The search for the right playmate can be quite challenging and downright exhausting. Figuring out which avenue to travel down to find the one you seek can make your head feel like it will explode in all directions like a pipe bomb, brain matter and common sense splattered all over the wall. Clean up can be a real bitch.
When my 15 year marriage reached the point where it was irrevocably broken, it was painfully obvious that I needed an outlet to rediscover my sexual self that had been pushed down deep into sleep mode. So with the guidance of a close friend (after Heather stole him from me), I created a profile on Ashley Madison because according to them life is short and I needed to have an affair. I was honest and straight forward when I laid my guts out on the table for all to see, exposing my wants, my needs and my desire to be dominated. Most of the inquiries I received were Photoshopped cock shots and emails laced with boorishness as they explicitly described how they wanted to bend me over and fuck me senseless having never seen my face. I decided it was hopeless and I finally hid my profile safely away from the feeding frenzy.
On a whim one afternoon, I made it public again as I scrolled through profile after profile of hungry men touting their sexual prowess and was impressed by exactly zero of them. Disappointed again, I hovered over the ‘save changes’ button to hide myself away when I spotted an email from a member whose screen name contained one of my favorite words.
‘Naughty.’
As I read his profile thoroughly, I immediately noticed his words were well written and typo free, my eyes falling on the keywords I sought.
‘Alpha, Kinky, Dominant.’
Could it be? Did I get lucky and stumble across a Dominant on a vanilla dating site? The words were there and his profile screamed it, but was it too good to be true? There was only one way to find out and we wasted no time in getting to know each other. We exchanged dirty texts and had fiery hot phone sex where he reminded me often that he would be claiming my ass as well as the rest of me. I purred lustfully when he said that I’d be on my knees with his rock hard cock in my mouth within 15 seconds after walking through the door and I knew he meant it.
I called Heather to tell her everything and her laugh grew deeper the way it tends to do when we talk about sex. “You have hit the motherfucking jackpot sweetie,” she said.
After weeks of verbal torture, we met for coffee and desires quickly escalated to the need for privacy. I stood tall and pantyless as instructed in my 5 inch heels as I walked through the hotel room door behind him, my heart hammering in my chest because this man was exactly the type of kryptonite that would make me lose myself. He didn’t need to remind me of the ’15 second rule’ and was impressed with my eagerness to please. The afternoon crawled by as he bound my wrists behind my back and shoved my face into a pillow, doing things that made me call out to God, loudly I might add. I briefly wondered if there was any hair left on my head and how much mascara I had on my face, but the sting of his hand again made me forget it mattered.
The problem here is that the ‘15 Second Rule’ has set the bar so high other experiences have paled in comparison. There are a couple I wish I could forget altogether. I’ve learned that a nightmare inducing jackrabbit fuck can be cleverly disguised by sleeve tattoos and overall hotness. And that surprisingly, there is a wrong way to spank. Nobody wants a bruised tailbone people. Trust me on this. And lastly, fingers are supposed to elicit feelings of desire not the need to pee.
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Heather
This blog post had me awake at 4:00 a.m., my brain whirring along at a fast clip wondering what the hell I was going to say. I was also feeling irritated by the ghost in my house, Fred, who insisted on flushing the toilet. Seven times in a row. But I digress…
Finding playmates is particularly challenging when you’re a mess of contradictions. The fact is that I’m still figuring out what the fuck I’m doing. I devoted myself to a traditional marriage that stifled and controlled me. Years passed where I thought that a monogamous straight relationship was what I wanted and needed. Now that I’m out, I’m a bit overwhelmed by the options and the intricacies. So that’s what you’re going to read here: a whole lot of all over the place.
Like Nikki, I’m certain of several things. I don’t have a ‘15 Second Rule’ exactly, but I know that I’m a pain slut. There is a part of me that can only be satisfied by being tied up and beaten. I adore a good flogging, and I have a love/hate relationship with a certain crop. There are times when nothing feels better than going to my knees with a thick leather collar around my neck, waiting for my next instruction, my heart thundering inside my ribcage as I eagerly anticipate the next bite of pain.
I have a Master who does this to me. I am his pet, his plaything, his fucktoy, and he is one sadistic bastard. I adore him for it, and the bar he set is high. Very, very high. There are pics and video as proof, but he’s not sharing.
I can’t be pet all the time, though. I don’t want to be. I want other sexual relationships outside of the kink world. Men and women, I want the opportunity to worship them both. Of course, I’ve learned more about what I don’t want: the kisser who slobbers all over my face and the guy who swears he doesn’t like blow jobs. (We’re talking a candidate for lunacy, right there.)
A word to the wise, please don’t tell me my breasts are smaller than your girlfriend’s breasts. It will just make me knee you in the balls.
