"Kitten, did you ever take a man home from a bar and fuck him?," he asked as we lay in bed.
"Um...maybe...," I trailed off, embarrassed. Why did he always want to know the sordid details of my past?
"Tell me about it," he prodded. "I want to know about all of the naughty things that you've done."
So I told him all about how I met a man at a bar while I was living in a foreign city for a summer internship. How we made out shamelessly in a dark corner of the bar, growing increasingly bold in our groping. How we went to a hotel because we were both staying with friends who didn't appreciate overnight guests. How I stood there with my eyes down, ashamed, as he paid for the room. How I only learned his last name when I caught a glimpse of it on his credit card. How I worried about how I looked like a prostitute, checking into a hotel with a strange man late at night with no luggage.
He loved the story. It made him hard and I ended up pinned underneath him. "You're such a bad girl, Kitten," he moaned with pleasure as he fucked me hard with my legs around his waist. "Are you a slut just for me now?"
"Yes," I whispered, ashamed at what I had done. It's funny, because at the time I thought my daring one-night-stand was an act of sexual liberation, true freedom after the demise of a stagnant relationship.
"Look at me," he ordered from over me. "You're my slut now, just for me. Only I know about what you've done and I love every second of it. Forget everything that happened before. Are you my slut now?" His eyes were kind, warm. He was fucking me so deeply. It felt amazing. I let go of the past.
"Yes," I sighed and held him. "Yes, I'm just for you now."