I should start by telling you that I'm German. And before I met my husband, with eight lovers and a single orgasm and seventeen years, I was afraid I was both dissatisfied with the sex and qualified to be called a slut. I was feeling depressed. Here I was alone missing the doctor I’d broken up with, while hating the idea of being in any kind of a relationship with him. Life just did not seem to be working out. I felt I needed help.
There was a psychotherapist who posted long thoughtful replies on FetLife. He seemed both kind and understanding. He also lived 10,000 miles away and unlike most of the men who sport cock pictures, his was wonderful. It was this beautiful huge multi-colored rooster with the caption, “My obligation cock pic.” So, he was kind, thoughtful and clearly had a great sense of humor
I wrote him what I thought was just a quick question about my concerns that I attracted men who wanted to take advantage of me and in many ways abuse me and that I might be mentally ill. When I researched people involved in in the BDSM community, psychologists said they tended to be more mentally healthy, but clearly, my life was no poster child of mental health.
His response was nearly immediate and he took the time to reassure me that likely I was fine, and just needed to adjust how I looked at things. I was shocked that he responded at all. I figured he was married and even then had a lot of girlfriends around him. He asked me a few questions about my relationships and the number of lovers I’d had.
When I told him that I had had eight lovers and asked if he thought I was a slut, he amusingly answered," Was that eight before breakfast? If it is before breakfast, you might qualify as a slut, but I prefer the word love goddess and in my personal opinion, your numbers are a bit low. A real Love Goddess needs dozens of lovers and really more than a hundred should be the minimum requirement in my book.” I think I started falling in love with him right then and there.
What attracted me to him, besides his extremely intelligent posts, was a line in his profile which stated that he believed all women should be regularly double and triple penetrated to multiple orgasms. I had done neither of these things in my life, but the idea of a group of men standing around me, while two or three men were inside me, made me extremely wet. That night before I slept, I imagined this very handsome dominant man forcing me, because obviously no nice girl would do this willingly, to have sex with a group of men?!? Impossible.
The other line was him asking if I wanted to come and dance on a tropical island. Given that I love dancing, this seemed like a perfect thing to do.
I woke in the middle of the night, found my vibrator and with the fantasy of a group of men triple penetrating me endlessly ripe in my mind I took myself quickly to a stunning climax.
We wrote back and forth for a couple of months, before I became brave enough to chat online. He proved to be wonderful beyond my wildest dreams. He was very smart, funny, exceedingly polite, yet from time to time mixed in profanity in such a way that one was inclined to laugh, rather than take offense.
As we chatted on Skype, I discovered he was far more handsome than the man in the picture on this profile. We talked for hours, there never seemed to be any lag or uncomfortable silences. He was half a world away, a professional psychotherapist and so I felt safe to tell him things I could never imagine telling another person. Before long, I discovered an aching desire to be with him, even though I professed the exact opposite.
We did some medical hypnotherapy for a problem I’d had with my throat for nearly two decades. He has a voice that just sounds so soft, deep and sensual and very trustworthy. As I listened, he said, “Listen to my voice and do exactly what I say.” The image of him telling me to submit to the group of men flashed through my mind and am I allowed to try to make you believe I was only a little bit wet?
He cured that problem in my throat which over a dozen doctors and two psychiatrists had told me there was nothing wrong and they could not help me. I felt both amazed he could do this effortlessly in only two sessions and grateful that this lump was no longer threatening my life. Yes, I know a bit dramatic, but I thought I had some serious life threatening illness.
Up to meeting this man, I had dated only about ten men. Eight of these had become lovers. I was never even close to being sexually satisfied by any of them and after a year or two I would drop one and quickly take up another equally dissatisfying lover. However, life was not completely bleak, I owned my own home. I had a good job as a finance professional and had resigned myself to the idea I would never marry. But thoughts of laying in this man's arms wrapped safe and warm began to creep into my mind.
