Glitter. Real Stories About Sexual Desire From Real Women (15 page)

The First Night

Lynn Lacroix

I’m pretty much your typical suburban wife. I’m the woman you wave to in church every Sunday and the woman you meet in the grocery store wearing sweats and trying to find the best deals on groceries. But I have another side. It’s a side tha
t
ver
y
few people know about. I’m a submissive.

I was raised in a great family. I had a great childhood. I was a good church-going, white bread American girl. I lost my virginity the first time I ever got drunk at age eighteen. That opened up a whole new side of my personality. I found out how much I love sex. I wanted more. I immediately realized that I fell into the submissive category. BDSM porn was the only kind that ever turned me on, and I only really wanted to be with men who had a dominant air about them.

Although I had several fun, kinky boyfriends in college, I married the first and only man who has ever given me an orgasm. He doesn’t share my kinky side, but he indulges me when I ask. To make up for some of that part of myself that I feel like I’m lacking I write erotica. Specifically, BDSM erotica. Despite this side of me, I really am an average woman and I think there are a lot more like me.

This is one of my stories.

I am nervously waiting at the bar of the hotel where we agreed to meet. I am wearing a black, slinky dress with nothing underneath and patent leather pumps; just as he instructed me. Thank god my boobs haven’t started to sag yet and I can get away without wearing a bra unless it is really cold. I look younger than my thirty-one years. I am thin, but have naturally full hips and breasts. My hair is straight and brown. My eyes are hazel. I have a very clear complexion and rarely wear makeup (tonight being an exception). I nervously sip my cosmo, stare at the clock, and start to wonder if he is really coming.

*****

Let me take you back a few weeks. I got a little tipsy one night and did something I’ve always wanted to. I put a profile on an adult website. I filled out the basics. Name: Olivia (I don’t know why I used my real name), Age: thirty-one, Relationship Status: single. I posted a picture of myself from my vacation in the Bahamas three months ago. In it I am wearing a bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. Then I got to the About Me section. I wasn’t really sure what to put, so I wrote: “I think I’m submissive.” That’s it. Just those four little words.

Over the next couple of days I got a few messages, but one stuck out. It was from a man named Grant. All his message said was that I sounded like I was ‘trying to find my true self’ and he gave me a telephone number to call. It took me a full day of doubting and nail-biting to pick up the phone and make the call.

“Hello?” says a deep, obviously male voice.

“Um. Hi. Is this Grant?” I ask.

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“This is Olivia,” I say.

“Oh. Hello Olivia. In that case you will from here on out refer to me as Sir. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Um. I mean, yes Sir.”

We start out talking about me, my life, and my previous sexual experiences. Grant asks a lot of questions. Some are really hard to answer. Then the conversation turns to him. Grant is thirty-five, works as an architect, and loves to play basketball on the weekends. I learn that Grant is an experienced Dom. He has had many casual BDSM encounters and a few D/s relationships. He is looking for the right submissive for a long term relationship. He says that he is intrigued by my lack of experience, that he loves training new submissives.

Grant asks me to send him porn images that I like. I do. The usual stuff: a woman tied up and blindfolded, another of a woman tied down and being fucked by a man with bulging muscles. Once I send him those images he begins to tell me stories. He tells me stories of encounters he has had with various women. Then he starts telling me in great detail what he wants to do with me. The rough but eager sound of his voice coupled with the things that he is saying make me want to pull out my vibrator while we are still on the phone, but Grant tells me that I am not to masturbate unless he instructs me too.

We carry on like this for a week and a half before we agree to meet at a posh hotel in the city. He tells me what to wear, what time to be there, and where to wait for him. He is very specific and makes it very clear that there will be consequences if I don’t follow his orders to the letter.

*****

Back to the present. Just as I start to think that the whole thing was some twisted joke and that Grant isn’t coming I feel a hand wrap around my waist and a familiar voice say, “Hello Olivia.” I turn around to see a handsome, very tall man. He has to be at least 6’4. He has sandy blonde hair that looks like it probably curls naturally but he keeps it cut and styled so that it never really can. He has beautiful blue eyes. I can’t tell much about his physique due to him being dressed in a suit other than that he is height-weight proportionate and appears to be muscular.

