I use the term "girl" universally. It can mean a female from any age between 18 and 60. Something in the term grabs me. It's like a wind that pushes me against the wall of the building i am standing on the ledge of, hoping not to fall off. I recognize that the term "girl" has an underage connotation to it, yet i am repulsed at the idea of eroticizing minors. The word "girl" also implies little. And that is where it excites the base primal wolf inside of me. Little, vulnerable, needing protection. I can be talking to a female associate at work about her weekend, in a completely innocuous social way, and she could suddenly utter the phrase "...but i'm just not that kind of girl." I will stop right in my tracks. A grown woman has just uttered a phrase that transforms her into a sexual target, the same way my head whips around whenever i hear the clod of highheels on the pavement. I'm suddenly hungry.
"r" was incensed when i first referred to her as a girl. Understandably. She was 15 years my senior. She'd wandered into a chat room i was hosting about body modification and (what else) transformation. Within 5 minutes of chatting with me, she'd called me an arrogant prick and an asshole, and did the equivalent of an Internet hangup - she exited the room. Now, i'd grown used to that reaction. What some girls expect when they are roaming in the SM corridors of chat rooms, i'm not sure, but they should not be surprised to find a man who is assertive and obstinate. Something about "r" told me that she'd return. Even through the stammer of a cold digital interaction, i could sense an arousal. In fact, i even said to her when she re-appeared a few days later:
"I knew you'd come back."
But unlike the other girls who flirted with the idea of lingering, she stuck around. She drilled me to find out all of what i demanded of a girl i modified. She accused me of bullshitting her. I provided her photo evidence, she still refused to believe. But deep inside of her protective armor of doubt, i could see something she did not want me to see: i could see that she was slipping. Her responses took longer. Her words were carefully selected and offered. She was doing her best to hold me at bay, but her house of sticks was falling in.
"Let's meet", i said.
Nothing from her end. Then finally:
"i have to go."
Eventually, we would agree to meet. Skirt, just above the knees. Black, 3" heels. Hair pulled back into a tight bun. Hoop earrings. A top to accentuate and allow access to her ample tits. And most importantly, no panties (when she agreed to this, i insisted she repeat the word "panties". A word she loathed). We met at a public place.
I was waiting for her, writing into my journal. She took the seat next to me and for the first 20 minutes of banal conversation, found ways to completely avoid eye contact with me. Finally, when her eyes fell on mine, i reached my hand across, and grabbed a hold of her wrist. I stood up and quietly led her to the men's bathroom. Cemented across her face, her fear, anxiety and excitement played interactively with her features. I held open the door and waved her inside. The few men in the bathroom looked at her with utter confusion, but i'm certain when they saw me open a stall door and motion for her to follow, they figured out some of what was about to happen. Closing the door behind us, in a whisper i told her to bend over the toilet, hike up her skirt, and then put her hands against the tile wall.
"Spread your legs."
She looked back at me. Her hand started to curl away from the wall, her instincts to strike rising. I didn't move, slicing my glance through her stare. She turned her head back around, and, staring up at the ceiling, spread her legs. A distinctive sheen glimmered between them. I rubbed my hand between her thighs, gathering some of her moistness, then spread it all up and down her backside. I pulled the "tool" i'd brought out of my pocket, smeared it with her juices, and applied more from a tube of lube. I poured more lube on my fingers and pushed at her asshole, delicately playing with the opening until i could feel it purse open. I repeated this gesture several times, making sure her passage was prepared.
"I want you to focus on your breathing. Just breathe, that is all i need you to do right now."
I pushed the "tool" up against her asshole, and slowly edged it forward. Her yelp brought a smile to my face. With gentle strokes, i pushed it deeper and deeper, reminding her to breathe. I told her to push out, as if she were defecating, when finally it popped "home", stationing itself firmly inside. I arched my arm around her mid-section, as her knees abandoned their efforts, giving way to the enormous shockwave of orgasm that overtook her body. Holding her for just a moment, allowing her to finish, i told her to pull her skirt back down. I led her back outside, kissed her on the cheek and sent her home.
"r" grew very attached to that butt plug. She was told to wear it regularly, but i wasn't always there to insert it, so for those times, she was to close her eyes and just envision it was my hand guiding it in. Over time, she didn't need to envision my hand, the plug soon embodied me. Around this time, i informed her of my reasons for the plug. I told her she was being anally trained, learning the new purpose for what i now called her "ass cunt". When we would chat or talk on the phone, she would sometimes leave the plug out of its home. I could tell that she wasn't full, just by her tone and her wily bite. I'd instruct her to go get it. Many times she'd resist, but my persistence would prevail. The instant that it entered her, she sunk deep into a coil of submission. She was full. She was open, vulnerable. She spoke to me about how she could feel her mind transform the function of her back passage. It no longer served the purpose she'd attached to it. It now served mine.
