Here I am, 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 submissives.‘ I have always known I was a submissive, ever since I picked up a romance book about a man who owned a kinky club and a woman who stumbled into it by accident.

The story went on to explore a D/S (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. All negative thoughts came from the rope my previous partner 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 a few 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. 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 someone spectacular 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 the 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 a 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 an experienced, and had worked private events as a House Dom in the past. 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 said 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.

I woke up in an anxious state. My feelings were a mess of nerves and excitement. So much so, I threw up whilst brushing my teeth. My body couldn’t pick between the two feelings which sent me into a spiral.

Throughout the day, I reached for my phone to cancel our plans. Each time I found a message from Mr W waiting for me. Every text had my pupils dilating and nerves ebbing away. The texts consisted of detailed scenarios that drove me wild and instructions to clench my pussy three times. I was a string pulled tight on the brink of snapping.

By the time I got home and had a shower, my nerves had settled down. I realised, I loved getting ready for him. Slipping on the underwear that cost a small fortune and swiping on my designer lipstick, all the while I kept asking myself, ‘Will he be happy with me?’

His text messages hadn’t slowed as time grew closer to our first meeting. We had decided to forgo the drinks, meeting at his place instead. I’m pretty sure if we met for drinks it would have been the last he would see of me. I needed to just go for it and see what happens.

I chose a black lace underwear set with a garter belt and suspenders. Shielding the delicious underwear was a pleated black skirt, blue shirt and black stiletto heels. I’d accidentally dressed like a secretary which gave me chuckle.

I let my eyes trace my body, and for the first time in a long time… I felt sexy.

Without thinking twice, I threw a change of clothes in my bag along with my new hogtie kit and headed out the door. Letting Mr W know I was on my way.

He texted me throughout the drive, he enjoyed the fact that my car read out my messages for me. He made sure his messages were filled with filthy words which had me squirming in my crotchless thong. I was worried my leather seats would be ruined by the time my journey was over.

Eventually, I arrived and parked in front of his house. A message came through my car before I even had time to switch off my engine. “You’re here.”

“I am.”

He then instructed me to take a few calming breaths and sent a very long message asking me to confirm my safe word and actions. He wanted my consent in writing, I eagerly handed it over.

When I was ready, he explained that there was an envelope waiting for me by the door. My eyes caught on the silver object and my nerves came fluttering back once more.

Pushing them away, I forced my body out of the car on shaky legs. My heels clicked across the pavement as I made my way to his door. I picked up the silver envelope and opened it. Finding a black blindfold waiting for me inside. I took another breath, secured it over my eyes and waited.

His door clicked open and his hand slipped into mine. No words were exchanged as he guided me into the warmth of his home. Soft music teased my ears as the smell of something sweet and musky wrapped itself around me. I felt my body relax as every thought and worry I had ever had dissolved into nothing. Leaving me at peace, whilst he lead my body to safety.

Triggers:

† Bondage

† Edging

† Blindfolds

† Fear play

“You’ve waited a long time for this, Slut.” His term of endearment for me had become a favourite of mine. Most people would wince at the name, maybe that’s why I enjoyed it so much. Either way, a heavy breath escaped my lips as he slipped my coat off my shoulders and told me to wait whilst he hung it up. 

Being blindfolded made me more aware of my surroundings. I knew when he was retreating by the sound of his footsteps on the hard wood floor. I was hypersensitive and desperate to feel his hands on me.

When he came back, his hands were on me. Exploring my body with gentle touches, studying each curve with his expert hands. Running his fingers down the column of my throat, dragging his hands down my arms and legs… inspecting me carefully. I melted under the sensual attention he gave me.

A gasp slipped from my lips when his fingers traced the skin between my stockings and underwear, it was the first teasing touch that didn’t have a barrier of clothing or miles between us. I needed more, I craved it. I would crawl across the floor just to feel his touch again.

His answering chuckle had me biting my lip to suppress a needy whine. He was toying with me.

When he was happy with what he found, he guided me further into the room and pressed my body against a hard surface. He took my left wrist and secured it above my head and then did the same with my right.

I rubbed my thighs together once again. In response, he kicked my ankles apart. “Get those fucking legs apart, Slut,” His clipped command had the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention, as though they too were waiting for their next instruction. My stomach clenched as my clit pulsed.

