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Submit I sent a message to the man, apologizing for disappearing and whatever else I may have said or done while drunk. He accepted the apology but wanted me to do something for him. I wasn't his submissive. I didn't like the idea of doing anything for him. But I heard him out. He wanted something so utterly ridiculous that I almost ignored it, or at least just told him no. He wanted me to throw away all my boy underwear and buy thong panties at Walmart, today. All folded neatly and organized by color. By a certain time that afternoon. With photo proof. I just stared at the screen for a few minutes. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream. Again, the no-hangover superpower was in effect. I felt fine. Maybe a little thirsty. If anything, I was a little insulted. I wasn't a . This man sure as hell wasn't my daddy. I got up and got some water, muttering under my breath that it was stupid. There was no point. Why bother? I'd apologized. What else could I do? So I found myself sitting on the floor of my bedroom, the underwear drawer pulled out in front of me. I took everything out of it. It was all in a jumbled pile. I'd never cared about a this drawer. I didn't care about a panty drawer. This was stupid. But I did as instructed, threw all my boy underwear in a trash bag. Drove to the shopping center and bought thong panties, mostly in pink. How embarassing, what did the smiling young clerk think? Those thoughts kept running through my head as I organized and folded. Why was I even doing this? But his words kept going through my mind. He wanted me to think about how I'd acted. Was I willing to do this for him? For some random guy I met on yhr internet of all places? Yet, as the drawer got neater and more organized, I felt something else. I felt some weird sort of pride. Not just because I'd managed to weed out some very old and stretched out underwear and socks, but because I'd done the job I'd been given. I'd done it even if I wasn't sure of the reason. And something about that felt almost... Good. I sent him the picture of the drawer and he replied quickly, telling me I'd done a good job and that he was proud of me. For some ridiculous reason, that meant more to me than anything anyone had said to me in a long time. Things moved along. He asked me in an email if I wanted to be his submissive, that he wanted me to write him back explaining why. And I couldn't. I just couldn't do it. I was a failure at being a submissive. I'd learned that. The summer dom had told me I wouldn't ever be a sub, after all. He had said I was "contrary, irritating, stubborn, and argumentative." I knew I wasn't worth the trouble. So I told him that. Maybe not in so many words, but I told him it was too scary. That I wasn't able to do what he wanted me to do. And he told me to think about it. To consider it. And to eventually write my answer down, even if it was a "no." Writing it out seemed to be important to him and it came to be special for me as well. I was known for writing. I love writing. It's always been a passion of mine, but this was different, a lot different. And of course before Sir would take me on as his submissive, he shared the seven simple rules he had for me. The number one rule was no orgasms without his permission, and he controlled my sex. All of it. The interesting twist to this is that there would be times when he would tell me to masturbate my little cock. #2: Make your tiny clitty as small as possible with ice water, hold a ruler next to it and send me a pic. 1 1/2", that's why I could never be dominant. Just a sissy boi! I don't remember exactly what I wrote. I wrote that I was scared, terrified even. I was afraid to let him down. Afraid to try again. I didn't want to get attached to anyone else. It never worked. But I wanted to. God, I wanted to. So I sent him the letter, telling him that although I was scared, I wanted to try. I wanted to be his submissive. I wanted him to be my Dominant, even if I wasn't entirely sure what that meant. Something about this man drew me in. I hit the send button and waited, my heart pounding so fast I could see it in my eyes. #3: Get on your hands, put your forehead on the floor, place your knees far apart, reach back and spread your butt cheeks apart, send me a pic of your boi pussy. I don't remember all of the conversations from the beginning. I was trying to do what I thought I was supposed to do. He would say "Pardon me?" a lot, usually if I answered a command with an "okay." It meant I was supposed to say, "Yes, Sir." Sometimes he would hold his finger up during a video chat and say it. I would blush and want to kick myself. But I learned. One thing about being a student for so long. I knew how to learn. #4: Go to the drug store, buy bright red fingernail polish, paint your toenails and fingernails, send me a pic. I told the cute clerk it was for my girlfriend. But something was happening to me along the way. Yes, I was learning the general "rules" for being a submissive. That was easy enough. Keeping the snark down was harder, but I was learning. He had told me before that the biggest "punishment" would be more mental than physical. Standing alone nude in a corner with my thoughts in complete silence would be worse than any paddling on my cute butt. #5: Go on Amazon, buy the smallest stainless steel chastity cage, wear it 24/7. Yes Sir! But other things were