Thirty, Flirty, and So F*cked!

I never expected that after seven years in a long-term relationship, I would find myself scrolling through the ever growing list of dating apps again. I had assumed that I would be with my ex forever. We planned out our lives together. How many children we would have, where we would get married, what house we will buy together, and where in the country we would spend the rest of our lives.

Sadly, our relationship broke down. I moved out of his house and into my own. I have yet to cry over the loss of our life together. I haven’t felt my heart break in two after losing my other half. Nothing. Just a hollow chest that hasn’t felt full in a long, long time. Being told I needed to ‘be better’ for years will chip away at you. I have yet to find the pieces my ex so expertly removed from my body. I really did kill myself to be everything he needed. Only now do I realise, I wasn’t ever going to be good enough, period.

Now here I am, Nine months later, sat on my sofa scrolling through the ever growing list of dating apps wondering if this is actually something I want to do. I don’t have the energy for something serious right now. I’m enjoying my own peace in my own home. I decided to dedicate the next three hundred and sixty-five days to myself. To explore who I am and take risks whilst doing so.

Which is why I type into my search bar ‘Dating apps for submissive’s.‘ I have always known I was a submissive, ever since I picked up a romance book about a man who owned a ‘private club’ and a woman who stumbled into it by accident.

The story went on to explore a DS (Dom/Sub) dynamic. My heart thudded in my chest, louder and louder each time I turned the page. My body yearned for everything the female main character was experiencing. Which is how I knew… I wanted in.

I downloaded the first app that popped up, my adrenaline was pumping through my veins as a small voice in the back of my mind told me it was wrong. I was cheating on my ex-partner, I was doing him a disservice, this was not a good idea. All thoughts came from the rope my ex still had wrapped around my neck, seeping into my mind and causing me to feel shame.

Still, I ignored the voice. Tapped out a quick bio that read ‘First time on an app in many years. I’m dipping my toe into new waters and taking things step by step.’

I wrote my bio out hoping it would read as; ‘Approach with caution, possible flight risk.’

After selecting some old photos and filling out the rest of the online form, I was in. At first I didn’t like anyone, I was swiping through the array of photos of men in boxers that sported a hard on under the thin fabric. I ignored the conventionally good looking guys as I flicked through. All the while my phone was exploding with likes and pings. Fresh meat in hungry waters, I thought. (Me being the fresh meat.)

I was overwhelmed and disappointed. Maybe I expected Mr Grey to pop up on screen, or maybe the guilt of finally trying to move on was getting to me. Either way, I couldn’t see past my own walls I’d built around myself.

I decided I had to like at least one man back before I went to bed. So I did, I stumbled across this man whose Bio wasn’t terrifying. He had a cool sense of humour and an interesting job description. I finally clicked the like button. It was a match. He wasted no time in popping up and saying hello. I typed back a clipped response. I felt myself retreat into the safety of my sofa. However, something about him made me wait for his reply. A reply that was witty and hilarious.

We talked for about an hour, I giggled away as we batted back and forth our banter. However, behind our exciting conversation was a black cloud of guilt that clawed further up my chest and around my throat. That’s when I told him, “I’m so sorry, I just don’t think I’m ready for this. I’m going to delete the app. Thank you so much for making my first conversation on a dating app so memorable.”

I deleted the app without waiting for his response.

I downloaded the app again.

I slept on it, thought about it all through work and eventually came to the conclusion that I need to take my life back.

When I finished work, I sat back down on my sofa and installed the app once again. Waiting for me in my inbox was a message off the man the night before… lets call him… Mr A. His response was panicked, “Can I at least have your instagram before you go?!” I giggled at this.

I typed back, “No need, I’m back.”

And so began our back and forth once again. I realised I was smiling more, laughing a lot and excited to see his response to my previous messages. I hadn’t felt this way in a long time. The thrill of talking to someone new, the endorphin rush of receiving male attention again… It was addictive.

