While in college my exploration of bdsm was strictly online. I wasn't about to tell my classmates about the kinky side of myself that I was discovering, but the more time I spent online the greater my desire grew to experience some naughtiness in my real life...but how? I didn't know where these kinksters gathered and would be too intimidated walk into an event by myself, it would seem there was little, a girl could do, to satisfy the insatiable desires that were growing inside of me, so I did what any college girl would be doing. I was partying and clubbing with my friends every weekend. I would ask for direction or commands from Mr. T before heading out for a night but he would seldom give in to my request stating that if he couldn't get his hands on me, he didn't care if I went out with or without panties on. He didn't care if I was to approach so many men and convince them to buy a drink for me. He didn't care if I was picked up by a random stranger or if I ended up sucking some guys cock in the men's washroom. Mmmmmm did he throw these things out there for me to fulfil? Planting the seed without telling me what to do, so as to not give into what I asked of him? Oh I wanted to be dirty, but more importantly I wanted to be told to be dirty. Being told what to do and how to do something naughty, somehow took the responsibility from my shoulders and placed it on his. As though any nasty deed I now fulfilled was not a reflection of what a slut I really am but rather what a good girl I am for pleasing him. It would be incredibly freeing and empowering to follow the orders of another, but what if I was told to do something that I simply could not do. The thought was scary and tantalising and it was the first time I realised that a good Dom had a great responsibility to balance pushing his girl to help her grow in the service of him, but not to push her so far that she falls into a place that destroys her soul and the core of who she is. I knew I wanted to grow as a submissive or slave, but I also knew that ultimately I was still a logical, thinking human being who had to take responsibility for herself. I could not allow myself to be broken by anyone, let alone someone who didn't first concern themselves with my well being. If I was to jump off a cliff for any man I needed to trust that by following him I would fly rather than crash and burn. Would I every trust that deeply? Could I really give up control? Mr. T seemed to think that he could push me beyond all my limits and that I would be better for it. For others I may be submissive but for him I would be a slave. He would throw scenarios out in our conversations that I would never imagine doing, such as him taking me behind the back alley of a club where he would have a group of guys waiting to be sucked off, or after being out for a nice dinner, where he has me dressed classy and respectable, pulling over and paying a homeless man finger fuck me until I cum while he watches. These things I know I would not do, fuck that, I could not do. My violent reaction to such scenes would make him laugh and he would simply say, "never say never". He would tell me "that under the right Dom a girl will do pretty much anything and instead of feeling awful for it, a good Dom could build his girl up so much that she would be on top of the world for such service." Over time he assured me, her every breath would become more and more dependant on him, she would be addicted to him, strung out on him. My heart and brain rejected the idea of giving up that much control, yet as Mr. T spoke about the things he would do to me if I was his girl, the darker my desires grew. Keeping me caged, when he would allow me to sleep in his bed I would have an ankle cuff on that would allow me to get to and from the bathroom and no more, he spoke of waking in the morning and using my mouth as a urinal. It was important to him that he could show me off when we are out in public. If a man was checking out my large tits, which he was correct in assuming that they attract alot of attention, he may command me to rub and squeeze my tits, for the man the mans pleasure and to display his own dominance over me, all; regardless of where we may be. He would decide when, where and what was appropriate for any given situation. For me this lifestyle had to somehow fit nicely with the vanilla world that I live in and the life I was building for myself within the REAL world. I didn't see the reality of Mr. T's words, but my pussy would betray me and would be wet with my own juices by such thoughts. Though I was deeply attracted to this online man, what he spoke of was inconceivable to me, besides a Dom should love his girl and how could a man who loves his girl make her do such things. I wanted to be dirty, but not that dirty or did I? I would find myself at a vanilla club with my girl friends no longer relating to the guys they were checking out or the gossip they were engaging in, I would find my pantyless self wandering the club looking to fulfill the quota, I set for myself of how many men I must somehow convince to buying me a drink. It wasn't about the money rather that I was pleasing enough to them that they would reward me by spending their money on me. Some men took more convincing then others. I enjoyed the challenge, though I did not want to be made a fool of. I found older men more receptive, more discrete, more playful and with more money. An older man could graze my my breast, making my nipples erect, while staring me in the eyes and not drawing undo attention to our exchange. I would smile when he hands me my drink and I would make my way back to my friends. I especially enjoyed the exchanges where very few words would be spoken. I had to be smart in this little game I was playing. I could not let my friends see, I had to be considerate of the man that was buying me the drink, so as to not make him feel insulted and used, but rather leave him feeling intrigued and sexy, I didn't want to hurt anyone's feeling. I also had to make sure the drink came directly from the bartender or waitress so as not to put myself in a situation where I was ever drugged and being taken advantage of. Though most of my friends wore jeans, I would almost always wear a skirt with no panties underneath. I wasn't sure what I expected by not wearing panties, but I was always aware of my pussy and I loved how exposed and vulnerable I felt. I recall walking up the stairs at one club, a cocky, guy, close to my age, walking behind me, grabs my ass. I'm sure he did it just to get a reaction, without even thinking I grab his hand and guide his fingers under my skirt, I spread my legs enough for him to pet my pussy. I felt powerful calling his bluff and knew then that if he was just a few years older that he would of called my bluff back, but he was left hanging not sure what to do with me. Before he could formulate his thoughts into words I turned my back. The look on his face before I walked away from him was priceless.
I would find myself starting the evening out with my friends, but would end up ditching them, saying I was tired, to only go on my own to a different club with an older crowd. The more I ventured out onto my own the more I pushed my own boundaries. I didn't know what it was about older men that I found so attractive, but it was as though I could be more myself around them. They had confidence instead of cockiness. They didn't take themselves too seriously, so they were more fun to play with and tease. One night I met a man I will call Eric. Eric was handsome and distinguished looking, he spoke with a french Canadian accent, his cologne was woodsy and masculine. We take our drinks outside to the patio, away from the crowd, the music inside the club can still be heard but now we can speak without having to raise our voices, though we don't exchange many words. I take a seat on a high stool, Eric lights my cigarette before he parts my knees and positions himself between my legs. Other people on the patio seem too distracted by their own conversations to pay any attention to us. Eric looks intensly into my eyes as he slides his hands up my thighs, though I am getting nervous, I spread my legs I little wider inviting him to continue. Eric's fingers find my pantyless pussy and he proceeds to finger fuck me while I sip at my drink. When our drinks are finished Eric leads me through the club and out the front door to his car. Like a couple of teenagers, we can't keep our hand off each other so he pulls over on a quiet residential road. He reaches over me and reclines my seat, as I unbuttons my blouse, he pulls my tits out of the confines of my bra and lifts my skirt. He fucks me right there in the front seat on that quiet street. When we are done, he drives me home. I am left wanting, wanting more intensity, more domination. I feel dirty and used and not in a good way, but I'm not sure what I could of done differently. I want to feel used, dirty and slutty, but I didn't want this. Over the next few weeks I run into Eric again and the evening always ends the same, but each time I think to myself, I will leave feeling empowered and different, but I am always left unsatisfied. Over time I realise, though Eric and I may have chemistry, we don't have that connection that can only be called "it" and clearly I don't trust Eric to lead me into anything deeper. Though Eric may have some dominate traits, I doubt he identifies as a Dom. Though being submissive has sexual undertones, it is more than just sex. The last time I run into Eric we share good conversation but I don't go back to his car. He seems to know that whatever we did have, on those random nights will never happen again. I leave the club that night alone, a little sad, a little confused, but I feel empowered. Empowered if not to recognise what I do want at least to know that what Eric had to offer was not what I wanted.
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