1 comments/ 20803 views/ 0 favorites Educating Bunny By: Lilithanna I had my finger on the delete button when my dom Race popped in for a chat on IM. I hadn't heard from him for nearly two months, and was tired of waiting for him to contact me for a session as his submissive. I already had abandonment issues, and I didn't know if he was playing on them sadistically or if he was just too busy. "How are you?" he asked. "OK ... it's been a while ..." I replied coldly. I felt hurt; he had told me that even though we weren't exclusive, he cared about me infinitely. It had never gone this long between sessions. "I've been getting killed at work, sorry," he cooed. At 26, Race was an up-and-coming junior partner in his father's top-notch law firm in Boston. He was passionate about the law, about helping the little guy, and over time I fell hard for his charm, intelligence, wit, and character. He seemed to always be direct and open with me about his life, answering any questions and never making me feel inadequate when I worried that I was, especially about my age or lack of recent sex. He was my first BDSM experience, and I put him on a pedestal. He was a god to me, and I wanted to please him. I wanted to be perfect for him even if we could never be together in a committed relationship. At the beginning, after meeting through an online cougar dating site, we were having two play sessions a week. I wondered how he could have the time to instruct me while at the office, so I wasn't too surprised when I didn't hear from him as often a few months, after he switched to working for billable hours. Most sessions were about training me - both in submissiveness and in anal masturbation. I bought beads, plugs, nipple clamps, and practiced as instructed. I began to thoroughly enjoy myself, more so because it pleased him to know my orgasms were becoming more and more intense especially with the double stuffing. We rarely did scenes and he never seemed to vary much beyond a combo of anal and vaginal sex, but I didn't mind. He said he wanted to prepare me for getting together in person. I wanted to be ready to take the whole of his 8-inch cock in any orifice and at any time he demanded. Just thinking about that always made me wet. "It's OK," I said about not hearing from him, always trying to be the understanding woman; I never felt I had a right to voice insecurity or disapproval. I didn't want to lose him through sounding negative, bitchy, or untrusting; I'd heard over and over how younger guys didn't like to date girls their own age because of drama and possessiveness. I wanted to be the confident, chill, experienced older cougar they came online to meet. I fantasized that Race thought of me often, and longed for relaxing through our sessions as much as I yearned to please him. Even though I was uncomfortable in many ways being submissive - it felt no different from how I'd been conditioned by society and marriage, a codependent and silenced woman in a patriarchal culture - there was something different, empowering, prideful in being in a kinky, taboo relationship with a cute dom half my age and a whole continent away. I set aside my concerns about all the years spent trying to break free from being the second sex. I wanted this. PICTURES AT A GATHERING I grew up with all the baggage women inherit, and after a marriage that became less satisfying, I was left with a sense that I'd missed a lot. The first time I found Race online I was drawn by a picture of him laying in bed, upper torso naked and nestled in white sheets, with his buffed arm around a large cat. He looked sleepy and sexy, toussled blonde hair and Nordic features. That he had bothered to upload good quality images showed an attractive carefulness. So I emailed him, "Nice pussy." He emailed back, we laughed and connected, and started up the usual generic conversation: what do you do, why younger guys, why older women. Then his question: "By the way, I hate to ask, but it's been in the back of my mind; do I ever get to see the picture you've set to private on your profile?" He'd taken my bait: I had privatized a couple of pictures, and he wanted the password to see them. I denied him - my one act of defiance before I learned he was a dom - because I was testing the theory that men love a mystery and would come back if I weren't immediately available. It was a hard test for me; as I said, I have abandonment issues; I expect guys to run away. They rarely disappointed. Race came back, however. He was engaging, alternating between talking about the small house he'd just bought and wanting to know what my experience was with younger guys. I admitted they were mostly online, ages ranging from 19 to 35. Having learned the technique of "mirroring," I asked him about his experiences with older women. "I have been with several older women, a few in a relationship, others purely in a sexual situation. Have pretty much enjoyed it all. Nineteen huh? I bet you had some fun with him! I'm not crazy about nude pics or anything, but if you had one posted up, I would have wanted to see it. I'm fine with waiting though." He sure seemed to like pictures, and being as I am a photographer but also known in my profession as a writer, I always hesitate to reveal too much until I feel the guy can be trusted with my true identity. So, I held off, again amazed at my restraint. Then he asked if I had Yahoo IM, and we went online in real time. I told him I was a writer of erotica; I sent him a URL, and he reported back that he enjoyed it very much. Apparently a lot of others did too, as I had a steady stream of inquiries from married men. I talked to some, but never let it go anywhere. Been there done that - there was nothing in it for me if a guy wasn't available. Besides, I knew what it was to be the wife betrayed, so I wasn't anxious to a mistress - in that sense of mistress. I don't recall how we got so sexual so fast, though online dating tends to be exactly that, but before I knew it he had texted me to send a clear picture of my pussy so he could jerk off that night. Stunned, I texted back that I didn't carry any such pictures on my work laptop. I was actually offended, prudish, and considered ending things. I stayed offline for a week. When I returned, he asked where I had been, and I said I'd been busy working, which was true. I never realized I was already addicted. We talked a bit more, and when I joked - a standard line I had cleverly come up with- "I am not the bunny (as in prey)," he responded immediately: "Yes you are." I had thought I was going to be in control of my relationships from now on. But I was immediately transported and realized he was right. I had willingly become his pet. THE HOTEL SCENE Our next chat was lively and engaging, and he said he enjoyed talking with me. He seemed to like letting me know that women found him attractive, especially one hot women at work who had been asking about him, but whom he had been ignoring for most of the year. I asked why. "Because women are horrible, nasty, nonsensical creatures - the better