Before I can say anything Grant firms his grip on my waist, pulling me to my feet and leaning down to kiss me. His mouth is so hot it feels like it is on fire. He eagerly kisses my lips and parts them with his tongue. His tongue explores my mouth with more expertise than any other man I have ever kissed. My knees start to feel like Jell-O. At this point, Grant is having to hold me up by my waist. He pulls his mouth away from mine and says with a wicked grin, “The room is all ready. Shall we?” All I can do is nod in the affirmative. “Answer me. Now!” “Yes, Sir.” I barely croak out. Oh god, I am not making a very good first impression. Grant would think I was a mute if we hadn’t had all those nights of talking on the phone.

I am regaining my composure as Grant leads me to the elevator. We get into the elevator and Grant presses the button for the seventh floor. We get to our floor, then to our room. Grant unlocks to the door and leads me inside. I can tell that he has already been up here. There is a duffle bag on the desk and a glass of whiskey on the rocks next to it. Grant can sense my nervousness.

He smiles at me and says, “I am so glad to finally meet you Olivia. You look beautiful. Don’t be nervous. I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want me to. Remember your safe word. Do you remember it?”

“Yes Sir. It is ‘mercy,’” I answer.

“Good girl. Now step back so I can get a good look at you. Damn, you are gorgeous. Take off that dress so I can see if you followed my instructions.”

I slide the straps of my dress off of my shoulders and let it fall to the floor as Grant takes off his suit jacket and tie, and loosens his collar and sleeves. He smiles when he looks at my naked body.

“Perfect.” This affirmation makes me smile and puts me even more at ease. It is confusing to me why I want to please this man so badly. I mean, this is the first time we’ve even met.

“Get on your knees. Eyes lowered. Don’t speak unless I tell you to.” Grant says in a firm, but not angry tone. I immediately drop to my knees and lower my gaze to the floor.

“Olivia, tell me why you are here with me now,” he says.

“I am here because I want you to dominate me, to teach me how to be submissive.” I answer with a shaky voice.

“Very good. Tonight, I own you completely. Your body is mine to do with what I wish. This is about me, not you. However, you will love it. You will beg me for more and if you are good I might just reward you with what you want. Now, I want you to stand up and go over to the bed. Put your hands on the edge of the bed and your ass in the air.”

I do as I’m told but I am shaking. It isn’t from fear though, it’s anticipation and desire. There is something about this man that makes me want to give into him completely. Grant takes his shirt off. I sneak a peek by looking over my shoulder and can see that he is very well built. His muscles are well toned and he is obviously very strong. I quickly look away and back at the bed.

“I saw that.” Grant says. “I was going to go easy on you this first time, but now you’ve broken the rules and need to be punished. I want you to count. You will receive thirty strokes.” He quickly smacks the left side of my ass with his hand. It stings and I am taken aback.

“Ouch! One!” He brings his hand down on the right side.

“Two!” This continues for thirteen more strokes until my ass is burning all over, but my body betrays the pain. My pussy is soaking wet. He has stopped. What is going on? He said thirty and that was only fifteen. I don’t have to wonder for long. I hear something whizz through the air and then something thin and stinging lands on my ass. He is using a riding crop now. I guess he had one in that duffle bag.

“Ah! Sixteen!” I gasp. He brings it down again.

“Seventeen!” I hear the crop whizz through the air again and I brace myself, but nothing happens. Grant laughs a wicked little laugh. Then he slaps my ass again with the crop.

“Eighteen!” There are tears welling up in my eyes now. Not really from the pain (though that is significant) but more from the sense of release that I am experiencing. I feel like I’ve needed this all along. The cropping continues until we reach thirty and Grant stops. I am nearly sobbing at this point. Grant rubs my sore ass with his strong hands. He picks me up and lays me on the bed.