Between my message exchanges I was still swiping away on the app. I had paid for a month’s subscription which let me hide my profile whenever it all got too much. I hid my profile and started going through my likes. No one really stood out, not until a profile of a man in a suit popped up. His head had been cropped out of the photos which was typical on this app. I realise that people didn’t want to be seen. Strange really, first impressions and all that.

Still, something about his profile peaked my interest.

His bio explained that he was a professional Dom with over a decade of experience. He had worked private events as a House Dom in the past and had a very good reputation in the BDSM world. At the bottom of his long introduction, there was a line that read ‘Please feel free to ping me a message if you have any questions about the community.’

So I liked him back. I had a ton of questions in my back pocket and this guy seemed to hold all of the answers. Lets call him… Mr W (You’ll see why this initial is important later).

It didn’t take Mr W too long to message me. He said, “Your profile stood out to me. Your honesty in your bio is refreshing and as someone who has an incredibly choosy eye, I would love to meet you. I’m working an exclusive event in London on Saturday and I would love for you to join me.”

My heart stilled at his generic copy and paste introduction. Abso-fucking-lutely NOT.

I told him just as much. I said I wanted to dip my toe in the water, not dive head first. He was understanding of this and invited me out for a drink instead, he explained he would love to explore my deepest fantasies that I’ve kept locked away for so long. He also went on to say how lucky I was to have found someone so deeply skilled in the craft.

Flight risk initiated.

I all but told him to leave me alone. I was terrified by his forwardness and convinced myself he was a serial killer looking for his next victim. I told him to have a great evening and ignored his response. Unfortunately, his messages followed me into the next day as the words ‘What if…’ swirled around my mind.

Still, I ignored my curiosity for a few more days.

Mr W was persistent. The cat and mouse game between us had begun. For every message I sent explaining that I’m not experienced enough, too scared to explore, too nervous to dive off the cliff, he batted back with a detailed message that seemed to push me further and further off the edge.

The way he communicated spoke of his experience. I was a spooked cat, and he was a stranger with a bag of kibble. Every time I told him I wasn’t ready and was just itching the curious scratch, he came back with an educated response. I started to feel frustrated, he wasn’t listening to me… I don’t want to meet him!

But if that were true… why hadn’t I deleted him off the app? If that were true… why hadn’t I blocked him? If that were true… Why was I still responding to his messages? And what the hell was my stomach doing, flipping every time I received a reply from him?!

Mr W, the smart man he is, also clocked this. Which is why he consistently messaged me, until he finally asked, “So Miss S, when will you be joining me for a drink? Monday or Wednesday?”

I replied instantly, “Wednesday.”

My heart beat had thundered louder and louder in my chest at the realisation that I had just committed to something I wasn’t sure I was ready for. I knew in my mind that I was never going to meet him on Wednesday. I told myself I had five days to think of an excuse and cancel.

All the while Mr A was still texting me in the background. I offered Mr A my number and we switched to WhatsApp. He text me in the morning and we talked up until one in the morning. I liked him, but I wasn’t sure I liked him like that. I didn’t know if he was a Dom or not. I hadn’t asked the question and his profile gave away no hints.

Not until our innocent conversation took a turn last night, we got talking about things we liked. He expressed interest in being called ‘Sir.’ I told him he should look into becoming a Dom and he said, “I am a Dom.”

“Oh, you didn’t make that clear before.” I replied, ignoring the surge of excitement swirling around my stomach as it clenched in anticipation for his next message.

“Why do you think I’m talking to you?” His response had the excitement plummeting to the spot between my thighs. Our innocent messages had took a turn for the best.

He told me what type of Dom he is (Pleasure Dom). He explained that he had been dormant for a very long time, not wanting any form of physical relationship because his ex partner had done a number on him. We spoke a lot about our likes and dislikes in the bedroom. However, a red flag started to wave when I realised he only enjoyed talking about himself and his pleasure. What he likes, what he wants me to do for him.