looking the worse. The more you ignore a really beautiful woman, the more she wants you. All the other lawyers take every opportunity to grovel and drool on her, so I do the opposite. I've already heard from friends that she's asked about me a couple times." I never asked again about his other women, knowing that he was often on the prowl; anyway I figured I had an edge now. I joked about how women think guys are like hairy women, and men think of women as property or pets. "I've owned my fair share lol," he replied. That's why I fight being the bunny. I have been captured and I want to be free. I am a feral soul. "Haha. I don't want to capture you. Just cage you for several hours at a time." I appreciate that difference, I laughed. "It's a large one. Especially if you enter the cage on purpose," he said. I'd gone through my late husband's things and found thousands of BDSM images, fetish gear - including three mysterious gas masks - and schoolgirl clothes. Also a lot of lingerie, spikey heels, and fuzzy gloves and masks. At first I was outraged and betrayed; then, over time (he was a hoarder so it took some time to declutter), I began to get turned on. Race bowled me over. And he introduced me to the idea of BDSM. I was eager to try being submissive with Race; I said I would have to be able to totally trust him, It'd have to be playful -I'm not into pain ... so there would have to be agreed-upon rules -know what I mean? "Yup. Totally. It always has to be that way, safe for everyone to let go." I was so relieved, yet not really knowing where this conversation, or this relationship, was going. Everything in me wanted him and he got me thinking about BDSM and the roles it assumes. "I, of course, know the difference between a woman, a girl, and an animal," he said. I noticed the measured, erudite cadence of his speech, the careful writing. I deemed him a well-educated detail man. I knew he had been in military school and his ancestry was Swiss, so I assumed he was an orderly, tidy, take-charge young man. "I'm sorry to learn that you were afraid." Well, it went into BDSM so fast, I wasn't sure what was going on - I guess it was fear - for a lot of reasons, I told him. I found it easy to confess my heart's fears and desires. "You steered us there as much as I. I was surprised when you did, really. I felt you went to it fairly quickly. I have a tendency to bring that out though, and most women feel really comfortable being that way with me." That wouldn't be the only time he told me, over our nine months together, that women were drawn to be submissive to him. His manner was so seductive, so understated, so confident. There was something different about him, I confessed. A level of refinement, something deeper, undefinable. I guess my fear was that his interest in me was only about the genitals, and that wasn't what I'm after anymore. When I first started online dating, I just wanted a guy to want to fuck me. That wasn't difficult, but finding good material was. Now I want something richer than that." I was amazed at how honest I was being with him; I suddenly realized my days of just giving myself sexually online to every guy who asked for it were waning. "I'm glad that you feel that way," he said, hooking me more with every understanding and comforting line. It was how much you wanted that picture of my pussy that threw me off, I laughed. "It's generally less about sex than seduction and power to me," he explained, words that would haunt and justify everything nine months later. "I do want to see all of you, but that's not what I get off to. That's just a mental image in my head." I asked what got him off, and he said, "The talking. Like I said, I read my porn, not watch it." I confessed that when I was captured I felt powerless, but now that I was becoming more free, more myself, I wanted to explore power, not just sexually but in all relationships, including work and friendship. "Sexual submission is a totally different thing; the two types of power aren't really the same. Oh, last question," he asked before we ended our IM chat. "Do you ever masturbate by playing with your own ass?" I AM THE BUNNY I was on a path to learn about power, submission, and the art of seduction. I really was the bunny. I found myself sitting at the computer far more than I wanted to, even if my work is mostly online. I wanted to be available 24/7; I never wanted to miss a chance to connect with Race. At this early stage, we connected frequently. It always began with a nice chat; he was a gentleman and asked how I was, taking a short but sincere interest in my work and life. Then he would ask what I was wearing, when was my last orgasm, and the session would begin. I was instructed to address him as My Lord or Sire; I had to tell him when I was close to cumming, and I had to ask permission to cum. It pleased him if I wore only lingerie around the house and ran my errands not wearing any underwear. Especially I was to wear a butt plug on some outings, to get used to the feeling of being stuffed anally. I opened an account at Victoria's Secret and proceeded to buy beautiful underthings, hoping that some day I would be able to take them off for him in person, as he kept mentioning that we would be getting together before the end of the year. It was all I thought about anymore, I wanted him so badly. "Do you cum from anal sex?" Always the shocking, titillating opening line, sending me momentarily off-balance, never knowing what to expect. "I can yeah - my entire body is one huge electricity conduit," I said hopefully. I had been without a regular sex partner for more than ten years; my late husband had been a pedophile and a submissive personality, but I hadn't known about this other life until after he passed. I had grown so unfulfilled with him sexually that I ended our relations ten years before he died; by now I was a case study in untapped libido. I was so used to exploring myself sexually, and finding new pleasure spots, I felt knew myself pretty well. "The hairs on my body, touched just so, can make me cum," I responded. I was imagining his touch on my arms, and already getting rather wet. "I like to know what I can expect to help a woman to the brink." Bingo. I felt myself sliding down that brink, ready to please him in any way possible, ways I had never imagined in my Ÿber-vanilla, protected life. Race surprised me by calling that evening for our first in-person session. I was so shocked, I had performance anxiety. I wanted so desperately to please him, I couldn't cum well. He was fine with it, and texted that he was pleased with me. I saved that message for eight months. Before our next session, I told him I was getting the idea that he had a great sex life. "Haha, that I do," he said. I'm hoping to reignite mine as well, I told him. "Let me know what you have on, and we could ignite your sex life for the immediate time being," my firestarter said. His voice was filled with vitality and warmth, a softness and caring tone also filled with mystery and spunk. I said I was not wearing bra or