“I am Your Only Slut”

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I don’t mean to brag, but Lo and I are compatible on a very deep and significant level. We have a relationship that is based on trust, love, and consent. That doesn’t mean that we don’t have our squabbles, our lover’s quarrels, our blow-outs. But when a couple gets each other on such a deep-seated plane, then all that stuff seems like small stuff and every once in a while, just to keep things really interesting, one or the other party has to do something really, really bad.

This happened for each of us a couple of weeks ago. My turn first.

Lo was out at a party and I had opted to stay home. I just wasn’t feeling in the party mood. She asked me to wait up for her, but every half hour or so past ten, she texted to say she would be “just a little later.”

I amused myself with writing, reading, watching my guilty pleasure when Lo is not around, Weeds, and then checking my e-mail every so often. At one point I noticed that a fellow blogger, a bloggette whom many of my readers probably know, was on-line and up for chatting. In order to protect the guilty, let’s call her Formore, as in, she’s always up for more sex. So, Formore and I started chatting amicably and innocently enough, as we often have in the past, and the time was growing from later and later in the night to earlier in the morning. At some point I said to her, “What’s keeping you up so late?” She responded with, “I’m distracted. Enjoying some midnight snacking eye-candy.” She continued, “The roommate just went to bed and I’m just waiting for her to fall asleep cause, you know, noises in the apartment carry.”

“Naughty,” I wrote back.

She then sent me a link to the “distraction.” It was chock full of naked men and women from the top of my screen all the way down.

The exchange continued like this:

me: You and Lo really have to meet. I’ve said it before — it’s like you’re twins. She’s read your stuff and agrees with me. If anything, believe it or not, she would SO like me to be more “aggressive” with her. I’m sure that many of the stern dealings of your Sir would make her head spin! I’m too much more of a gentle soul. I just don’t have it in me.

Formore: Not everyone has that inclination. It’s nothing bad. And Lo seems to like you just fine. :]

me: Oh how Lo craves for me to lead her by her leash.

Formore: Is it the puppy mentality that does it for her, or just submission?

Me: A little from column A and a little from column B.

Formore: mmhmm

me: Are you perusing with the help of any toys? If I may be so bold to ask. . .

Ok, I admit it; that’s where I crossed a line. I definitely crossed a line. In retrospect, I should not have been so bold to ask. But the response shot back was:

Formore: You may. My vibrating bullet.

Me: Nothing more painful than that?

Formore: no, no. I’m not trying to alert the national guard… if I just use my bullet… I can manage myself.

Me: Ha! You have permission to climax?

You see, Formore’s “Sir” plays along with her desire for a very cruel dom to her sub and forbids her, on many an occasions, from cumming, either alone or with him.

Formore: Right now? Yes. I’m free for the night because I was such a sweetheart yesterday and today.

Me: Too bad.

Another line crossed.

Formore: Does the thought of my deprivation amuse you, my dear?

Me: “Amuse”? No. It delights me.

And another.

Formore: I’m not surprised.

Me: I think you should not be allowed to go full throttle tonight.

Formore: and why is that?

Me: Call it a sadistic streak in me.

Formore: Worry not. Soon enough, I’m sure I’ll slip up and find myself on punishment.

Me: So, you won’t hold back on my account, then?

Formore: If you asked me nicely, I might. :P

I certainly was far, far on the other side of that line now, and Formore, for her part, was taunting me, teasing me, and daring me to continue down that naughty path. Not surprising really, since she was thrown out of a sex-addiction rehab for, why else?- having sex with the other addicts!

Me: What if I told you not-so-nicely? What if I told you to slap it till it hurt, but not cum?

Formore: Well, you’re more than welcome to try. I am… very willful. And Sir’s little bit of property, lest we forget… but… you could try and I might comply. :]

me: Well, you little slut, slap it!

Formore: hmmmm. Maybe a little bit.

Me: Hard.

Formore: hard?

Me: Very.

Formore: I do enjoy that, you know.

Me: I know. And so now you’re being very, very bad. Something you’ll have to confess to Sir, and be punished very very severely. But, don’t stop. Whore.

I was being rather daring and using the vocabulary that I knew she enjoyed.

Formore: Does it excite you to know the kind of base and brutal punishment I will receive for this?

Me: Oh yes, and to know how much you will enjoy it.

Formore: mhm

me: No going over the edge.