I sat in blissful ignorance as we continued our conversation, I was excited and desperate to talk to someone in detail about my fantasies. I knew that if I told Mr W, he was clever enough to store them away for a later date. Mr W intimidated me, the way he spoke, the things he knew… I felt way in over my head during our interactions. Mr A was easier to divulge things about myself, he was inexperienced compared to Mr W and that put me at ease.

When Mr A asked me a question, I would answer honestly… he would then reward me with a “Good girl.” The first time he called me that I melted. But he started to throw it around a lot. Soon it turned into a nickname rather than an acknowledgement of my good behaviour. He took away the impact of those two words.

When Mr W called me a ‘Good girl’, it was rare. He wouldn’t give me the treat without me doing the trick. I quickly realised I would do anything for Mr W to praise me.

The skill between the two men was obvious. When Mr A said, “You’re such a good girl for me.” his voice shook and I heard the lack of confidence he had in himself and the statement he delivered.

When Mr W told me I was a good girl, it was as though he was stamping the words into existence himself. Like he created the eight letters, fit them together and spoke them for the first time. The words sounded so natural on his skilled lips.

I have agreed to meet Mr A for a drink. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything serious, maybe a casual hook up or a new friend. Mr A had gotten intense over the past few days, his interest in me had been scaring me away. He was planning a future with me, I was planning on exploring something inside me and leaving it at that.

He was disappointed when I told him I’m not looking for a relationship, however he expressed interest in meeting me for a drink to discuss a different arrangement. My stomach was in knots when I accepted his invitation. I feared I would hurt him, I could tell he hoped for something more, and I knew I couldn’t give him what he needed. However, I hadn’t been on a first date in a very long time, so I thought I would give it a chance.

After my bodies reaction to accepting drinks with Mr A, I thought I wasn’t ready. Not for anything physical or long-term anyway. So I opened up the dating app and unmatched with Mr W. Hell, if I wasn’t ready for drinks with Mr A, I certainly wasn’t ready to meet Mr W.

The disappointment I felt when I unmatched him was visceral. The excitement I felt when he found me on the app again ten minutes later was something akin to a school girl finding out the cool boy in school had a crush on her. He liked me again, I reciprocated.

Primal play is one of my triggers. The chase is a rush that sends shivers down my spine. Mr W was officially the cat, and I was his tasty little mouse.

‘If I ever go missing, I’m putting you in charge of the search.’ – The message I sent to him had me giggling.

‘You need to send me your number then.’ Was his response.

We quickly fell back into our usual push and pull. This time I didn’t give him much of a fight, asking questions about his experience, about his role as House Dom and what that looks like. I wanted to know more, because as much as I thought I wasn’t ready, my body craved whatever he was willing to give me.

After my line of questioning, he finally asked under the realisation that I wasn’t going to be meeting him tomorrow, ‘So… you need to let me know if you’d adore to come to join me on Thursday night… or Saturday evening…’

‘Honestly, this week is a little crazy for me. Some time next week, maybe for a drink?’ I replied, then dropped my number below and deleted the app.

I finally met Mr A. It was fine. I was underwhelmed by him if I’m honest. The entire time we spent together I found myself looking at the exit wondering how long it would be until I could finally walk through it.

For hours he talked, for hours I listened. He never asked a single question about my personal life, he wasn’t interested in getting to know me. Maybe he was nervous, but honestly? I was bored out of my mind.

I did wonder how the man over text messages and calls differed so much from the man who sat before me. I took one look at him and realised… I would eat him alive.

You see, it’s easy to be confident through messages. You can think carefully about your response before sending them. In person… it’s a different ball game. Which gave me some form of clarity. The thing I want just doesn’t exist. I had resigned myself to the fact that submission was a fantasy and that I needed to lay to rest.

The date gave me my disappointing reality; Sometimes the things you read in books are simply fictional.