She hated the plug sometimes. Reviled it for its power over her. Other times she offered it long bouts of devotion, even losing her grip on sanity one afternoon when she couldn't find it. I used to cherish the glow she exhibited while she wore it, entranced with the acceptance and beauty cast by a girl captured and occupied by me.
*this continues on here
8 comments:
no surprise, i suppose, that i agree completely with your eroticization of the word "girl." to me, that word sums up all the vulnerability and neediness that submission triggers inside. being called girl makes me melt for the exact reasons you described.
the second half of this post, omigod! i don't think i can walk around the rest of the day with my panties this wet. seriously, that was a wonderfullly erotic story. and i adore your description of the butt plug sinking "r" into a coil of submission. truly evocative: coil, as in pooled at your feet, i imagine.
two reasons to adore you today; twice i've wanted to kiss you via internet! amazing . . .
*lg
i agree, this was a very erotic post, and i also feel very attracted to the word "girl." i get a little funny about it, actually-- i'm possessive and i get mad when i hear women who i don't know to be submissive using it to describe themselves.
all this talk of littleness and body modification (and the mention of the 3" heels) makes me wonder about your thoughts on height. have you taken control of a woman who is taller than you?
little,
It is a powerful connotation. I try not to abuse it, but yet, i notice every use of the term "girl" whether the author intends it to be as emblematic as it is.
Make sure you clean up properly.
persephone,
Out of the all the girls i've controlled, 4 have been shorter than me (purposely), 2 have been my height, and 2 have been much taller than me. Their lankiness actually contributed to some intricate ropework due to the added leverage of their longer limbs.
The heels requirement is more for an effect on the girl's calves and her saunter. The way the ball of the foot twists and wiggles after each step does so much for the upper concourse of the feminine form. Drives me crazy.
Oh that made me so excited. I'm scared of that and love it all in one.
Wow. And i have a similar reaction to a butt plug.
--[milla]
i've always wondered the fascination of sluts in heels... some of us don't need them but wear them anyway and wonder why! It's intimidating to be so tall and then... taller but i am very happy doing so anyway- in honor and respect of wishes. Very cool to read some (your) reasons of the powerful turn on of heels.
A most arousing post. I guess it's not shameful to admit that it was very erotic to imagine, had to envision myself there with my Owner (i always do in such posts!) and blanketed by the connected power of these very moments.
A most pleasing post, deity. I am so happy to have discovered your journalized thoughts and experiences. And thank you for the previous return comment; the sentiment is shared.
DL's toy
milla,
I have found that you and "r" are not alone in that reaction. Of the 6 girls i've possessed, three of them responded in similar fashions to anal training. I have my theories on that. Perhaps for another post.
toy,
Ah...toy. It gives me great pleasure to know that i provided you with a forum for erotic thoughts. No shame should be derived from that. I must look, to the average person, like a man with autism whenever i encounter a female. The first place i look is straight down at her feet, wondering about her choice of footwear. From there i decide if the rest is worth a glance. In my mind, i'm wondering if she knows the power those heels have over the general populace, or if she is driven by some sub-conscious choice to wear them.
You are an embodiment of a fetishist in my mind, and I find it so attractive.
I'd like to apologize in advance for the long comment to come, but with my recent discovery of anal pleasures, this post of yours is right up my alley (no pun intended). I can't believe how much I've been missing in the course of 12 years of being sexually active. But sometimes it takes a man with just the right touch to make a woman fall in love with it.
I too agree that you very accurately note that the effect it can have goes much beyond the mere physical stimulation - I found it to be a fully emotional experience, as well. For me too it very much intensifies the sense of submission and creates the intimacy unknown before. I think sex that is in itself somewhat painful, although I should rather say uncomfortable (vs. sex that is accompanied by pain) is almost more erotic.
But I think much like with starting a blog, opening that pathway for play and sex also rid me of some of my retentiveness, as my husband put it - I give in and hand over the control a lot easier than before, and surrender is of course the ultimate goal. It relaxes me, I guess.
Sadly, as much as I am dying to own a plug, it is presently out of reach. How tantalizing.
amber,
For many years i had avoided referring to myself as a fetishist based on the numerous portrayals and first-hand witnessing of men sucking on heels whilst begging to be trampled. I couldn't relate to that inversion at all. Over the years, i've grown comfortable with and embraced the term.
I like hearing that your blog may have eroded some of your retentiveness, and of course, i love hearing your burgeoning enjoyment of anal play.
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