panties, and described how tight and sexy my jeans and camisole top were. I'm a rock climber, did I mention, so I'm pretty buffed even at my age. "Good girl," Race said. I liked the way he made me diminutive. "How about you imagine that you are about to knock on the door of the hotel room I've gotten for us to meet for the first time in Phoenix. I've left the little security latch open so that the door is cracked slightly and you can simply walk in. I'm sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room holding a stiff drink, and my feet are up on the coffee table. I'm wearing a nice suit and tie. I make you a drink and you sit on the edge of the bed. We make small talk. You pretend to not be nervous. You've worn a slinky black dress as I asked you to." I was breathless. It was so exciting. "You can contribute here, Darling," he said, capitalizing the term of endearment, which always made me feel respected. I loved that detail. "I put my drink down and walk over to where you're sitting on the bed. I lean down and kiss you." I was still breathless, and now mindless. However, I did have a very silky, slinky LBD, and I described it to him, how it fit my curves and my muscular hips and thighs. "Would you be able to wear it on a plane, or would you have to change in the room?" I could do whatever it would take to bring him to me face to face. "Or you could stand right in front of me and change into it while I watched, without us ever having done more than a hello hug and kiss on the cheek. It heightens the sexual drive and tension of the moment." Whatever would turn him on. "I pull you to your feet from the bed, take your drink and put it on the bedside table for you. I'm looking you in the eyes without kissing you as I begin to allow my hands to travel over your body. They move out in opposite directions from your hips, not diving straight for any one place, but gently trailing over you. I lean in to kiss you as one hand finds and firmly grasps an ass cheek." He interrupted the scene to tell me that I could get undressed and run and grab one of my sex toys, and my camera. I was excited, but shocked that he wanted me to take pictures of myself. My late husband had perverted his incredible photographic talent into shooting unsuspecting teenagers in suggestive poses, including our next-door neighbors. He had been shooting girls and adult women in various states of undress, though never nude, since his teen years. I didn't want to follow in that footpath; I wanted to keep my art pure. I lied, and said that my battery was recharging. Race let it go. He never pressured me about anything; I always had choice. "I continue to kiss you, then break away, still standing just in front of you, looking you in the eyes. You feel my hands dip and take the hem of your dress, feel it slowly pulling up over your body. Your bare thighs are exposed first, then you feel cool air on your buttocks and the soft skin around your vagina as the dress gathers above your hips." I was so there, it was so real. I was determined to make it really real. I had to become his perfect sub, the best he ever had. "I stand, returning your kisses, pressing my tongue gently into your mouth, allowing you to undress me slowly. One hand reaches out and gently strokes your hip, your stomach, your upper thigh as we kiss. For a brief instant my hand rises to rub your breast. Then returns to the less sensitive parts of your body, sometimes gently tracing over the mound about your slit. "Instinctually your raise your arms just before you again feel cool air, this time on your nipples which immediately begin to stand up. I take the dress and walk to the closet to hang it up, leaving you standing completely naked in the middle of the room. I walk back and resume my place in front of you, now standing completely dressed while you are naked before me. "I take one of your hands and kiss the knuckles gently, then press the palm against the slight bulge in my trousers. I begin to loosen my tie. You become lost in fondling my penis through my pants, and before you know it, I am naked from the waist up, and I am guiding your hands to my belt buckle." In my mind, I was already doing that. We were so on the same page. I jumped in and described how I would remove his shirt and caress his shoulders, back, chest, nipples, abs ... slowly, suggestively at first, then around to his belt buckle, running my fingers around the waistband but not diving in just yet. Then 'round to the beloved zipper. Race said he was enjoying this very much. "Is your pussy full of the toy right now?" Yes, oh yes My Precious Lord, full of thee. "Good let's continue then." PHOENIX RISING I was in an altered state as Race continued the fantasy. "Before you get my buckle undone, I place both hands on your hips and with a little force push you backward until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you are suddenly sitting. I smile down at you before kneeling in front of you. I begin kissing your calves and knees as my hands gently push your thighs further apart. I lean in and begin to kiss and lick inward first on your right, then left thigh. "It is clear where my mouth is headed." I loved his humor. I longed for his tongue. "I reach up with both hands and, for the first time, firmly hold and knead your breasts." My nipples were so hard. This didn't feel taboo at all. Why had I been so upset at finding that my husband liked kink? What a pity we had never explored it together. It might have saved our marriage. "I push you onto your back, and you feel my kisses begin to fall on your outer labia; first one side, then the other, then light kisses above, even slightly on your clit. My hands come back down, and as my tongue begins dampening your outer lips, I use my thumb to spread you open very gently. My tongue rises up and almost immediately makes contact with your clit, causing it to swell and come out from under its little hiding spot." Educating Bunny Was this a script or was it real? He sounded so studied, so measured, so experienced. Mmmm, perfect. I was so horny. I wanted this. I wanted Race. I would go to the ends of the earth to please my dom. What was he getting out of this? I was receiving all of it. Unfortunately, it was only online, but no matter ... "Gently, and without too much pressure, my tongue begins to push against your clit, massaging it. The middle finger of my right hand is just starting to ease inside of your vagina now." I loved the way he said "vagina" instead of pussy; so respectful and educated. "Your pussy is growing increasingly wet as my tongue rubs and massages your clit. I soon replace my middle finger with two fingers. I can feel your wetness running down my fingers and onto my wrist as my fingers push in and out of you, preparing your pussy for the later penetration which you know is stored in my pants." Did I mention how funny Race was? I loved his use of language. Yearned for the use of his tongue. "My tongue is now fiercely forcing your clit towards orgasm. You feel my fingers withdraw from your body, and I can sense your