changing, too. "Good gurl." Thank you, Sir. Thank you Master. It doesn't matter how many times I read that, or how many times I hear it. My heart speeds up every time. My cheeks get hot. My nipples harden. My tiny clitty throbs. #6: Listen to Princess Fae on Youtube every night and every morning. But it's more than that. Even if the physical reaction is immediate, strong, and amazing, it's nothing compared to the feeling I get inside. Something about those words get me. Every time. I feel like the Grinch when his heart grows three sizes. I feel full, valued, cared for. Owned. A few times when I talk to people online, especially on alt, they will try to tell me I'm a "good gurl" and I shut them down. I'm not "good" for them. And I'm sure as hell not their "gurl." It just falls flat or makes me angry. That's when I remind them that I have a Dominant. #7: Buy a sexy maid's outfit, wear it when you clean house. Yes Master. Remind them that I'm owned. "You were a very good gurl today. You obeyed me and made me proud." Thank you, Sir. Thank you Daddy, Master. While I don't remember all of the conversations, I remember looking at his face and meeting his eyes when he said something along the lines of, "Don't you think I care about you?" I wanted to think that. But deep down, no. No, I didn't. Not because I thought he was cruel or intentionally mean. I knew better than that. But I didn't think I was worth his true affection or care. I was his submissive. That meant I was there to please him. And that was all. Reciprocity wasn't a given. Nor did I expect it. He told me I was worth all of it. I was enough. I'd always been enough. I would always be enough. I wanted to believe him so much. I was so scared to believe him. What if he was lying to me? Intentionally or not, it wouldn't matter. But I believed him. I had to. I needed to. I needed it so much. So I made myself believe him. I never thought much about it. I've always been polite. I call people "sir" and "ma'am" all the time. Even at work, I will call people those things. I always thank people, especially waiters or custodial staff. And they earn those titles of respect. So yeah. I can refer to people as "sir" all the time. No problem. So why do I capitalize it with my Dominant? Hell, why do I capitalize "Dominant?" Why do I captalize Daddy? He's my superior in every way! It's more than a title. It's a Title. I can hear it in my own head when I type or think or read. I can hear it in my voice when I speak. It's something that was earned. Something that I accepted and used without question. The conversations sometimes are about the most mundane things. Grocery shopping. Washing dishes. Driving to an airport.. But they are still needed parts of my day. I look forward to them. We joke about his "radio voice" because it is so relaxing. I hear that voice in my head a lot. I hear it when I read his messages. I hear it in dreams. It still always amazes me that it seems to work so well. And for all of my troubles with sexual responses, two words from him and I'm ready to cum. I have to actually hold it off. I need his permission to cum. And sometimes he will say no and I have to wait. How many times have I been sitting here on my comfy little loveseat, daytime or nighttime, while I chat with my Dominant? How many times do I type "Sir" an hour? How many times do I cum when ordered to? I wear the ankle bracelet for my Dominant. I follow some clothing "rules." Nothing too crazy. Nude 24/7, no panties/bras while at home unless told to wear them. I use lip gloss to put his initials, SJ for Sir J, on my shaved area just above my little dicklet at least once a day. Sometimes I wear specific panties, or short skirts, all to please him. I'm owned. I need that. It makes me feel safe. Cared for. Wanted. Sexy. Something about doing that, serving him, pleasing him, cumming for him. I've accepted my position as his submissive. I've grown to enjoy my place. I accept him as my Dominant. I need him in my life. He makes my life better. I've even accepted that he cares about me. That he wants the best for me. I have some pictures of some waves that my Dominant sent to me. So I printed one and hung it up. And I do trace that with my fingers sometimes. It's a way of centering myself when I can't talk to him. I still don't know if I can explain how the submission feels. It's not just giving things up. There is that part. Giving up control in some things. I like giving that up. Especially after a long day at my very demanding job. It's nice to turn that part off. If nothing else, the act of submission lets me be cared for. I'm capable of taking care of myself. Even with the doubts and just the day to day struggles, I know I can take care of myself. But it's also nice to know that someone is there to catch me. To be my safety net. To help me be the best version of me that I can be. To know that yes, my Dominant does care about me. Yes, I'm there to please him, to make him happy, but helping me is part of what makes him happy. It's hard to believe it sometimes, but I know I have to. Because if I don't, I'm calling him a liar. And I can't do that. #8: WTF, he said 7! But he is my Master so I cannot question his orders. #8: Drive thru starbucks nude and get a large coffee. I'm owned and I love him, too. Please, Sir may i cum? "Cum for me NOW Lari"! |
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Interesting story
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