He attached a spreader bar to my ankles as punishment… or reward. I haven’t decided which yet, however I think it’s the latter, judging by the wetness that soaked my thighs.

He trailed a soft object between the insides of my legs, lightly tapping my sensitive skin which had my eyes rolling to the back of my head. He alternated between his fingers and what I came to learn was a paddle. My knees jolted when he traced the back of my knees. Squirming when he got close to my pussy. 

When he decided I’d had enough, he swiped a single finger over my clit. I moaned in response. “Why are you so wet?” He asked. My head spun as my hips pushed forward to chase his finger. He chuckled in response, and the sound sent shivers racing down my spine. My mind was incapable of stringing a sentence together so I didn’t try to answer his question.

Thats when he brought out the bondage tape. He wrapped it around my neck, down my back, through my legs and made me hold the end between my teeth. I quickly worked out that if I tipped my head back it would rub against my clit.  I found myself doing that whenever I didn’t feel his eyes on me, holding back my moans every time I did.

“Listen to this,” he said, before a swoosh flew through the air. Suddenly, I was relieved my wrists were suspended above my head, keeping my knees from buckling from beneath me. Otherwise, I would have crumbled to the floor.

I waited with bated breath wondering if my skin would meet the other end of that instrument. Later, I would learn it was a cane that he’d used to send fear skittering down my spine.

Instead of feeling the sting of the cane, a hum from a vibrator filled the space and relief flooded my chest. He traced my collar bone with it, and pressed it against my thigh bones which had me bucking off the wall. Eventually, he pulled the tape out of my mouth and pressed the vibrator to the PVC which carried the vibrations towards my aching clit.

I gasped, writhed, and moaned as my legs shook with my impending orgasm. When he turned the toy off, I almost cried out in frustration. I’m sure that if I didn’t have a spreader bar attached to my ankles, I would have stomped my foot like a child.

He continued to play with my body, dragging me closer and closer to the edge until finally, he slipped a single finger inside me. He asked which position I preferred one, two, or three, pushing his finger deeper inside me the higher the number got. I was past the point of forming words so I mumbled a response that even I didn’t understand. He took it upon himself to decide which position I would like the most. Later, he would tell me it was position two as that is where my G spot is. Twenty-Nine years old and a man has finally found it!

He used a wand and his finger to expertly bring me to orgasm, demanding I beg him before I toppled over the edge and dove into the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced.

By the time I’d finished, the restraints were holding the weight of my body as he slipped his finger out of me. He pulled off my blindfold and said, “Hello.” 

A smile spread across my face as I breathlessly replied, “Hi.”

We spent the rest of the evening evading the fact that I’d have to leave soon in favour of getting lost in each other’s bodies and minds. 

My body needed a long time to recover after my night with Mr W. My muscles ached although he had massaged me before I left. My mind spun with countless scenarios and kinks I wanted to try with him. We had been texting consistently for the past few weeks, spending hours talking to each other over the phone at night. It was intense. We were intense.

He told me I needed to explore with more people, find other Doms that might be able to give me the time and attention that he couldn’t offer me. Although we had been in constant contact, there was no promise of seeing each other again. Something like disappointment sank to the bottom of my stomach at that.

I had been trying to find other Doms, but every time I met someone online I’d find myself picking them apart. I would latch on to their small flaws, and eventually push them away.

I was exhausted. Tired of having the same conversations with different men, bored of filtering through the endless profiles, and irritated that I couldn’t find someone who fit my needs. Every time someone caught my eye, I’d begin talking to them and quickly come to the realisation that they’re inexperienced. Some even went as far to ask what a safe action is. I had decided last week that I needed to vet ‘Doms’ before I met them. Asking them various questions before telling them anything about myself. My favourite question; ‘How do you make sure you and your partner are safe during your interactions?’ is one that easily picks out the bad eggs.

If they passed, we would move off the app and on to a better platform. The success rate has been extremely low, but my safety and comfort will always be at the forefront of my mind.

All the while, I kept Mr W up to date with my various conversations with other men. He wanted to know about my journey. He’d taken an interest in my experience. I didn’t enjoy telling him about other men, but he’d asked me to talk openly about it and so I did. Although, every time we spoke about it and he pushed me to carry on… I felt like he was pushing me away.

