BDSM Diary

DEBORAH

I signed up for F*tLi*e. That was the first significant move on my fledgling BDSM voyage. A nice, polite bio and some photos of me (extremely sexy, of course) and a few of my, at this stage, small collection of kinky weapons. While I didn’t have much equipment, apart from the reasonably sized and decently girthed pussy crusher between my legs, I did have a remarkably well endowed imagination. I’ve always been creative. My career in broadcasting and journalism demonstrates evidence of that, and also evidence of my ego. This may have hindered my early exploration into this new and exciting world because I genuinely expected submissive women to come flooding like a tsunami of squirt into my DM’s. As LogansRun63 I described myself as a “Sadist” having decided that Daddy Dom was too presumptuous due to my truly exceptional lack of experience. To be honest, at this stage, I was better qualified to be a NASA Astronaut than a BDSM Master, but hey, you’ve got to start somewhere.

F*tL*fe is great as a discussion forum, and as a bonding arena for deviants, like me. It also provides a steady stream of hard core pictures on your newsfeed but, to be honest, after a while one gets a bit bored with vaginal and anal close ups. One puckering arsehole looks very much like another and it’s fine, and arousing in its own way, but I wanted the real thing. You know, engorged flesh beneath my whips and clips, groans and squeals of pain, a restrained submissive playmate coming close to uttering a safe word while simultaneously knowing that she isn’t far from losing herself in the nirvana of subspace.

With actual people there is anticipation, so delicious. The senses are invigorated. I wanted the warmth and gloriously salt tinged taste of squirt on my fingers, my tongue and in my mouth. To feel a woman reacting to my touch, obeying my commands. To be thanked for every punishment. To be able to gaze into her eyes, her pupils dilating with a glistening sheen, hypnotised by lust and desire. To know that I am in control of her pain and pleasure, the absolute Master of her sexual destiny. The soft cruelty of orgasm denial knowing that, when I allow it, the juicy tremors will take her to a land of dizzy euphoria.

In the long term I found that the best way to explore, and to get a response, was through the vast substrata of the ‘Groups’ section on F*tL*fe. It’s mind blowing really. When I last looked there were 198,703 options under titles like, “Sluts, cunts and whores...Are you one? Do you want one?”, “Riggers and Ropesluts”, “Squirty Girls”, “24/7 Sperm Dump Bitches”, “Facesitting”, Queening and Smothering”, “Cuckold and Femdom”, “Sissies and Sissy Maids”, and that’s just a selection from the first page! I know most of the terms now but, at this point, from a BDSM perspective, I was still in the birth canal, in fact I was still a single sperm swimming furiously upstream hunting the golden egg. Yes, that naive. I did a lot of Googling.

The Group Titles did remind me of an old joke:

Man: I’ve just spent £6,000 on one of those sex phone lines

His Mate: £6,000? Seriously? How did you manage that?

Man: It was my own fault. I called “Stuttering Sluts”

I joined, “Sadists and Masochists”, “F*tL*fe Personals”, and “Daddy/Girl Ireland”, amongst an initial selcection of 21 groups and I was about to post a couple of ads when a message, much to my surprise, appeared on my feed,

“Hi. I’m a brat. Anyone want to chat?”

So we did, and she was definitely a brat, in fact, I’d say she was a super brat. Clearly submissive but I suspected she’d be very hard to deal with, and my instincts were right. I looked at her handle (Witch_Bitch) and saw that she was local, very local, in fact she lived in my town. We exchanged messages for quite a long time, with both of us knowing we were, geographically, about a mile apart, however, sexually, we were already inside each other’s pants. There was a sizzling, but for now, unrequited sexual tension. After a few weeks of toing and froing, and cancelled proposed meeting dates, which included a vast panoply of excuses from her (Did she really want to hook up, or was her kink driving a man to lust driven insanity?) By this stage, during our hot text sessions, I had leaked a tank full of pre-cum into my under clothes. I needed to feel this woman. Wanking is fine but the problem is it’s me doing it!

After several postponements we finally met at a forest car park. Deborah, as I’ll call her, was wearing a very short skirt and had the most amazingly muscular body. Thighs that could crush an Iranian regime and breasts that could have been weaponised for the final attack.