protest. Almost immediately though, you feel my middle finger rubbing your dark hole just a few millimeters beyond. I stop licking for a moment and look up at you. I press a little more firmly on your asshole and catch the recognition and slight smile. My head lowers again and your clit is again consumed in my mouth, bathed in the warmth and wetness of my tongue. "You have a beautiful tongue," I managed to murmur, lost in transmission. "My middle finger has pressed past your outer sphincter and is now easing up your ass. As soon as the middle knuckle is reached, I withdraw it and you feel the enlarged pressure of two fingers pushing into your ass. My tongue has taken to moving in circles over and around your clit. My whole head is pressing against your pussy to put extra pressure on your clit as your first climax begins to approach." He wasn't joking. "My fingers have traveled nearly all the way into your ass and have begun to move in and out slowly as they sense the telltale muscle contractions, letting me know you are about to cum for me. My tongue takes the signal and takes things quicker, urging your body to let go. My fingers move slightly faster in and out of your ass. Your body tenses, your thigh muscles tighten and I feel a small flood of your cum trickle down my chin and then my neck and chest. "I take my fingers from your ass, careful to quickly and nonchalantly wipe them thoroughly on the bedskirt, raise my head from your soaked pussy and rise to kiss you firmly. I kiss you deeply and you taste yourself in my mouth. I quickly break what you think is going to be a long passionate kiss, and before you realize it I have turn you face down -- you are suddenly bent over the bed in front of me." Yes, My Lord - I have longed for this moment my entire life, without knowing until now. I am yours. "You hear the quick sounds of my buckle and zipper, and almost immediately there is a presence between your legs. I do not try to force a quick entrance; instead I slowly rub the head and shaft of my rock-hard dick up and down between your lips - you feel the thick head press and bump over your clit and I stroke my shaft over your opening. Your own wetness quickly lubes my member. I press your face down into the comforter so your hips are pointed upward at me. For one last moment we have not truly begun to fuck, but then you feel my head pass into your lips." I can barely speak, so wet am I, so desperate for exactly this kind of experience. I cannot believe it is actually happening - at least at a distance, which for me, after the long drought, is something. It means that a man wants me sexually, finds me attractive enough to want to fuck me like this. That hasn't happened for years. I am hopelessly smitten; for me, this sexual encounter means that Race likes me. I want only to please him in whatever ways he wants. Thought of him and our possible meeting possess my mind. "It pops in with some pressure, and you are immediately aware of a filling sensation. I slowly lean my weight forward into you. The shaft inches into you until you feel my hips press against your soft round ass. At first my movements in and out are slow and steady, bringing my dick almost completely out and pausing for only a millisecond before pushing all the way in just as slowly. As I imperceptibly increase pace, you are surprised by the sudden strike of my open palm onto your right ass cheek." I am surprised. Not only that, it's hard to slap myself in this way; I need a third hand because my vibrator and dildo are fast at work on my pussy and clit at this point. But I strike myself to feel the sensation, and have to admit it is erotic as hell. "I am moving briskly now, the smack of my hips against your ass is drowning out your hard breaths and moans. I withdraw from you, leaving you feeling suddenly empty. You are pulled from the bed to your knees and greeted with the sight of my cock, wet from your insides, in front of your face. My hand is very gently on the back of your head. You see your glistening juices running down my shaft, onto my balls, and dripping off onto the floor and my legs. I take your hand, place it on the base of my shaft, and help you ease my dick into your mouth. I gently pump in and out of your mouth for a few moments before I scoop you up into my arms and lie you on your back on the bed." I can't take much more. This is heaven on earth. I want you, My Lord, as I have never wanted anyone. I would fly to Phoenix tonight, if you asked, and die on your dick. "I climb in between your legs and my cock naturally finds your opening and eases back into you all the way to the hilt. You are immediately filled back up. With one arm around your shoulders I force your body downward to meet each thrust of my hips into you. My right hand is under your butt, holding your hips up to meet my invasions at the right angle." He stops. Silence. I'm caught off guard, I'm so absorbed by all the sensations, the velvety seduction of his voice. "Have you cum, Hon?" he asks. Bingo. That makes me cum. But I'm ready for another. "Good. The fucking is brutal and fast this time. Sweat is dripping from my brow onto your chest, and with the intensity of it, you know that you will be sore in the morning. You feel the pressure and release as two fingers from my right hand push against the rim of your asshole before it relaxes and allows both all the way inside you. I use those fingers to press against the wall of your anus, increasing the stimulation of the sensitive walls of your vagina. My head buries in the nape of your neck as I work hard to continue the pace through your next serious of climaxes. "I half whisper, half grunt into your ear that I am close, and where do you want it?" I want it in my mouth, Good Sire. Down my throat and into the deepest sacred recesses of my body, where you will become a part of me forever. We start to volley exchanges back and forth, an erotically charged wrestling match. "I pull out suddenly and roll onto my back. I take your wrist and pull you with me, and watch as you hungrily take me into your mouth. Half sucking me, half stroking my shaft to climax. After only seconds I burst into your mouth. Two large and hard streams, then two slightly smaller, less forceful streams of my cum shoot off the back of your throat and into your mouth." I swallow what I can, with the rest streaming out of my mouth. I take your cum on two fingers that I place in your mouth while I suck the rest of your cock dry and clean you up, licking and stroking and rubbing your cum onto my breasts and belly. "I lie on my back panting, my cock, still rock hard, bouncing off of my rising and falling torso." Then I get on top, straddling your pelvis. "I lift my hips to allow you to take me as deeply as possible inside you." I rock my hips forward and back, side to side, around and around ... turn a 360-degree circle keeping you inside me, My Lord, leaning forward to kiss you deeply, caressing your body, then down from your mouth, tracing a zig zag around your nipples, your torso, down your belly to your beautiful