I was mad at him, I realised. Even when my body still ached from the way he pleasured it… I was mad. He took time out to learn my triggers, my mind, and my body. We had both spent so much time building up our communication and trust… now I had to start again with someone else.

I had been wallowing in a miserable sexless pit. Disappointment weighed heavy on my shoulders, and I was ready to give up on my journey. Chalk it down to a fun month and be done with it. Countless failed talking stages had chipped away at my confidence.

The first, was with a man who was just a few years older than myself. He was fine to talk to, maybe a little boring at times. Our conversation lulled after a little while and when he asked me to come over because he was ‘feeling dominant‘… I rolled my eyes. We had yet to discuss hard/soft limits, our boundaries or safe words/actions. Something that is a huge red flag to me. I disconnected from our conversation and went about my day.

Then came Mr (X) – I have yet to find a suitable initial for him. I felt my heart quicken when I read out his detailed bio on the dating app. Mr X’s photos had excitement churning in stomach, he was sat on a chair with an array of kinky instruments laid out next to him.

Now this is what I’m talking about.

We talked for a little while, he made me nervous and apprehensive. His experience in the craft was evident in the way he spoke.

Mr X, set me a task. I had to sit on my knees (he did tell me the name of the specific position, and I have forgotten it… If you’re reading this Mr X… punish me later?) and write out one of my fantasies.

When I slipped into the position in the centre of my living room, a feeling of peace washed over me. I pictured him sitting in the arm chair across the room. Watching me write out a scenario that left me flushed and wet.

Every stroke of my pen built an ache between my legs that needed to be satisfied almost immediately.

Once I was finished, I sent him a photo of what I wrote. I knew I had held back, opening up was difficult for me. Something I needed to work on if I wanted to dive into this world.

Still, he seemed pleased with my work, even though he understood I’d kept my cards close to my chest. After that, I shut down. Feeling like I was in over my head.

My confidence retreated, and I found myself slowly backing away. My excuse as to why I didn’t want to talk to him any more was laughable. He accepted it anyway and didn’t push me any further.

A week flew by without any contact between me and Mr X. He gave me the space I needed, which I appreciated. But when my phone buzzed and his name popped up on my screen, I felt a wave of excitement rush over me. It was a kind message checking in on me.

And so thats how it began. I broke down some of my walls and let myself be open and honest with him. I told him exactly how I was feeling and the entire time he reassured me.

Our innocent conversation took a slight turn when he said, “We should write a small story, each of us writing a piece and see where that goes.”

I quickly agreed, my love for writing was too strong to pass up the opportunity. He set the scene in a hotel. I arrived at 19:30, collected the key from reception before making my way up to the tenth floor. Once I found the room, there was an enveloped with instructions and an LED light inside. I had to use the light to guide my way through the dark room. I was to sit at the table with my palms facing down. I was also under strict instructions to not turn on any other light…

And so it went on…

Back and forth for two days and counting…

Today, I have been instructed not use the new vibrator I bought myself yesterday. If I want to come I must earn it through my writing.

RIP, Miss S.

The moment Mr X stepped out of the bar to meet me, I felt my entire body relax. I had nerves, reservations, and anxiety swirling through my mind during the lead up to our date. All of that felt like white noise when he placed his hand on the bottom of my back and guided me inside.

He showed me to our seats and instructed me to sit in the corner of the booth. I protested for a few seconds. Wanting to know if I could get away with being bossy. When I looked into his eyes, I realised he wasn’t playing around. Since I didn’t fancy fucking around and finding out, I planted my arse on the seat.

The waitress came over and took our order. Mr X asked her for a pen and paper alongside his rum and coke. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end when I understood why he would need that.

He banned the word ‘Okay‘. Two syllables that slipped off my tongue as easy as breathing. My favourite word in the world.

When the waitress delivered our drinks (and his pen and paper), we fell into easy conversation. The word ‘Okay‘ falling from my lips more times than I care to admit. Each time I would say it, he would draw a line on the page. When the count reached five, he instructed me to take over. My underwear growing wetter each time I etched my own punishments into existence.

Every time he would ask me a question, his hand would find my body. Try as I might, focusing on my answers became impossible.

When I said the word, ‘Yeah‘ he would correct me by stroking my cheek and saying, “Say yes for me.”

In that moment, I would have barked like a dog for him if he asked.

