on a spanking bench. He asked if I was interested in coming over and testing it out. Hours later we were together, drinking and fucking. Then came the photo shoot, where I met Suicide Girl. That weekend their relationship statuses on Fet Life announced that they were in a polyamourous relationship. The next day she asked me to be her Pet, and The Switch put me under his protection. We were a House.

It happened fast. It nagged at me–we did not know each other that well. I wanted something real. But I liked them, and if I said no at that point they might not have asked again. I didn’t spend much alone time in the bedroom with my new Mistress. Neither of us were able to host, so if it was just the two of us we were having coffee or shopping. We both slept with Sir on our own, or together. When we went to events they whored me out, but only played with each other. I was jealous, but knew I had no right to be. They were both single and I was married–and I liked getting fucked by different people, so it really made no difference.

The problem was, I liked The Switch, our Sir, more than I liked my Mistress. I was turned on by her sexually, but as far as our personalities went I didn’t feel like we had much chemistry. Sir, however, could make me tingle just by laying in bed together, talking. But he was her boyfriend, not mine.

On our very first night out together, she collared me. Again, it felt too soon, but I accepted. It did not matter that my ex had cut me loose–I was collared. I belonged.

On the last night I was with the both of them, we were at The Switch’s house. I had said I didn’t know how much playing I’d be able to do since I’d probably have my period. They said that it was a good thing I had other holes, but luckily (or so I thought at the time), I still wasn’t bleeding by the time our date rolled around.

I fucked Suicide Girl with a strap-on while The Switch fucked her ass. I rode him while she rimmed him, then put my finger in his ass while she sucked his cock. And then it was my turn–my first time having anal sex that wasn’t either forced on me or didn’t hurt so bad I had to stop after the first few seconds.

I slid onto The Switch’s cock, using him until I exploded with pleasure, and then he told Suicide Girl to grab a small purple dildo out of his nightstand. She slid it slowly into my ass until I saw stars. She worked me with it gently, making me writhe, until The Switch asked her, “Do you think she’s ready for the real thing?”

“I think she needs the real thing,” she said.

He told me to lay on my back on the edge of the bed. I spread my legs for him and  he slowly slid his cock into my ass, Suicide Girl playing with my tits.I let out a low, primal moan.

“Is it hurting?” he asked. “It’s not fun if it’s hurting.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t form the words to explain how it felt. He fucked me slowly as my cries built, then faster.

“I’m gonna come in your ass,” he growled eventually. I whimpered, so hot I couldn’t stand it. Seconds later I was dripping from both holes.

Later, having eaten and sobered up, I kissed them both and went home. It was the last time I would be with them.

Two days later I sent Suicide Girl a text. No words, just a single photo. A white stick with two pink lines. A death sentence.

The Photo Shoot (Part II)

( You can read part one of The Photo Shoot, here).

Suicide Girl pressed up against me, teasing my pussy with the tip of the strap-on. I moaned.

“Do you want this?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes, who?” she and The Switch asked in unison.

“Yes, Mistress,” I whimpered.

“That’s better,” she replied.

I was aching. From the moment I walked into the bedroom and saw her, I’d been overcome with lust. Being so close to her with a strap-on between us was torture. Mercifully, she didn’t wait long before putting me out of my misery.

She slid it slowly inside me, once, twice, and then fucked me fast with it. I moaned loudly, entering that space where coherent thoughts are impossible and sex is almost an out of body experience. Suicide Girl was moaning now too, her pace growing jerkier, and I could tell without looking that The Switch was behind her, fucking her doggy-style.

We fucked until we collapsed with exhaustion, three layers deep. The fog lifted and we realized that camera was clicking and the make-up lady was still standing in the corner. Both were kinksters, and neither batted an eye, but I am slightly concerned by my ability to become so consumed by sexual contact that everything else, including other people in the room, disappears. I am not so much an exhibitionist, as I am a person who loves sex so much that self-consciousness and propriety are not even a factor.

