Slut Wife - A Submissive Tale

I like to be dominated.

Not all the time mind you, but once in a while I get the driving urge to be submissive to a strong master. I have never found a man that can be a "normal" long-term partner and really convincingly switch to dominant. Having them be separate men seems preferable to me anyway.

I am an attractive woman and have always known it. Some people think recognizing that makes me stuck up or self centred. All I am saying is that I can look in a mirror and see that I am more than a little bit pretty. I am 5'7" with straight dark brown hair (almost black) and big green eyes. I am fit and slender but curvy with a medium sized onion booty and perky 34D boobs. Physically I am the whole package. Ever since I was 15 years men have been looking at me more than the other girls. I am used to boys/men being solicitous with me. They are always eager to please and loath to say or do anything that might put me off. They fall over themselves to respond to any desire or displeasure I express.

I guess my parents were fairly permissive as well. It wasn't a pretty princess kind of upbringing, just very laizzes-faire. But they were straight-up with me. Mom told me I was a lot better looking than most and there was no point denying it but that doesn't make me better than anyone else. She was right on both counts.

I know guys are giving me special attention and I use it to my advantage sometimes but I see it for what it is. Having people always trying to do what pleases me and telling me what I want to hear isn't the worst problem in the world. Yet that is not the person I am and it can be a barrier to personal connection. I get real pleasure and fulfillment from giving to others. I don't want to live in a bubble.

In socialization terms I am a beta. Relatively strong and secure, I just have a natural affinity for the role of follower. I don't crave power or authority. I crave acceptance and accomplishment which cannot be found in meaningless obsequious compliments. The only way I know for sure that I am giving pleasure is to spread my legs. And so I have fucked a lot of guys. Women especially assume I am insecure and am seeking male validation. Actually by casting themselves as subservient most men put themselves in the role of inferior and therefore not a legitimate source of validation anyway. What I am chasing is the opportunity to please and serve.

Of course, some guys come across as stronger and more confident. But once they get a taste they eventually obsess over me and either become like the others or behave like possessive selfish assholes. Obviously I am not unique in my attraction to confident authoritative men. But they seem more elusive for me than most or maybe I want more. Even the men who are confident with my friends become stuttering sycophants when they see me in a bikini. I enjoy a position of strength while craving to be taken in handed and submitted.

I first became consciously aware of this aspect of my personality when I was dating a man named Paul. He was a graduate student when I was a sophomore in university. Paul was not dominant per se, at least not in the way that I have subsequently come to crave. He was just more authoritative than the boys I had dated before him.

Paul and I met at a typical university party. We had been dating for a couple weeks when we both had to do some shopping. I was anxious to check-out a new store and he came with me. I tried on a nice sundress and was probably trying to seem more mature than I was when I asked him if it made me look sexy. His immediate response was "It's nice...but sexy? No."

Before he could say anything more I threw a hissy fit dragging out every trope in the book. "You aren't supposed to say that to a woman." "Women aren't obliged to dressy up slutty for misogynist men." "I am not just a sex object." "Men are pigs." Blah, blah, blah. To be honest I had never thought much about what those things meant. They had just been drilled into me by feminist culture. If I am honest with myself I was being bitchy and counting on the fact that men always caved in to me. Even if he had caved in and told me what I wanted to hear I wouldn't have believed him at that point so it would have been nothing more than an opportunity to give him shit again.

Paul just said. "No your wrong. I didn't say any of those things. You asked if I find it sexy and the answer is no. Pretty yes, but not sexy." Then he said. "I am leaving. I'll go get the car. If you want a ride home I'll be in front of the store in 10 minutes." He turned and left.

I scrambled back to the change room completely forgetting about any interest in shopping. And I made sure to be out front in 10 minutes feeling very solicitous. When I got in the car we were silent until we were close to my apartment. I started to speak. "I'm sorry for overreacting, its just that..."