The chemistry between us was electric, charged and impossible to ignore. His touches lingered on my body, and his kisses felt like ownership. Even my breath didn’t feel like my own anymore… it came and went at his mercy, as if he alone decided I could take it. I was merely his to mould into whatever he wanted.

It was terrifying, feeling my body eagerly waiting for his instructions. I now understand that when I finally meet Mr X again, he will utterly consume me.

By the end of the night, I was a mess. My body yearned for his touches, his words, and his commands. He asked if I would like to come home with him, I purposely parked my car in the hotel across the street so I couldn’t. I wanted an escape, should I need it. I hated myself for that decision when he kissed me goodnight and we parted ways with a promise of seeing one another again.

Triggers:

† Collars

† Edging

† Orgasm Denial

Mr X guided me to his home with a possessive hand around the back of my neck. I revelled in the breeze that whipped between my legs, whilst the crotchless panties and pleated skirt did nothing to protect me from the typical London weather.

The journey to his home was charged with an electric current that pulsed between my thighs. My heart thundered in my chest as my body shook with anticipation. By the time he walked me through his front door, I was in desperate need to feel his hands on me.

“Show me whats mine.” He commanded against my lips.

I came alive under his heated gaze as I slowly stripped out of my clothes, revealing a lace lingerie set with a garter belt, stockings and stiletto heels to match. I bit my lip as his eyes traced my body. He turned me away from him and instructed me to put my hands behind the back of my neck.

“This position is called ‘inspection‘,” he informed me, before securing some type of leather material around my neck. A collar. One that had a metal chain hooked on to the loop at the front.

When he turned me back to face him, my mind was quiet as my body yearned for him. The only thing in existence was him and me.

“Get on your knees.”

My mind eagerly listened to his demand, and I sank to the floor without a moment of hesitation.

Seconds stretched on before his next set of instructions. “Bring me your book.”

The book he was referring to was full of tasks he’d set me. Mr X liked it when I wrote for him. I wrote out my fantasies, my worries, my thoughts and feelings. I found that when I couldn’t put things into words verbally, it was easier to write them down. So thats what I did.

I crawled to my bag and slipped out the book, when I looked up Mr X had drifted further away from me. Without hesitation, I slipped the book between my teeth and crawled to him.

His hum of approval set me on fire when I stopped at his feet and handed him my book.

“That is exactly what I wanted,” he mused, and my pussy clenched at his approval. Before I could reply, he slipped a blindfold over my eyes and led me towards his red room with the lead attached to my collar.

“Get on your place,” his command left no room for arguments as he guided me to the mat that sat on the threshold of his red room. My knees sank into the soft material as my body relaxed into the position.

Mr X crouched at my back, letting his hand glide across my sensitive skin before dipping between my thighs. The moment his fingers touched my clit, a needy moan slipped from my lips. Mr X had banned me from coming for five days. Claiming my next orgasm as his own.

Now, I was about ready to give it to him. As his fingers worked to bring me close to my orgasm my eyes rolled to the back of my head. “You need to ask for permission, Baby girl.”

“Please, Mr X. Can I come?” I asked in a voice that sounded far too desperate to be my own.

“No.” His clipped rejection had my body stiffening. But before I could argue, he removed his hands from my body and left me sitting there with an unsatisfied ached as my only companion.

Mr X stepped past me as he retreated into his red room. I didn’t move from the spot he’d left me in, waiting eagerly at the door. My body felt like it had just lost its puppeteer, and I was nothing without Mr X holding my strings. So I waited, hoping he would come back soon to claim me.

What I didn’t expect was for him to say, “Convince me you want to come in.”

The cat had well and truly gotten my tongue. My head spun with things to say, but each sentence sounded ridiculous in my mind. I started simply, hoping that he wouldn’t truly make me beg to come into his red room.

“Please can I come in?” I almost burst out laughing the moment the words left my lips. I sounded like a bailiff trying to worm their way into a property.

Mr X stayed silent, and my confidence melted to the matt my knees were currently on. I pursed my lips, crossed and uncrossed my arms, squirmed until I was just about desperate to get this first part over with.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and I realised that Mr X was not going to give in purely out of pity. Finally, I blurted, “Please, Mr X. I want to come in, I need to come in. I promise I’ll be a good girl.”

That time my voice didn’t waver or shake. I wanted in, and my wet underwear was enough reason to do whatever I could to get my way.