thick cock. "I lie there and smile, lifting and lowering my hips in time with you." As I lean all the way back, moaning and sighing, moving my hips and squeezing my pelvic muscles, you get a full view of our generous fucking .... "I watch as your lips spread around me and you move yourself up and down over my shaft." I pull up and you come out for a moment. I put you back in my mouth, then back into my pussy, then lean forward and start pumping you hard, rubbing my clit against your pelvis, groaning and laughing for the intense pleasure we are together ... "My hands are alternating rubbing your breasts and your thigh,s your sides, your flat stomach. I watch as you fuck yourself silly. Knowing that I am along for the ride as you use my cock the way you want it. I watch, an amused smile on my face, as you entertain and pleasure yourself at the same time." Now I'm sitting reverse cowgirl, stroking your thighs slowly, down to your feet, which I massage, stroking back up the insides of your thighs, gently but deeply kneading, pressing more deeply as I come closer to your package, leaning forward, so you can see your cock in me. "I watch your sweet ass rise and fall on my shaft as you fuck in reverse." Yes, pumping fast, then slowing down, then moving my index finger to the place between your anus and scrotum, applying gentle pressure ... I can feel you jump inside me as I move to rimming your asshole with my finger, but not penetrating ... up and around your hips as you continue to thrust harder and harder, me holding your boys, caressing them, squeezing ever so gently ... just a whisper ... then tugging them down harder as I pump myself up and down mercilessly. "My hips lift and lower at a brisk pace, forcing you to bounce up and down on my dick." Now I want to look into your eyes intensely, so we pull up into sitting, with my legs locked around your hips and waist, and we tongue deeply, in rhythm with the fucking and breathing, slowly and with no desire or need to hurry. "I sit all the way up, and my hands lock around your lower waist. Then I take both your ass cheeks in my hands and help you rise and lower with force on my cock. You set the rhythm and I melt into it. I rock and lift forward, then dip and roll backward in a fluid motion, like a figure-eight series, moving easily and forcing you to grind hard. The pace is brisk, but not too fast. "You feel the angle of my cock forced high into you, jamming the most precious of spots in your body rubbed with what seems an enormous amount of pressure. Without you even noticing, my two fingers have eased nearly all the way back up your ass, and the pressure from them is being used to force you deeper onto my cock. "Are you ready to cum again, my Dear?" Omg yes, My Sweet Lord, omg yes. "My head tosses back and you cry out as my hips lift as high as they can. You feel my hot cum splashing off your cervix. Still lifting up and down, forcing into you as deep as possible, forcing the pressure on your G spot. My fingers working in and out of your ass, cock pistoning into you. "Waiting for my Doll to cum on me. Waiting for the flood I know is about to erupt." Oh Lord - no one has wanted me like this, taken me so fully. Called me these capitalized terms of endearment over and over. Wanted my pleasure so much. I cum with the force of 10,000 butterfly sneezes. I cum and cum and cum, falling helplessly in love with My Lord. Finally, someone truly adores me. "That's it, Baby," I whisper into your ear as you unleash your powerful orgasm, wave after wave of body-jerking pleasure. I hold your body against mine, careful to keep you pressed all the way down on my dick. I feel the cum covering my lap, my dick, my balls. The bed beneath me becomes soaked. I hold you against me, cock buried inside you, fingers gently being forced from your tight anus. "Did you really just cum that hard?" Yes, My Lord - weren't you there? Well, I almost came that hard - I really need you in person to cum as hard as I can. "I truly need and deserve a picture of what you look like right this second! How many times did you just cum?" I didn't count. A picture, did you just ask for a picture? A mood killer, but I would do anything for Beloved Sire. I owe him a picture, but something, this time, tells me not to do it. I fear disobeying him, but I am just not ready to photograph my engorged and dripping pussy for him. Not just yet. You shall have it. I mean that. "I know you do. You have another picture of yourself completely nude, yes? Or a nice clean shot of your pussy?" Yes, I could send something almost nude right here and now. What Race knows from my earlier erotica is that I once had an online affair with a man who proclaimed to be a 19-year-old virgin. I had sent him all kinds of pictures of my wet and adorned genitalia. So, why not Race? I didn't know, when my only urge was to please him, to give him what he wanted so he would keep coming back for more. I send a picture of my tits, thinking he will appreciate the artistry of the image. "Tits ain' t gonna do it baby, lets see that honey pot!" he says. I offer pictures of my ass with shiney white Mardi Gras beads, a joke on the pearl necklace. "That would be nice. I will look at them after I get home and cum myself." I so want him to like me. A SUMMER ROMANCE And so, the weeks of summer passed like this. I never knew when I would hear from Race, but when I did, it was explosive. He got more into kink, especially ever larger butt plugs and beads, to prepare my ass for entry when we met in person. He spoke of a collar so I offered to buy one, honored to be owned by such a god as he. I began to take a lot of pictures of myself for him in various stages of play and after cumming. Shots of my fingers in myself, toys in my vagina and beads or a plug in my butt, vibrator on my clit, nipple and clit clamps. I loved pleasing him in this way. I was proud to be able to serve him. Even though I knew he had other subs, I doubted that they were able to provide pictures for him, especially this professional. I was in a contest to be unforgettable. Almost every time we had a session, he would talk about eventually getting together. Yet when the end of summer rolled around and he began to not appear online nearly as often. I was devastated and worried. I was so addicted to him, I spent inordinate amounts of time connected to the IM chat in hopes of hearing from him. I played with myself constantly in order to be sure that my openings would be adequately prepared for his cock. I did pelvic kegels religiously to tighten up my pussy so that he would be more turned on, even though he said it would be unlikely that he would cum in me the first time we were together. The first time we were together; that implied, to me, more than one time. He told me, when I would offer my insecurities about our future, that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. At one point he told me, quite honestly, that he was interviewing a woman for a live-in situation, something he hadn't had for a few years. I waited for two weeks to hear back from