When we left the pub he awkwardly lingered around me. I knew what he wanted. A kiss goodnight and the promise to see him again soon. I waited in the uncomfortable silence between us. Finally, he spoke, “Can I see you again?”

I mumbled some form of a response to the question.

Thats when he leaned in and kissed me.. Oh god, it was like kissing an old friend. Soft and unsure.

I wished him goodnight and jumped into my taxi. I know I’m a coward for not shooting him down there and then.

In the end, I got home and settled on the ‘Its not you, it’s me…’ excuse and bid him farewell over text message.

I then cancelled the drinks I had scheduled with Mr W. Refusing to let myself be disappointed twice.

After explaining my awful date to Mr W and cancelling our plans for next Wednesday, I thought I was done with my search for submission. I realised, I would have preferred to pretend the stories from my books could be someone’s reality, rather than having my dreams crushed. I would have enjoyed thinking about a woman out there who is living her best life whilst silently envying her.

But in true cat and mouse fashion… Mr W wouldn’t let me go.

“I’m wondering if you’re ready to get on your bed and have me instruct you? The thought terrifies you, I know…” he said over text message. He had been offering to call me and ‘talk me through it’ for a while. Each time I said ‘No.’

My stomach swooped and heart quickened. One half of my brain screamed at me to reject him, to walk away now whilst I still can. The other said, “What have you got to lose?”

I went with the latter and typed out my reply, “Can you give me ten minutes?”

“I can.”

I sent him a photo of my toys so he knew what he was working with to which he responded, “Excellent tools. Any lube.. cream… oil?”

“No, but I may have oil.”

“Get a blind fold, two toys, and a hairbrush.”

I laughed at this, “Okay, now you’re winding me up.”

“I’m not. You’ll see… I told you I’m creative. Now follow your instructions.”

My heart thundered in my chest as I gathered up the items and laid them on my bed. My hands shook as I text him to say I was ready… What he did next will tell you why I named him Mr ‘W’

“I’m nervous” I typed out on shaking fingers.

“And yet you’re deeply excited at the same time Miss S… Focus on your breathing, how your heart races, notice how warm your face is, and how your clit throbs.”

I did as I was told, letting myself relax slightly.

“You need to tell me you want me to call.”

I took another deep breath… “I want you to call.”

I felt my skin prickle, the hairs on my neck standing to attention. Blood rushed to my ears as he typed…

“Wait”

“Wait…”

My adrenaline surged as he made me wait for his call. Every muscle on my body tensed in anticipation.

“You need to be disciplined”

I felt my pussy clench at that, because I do need to be disciplined. In fact, I crave it.

“Now wait”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“That’s right. Capital S on Sir.”

“Yes, Sir.” I corrected.

“Better.”

And then he called…

Trigger Warnings:

• Edging

The moment my phone rang, I froze. Every thought I had in my brain vanished. When I accepted the call, I forgot how to speak entirely.

“Hello, Miss S.”

My voice shook on the response, “Hello.”

“Tell me, how have my previous messages made you feel?” The messages in question were detailed scenarios on what he would do to me if I ever came to visit him. They were hot as hell and had me clenching my thighs more than a few times. But I couldn’t tell him that, in fact, I couldn’t tell him anything. My brain had scrambled and I was left mumbling and stuttering. Why can’t I speak?!

After a long stretch of silence, I finally whispered, “I can’t do this,” I was feeling completely intimidated by this man and the few words he’d said. My confidence had been rocked. Something about him had me shutting down.

“It’s okay,” he reassured me. “Lie on your back, tie the blind fold over your eyes.”

I did exactly as he asked, not wanting to try and talk any more. Letting myself lean into his voice and his instructions. He told me to put a folded pillow under my bum, lay my feet flat on the bed and drop my knees apart. I felt incredibly vulnerable which was his intention. He then instructed me to grab the lotion, put a little bit of the cream on my finger and gently trace small circles around my belly button. Later, he would tell me this was a risk he took, he knows I enjoy a firm touch, something he picked up on during our many text exchanges.