He cut me off. "No 'just' anything. You are gorgeous and you know it. I don't mind telling you that because its true. But I have no interest in lying to you or in having you tell me what I should find sexy. I am not and have never tried to compel you to dress one way or another. You are the one who asked."

"I am sorry." After a long pause I asked. "What is the difference between pretty and sexy?"

"Pretty is what your girlfriends find attractive. Flowers are pretty. Scenery is pretty. Sexy is what a guy finds attractive and makes him want to fuck you. And no I don't mean a boob tube and stripper heels. I am not some ridiculous caricature of a man or sitcom buffoon. Sexy is a look and attitude that you exude."

"I see. I guess I don't understand the male perspective very well." I said fishing for a compliment or reassurance.

"Have you asked a man?" He asked.

The conversation pretty much fizzled out right there because the answer was obviously "no" and we had arrived at my place. For some reason I was horny as hell. I didn't even really know why but I was determined to get him inside and once inside I was determined to please him sexually. I practically begged for the opportunity and enjoyed the begging almost as much as the fucking. In retrospect it was about him exercising control in that situation. It wasn't that he said anything particularly insightful. But by refusing to put up with my bullshit he showed me that he wouldn't just give me favour to fuck me. Talking to me like a real person including expressing his annoyance established a level of respect for me - he didn't simply see me as a walking pussy to be kept happy for continued access. That raised my respect for him and opened the door to real communication. My desire to please him was overwhelming. I might go so far as to say that it was the first time I had sex where I felt like I wanted a guy as much as he wanted me and we were equals.

This minor event was nothing special but it was new for me. As we continued dating for the rest of that school year I learned what it was like to be with a male that was closer to man than boy. Frankly I still had the upper hand, so to speak, most of the time. But there was a basic recognition that he knew who he was and wouldn't get so enamoured with the pussy that he would forget it. Perhaps I was bullshitting myself but it gave me a sense of having substance.

I started to recognize the occasions where he exercised authority as something I really enjoyed. The desire to please wasn't exclusive to sexuality. But it was evident that Paul preferred a woman with a mature perspective on sexuality - not compliant or out of the pages of Penthouse Letters but not sophomoric either. The reality that my attitudes about sexuality were almost exclusively gleaned from 21 year old and younger girls suddenly seemed embarrassingly naive. I kept returning in my own mind to the question of what is sexy because that is what I wanted to be for him.

So what is sexy? I can only offer my own opinion, but I don't think it is something you put on like clothing or specific actions you can undertake. The word itself makes clear that it has something to do with sex appeal and that, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. While I don't feel constrained to a male perspective it would be pretty fatuous to ignore it given that they are the relevant "beholders' for a heterosexual woman. If a group of guys got together and tried to tell women which guy among them was sexiest or what the criteria should be we would fall over laughing. Yet, at the time that is more or less what most of the girls I knew did, including getting angry at the men who didn't agree. We hid behind the notion that guys just wanted us to be slutty and therefore their perspective should simply be dismissed as sexist and irrelevant. We wanted to be desired...but only if we could tell men what they should desire.

Physical appeal is a factor in being sexy but most people agree it is more about attitude, confidence and a sense of self. While it isn't something you put on, the choices you make say something about all those things. And what to wear is one of the choices we make. Dressing like a tramp to cater to a misogynist view of the world doesn't project confidence or a sense of self. But neither does dressing down to avoid the judgment of other women. A sexy woman makes her own choices. And if she chooses to take the views of others into account it is to reward those who have earned her favour, not to avoid the judgment of those who pressure her into compliance. The dress that I tried on that day for Paul didn't say, "I want you and I know what you like." It said, "I want you to like what I know my girlfriends would like." Not the same thing at all. Pretty but not sexy. He didn't try to compel me to be otherwise. He just had the confidence and sense of self not to be induced into lying to me.

He graduated and moved away at the end of that semester and we broke up amicably.