Formore: You’ve presented me with a problem.

Me: What’s that?

Formore: Better to say to my darling: I came even though he told me not to, but I came from an action he encouraged me to do; or better to say I didn’t cum… and he told me not to.

I liked how she turned this into a lovely little logic game.

Me: A fine little quandary. Don’t cum. I want you to suffer — now and later.

Formore: And here you proclaimed not to have it in you.

Me: I’m practicing.

This was true. I was practicing. But the greater truth was that I really didn’t need the practice. Lo keeps my skills in tip-top condition. I was indulging the opportunity. Here was Opportunity and I was knocking on her door.

Me: Are your hands wet from the slaps?

Formore: Yes.

me: Have you cum?

Formore: Not yet.

Me: Good girl. Pull out your dildo and use that now.

Formore: ah… I will cum then.

Me: There’s the rub! Pull it out. Stick it in. Don’t cum. Don’t scream.

(After this last communique, the record shows that a period of five minutes elapsed before the next message was received from Formore.)

Formore: right near the edge

me: Dildo in hand?

Formore: yes

me: Good girl. Now, no cumming till morning. Then full confession. I want to read all about it later, on your blog. Nighty night. J

Formore: We’ll see. Good night.

Me: It has been.

Now, not that the following is exculpatory, for it certainly is not, but I might say on my behalf that I certainly didn’t have to bring the chat to an abrupt end. From all that Formore indicated, she was willing to go on edging with me indefinitely. And, from learning about her through her writing, I fully believe she was capable of sustaining that painful-pleasurable predicament till sun-up! But, I chose — I willingly and consciously chose — to say my goodnight, knowing full well that to continue in that vein would certainly be a very guilty pleasure.

Lo didn’t get home for another hour or so. By that time, I was in bed and very, very hard-up for her. She got undressed and slid into bed as I pretended to be asleep. She grabbed my cock and began sucking it in the darkness, saying, “Oh, Daddy.” She then slithered her mouth up to mine and kissed me and said, “Are you awake, Daddy?”

Again, I feigned grogginess and said that we should sleep. I like to make her beg. She slid her torso down on my manhood and began riding me. She leaned forward so her erect nipples just barely caressed my chest. She whispered to me, “Did you have a good night?”

“I missed you,” I said.

“What did you do?”

“Watched TV, read, wrote.”

“Did you jack it?”

“No!”

“Did you chat with anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Just Formore a little.”

That seemed to suffice. She didn’t ask any more and as she was sliding up and down on my pole, dripping wet all over my thighs, I wasn’t about to make a full confession right then and there. Since we share our special e-mail, I felt for sure she would eventually find the chat and we could talk about it then.

Sure enough, the next morning, I was up early, enjoying my morning cup-a-Joe and reading the paper when suddenly Lo came stomping down the hallway, buck naked, and stopped in the living room, standing over me. Were she not looking like she was about to bite off the head of a bear, she would have been incredibly sexy and irresistible.

“What the fuck!?” she screamed.

“What?” I said, naively.

“What the fuck is your fucking chat with Formore from last night?!”

“It was nothing.”

“You better have more to say than that.”

She stood there, naked, awaiting a response. Silence.

The silence wore me down. I confessed. I told her that I was just “practicing,” and that Formore was just playing along.

“You were having internet sex with her!”

Technically. . . yes. I suppose that since I was on one end of the long-distance dialogue, cock in hand, and she was on the other end, dildo in puss, then, yes, we were having internet sex. Shit. Was it worth this? No, no it wasn’t. I was clearly in some very major shit.

After a long, much more reasonably adjusted decibel level discussion, we both got at the root of the problem. For Lo, that little “innocent” chat indicated something much more worrisome — that I might not be fully satisfied in our relationship. That I might be straying. That was not the case, I assured her. For me, it was a dalliance. A fun little diversion while I awaited her return.

The big problem was that she had made it very, very clear in the past — no sex! None. Virtual or otherwise. Vorboten. Not allowed. RED LINE. I had transgressed that line and so I spent the rest of the day in contrition.

Of course, that night, as I made love to her she whispered in my ear, “I am the only one you call ‘whore.’” And, “I am the only one you say ‘good girl’ to.” And “I am your only slut.”

[Excerpt from the story, “ Silver Fox, Mynx, and the Hunter: Part I — The Games We Play,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail: downloladown@gmail.com

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