After seventeen years and so many dissatisfying lovers, I had told myself that I was not sexual, nor did I think of myself as a romantic, yet I found from time to time that romantic songs made me yearn to live them. Now suddenly, some new mushy song would come on and I would think of him. While my heart beat fast, I had a equal amount of contempt for myself. I mean No One falls in love over the internet. God, get a life. Well okay, I did not have much of one of those either, but really, fall in love on the internet? Insane and contemptible. Only a stupid girl would do that.
Still, in all this time, I had never let him know my true feelings, which now could not be ignored at all. The first day he told me he loved me, he said it quietly in a sort of matter-of-fact voice and I said," Shhhhhh, you can't say that!" But I got out of my car with my heart pounding and discovered on the walk into my office that my panties were soaking wet.
We talked on the ride home from work, as we have done every day for months at this point. He said nothing and I felt again a deep yearning and profound disappointment when he did not repeat his declaration of love, but I still did not dare to let him know how I felt.
The following morning on the way to work we talked for the full hour, like we always did. I got to work and found myself torn as to what I should say and sat there in silence for a moment. He broke the silence by saying, "Shhhhhhh." My face broke out into a huge grin it was the most romantic thing I think a man has ever said to me, more romantic than any I love you, more romantic than I want to marry you and cannot live without you. He gave me the gentlest and easiest baby step to take. I said,"Shhhhhh," back to him.
I'm sure my feet were touching the ground as I walked into the office, I mean there is gravity everywhere, isn't there? But the smile on my face and the way my heart was beating made people who've rarely talked to me ask me what had happened. Don't even know if I answered them. I did not I never stop smiling, not for the whole day. That one little Shhhhhhh was just so perfect.
So nine months after the day I began writing this mystery man, I found myself on the plane drinking a Singapore Sling. I'm thinking about lying in this man's arms in a tropical paradise. I was terrified. What if I was too fat? What if he didn't like me? What if the chemistry just wasn't there? I drank a few more of a variety of tropical drinks. I'm an accountant I'm not much of a drinker, so fortunately I fell asleep.
It had been years since I had done any international travel. The whole immigration process was a bit like being in a zoo. There were hundreds of people from what sounded like hundreds of countries, and except for a few very young and very tired children, we were all smiling.
When I came out and he was standing there, I could barely breathe. It seems like now my entire life hung in the balance. He just took me in his arms and held me. He smelled divine, no deodorant, no cologne, just him, he smelled like no man I had ever smelled before. He was decades older than I was and yet I felt no separation of age. It just felt perfect to be in his arms.
He put a single finger under my chin, lifted my face toward his and kissed me the way no man has ever kissed before. It was filled with emotion. I felt my knees go weak and like I was melting in his strong embrace.
I had known he was dominant, both from his profile and the many conversations we'd had about his past, his life and the huge number of lovers he had had. When we arrived at his rooms, he just calmly undressed me, took me over his knee and spanked me, until I was softly crying. Then he took me in his arms again, and told me that would calm me down. I was shocked to discover how calm and yet how sexually excited I was. When he moved his hands between my legs, I felt embarrassed at how soaking wet I was. He just smiled, kissed me and told me I was a good girl. "Good Girl" those words were like music to my ears and I just laid my head on his chest and wept some more, but this time in grateful relief. I’d somehow, against impossible odds, half a world away, found him.
Our two weeks together seemed both endless and far too short, but I remembered doing things I had never done with a man. When he whipped me, which was quite often, a sense of calm, being owned and in the place, I belonged washed over me. How can you feel you are deeply loved while being whipped? I have no idea, but that was exactly how I felt.
Somewhere in the last few days before I left, he quietly told me, if it weren't for the fact that I never wanted to marry, he would marry me in a heartbeat. I think for a few minutes my heart stopped beating, I did not breathe and the only thought my brain had was a repeating loop of his words, "I'd marry you in a heartbeat.”