Over the next two years I dated a lot of guys. No different than a lot of girls I suppose but I really felt like I was all over the place, vacillating between nice traditional guys and ones that I thought would be dominant. I always thought that I had my mind made up only to tire of one "type" and crave the other. I learned that my desire is for both not one or the other. I also learned that aggression and arrogance and antisocial behaviour don't have much, if anything, to do with dominance. You can't bench press your way into being a dominant man and a big ass truck won't help much either. Most of the guys that I thought of as dominant were really just bad boys, posers, loners or self important. Still I enjoyed most of them. The sex was mostly good and I learned a lot about what I like and don't like. By the time I graduated I still hadn't found the Dom I was looking for, but I had come to understand that my desire to submit to him was undeniable.

After graduation I got a job working as a junior marketing manager in a big multinational company in Chicago. It was a new city and a new life. At first I just dated "regular" guys, frequently more than one at a time. I had no interest in commitment and interesting opportunities fell in my lap daily.

Meanwhile, I made a conscious decision to be more methodical in seeking my Dom. I signed up for a number of fetish dating sites and took my time to learn the ropes (no pun intended). Most guys just wanted to tie me up or do things like that. I have always been more interested in the psychological side of things and many told me I am not a real Sub, whatever that means. For me the point is to please the man who can take me in hand regardless of whether that means making him dinner or letting him tie me up.

It was a good six months before I went on any dates with potential Doms. I always started with a get to know them meeting in a public place with no domination and no commitments. It didn't go well. A lot of the guys were, in my opinion, frauds. They just wanted someone to use and abuse and feed their own egos. I guess that isn't fair. Maybe I was a fraud because I wasn't really into BDSM or anything extreme and I was no more interested in their needs than they were in mine. I just wanted a safe harbour where I could cede control for a short while.

That is when I met Carlos, the love of my life. He is ten years my senior. I met him when we were both attending different conferences at the same complex. He is a research professor at a top flight university. A brilliant man.

At the time I wasn't looking for anything. He was a charming handsome Spaniard. I eagerly went for a roll in the hay with him thinking that was all it would be. The fact is that I had been with a few latin men and the macho bravado usually gives way pretty quickly to a jealous double standard. After they have fucked me a few times my sexual promiscuity suddenly becomes a bit too much to accept.

Carlos wasn't like that. He wasn't like most academics either. I think it is fair to say that most academics are comparatively intelligent. But they excel by taking all of their energy and intelligence and focussing it on one area of expertise (to the exclusion of all others) as opposed to being truly brilliant.

I was thrown for a loop by Carlos right from the outset. His exceptional intelligence was disarmingly sexy but he was no egg head. He stands 6' tall and 190 lbs., fit, tanned and handsome. He speaks five languages and can talk dirty in all of them. Carlos had a way of talking about sexual attraction without seeming creepy. Within 12 hours of meeting him he had me in his hotel room slowly undressing me, lingering over every inch of my body, taking his time with every button, carefully peeling off my stockings, tracing the edge of my panties delicately until I was almost ready to beg him to peel them off of me. His gentle actions led me precisely where he wanted me to go. At long last. He was the first man who gave me the opportunity to simply follow. That is what held me to him from the first moment. He knew I wanted to be led.

He talked to me all the while praising my long slender legs, caressing and squeezing my tits and pinching my nipples just the right amount. He stripped me down to just my heels and instructed me to keep them on. Then he instructed me to keep my legs spread wide while he undressed for me. I eagerly obeyed as I watched him unveil his smooth bronzed body. He had a light layer of dark body hair but was impeccably groomed from head to toe. His cock and balls were shaven for maximum effect. He was close to 8" erect with a slight curve upward. His balls hung heavy with the load of semen waiting for me. I could almost taste it as I watched him but did not want to break the spell of my submission.