The brat in Deborah was all about the “tease”, and trying to push a man to the limits of his psychological endurance. Deborah, in this respect, was clearly a seasoned campaigner. We had a vanilla walk and talk but that edgy, horny tension was very much there. We got back to the car and she got in, making sure that her short skirt rode up her chiselled thighs to just below the panty line. Well, to be more accurate, where the panty line should have been. My lips tightened and my own panties felt a familiar strain. I could just see the magical apex where the legs join the lower swelling of the labia. Suddenly, Deborah grabbed my hand and thrust it between her legs, making sure that I was free to drive as many fingers as possible into her impossibly wet hole. We’d only met and here I was four digits deep, my fingers sloshing in and out of her par boiled pussy. I was quite shocked to see an expressionless look on Deborah’s face, but she was communicating a message, along the lines of, “Feeling lucky punk? Anything else, Daddy, you are going to have to work hard for.”

Deborah turned out to be a control freak, who, as a kinky contrast, wanted to lose all control. I was to discover that brats really aren’t my thing. Yes, a little bit of pouty mouth and resistance is sexy but Deborah took it to a very resistant level. Honestly, I did my best, and we had a lot of fun, but my God it wears you down.

Deborah wanted to draw up a BDSM contract, which we did, but only after many Deborah enforced rewrites and corrections. Tiny details, but she insisted that until our contract was signed there’d be no play. See what I mean when I say Super Brat? Jeez it was testing, but eventually signatures were applied in an Italian restaurant in our wee town. I wrote, “Pasta Perverts” at the top of the contract.

It had been agreed that, for our first date under contract, Daddy would enjoy a ‘Dare Night’ with me having first dibs. I made Deborah wear a remote vibrator and, of course, I had the control. At last I saw nervousness in her expression, a light dancing in her eyes. Of course, every time the female waitress came to the table in the Italian, Deborah expected me to trigger the remote. Daddy enjoyed her trepidation immensely and I imagined her tensing the fleshy walls of her damp pussy in anticipation of me activating the device. But I didn’t, and after a while, I looked at the remote in my hand and said, “This bloody thing. I charged it but it’s not working. For fuck sake!” Deborah said, “I wondered why you hadn’t used it. You’ve had me on edge for hours.” I puffed an exasperated breath and said, with resignation, “Maybe next time. It was a cheap one off Amazon.”

We ate and drank, and chatted. My house was next and our first proper night of kinky play. We dropped into a nearby off licence to get some more alcoholic fuel and, at the very busy check out, as Deborah asked about the price, I unleashed the full power of my not so cheap remote vibrator. Deborah yelped and the couple next to her, wide eyed, rocked onto their heels, mouths open. Daddy was in no mood to relent and I kept switching the device from setting to setting at a voracious tempo.

Deborah hurriedly dropped the bottle of wine on the counter and shuffled out of the off licence, moving like a constipated duck, with both hands between her legs as she tried to numb the feeling and drown the buzzing noise. I followed Deborah out, my howling laughter somehow failing to lighten her mood. For Daddy, the first play date was going well.

Deborah, however, was less than amused. I had, according to her, sexually mugged her in public. Super Brat had kicked in. There was a little horseplay back at my house. At one point, while watching gang bang porn on my extremely illegal fire stick (173 hard core channels, thank you very much) I managed to get a fair bit of my right foot a considerable distance into her pussy. It was very horny, but left me with sticky toes.

Deborah wanted to stay. We were both quite pissed, the bottle of wine in my fridge replacing the one abandoned in the off licence by my flustered playmate. “No touching. Just sleep”, said the brat. It’s all about consent, so I reluctantly agreed, and started scrolling on my phone. Deborah thought it was funny to knock the phone out of my hand. Over and over again, “Deborah, stop that. It is becoming seriously irritating”, but she persisted, and persisted. I had hoped to take Deborah to bed to get my cock rising, but all that was rising right now was my temperature and boiling point was fast approaching. “Seriously Deborah, wise up”. She smirked, and I lost it.

I jumped from the bed and pounced, genuinely perturbed. Deborah was wearing a pair of my pyjama bottoms and she struggled like hell, her magnificent thighs propelling kicking feet. Fortunately, as a former power lifter and body builder, I had plenty of strength to deal with her, the situation turbo charged by her ability to irritate.

