I trust Him completely now, but when we first met, I was very wary of him. I had been sweet-talked and lied to by enough vanilla men to be hesitant. But he wanted me to trust him without question, to put myself in his hands. He would hold me late at night, stroking my hair, and tell me that he was always going to protect me, that he would never let anyone hurt me, that he would keep me safe.

I never understood exactly what he meant - protect me from what? Space aliens? - but he made me feel safe and secure all the same. He has a man's body with hair on his chest and I started to feel an unnatural affinity for that chest hair. I would lay my head on his chest and stroke it after coming. I always felt like a child, drifting off to sleep safe in her parents' arms.

One night we went out to dinner and were walking back to my apartment. My street is relatively quiet, so it was strange when a man started walking close behind us on the sidewalk. He noticed the strange man, shot him a nasty look and put his arm tightly around my shoulder. The man slowed down and crossed the street away from us; he soon disappeared from sight. I sighed with relief and he smiled down at me. "I'll always keep you safe, Kitten. Don't worry. I'll protect you."

When we got back to the apartment, he pulled me close to him and kissed me deeply. Slowly, he slid his hand down the front of my jeans and discovered what his words had done to me - made me immediately soaking wet and aroused for him.


I often wonder if anyone tags me as a submissive on sight. I once read a news story on the substantial number of women with submissive proclivities, so I imagine there must be more than a handful of us walking around out in the world. But to pass me on the city street, you'd probably never guess. I look like any other 20-something professional woman. I'm a conservative dresser - I have to wear a suit to work and I dress like a college student in my free time. I never wear pleather in public. I'm not a sexpot or a vixen in my behavior; actually, I'm quite reserved and a little cold in my everyday interactions. I never wear red lipstick (again, in public). Would anyone guess that I'm a slut in private, that I love to be filled with his cock, used by him?

When I'm out with Him, we appear to be a regular couple. He is polite in public, respectful. He opens doors for me and never lets me carry my own shopping bags (which makes me swoon). He is gently protective, putting his hand on the small of my back to guide me. It's obvious that we are in love as we are very affectionate, but nothing more.

At times like this, I long to be discovered. I want him to slide his hand under the back of my skirt as we wait for the bartender to bring us our drinks. I want to pull him into the bathroom stall with me and suck his cock, returning to the restaurant with the taste of him on my lips. I want us to have to leave the club because we can't wait any longer and I want him to fuck me over the hood of his car in the far corner of the deserted parking lot.

He knows that I fantasize about getting caught, that's why he tempts me with this scenario time and again. Once we leave the house, though, I feel so shy. I was once discovered by a police officer in the middle of having sex in a car with an ex-boyfriend. The officer asked if I was there of my own free will and checked my ID because he thought I was under age. It was one of the most humiliating things I have ever experienced.

Now He mines that humiliation for his own purposes. He wants me to feel it, wants it to make my cheeks burn with shame, but he also wants the humiliation to be overpowered by my desire to please him. He wants the shame to be eclipsed by my crazed lust for him. He wants to see me begging for whatever he wants to give me, even if it means I may be exposed. This is all part of his plan to break me down, to leave me defenseless to his whims. In the end, I'll be on my knees, dripping and completely submissive to whatever he wants from me, wherever and whenever he wants it.

The Light of Day

The other night, I fell into an inconsolable sadness because I missed Him so much. Things seemed hopeless and his absence became acutely painful. The happiness at my love for him became so huge that it wrapped around into sadness and the weight of my joy became a burden to me. I knew that I had just seen him a few days ago and would see him again in a few days, but I couldn't help indulging in this almost epic-feeling sadness.

Of course, I wasn't just missing him. I was also worried about how much it would hurt if I could never see him again. I worried about the intensity of my feelings and their natural ending point. I worried about falling over the edge and never finding my way back. I thought about running away, avoiding the possibility of heartache and that made me even sadder - would I give him up just because I was afraid?

We talked on the phone for a while and, although he was trying to carry on as usual with the dirty talk, I just couldn't get out of my negative place. I cried and apologized, but I hung up not feeling any better. Actually, I felt worse - had I alienated him with my bad mood and pessimistic attitude?

But all looked better in the light of day. I stopped worrying so far ahead of myself and resolved to enjoy him in the here-and-now. I decided to take him, my submission, and our commitment to each other one step at a time and stop letting myself become overwhelmed with it all. I chose to be free and to skip alongside him like a little girl, enjoying every second and not fearing the unknown up ahead.


He let me pick out my own restraints. I pointed shyly to a pair of black leather wrist cuffs that interlock and have metal rings. He fingered the rings and mused out loud how he could tie me to something with the rings. I had imagined these exact cuffs in my fantasies and almost couldn't believe that I was holding them in the store. He bought them and handed me the bag with that look in his eyes that says he has plans for me.

At home later, he fastened my wrists in front of my face and held me close to him, practically growling in anticipation. He put me on my stomach on the bed and started touching my pussy from behind while I squirmed against him, arms tight in front of me. He pulled me up onto my knees and started fucking me from behind. I couldn't control his thrusts against me and I fell forward, unable to get away from his grasp.

Quickly, he had me on my back and was on top of me, roughly forcing my knees apart with his hips. He pushed my arms above my head and held them there, leaning his weight on my wrists.