Carlos kneeled between my legs and kissed my excited pussy. I shiver went through me as he ran his tongue vertically up my labia and tweaked my clit. And another surged stronger as he pressed his tongue deeper to part my lips. When he pulled my clit into his mouth and gently sucked it to firmness as I involuntarily arched my back and moved my own hands onto my tits - first needing them then tugging on my hard nipples. Carlos smiled at me watching my every move and every reaction to find the things that I liked. By the time Carlos had explored my body for 20 minutes he knew me better than any man. He was maybe the first man to really focus on learning my body rather than simply using it or assuming what I would like.

Our first sex was slow and gentle. After he had my pussy fully engorged and running free with my juices he stood and brought himself erect between my legs. He told me to pull my knees to my shoulders then painted the surface of my hungry pussy with his beautiful cock. He gently stroked it first then smacked my pussy playfully with his manhood before easing it in to me. Carlos expertly switched between focussing on my clit then my g-spot so as to keep the physical sensation stirring in me. Sometimes pulling back and teasing me and other times plunging into me until I was filled with him. All the while he touched me all over tracing his fingers up the back of my legs, squeezing my tits, touching my clit. He talked to me too. Connecting us as he fucked me. Telling me how exquisite my body is, expounding on how tight and wonderful my pussy felt around his cock, praising the site of a sexually wanton woman, even acknowledging a woman's need for abundant male attention to partake of her pleasures and give it back to her.

Carlos knew that I liked to be told what to do almost from the first instant. He kept finding ways to give me instruction so that I might have the pleasure of obeying. "Spread your legs this way, now put them in the air, squeeze your tits, touch you clit." He wound me up slowly and when he could tell my orgasm was creeping up from the depths of my loins he pushed my knees back towards my shoulders again and mounted me. His powerful body pinned me in place as his cock pounded into me and his pubic bone ground into my clit. He seemed to have endless control saving the best until he could see that my orgasm had arrived. With my head thrown back and my back arched I let out a long slow moan. My body yielded completely to my slutty desires as this stranger wrapped his arms around my torso and thighs. Holding me like a folded up suitcase he fucked me harder and as my body descended into quivering orgasm he pumped my slutty pussy full of his semen.

I felt slutty in the best possible way. A woman used, yes, but by a man who appreciates me and gave as much pleasure as he received.

When he was done fucking me for the first time Carlos suggested that we go have a bite to eat. He took me to a nice romantic restaurant where we had a lovely meal before heading back to his hotel room for another round. He fuck me several more times that night and the following day. And all the while he led the way, gently instructing me where to go or what to do next. The experience with Carlos was like none I had ever had before, but by the end of that weekend I still fully expected it to be a short-term affair. He would soon pass judgment on me for enjoying the sex that he had so expertly coaxed from me, or so I thought.

For a man as intelligent as Carlos it is often difficult to fit into regular society. He perceives things so acutely that he is often unable to accept the little half-truths, distortions and delusions that get most people through life. It is more than just being smart and educated - many of his colleagues are as narrow in their perspective as anyone and frankly more susceptible to the myopia that comes with hubris.

He doesn't view himself as any more perfect than others, just more accepting of his imperfection. This is the root of what turned out to be one of the most surprising things about Carlos. He is firmly opposed to monogamy. Not for all of society just for himself. It's not that he is oblivious to emotional complexities or feels he can overcome them with intellect. Quite the opposite he feels as though he has very little control over those things but equally cannot turn off his awareness of the little delusions that come with monogamy. He recognizes that both genders crave variety of sexual partners. He also recognizes that sexual pleasure is more elusive for women and sexual opportunities more abundant. Restraining the female's sexual horizons to assuage his own insecurities seems to him profoundly selfish and he frankly doesn't want the responsibility of being a woman's only source of sexual pleasure.

He freely admits that keeping his own horizons open is a factor, but it is more than just sex. Carlos travels and gets involved in a wide variety of personal interests. He wants the latitude to focus on his own sources of happiness and know that his partner is doing the same rather than waiting at home for his attention. And his sexual appetites are varied. He has a preference for women but has enjoyed sexual interaction with men as well and sees the definition of his sexuality as irrelevant other than as a means for society to decide how much discrimination to apply.