I always knew that I was different to other girls. While they were settling down and starting families, I could never seem to keep a relationship going. Something was missing, and I couldn’t work out what it was. When the sex was good, I was always left with a feeling of emptiness. I wanted more than ordinary sexual relationships could give me, which is why I signed up for sex chat with online encounters websites.
It was an impulsive decision, but it paid off. For a while I’d been hearing about these sites. You’d hear rumours from girls in the area about group sex and all sorts of kinky activities, but I struggled to muster the courage to sign up. Eventually, I cracked. My last boyfriend was a bust. He was too submissive and nice. He hardly ever put a foot wrong, trying desperately to please me. The trouble was that the harder he tried to make me happy, the less satisfying our sex became. He was boring me, and I needed to escape, which is where sex chat came in. I signed up and created a profile that I thought was pretty adventurous, but it turned out I was soon altering it to fit in with my new contacts. Entering the chat rooms was a revelation to me. It was like suddenly becoming fluent in a completely new language, or having your sense of taste restored after many years. This was the community of people I wanted to know. They were free spirited, friendly and – most importantly of all – they were absolutely desperate to hook up.
I explored every aspect of my sexual self. In no time, I was fucking strangers on one night stands, locking them up in hand-cuffs, donning nurses uniforms and, once or twice, attending gangbang sessions with local guys. I thought that it was the most liberating experience of my life, but there was still something missing. Thankfully, I kept on searching on the sex chat rooms for someone to explain what it was. One day, I had a message from a guy called Claude. That’s what he called himself, anyway. He was older than me, handsome and experienced. His messages were clear, authoritative and instantly arousing. This was someone who knew what they wanted and, after a few messages it was clear that he wanted me. Maybe he could sense that I craved submission, but from the moment we connected on the sex chat boards, I was his slave for life. Before that, submission had been something that I despised. I hated my boyfriends when they begged me to stay with them. I hated their niceness, their sympathy, their desperation. But now, when Claude started to chat with me, I began to understand why so many people become obsessed with the master-slave relationship. “You’ll come over to my place tonight,” he commanded, after a few evenings of sex chat. “Bring nothing. I have what we need. Just empty your mind and be ready to serve.” Unthinkingly, I obeyed. This was new territory, and I wondered what Claude had in mind for us. My fantasies started to run wild, but reality was even wilder than my imagination.
Claude had a normal suburban home, and he was just like his profile pictures. The strange thing was, that instead of greeting me like on the sex chat boards, he just ushered me into his home and pointed to the stairs to the basement. I half thought that he would push me downwards. I couldn’t say anything, I was so excited. The basement door opened easily, revealing what looked like a fully appointed torture chamber. But Claude wasn’t into torture. I knew enough about bondage to know that the end result of a session with an expert master was pleasure, not pain. You just had to endure some discomfort before you reached paradise, or so I thought. When Claude came downstairs, he was dressed in a kind of monk’s robe, with black leather boots underneath and a whip in his hand. He commanded me to undress, and I had to obey. Then, he threw me a mass of leather, which turned out to be a figure hugging corset. There were reinforced hoops around the side, which Claude attached to a set of solid manacles. He instructed me to get onto the bondage table, and laid me out flat. As he stroked my skin, I quivered with the anticipation of pleasure, but Claude snapped at me, “Stop that. No pleasure until I say so!” It didn’t stop me imagining. I was ready for anything.
Half an hour later, I was his devoted slave. Claude started by gently whipping my back, then he became harder, angrier, but never too hard. I felt pain, but not enough – it was a good pain, a pain that I needed. I started to moan as he struck me. Then, mounting the table expertly, he was inside me. As he entered me, he fitted a ball gag around my mouth so that I could not moan or scream with the pleasure I felt. It was incredible. He fucked me for 15 minutes, pouring his dominance into my body, making me weak with desire to obey. This was something else. Over the next few days, we communicated by sex chat. Claude never explained our arrangement, but we weren’t lovers. We had a kind of bondage fuck buddy relationship. When we talked in the sex chat boards, I would tell him about my casual encounters, what had gone well, and what had gone wrong. Every time, Claude would persuade me that I had transgressed some rule of sex. I had to be punished, brutally, completely. Even if I was busy that night, I would drop everything and obey him. There was no choice, and there still isn’t. I can’t explain this to my lovers, but Claude is still my master. The touch of his whip and the sensation of being strapped in by him arouse me in ways that normal men can’t. When I’m bad, he finds out. After every fucking session, I leave his home renewed and feeling no guilt. He’s my master, and I’m his slave. It’s as simple as that – and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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