him, trying to accept that I might be losing him. He popped in to ask if I might be a reference for her, to prove that he was of good character. Against my will, I said of course I would. Eventually he contacted me and said that she was loud and obnoxious and he wouldn't be seeing her anymore. I had his full attention. I was elated. And yet, the level of contact plummeted. I heard from him only every three or four weeks. After two months of this, I took the risk of appearing too submissive and asked if he had changed toward me. I needed to know. He said that nothing had changed, that he had just gotten very busy at work to pay off his mortgage and student loans. "I care about you infinitely, Sweetheart," he offered, capitalizing the endearment and endearing me to him even more. Oh My Lord, please never let me doubt you again. This bit was enough to satiate me for a few more weeks. We continued to meet online about every six weeks or so, and then toward Christmas I realized it really wasn't working for me; the truth - so hard to face- was that I needed to get off the fence. I was wholly addicted to him, even though he wasn't my only online partner. I had fairly vanilla sex with other guys online, but I was growing bored and restless. I was nearing 60 years old, and though I look far younger and have intense vitality and health, I didn't want to come into a new decade with old compulsive patterns that were life- and soul-killing. I wanted to live fully, and that meant going offline. This wasn't what I wanted anymore; it wasn't difficult to find young guys who wanted to jack off online. What I wanted was a real relationship - someone in my life, with regular sex, someone to share experiences with. Someone local. Someone who really cared about me. Someone real. I had also been experimenting online with being a domme; it seemed to be happening naturally and without intention. I had been online from time to time with another young lawyer also on the other coast, and somehow I changed my demeanor toward him and he became smitten. He opened up to me about wanting to be sub to me. He trusted me, and I began to become very playful and dominant. I began recapturing my power and my joyfulness in being a woman. I began to explore power for the first time, the natural power that women have with men. I also began to explore kink in a new way: getting to know what men want in their secret hearts. I started to realize that I felt very peaceful and mischievous, yet very caring and kinky, when I gave a session. And I discovered that I apparently have a real talent for the imagination necessary to provide it. THE DELETE BUTTON So it was that two weeks before my 60th birthday, in the dead of winter, I found my finger on the IM delete button next to Race's name, the same morning that I let go of one of my dearest online relationships because it clearly was toxic to me. When Race popped in, my heart skipped a hundred beats. I was cold to him, partly because I had a cold and wasn't feeling perky, but he was penitent. He was chatty, delightful, asking me if I was ready for Christmas and letting me know he had been working his tail off but now had a bit of a lull. I was happy that he could fit me in, but I was still guarded. He asked if I was seeing anyone, but unfortunately, I still was not. I asked if he was, and he said no, no one that had any serious potential. I liked that response on a number of levels. He asked if I were still playing the way he had taught me, and I said of course I was, but that it had faded a bit in eroticism without his contact. He understood. He always was so understanding, it melted my anger away. I was once again the bunny, addicted to his ways. He gave me BDSM but wouldn't give me himself. He asked what I had on, and I was so heavily dressed to ward off the chill I had to laugh. I was feeling anything but sexy. "I'm guessing you don't want to take all that clothing off for me then," he laughed. I laughed too. I didn't want a session, which surprised me. I had never refused one; I also assumed there would be another. "It's all right, dear," he said. I was relieved. I wondered if he had suggestions as to other ways to play, and he admitted that he had given me reason to expect that. "I've not been a fan of letting you down," he said. "Still using your ass for me regularly?" Of course; every time I shaved my beaver and ass crack, I did it for him. Every time I came, I visualized him. He asked who owned my pussy, and I told him he did, of course. I mentioned I had gone to a Cyndi Lauper concert over the weekend, a big gay scene, and totally wished he had been there with me. I could only think about anal sex. Educating Bunny Then he surprised me beyond belief. "If you want to buy a plane ticket, I'll go there and give you that wish, lol." Dumbstruck. Are you serious? "Lol, sure why not? I've never seen San Fran, and you've earned it." I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN FRANCISCO And that's how Race ended up coming out here two months ago, for a 48-hour visit. Originally he said he didn't want to sightsee, just a couple of icons to note while driving past. He didn't want to walk around, he just thought we'd spend time at my home chilling. He put me in charge of planning a super weekend, and I intended to pull out all the stops. I wanted to do all the things he had done in our sessions; I wanted bondage and other scenes we'd talked about. I wanted to use the spreader bar and be raped; I wanted to deep throat him and bathe him and take care of his every whim and need. He said I'd finally get to do all the things I'd always wanted with him, skin to skin, moan to moan. I told him I would buy his ticket, but wanted talk about the flights before I booked one. Then I didn't hear from him for two weeks. In a BDSM connection, some of the raw fears, fetishes, and desires are admitted up front to let the other play on them. When that happens, the dom(me) usually gets to test the depths of the sub. He or she discovers how deep these things are (too deep, shallow fetishes or something else). The sub learns how honest (brutal) the dom can be ... or not. If both parties play out the scripts (the dom has desires and scripts too), they both get a better appreciation for each other. It is scary. Telling someone your weaknesses, so they can act on them is scary. Taking responsibility for acting on the fears and fetishes of the other is also scary. But it's honest. Any BDSM session is an emotional exchange and has few of the problems of porn or simple obsessive imagination. , I didn't want to have sex for sex's sake or BDSM for BDSM's sake. It takes chemistry to do right ... just like dancing. Above all, there must be chemistry. The idea is that the dom is in control and decides what's going to happen and how and how far. It's his prerogative to dictate how far the play goes. It's the sub's responsibility to make sure it doesn't go too far for her. I wanted the whole potato. Where was he? Was he playing me? I was so angry - I was done. I felt duped, what was this all