“Are you okay?” He asks. I nod. He kisses me tenderly on my forehead and then on my lips. He wraps his arms around me and continues kissing me while I recover. The emotional release that he has just given me makes me want him even more. I cling to him while he is holding me and eagerly kiss him back.

“Lay back.” He says. I slide to the head of the bed and lie on my back. He goes over to the duffle bag. He retrieves two satin ties. He uses them to bind my wrists to the posts of the bed. Then, he goes to the foot of the bed and bends down between my legs. He kisses my thigh. The kisses get higher, getting closer and closer to my pussy. I feel his wet, hot tongue circling my clit. He is teasing me. I moan.

Grant licks up all the wetness that his spanking created. He slides his tongue into my pussy and rubs my clit with his nose. I am so close to coming. I can feel it building inside me when he stops. He slowly kisses his way up my stomach, my breasts, my neck, and finally he gets to my mouth. This kiss is the most intense we have shared. I can taste my own body on his lips and I love it.

“Beg,” Grant growls.

“What? Oh, I mean. Um. I don’t understand, Sir,” I answer.

“Beg me to give you what you want. What is it you want, pet?”

“I want you to fuck my pussy, Sir. Please, please make me cum.”

“You have been a very good girl all night and my cock is throbbing, so I think I’ll give you the pleasure of giving me some release.” Grant sits up and kneels between my quivering legs. He unbuttons his trousers and slides them off. This is the first time I see his cock. It’s a good eight inches and is nice and thick. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a cock this large before and I am slightly nervous, but I am so turned on that I just want to be fucked.

Grant puts the head of his cock in my pussy and I can already feel his size stretching me. In one swift stroke he delves into my pussy to the hilt. I cry out. Not in pain, but in ecstasy. He pounds his hard cock into me. He varies his rhythm and is hitting all the right spots. I can feel my orgasm building. Thankfully, he is moaning louder too.

“Do you want to come, Olivia?” Grant hisses into my ear as he grabs a handful of my hair.

“Yes Sir. Please, make me come.” I beg. Grant picks up his pace. I raise my hips to meet his strokes. I am so close.

“Come now!” Grant breathlessly commands. My body explodes into a feeling of pure pleasure. I have never had an orgasm so intense. I am screaming in pleasure.

As I am coming down from my high I feel Grant’s body tense and feel him come inside me. He gives out a gruff grunt of pleasure and then collapses on top of me. He rests his head on my breasts while we both catch our breath and regain our composure. He rolls off of me and lays next to me. After a couple of minutes he gets up and unties my wrists. He pulls me off of the bed, pulls back the covers and then lays me back in the bed. He crawls in next to me and wraps his arms around me. I am in heaven.

He speaks first. “Olivia, that was amazing. I don’t know if I’m ever going to let you go.” He says with humorous tone. “You can speak freely now.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.” I say with a smile. “You’ve given me something that I think I’ve been searching for my whole life.”

Playmates

Frederica Janie de la Fontain

Frederica De La Fontain is a professional massage therapist, amateur photographer and music nerd. When not visiting Disney World she can be found gaming, cooking or begging her husband for sex.

I had turned eight years old during a move across the country with my family. My military father was being transferred from the shipyards of eastern Virginia to the rolling hills of northern California. We were moving away from family and friends to start a new life on a military base outside of San Francisco. Boxes were unpacked and at my mother’s urging, my brother and I left the safety of our apartment to seek new friends. Mom had said that the family in the next building over had a girl around my age that I should seek out as a playmate.

Maggie was a few months younger than me, a grade behind me and had a great room full of toys and books. One book she was very proud to show me was calle
d
Where Did I Come From
?
which was an explanation about reproduction told in cartoon-style sketches and an easy language for kids to understand. I had never seen anything like this book and was immediately intrigued. My mom had never really explained sex to me but I got the general gist: a man and a woman were needed and it had something to do with the inherent differences in our lower bodies. Until I read that book I didn’t even know the proper names for the sexual organs. Growing up in the South, one was taught that those words aren’t uttered in polite society. “Tallywhacker,” “hoohoo” and “bottom” were the preferred nomenclature. My grandmother said “teetee” instead of “peepee,” presumably because the ‘p’ word meant “piss” where the ‘t’ word stood for “tinkle,” which was far more polite.