Then, I was instructed to use the bristles of my brush, drawing lines with the prickly surface down the insides of my thighs. Again, a risk on his part. But as it was my first time, I was grateful for the gentle touch to ease me in.

The phone call lasted a while, he teased me with his commands. His voice acting like strings attached to my hands and fingers… I was merely his puppet in this exchange. My hands eagerly listened to him as he told them to use my vibrator to draw circles around my clit, never touching. It wasn’t until I was painfully aching for release that he finally let me take over.

As I pressed the vibrator to my clit, I writhed and moaned with pleasure. All the while he was telling me what he would do to me when I finally came to see him. It was a detailed description of a scenario that sent me wild.

Soon enough, I told him I was close.

To which he said, “Hold it.”

I gritted my teeth, whimpering as my orgasm threatened to take hold of me.

“Wait,” He snapped.

After the longest five seconds of my life, he finally spoke, “Now beg.”

And beg I did. Pleading and moaning as my orgasm grew closer and closer. Every time I felt my body near the edge of euphoria, he heard the rhythm of my breathing and told me to wait.

Finally, the countdown began. I begged whilst he counted down from three…

When he finally said the number one and told me to come, I exploded. The freeing feeling of being weightless slammed into me as I came, hard. I gasped, moaned and whined as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me.

“Good girl.” He praised, as my breathing settled down and giggles started to rack my body.

Good girl indeed, Mr W.

We then spent about thirty minutes talking over the phone. Turns out I just needed an orgasm to break the ice. I was relieved my mouth had finally caught up with my brain.

Mr W had been texting me a lot during the lead up to our meeting. He loved to send me certain scenarios to gage my reaction. When I liked something, he would file it away in his mental cabinet. He loved it when I told him the things I enjoyed and the things I didn’t. He wanted to make sure our first encounter was perfect.

He studied me like I was his favourite subject.

When the sun fell and the night crept in, I slipped between the sheets in my bed.

He text me the moment my head hit my soft pillow. “Can I call you?”

“No, I have people staying next door.”

“I don’t hear your safe word.” He told me my safe word was ‘Red‘, and my safe action was shaking my head three times. My heart thrashed in my chest. Mr W realised that fear turned me on. I loved to be scared. Which is why he continued, “You have three seconds to say it or I call.”

I never responded, so he called.

For forty minutes he talked me through it… I came twice. Whilst I whispered and covered my moans with my hand. My needy body has grown used to his voice and the way he teased and tortured me before allowing me to come. I was growing worried, what if my body would only listen to him from now on?

Before he hung up, he reminded me that I needed to abstain from touching myself until I saw him Wednesday night. This would be torture because I knew it wouldn’t be as easy as that. I had to prepare myself for what was to come.

Mr W had been relentless in his teasing. Describing scenarios of him tying my hands behind my back, attaching a spreader bar to my ankles and bending me over whilst he teased and fucked me. All things he knew I loved and craved. He created the most delicious scenes from fragments of conversations we shared together.

My underwear was ruined by the time I stomped home from my day at work with an unsatisfied ache between my thighs. Still, I knew my day of teasing had only just begun.

Try as I might, ignoring his messages felt impossible. My fingers itched to snatch up my phone whenever it buzzed. I knew it would only make abstinence harder, and yet I studied each letter in his messages as if I were going to be quizzed on them later.

By the time I made it to bed, he insisted on calling. I braced for impact and answered the call.

“You must lie there with your legs together whilst I describe to you a scenario.”

The torture of each syllable that slipped from his lips had me clenching my thighs together and scrunching my brows. I tried to force myself to focus on anything but my pulsing clit. Once he was done, he said, “Now say, ‘Thank you, Sir. Good night, Sir.’”

“Thank you, Sir. Good night, Sir.”

The phone call ended and so did the reservations I had about meeting this man. He was the real deal, and I’m about to fall to my knees at his feet.

COMING SOON!