The pyjamas were off and I wrestled the protesting bitch over my knee. I spanked her into oblivion, pinning her down hard, and delivering an open palm of fury accompanied by Daddy telling Deborah exactly why she deserved such a cruel beating. Of course, this had been exactly what Super Brat wanted, but there were tears in her eyes when I finished. I wasn’t sure who was more worthy of a visit to Accident and Emergency. Me for potential wrist ligament damage, or her for severe, soon to be yellow and purple bruising.

Deborah inspected her gorgeous ass in the bedroom mirror. It was very red and very hot. Probably hotter than the re entry heat shield on Artemis. Deborah looked at me and pretended to admonish me but I could see something else in her eyes. This was good news and bad news. Good in that it opened the door to plenty of future kinky play, but bad in that it had triggered emotion in my Iron Lady. Would this shift her desire for an unattached BDSM liason into something deeper. If so how would we navigate that?

Our first truly serious play date was interesting. Deborah loved to be restrained and spanked and, like most brats, she gave me plenty of real reasons for her brutal punishments. I think when you mean the emotion, as opposed to manufacture it, you do strike with much more purpose and aggression. Deborah kept Daddy in an almost perpetual state of annoyance and the severity of her beatings reflected my irritation. I never tired of whipping her beautifully rounded and pert ass. The muscles on her crafted thighs extended to her buttocks, which were firmer than Mike Tyson’s handshake.

However Deborah had a particular fetish. She loved having her pussy filled, and I mean filled. I was creative and she enjoyed everything that I threw at her, or more appropriately stuffed into her. On one occasion I pushed two large ice cubes, a long cold chain and my mega throbbing cock into her pussy and fucked her hard. There was a surprising amount of room. Was I shagging a woman or the inside of the Sydney Opera House? With the heat and friction the ice cubes slowly dissolved and cold water dribbled across her labia, onto her legs and my over my balls. Incredibly erotic. I had expected the chain to chafe my manhood, like steely sandpaper but it was surprisingly pleasant as the silver links moved easily within her pussy, lubricated further by the melting ice. We both orgasmed and I imagined Leonardo Di Caprio and Kate Winslett screaming in unison in the hard core version of Titanic. By the way did you know there’s a porn version of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang about crap group sex. It’s called, ‘Pretty Shitty Gang Bang’. I told you this blog would be funny.

Of course, as so often happens in BDSM relationships, what you experiment with that may seem outrageous at the time, soon becomes the new normal. We go further don’t we? Push the boundaries. The pussy filling fun turned into a quest. It was by no means extreme, in that I didn’t find myself up to my armpit in pussy with my shoulder pressing against her clitoris. However we did go searching for, and found, some huge toys and we were both fascinated by how much rubber, silicone and flesh her lady parts could consume.

During one play date we had an octopus monster dildo (fortunately without a chainsaw), an eight inch vibrator and my cock all inside her at the same time. Deborah’s pussy was busier than the Piccadilly Line at rush hour, but how she loved it, and I loved the pleasure it brought her.

Sadly our mini adventure was just that. It lasted four play dates. We had just finished a very intense session, with both of us lying panting and satisfied on my bed having sent various over sized toys, like coal miners, into very dark corners – places where Canaries dared to tread.

Deborah looked at me and said, “This is too much. I wanted an attached/unattached BDSM relationship, but now it’s becoming blurred for me. I’m feeling the start of an emotional attachment. I don’t want that.”

She called a taxi, collected her things and, when the taxi arrived, she looked at me, said goodbye and, without a backward glance, climbed into the car. I never saw her again.

Reflection: Deborah’s control freakery. She had told me that she had been raped as a child by a family member who wasn’t much older than her. The abuse lasted for several years. Deborah, during one deep discussion, told me she thought that her desire to deeply frustrate men to the point of explosion was very much connected to that horrific experience. Deborah wanted ultimate control in sexual situations, something that she hadn’t been able to do while she was being abused. However, the dichotomy was that Deborah, at her core, was submissive and wanted to satisfy her sexual desires, and so her super brat was born. This seemed to bring order to her internal chaos.