I cried on the morning I was to leave, on the drive to the plane and on whole the plane ride home. I was sad to leave him, but ecstatic to know we had found each other and fit so well. Back at home, my life went back to its usual routine, except our talks seemed now somehow so much more intimate. Saying I love you at the end of each morning drive or before I shut my computer down for the night, was no longer forbidden, but in fact, I've made it clear it was rather required and being ever the romantic gentleman that he is, he quietly and gently complied.
During the months leading up to our meeting, he had slowly been transforming my views of both myself and myself as a sexual woman. All my life, I had worn pants and a man's shirt with padded bras to hide my nipples when I went to work, well many were blouses, but not terribly feminine.
He forbade me wearing pants and made me put on a dress, then a week later made me learn how to put my hair up in a bun similar to the one worn by Princess Grace of Monaco. I'd never been friendly with women at work, but noticed within a month that many of them began to imitate my dress. On the weekends, I was never allowed to wear a bra, or pants, or even panties. The first time I went out shopping dressed like this, protesting the entire way, I arrived back home and he made me put my hand between my legs again, and I discovered I was soaking wet.
The truth was now out, I'm an exhibitionist. I loved the attention of all of the men and quite a few women, who could not help themselves staring at my breasts, which were moving under my shirt. Just knowing that they were looking at me, made my nipples swell and become very noticeably erect, which only caused them to look more. The more I shopped, the wetter I got.
I had always walked around my house fully dressed. One day while sitting at my desk, he told me to take off my shirt. I immediately complied, there was something about this man that made you just obey him. And as I took off my shirt, I couldn't help but look around, thinking at any minute I would see faces looking in from my backyard at my naked breasts and my very hard, erect nipples.
We progressed with these activities for months. I would be at Home Depot getting something for the house and he would make me walk up to a man who looked like a contractor ask for his help and advice, then he would tell me to point toward something on the lower shelf, while bending over and making it more than easy to see my naked breasts down my very loose and very thin shirt.
There were times when I was food shopping and if the man was nearby, I would be encouraged to strike up a flirtatious conversation with him and then he would command me to bend down and scratch my knee or lower. I always felt a rush of excitement, when the man I was talking to, would suddenly stop in mid-sentence and I could hear his breath catch in his chest.
The more he commanded, the more I obeyed. He told me he found me very sexually attractive and enjoy showing me off to other men. I finally admitted to him that I loved him showing me off.
After my return home from his tropical paradise, there was construction going on at the house next-door and they had left some building materials on my property and some wood leaning up against my gate. He made me put on a dress, that when the sun was behind me, became almost completely transparent. And he made me stand in front of my large double mirror and bend over while looking at myself in the mirror. Not only could you see my naked breasts, you could see all the way down to my shaved pussy. He then commanded me to go outside and talk to the four construction workers about the material on my lawn and leaning up against my gate.
While I was there, he told me to act like I had bug bites on my calves and shins, so I had to bend over and rub them frequently. He made me linger while the men moved the materials and took the wood from off of my gate, when I got back inside I was shaking and again soaking wet.
I had complained to him about how my gate seem to be falling off its hinges, and he had me take the key, go out and undo to the lock, open the gate and show him what was wrong. It turned out there was nothing wrong with the hinges, but that the screws had started to come loose.
He had me go back in the house and get some toothpicks and a screwdriver, then go back out. Well because the gate was so heavy, he made me ask the workers to come over and help me, while making sure I bent over in such a way they could look down my dress, and because the dress was so short, that if I reached my arms up to use the screwdriver, while bent over, the dress rode up halfway on my bottom, well okay I had to hunch my shoulders a bit, but he knew this and explained exactly what to do. He apparently knew a lot of very experienced exhibitionists in his life. I was still soaking wet and I am sure that the men could see that clearly, which only make me wetter.
After the gate was fixed, he told me that perhaps I should take the men into my side yard, behind the fence and gate and get down on my knees and thank them properly.
I didn't dare, but once back in the house and back on Skype, he and I begin to talk about what had happened.