about? Then I heard briefly, he left a message on the IM chat asking if I'd booked the ticket. No, I said, I wanted to discuss times and flights first. And so we confirmed the plan, and he would arrive in two weeks. I set out to cleaning, making everything perfect. Bought new sheets, towels, clothes. He had described how he was going to inspect me all over, how I must not have any orgasms the week before he came in. He gave me several instructions, and I adhered to all of them. I anticipated a weekend filled with great sex, good food, interesting convo, and 24/7 time together. I didn't believe it would really happen, however, until I saw him at the airport. I was a nervous wreck the day of his arrival; he texted and called that morning to say he had missed his flight, but had booked the next one, and was a moron for setting his alarm to p.m. instead of a.m. He assured me he would be here. As instructed, I wore a dress without undies, ready to be probed on the way home. He had been very specific about the fact that denying me any release for a few days would make it all the better when he came in my mouth for the first time, and that would bring me to orgasm most likely, even without any penetration. He asked if I still had all of my bondage equipment, which I did, and if I was excited to put it to use finally. "Didn't think it'd ever happen?" he asked. And no, I didn't ... And there he was. He was adorable - small, mean, and filled with spirit as he had once told me. Charming, talkative, highly intelligent. He observed everything with a photographic memory. He was entranced by the Bay Area, and decided that he wanted indeed to explore The City the next day. I live sixty miles away but it was fine with me; I had always wanted to be part of a couple in that city. When we got to my house he made himself neatly comfortable, inspecting my entire home with random joy. He obviously had been raised well, and I had made my home picture perfect. He praised my photography, my furniture, my dinnerware, my cooking, my cat. He loved my back yard, the warm weather, the stars at night. Drinking heavily - he said he was an alcoholic - and smoking, which normally I would never allow around me, he became affectionate and could not stop thanking me for bringing him out. I sensed he was embarrassed that he had had me pay for his ticket, as he said he would pay for lunch and parking (and anything else) during his stay. He kept repeating what a perfect day it was, how he had not been this relaxed in a year, and what wonderful energy there was. He wanted a massage, so that was how the sex began. But it was vanilla, and all those things he promised we would do, didn't happen. He pounded on me and his cock was delightful, but there was no tenderness, hardly any kissing, and none of the eroticism of those early scenes. The sex was mechanical. We never got into my toys and after the first two times we had sex, both on the evening of his arrival, penetration didn't happen again. When I asked him for oral, he denied me. He wouldn't even tease my clit. Yes, there was oral for him, and I was so happy to comply. Yet outside the bedroom, he couldn't stay away from his iPhone, the news on CNN, and from the computer. He was filled with nervous energy and our conversation was, in his words, wonderful. He enjoyed my food, and did the dishes. He didn't leave a trace. I asked what the BDSM lifestyle was like and he said we were living it. For the first time since my husband had died, I felt like I was in a real relationship. It was divine. But in truth, there was little emotional or sexual intimacy. I had confessed that my greatest fear was sexual inadequacy, and I was so nervous with performance anxiety, I didn't cum. I felt he was disappointed but I couldn't tell; I felt it was my fault because he said he certainly knew he was good at what he did. He even corrected me during sex, and I took it. I didn't know whether I was sub or person. I was kept off balance the entire weekend. We spent a fabulous day, however, walking around Ferry Plaza, Fisherman's Wharf and the Marina, and came home not to sex but to the news. He began drinking again, yet he opened up about his family, his work, his passions for live concerts, his finances. He was wholly interested in my life, even my Limoges. We were close in so many ways, and yet there was no BDSM. Finally, that evening, I put on a pair of patent leather pants to show him my outfit for the Cyndi Lauper concert, and that must have triggered something because he ordered me to the bedroom with my pants down, onto my knees facing away from him so that I couldn't see his face, and found a bamboo back scratcher to spank me with. It hurt like hell; as he spanked my pussy, he yanked my hair and head up to his mouth and whispered twice, "I'm not going to hurt you!" He kept asking, "This is what you wanted, right?" I said Yes My Lord, and then he penetrated me anally. I enjoyed it, but I still couldn't cum, I was in such a state of shock. He spanked me in front of the mirror so that I could see what he was doing, and left some welts that I thought meant he didn't want me to forget him. It was brief, and he seemed pleased. I didn't know anymore which end was up. I just kept feeling him pulling away. We discussed our session later, Race saying that he would never get off a plane and tie someone up, that BDSM is all about relationship and respect. I told him I wouldn't have brought him out here if I thought it would be only one time, that I could not do that, and he agreed. He said that it had to develop in small steps, and so I thought that meant we would be seeing each other again, despite logistical challenges. We spent that evening on the couch watching his favorite band on his iPhone, as he sang to me and kissed my nose and threw his legs over my lap while I massaged him and put my head on his shoulder. I was head over heels in love with a man I knew could not be mine. He seemed to have had a wonderful time. When he left the next day, I had a strange sense at the airport that it was over. When I said "See you online," his look of confusion made me feel like something had been ripped from my heart. I went to the ocean and watched a pod of whales swim past; right then I knew I had given my soul to him, that this pattern about wanting a man so desperately was an addiction that would take my life away if I didn't resolve to understand what it means to be a submissive woman who gives her power away, and to men who don't even deserve her. THE WOUND OF IMPERFECTION And so I began my descent into the most severe depression of my life, the one that I vowed would be the last over a guy who didn't give me what I wanted. But this dark night of the soul was more than that: It was the fact that I needed to understand the wounding of women, why we are so afraid that men will run away if we don't give them everything they ask for. Why we are so subservient and accommodating and pleasing, so afraid to be powerful. Why we are considered bitches if we express a strong voice, and how we hide our