As my head tried to get around these foreign concepts, I noticed feeling strange sensations when I read the book and looked at the pictures.

Once, we played house and I was the mom and was pretending to put Maggie to bed and she asked to be read The Book. As I read it, I couldn’t help but notice that her hands were moving under the blanket, around the area where her crotch was. I didn’t say anything but my cheeks flushed red and knew that The Book made her feel funny too, but she didn’t care. I don’t remember how we got into the conversation, but eventually she turned me on to rubbing myself against things, sliding down the stair railing, spinning around the jungle gym poles with my legs wrapped tightly around it. During a sleepover she was even so bold as to grind against a Coke bottle as it lay on the floor.

Eventually the indirect stimulation was overpowering and we put our hands down our pants, rubbed fast and hard, held our breath, legs straight out, toes pointed and PUSHED…and the tingles just washed over us, like when a car goes over a hill really fast and your stomach does a flip-flop. We would lay on my pink shag rug, panting, fanning ourselves with Rick Springfield album covers, until we caught our breath. Then we would do it again and again, taking turns, until it felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest from the exertion.

I found my father’s Playboys and Penthouse magazines while looking for socks to borrow. We got a new set of encyclopedias that had clear plastic page overlays of the human anatomical systems. In fifth grade, we were shown movies in school about what happens during puberty and what your period was. We would watch love scenes in movies lik
e
Endless Lov
e
an
d
The Blue Lagoo
n
and we would talk about them during sleepovers, eventually acting them out with each other. I even picked her up and carried her, just like a boy did to his girlfriend i
n
Up the Academ
y
. We never told anyone, although I think my mom had her suspicions when I would come down to dinner, red-faced and sweating after being in my room for hours.

After a few years, her dad got reassigned to the city and we saw each other infrequently, then my dad got reassigned to Texas. We rented an aging ranch-style house that was plopped in the middle of an upper-class neighborhood. My brother and I knew that we were out of our element compared to these wealthy kids but we tried to play it off. The whole family was experiencing culture shock and at age eleven, I was losing the fight to stay a tomboy. I made friends with some girls that I would be attending school with that Fall and did my best not to make waves. I enrolled in the same dance school as the other girls and tried to assimilate into their idea of style, even though I was clueless. I lived less than an hour from the Pacific Ocean and had no idea what OP or Lightning Bolt clothing was.

There wa
s
on
e
thing I knew about, that maybe they didn’t. One of the girls, Dena, invited me for a sleep over and then her plans changed. Her mom said I could still come over and hang out with her younger sister Katie.

I don’t remember how we got on the subject, but there we were, on the foldout sofa bed and I was teaching her what had been taught to me, rubbing, grinding, breathing. She seemed a bit quiet, but I just figured she was shy and didn’t know what to do. The next Monday at school, I approached Dena’s circle of friends and they turned their backs to me and never spoke directly to me again. I immediately knew why. My mom never said anything to me, so I assume nothing was ever said to her, the matter and I were just…dropped. I got a deep sense of shame about what had happened and I wondered if Maggie had also looked for another ‘playmate’ and had gotten busted for it. I never told anyone about this until I was in my twenties, when a friend was looking for validation for her own childhood experiments.

I lost my virginity at age fifteen but I didn’t let anyone watch me orgasm again until I was nineteen and I eventually married him. I wasn’t going to share that with anyone else that I felt couldn’t handle it! I have been in a lot of different sexual relationships, was a swinger with a former boyfriend and experimented with various forms of B/D. I have never had the desire to be with a woman. That experience is part of me, but it doesn’t define me. It just was what it was.