He fucked me hard and demanded, "Does it hurt, does it?"

"No," I shook my head and tried to bear up under him. I tried to be brave. I was such a fool.

"Wrong answer," he growled and fucked me harder. "Does it hurt now?"

"Yes, yes it hurts!" I gasped, barely able to keep taking his violent thrusts.

"Good," and he let up for a moment, just long enough to lean over me and whisper in my ear, "I want to break you."


He held me close to him while he touched himself. He had already fucked me into that floaty submissive place that leaves me breathless. His hands were roaming all over my body, exploring my curves and caressing my face.

"Kitten, tell me everything that you're feeling, right now. Tell me now," he cooed into my hair.

"I'm just so overwhelmed."

"Everything, Kitten. Tell me everything." His eyes were so dark and intense, black pools that I could drown in. I had to obey his command. My resolve was worthless.

"All I can feel is you. All I want is this feeling, right now. All I want is you." Words started pouring out of me. "Please don't leave, please, please don't leave, don't leave me, please don't leave me."

And I was suddenly sobbing into his chest, tears streaming down my face. He pulled back from me and looked down at me. He leaned forward and licked the tears off of my face. I could see the desire building in his eyes. My tears were turning him on. I looked away.

"Kitten...," he began softly. He stroked my back, my hair, cupped my chin in his hand so I was looking up into his eyes.

"Stay, please just stay with me, please stay."

Candy Cane

It took him two hours to discover that I wasn't wearing any underwear beneath my gray pleated skirt. "Kitten...," he moaned as he ran his hand up the inside of my thigh, feeling my thigh-high stockings, garter belt and shaved pussy.

We were stopped at a red light ten miles from his house and I was sitting in the passenger seat, sucking on a candy cane. Before the light could turn green, his fingers were inside me. He kept his eyes on the road and stared straight ahead as he touched me. His face was expressionless - I thought he was mad at me. I bit my lip and looked away.

As he pulled my left leg over the center console of the car and onto his lap, I realized that he wasn't mad but was focused on getting me home as quickly as possible. My skirt had fallen back above the tops of my stockings and my pussy was on display. He finger-fucked me furiously and told me to keep sucking on my candy cane. I shot nervous glances at the cars we passed along the way. He noticed and just smirked, sliding my skirt up higher.

At the house, he grabbed my arm and hustled me out of the car, whispering "you're mine now, Kitten" in my ear as we went. When we got into the house, he pushed me down onto all fours and lifted up my coat and skirt. I dropped my candy cane onto the floor as I spread my knees wider for him. He must have taken his cock out on the way into the house because he was inside me immediately, moving roughly and murmuring that I was already so wet.

He was fucking me so hard that I braced my arms flat on the floor, which incidentally let him slam into me harder. He came while I was moaning his name.

Then he made stand up in front of him and lift my skirt so he could see his cum drip out of me. He smiled sweetly as he traced the rivulets down the inside of my thighs.


I knew I was submissive long before I met Him. I had attempted to cajole any number of previous lovers into spanking me but it never went very far. Something was missing, not in the least their desire to hurt me.

I met Him and didn't know what I was in for. We met through friends when neither of us was looking for a relationship, let alone a D/s relationship. And needless to say, our first date...didn't exactly happen as planned.

We were supposed to get together for a drink on a Thursday night. We spent the week texting and e-mailing each other in an increasingly flirtatious manner - he was thinking about my lips, I wanted to feel his hands in my hair as he kissed my neck - but we were practically strangers. On Wednesday night, I gave in to my impulses and told him to come over. (You're thinking: what a slut! Don't worry, I was too.)

We wasted only a minute on small talk. He didn't even sit down before he pounced on me. He was suddenly, alarmingly unlike all of the other passive boys that I had been with before. He was strong and he was a man and there was no question.

Mid-embrace in the darkness of my bedroom, I told him quietly that I liked to be spanked and held down. That wasn't the half of it though. I didn't tell him about the things I thought about when I touched myself, the things that had slowly crept into my fantasies over the years. I didn't tell him that I needed for him to hurt me and control me. He chuckled softly and told me that he liked it rough too. In retrospect, it was quite possibly the most serious understatement that I have ever heard.

He started slowly and didn't push me that night, but I knew from that moment that my life would never be the same. From the first time he pushed my head down on his cock and made me choke just because he wanted to hear me gag, I was his.


I told him what the name Kitten does to me. I'm not his pet, but the name still has this enormous power over me - the power to put me in my place, to make me look up at him with wide eyes, the power to make me beg. His hand was on my neck, resting there lightly as he pushed the fingers of his other hand into me, when he softly whispered into my ear, "You're mine, Kitten." His words made my whole body shudder.

I'm not his pet, but I am his little girl. I'm his good girl, his naughty girl, his slutty hungry girl, his used fucked girl. I'm his Kitten, the girl who yearns to be just what he needs.

I approach him freely and then he takes over my mind and every inch of my body. He holds me in his thrall and he teaches me. He spins amazing fantasies of all of the things he has planned for me, all that I will learn to take just for him.

I'm scared of the things he's told me that he has planned. I'm even more scared of those things he has not yet revealed.

And he knows how wet I get when I'm scared.