The make-up lady packed up her styling gear and half-joked about how she was going home to jump her husband before their company arrived. The photographer left soon after, but The Switch got a text from him two minutes later saying he wanted to come back and rub our feet (he has a foot fetish, ha ha). The remaining three of us drank wine for a few more minutes in the living room, until The Switch said “Take off your clothes,” and made his way to the bedroom.

“Okay,” we said immediately, shucking the clothing we’d replaced only minutes before and climbing into bed with him, naked.

Suicide Girl and I kissed and groped, while The Switch fingered her. He entered her with his cock, and she narrowed her eyes and looked at me. “Get your pussy on my face.”

She licked and sucked me, rubbing with her tongue and nipping with her teeth, spreading me with her fingers to make sure she hit everything.

“Come for me,” she commanded in a deep, throaty voice.

I moaned loudly, muscles squeezing, pussy throbbing, soaking wet.

The Switch threw me on the mattress, held my hands above my head, and pounded into me with incredible force. I screamed, eyes half closed, as Suicide Girl gently shushed me. “Too loud,” she said, running her hand lightly up my arm.

I bit my lip and tried to make less noise. I didn’t want The Switch’s basement tenant to complain, but I have never been known for my ability to keep quiet.

He fucked me until we had nothing left, and then we all fell asleep, a tangle of limbs, holding each other.

The Photo Shoot (Part I)

The Switch met me with a hug, poured me glass of wine, and led me back to his bedroom.

“There’s not a lot of space,” he warned. “But we can squeeze into the corner.”

He was right. A large light occupied one corner, in another was a man with a camera, and by the window stood a red-head with chopsticks in her hair, holding a reflector. On the bed was Suicide Girl. Her long blue hair fanned out around her face, and her tattoos covered her body. She looked up at me and smiled–a bad-ass mermaid shipwrecked on land.

The Switch introduced me to everyone. I said hello, then made myself scarce, allowing the professionals to do what they were there to do. I was a spectator–for now.

The photographer directed the posing, the stylist swooped in every few minutes to re-apply lipstick or smooth a stray hair, and The Switch and I stood and stared, our temperatures rising. At one point he picked me up by my crotch and smirked.

“Getting a little damp there?”

“Yep,” I quipped. “Through my jeans!” When Suicide Girl stuck out her ass and propped a leopard-print heel up on the bed, I nearly came. God.

It was time for a wardrobe change. I followed the women-folk into the kitchen. Suicide Girl stripped off her lingerie without a hint of self-consciousness and began to dig around in her bag for her next outfit. I was amazed at how much lingerie she had, and she told me I could try on anything I wanted. Minutes later I was standing in the kitchen in a black bra, and matching black and red garter and thong. I was just messing around, but was soon informed that I was now part of the photo shoot. At first they wanted me just as decoration–they chained me to the dungeon wall as background art for Suicide Girl’s shots. Eventually, though, she started to touch, kiss and grab me, and that was caught on film too.

When those shots were done, they unchained me, and Suicide Girl and I were instructed to get on the spanking bench. They took some photos, and then The Switch told her to get up.

“What am I going to do with you?,” he mused aloud, referring to me. “Okay. Suicide Girl. You can do whatever you want to her.”

“I get to do what I want to her!?” I couldn’t see her face, but I could tell by her tone of voice that she was smiling  and possibly bouncing up and down. She sounded like a kid at Disney Land.

I received several bare-handed spanks to start off. Then the whip came out, and while it didn’t exactly tickle, I wanted more.

“Harder you Pussy!” I smirked.

And from there I was completely dominated. I ended up yelling “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”  and then I got some cuddles and kisses to make it better. Not a bad reward for my insolence!

The Switch left the room for a couple of minutes while Suicide Girl and I snuggled on the bench, and when he came back he said “Suicide Girl, you’re wanted in the kitchen for a minute. They want to fix your make-up.”

She left the room and I was instructed not to move. When she came back and climbed up behind me, there was a distinct difference in the way she felt: She was wearing a strap-on.

(To Be Continued…)