creative energy in codependency and fear of rejection. I've had a meditation practice for more than twenty years, and my depression was so great, all I could do was surrender. I could not understand, as week after week passed, what had happened. I blamed myself for not hearing from Race: I must have been imperfect, I must have been a lousy fuck, I must have been too old, and so on. My mind didn't let me rest; my self-criticism and self-loathing were impenetrable. I came down with a bad cold and bronchitis; unable to work out at my climbing gym, I was forced in on myself in the depths of a rainy winter, with no recourse but to resolve that I needed to confront once and for all how I gave myself away, and learn how to love myself enough that I could end this addiction to wanting young guys in general, and to Race in particular. It's been a painful two months, but my detox has been fruitful. Thanks to the blessings of wonderful friends and healers, I've discovered the many wounds that women carry, but also the ways men are scarred, and different from women. I understand and accept myself so much more now, that although I haven't completely gotten over Race - or the anger over feeling dumped and not knowing why - I am so much stronger and emotionally stable than I've ever been. I've discovered that women are conditioned to believe that God is man, and that man is god. I myself was raised to believe that my father was always right, and that I wasn't to disturb him or to cause him any stress because he was the breadwinner. I watched my mother give up her prodigious talent as a concert pianist to raise her children and attend to her husband's every need. I watch women today, no matter what the age, feel insecure that their committed partners will really stay with them, or that they will be faithful and monogamous. We are all wounded. Women have a need to be perfect; men have a need to be strong. One of my friends has continually asked what I want, and what I feel that Race, or any guy, has that I can't provide for myself. I have searched several incarnations of this question, the answers ranging from validation and attention to living my life for me because women are the weaker sex, so strong men can do it better. What I now believe is that I thought that because I am a woman, I didn't have the energy, the power, the permission, the strength, to live my own life fully. That somehow a guy could do it better. So I would try to give my life to him to live for me - and no wonder they all ran away! Who would or could take on that kind of labor? It was childish, but I had never understood the root of my suffering until Race's disappearance forced me to my knees. Today I see how women feel they have little freedom to not be responsible for caretaking others - especially men's feeling; inadequate permission to pursue their own creative energies, including not having children if they don't feel called or prepared to do so. I see how men are raised without good relationships with their fathers; how they are always trying to prove how masculine they are, which generally means stoic and unfeeling and incapable of true emotional intimacy. I see how they truly want to please women, how they need to feel trusted and intelligent and able to fix what's wrong and to solve problems. I see how confused they are, and how they don't understand women at all. I see how both sexes are so afraid of their own power that they continually give it away in unhealthy addictions and lack of self-love. Neither sex really feels they are good enough or capable enough; there is always self-judgment and lack of self-worth. We exaggerate and hide and armor ourselves, afraid to take the only risk that truly matters: to live our own best lives, and to not look outside ourselves for happiness or completion. I now understand that Race didn't run away from me, but from himself. He saw his shadow, and got scared. I truly believe that being with me, someone who so unconditionally cared for him and listened to him, opened something in him that, sober, he could not face. This awareness saddens me more than anything because there is no way to share with him not only what a wonderful person he is, what a shiningly beautiful man he is coming into being, but also how much I appreciate this ultimate mindfuck. His distance has forced me to confront the suffering I've endured since I was a little girl, wanting to be rescued from the very thing that is my most priceless gift: being who I am as a woman, now at midlife. I've been so afraid of being powerless as a woman, that I never really came into my own sexuality and sovereignty until now. Race indirectly gave me the gift of what I understand BDSM is all about: power exchange. I don't know why it was not possible for him to dominate me, but I like to think it is because he truly met his match. He just didn't have the emotional tools to handle what he discovered when he met me in person, or to be able to tell me afterward that he couldn't continue, that it was time to move on. I think he discovered that my true nature is not to be subservient, especially in the sense of giving my power away. But nothing was ever said. Now that I have some wonderful domme experience under my belt - stay tuned for further developments - I have more compassion and adoration than ever for Race and how confusing it must have been to come here and have his patterns and plans overturned by an energy and a connection in person that were not expected. I learned a lot from him about domination, but I do it differently. I learned from him to treat my subs with respect and playfulness, and consider it an honor to be entrusted with their secret desires and shames. I have even given one of them my name, Bunny. I thought it was time to pass it on. But I am no longer addicted, not to Race, not to young guys, and not to BDSM. The funny thing is, now I could truly be sub to Race because I understand how to play. I understand the difference between fantasy and reality. I understand my wounds and the wounds of everyone I know. I still think he could take me into subspace, in person, but I doubt that will ever happen. Anyway, I've moved on. Or, I am in the process of it, I hope. Most of all, I understand the gifts that Race gave me in forcing me to confront my self-loathing, to see that mirror in him, and to know that his disappearance was not about me at all. It never really is; we are only living our own lives as best we can at any given moment. I can finally go offline now, bruised and battered but wiser, knowing I am capable now of healthy relationships with men. I am myself now, coming into my own as a sexual woman at midlife. I am no longer desperate, needy, or submissive. I have a new view of men and of my power as a woman. I've decided that I will no longer put up with bad men any longer. I know what I want and I'm going to find it. I'd thought that if I had only one gift to give to Race, it would be gratitude. Now I'm thinking: No, better yet. I'd like to be his Mistress Lilith. I've got my finger on his button now.