I like to be controlled. To be forced to do things that make me uncomfortable and push me to my limit. It’s not about being made to do things I don’t want to do, it’s about giving up control with someone who I can trust and who will push my boundaries.
D is a switch, but with me he controls the situation and dominates. Our interactions aren’t always in person – like most people in the modern world, we do most of our non-face to face communication via text message.
While at home on an uneventful Friday night, D text me to ask what I was doing. Being a boring night in, I was lying on my bed reading, and told him so. Although we don’t always play with D/s roles, I knew when he told me that I better behave and obey him, that we were in fact doing so on this occasion.
Knowing I was still wearing my work pants, D instructed me to slide my hand inside without undoing the buttons or taking them off my hips. Doing as I was told, I slid my hand down the front of my pants, into my underwear and over my bald mound. With my index and middle fingers sliding between the top of my lips and onto my clit, I let D know what I was doing. Restricted by my tight pants and underwear I rubbed my clit as best as I was able. His next instruction was to take everything off, and to lie on my bed with my legs apart. Showing that I was doing as told, I took a picture with my phone and messaged him the image, legs wide apart, pussy starting to become darker and swollen, spread wide open. D told me I might be acting like a good girl and doing what I was told, but he knew that I was actually a filthy slut. Hearing him calling me this caused a flood of dampness between my legs. “I bet you are getting wet, aren’t you?” he asked; when I told him that yes, I was, he replied and told me it was just more evidence of how much of a slut I was. He instructed me to finger my clit again and while I did he sent me a picture of his cock, telling me that I should be grateful that he wasn’t there with me – if he was, it would be jammed down my throat for me to choke on. Reading his messages and seeing him say such things only served to get my wetter and the fingers circling my clit rub harder and faster. Knowing me well enough to know that would be exactly what I was doing, D told me that I was to stop playing with my clit and to get up and get a wine bottle. My stomach dropped and was filled with butterflies – we had played with non-sex toy objects before (fruit, veges to mention a few) but this was new territory. Hoping I was wrong but knowing exactly what his request meant, I gingerly asked him why – what would I need a wine bottle for? D’s reply was quick and to the point – I wasn’t allowed to question him, I was to do what I asked. Knowing there was an unopened bottle in the pantry, I went and retrieved it before returning to the bedroom. Holding the wine bottle in my hand I was struck by the size of it and told D so, his reply was to stop complaining and that a fucking slut like myself would take it no worries.
Following his instructions, I placed the bottle on the floor beside my bed and knelt over it. Telling him exactly that, I was instructed to sit down onto it.
Feeling the neck of the bottle at the entrance to my pussy, I began to sink down on it. As I did so, D messaged me again, asking if I had the bottle jammed in my cunt yet. Taking and send him a picture of the neck of the bottle starting to be taken in by my pussy, he laughed and told me I wasn’t even trying, he wanted it right up my cunt, as deep and hard as it would go. By this point my head was in a completely submissive place and I did as told, sinking lower and lower on the bottle, taking it deeper inside myself. Tears in my eyes at the humiliation and pain, I took another photo and sent it to D – my lips swollen and parted, a third of the bottle swallowed by my cunt.
Replying to the picture, D told me once again that I was a filthy slut, just look at me, shoving a wine bottle up my pussy! Such a whore! By now I was in a daze, giving in to the control and allowing myself to finally enjoy the shame flooding my body.
No longer feeling pain, I slid up and down the wine bottle, feeling it stretching and hurting me. The fingers on my free hand were drawing circles around my clit and I drifted closer and closer to orgasm. No longer aware of anything other than the feelings from the bottle and my fingers, I allowed the orgasm to take hold, cumming harder than I could have imagined. Letting the waves of my orgasm calm and my focus return, I lifted myself up onto my knees and gently slid the wine bottle from my hot, sore pussy. Pulling the bottle from beneath me, I could see it slick and shiny, my juices still thick over it. Holding it in my hand to show the size of it, displaying the shiny wetness covering it, I took a photo and sent it to D.
Crawling under the covers naked and exhausted, the final reply from D filled me the warmth and satisfaction that makes being submissive worthwhile – a picture of his cock, starting to soften and his stomach covered in his own cum and a message – “Well done baby, you are such a good, good girl. I’m so impressed and proud of you right now”.