ObsessedWithMyself
- 1 year ago
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Becoming Myself free porn video
We had talked for ages about it.
He had been my master for almost a year by then, and I had had to realize that I couldn’t be without him. I had tried to hide, tried to run away. It was useless; there was no way out for me. Only the acceptance of who I was and who he was. I couldn’t be without him, I needed him desperately, in my thoughts, my mind; I needed his text messages, his calls on Skype, his smile and his hands, his body, his cock. It was a lovely and desperate condition I was in.
How had I ended up so hooked?
It was still a mind-blowing question for me. I was an adult, functioning, serious, slightly turned on when reading BDSM stories and intrigued by how people could like and look for this. How openly some could talk about it. I’d always considered myself an unsubmissive and taken pride in being just that. A freethinker, a free mind, a sceptic, not bound by anything or anyone. My sexlife was good. Not great, not amazing. It was… ok. Much better than nothing. I was – normal. Standard.
I met “him” on Lushstories. I was there for the stories, not for finding people or hooking up. Not my thing. I just used the place in order to let out some steam through my stories and get a kick out of reading the ones others had written. It took him two months to break down my barriers and get through to the real me. He was the only person online whom I ever told my real name, who I ever let me see as I was. I had to let go of all pretence when being with him. I told him the most shameful things about me and my life. His reactions made me feel – different. He showed anger when I told him some things, compassion and protection about others. He made sense. He brought in sense.
He told me early on he was a dom. I found that intriguing. He made talking about it easy. He told me his ideas and fantasies; I started telling him about mine. He suggested the contract. I ended up saying yes. If I hadn’t, I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.
He made me show myself to him. My overweight, mistreated body I had stopped taking care of after some serious family trouble which had brought me into depression. He wouldn’t budge. So I picked up sports again and my weight slowly dropped, little by little. He, him. It was “him” for me, from morning to evening. It was “him” for me during my nights and my frequent masturbations.
We talked about politics, about culture, music, articles – and sex. My list of punishments was getting longer. And then, he said it. “Come to X, it’s time we met.” I booked a flight, I went there. Tense and nervous. I had received detailed instructions on how to prepare and ended up in the hotel room, naked, shaved, on my knees on the bed with my ass in the air, waiting for him to enter. A blindfold over my eyes. Thinking I was going to die – and how it was still worth it. The tension ate me on the inside and made me feel alive. Incredibly alive, breathing, existing, happy.
I heard him open the door, walk into the room and lock it. I felt his eyes on me. Heard him put his bag on the floor and take his coat off. Then he slid his fingers over my pussy which was soaking wet and my ass. I felt his hand glide over my back and butt. I heard the two slaps on my butt more than I felt them but at the same time, they added to the intensity of the moment. I didn’t move, I knew what the deal was.
I heard him open his pants and then felt his hand grab me by my hair, directing my mouth on his cock. I could have yelled at this moment, feeling his incredibly big and hard cock gliding into my mouth. I hadn’t expected him to be so big… Feeling, tasting, swimming in the happiness of doing what he wanted. Finally being with him. Getting to touch him, getting to know his smell, his way of moving, his gestures. He had me undress him. I was linkish, still blindfolded. But I knew from the second on he had come into the room that this was it. The real thing, real life, the real me. There was no more hiding. And there was no more shame, maybe for the first time in my life.
When he was naked, he let me explore him. On my knees, starting with his feet which I kissed and licked, the way he wanted it; moving on unto his wonderful cock. That’s what religion must be like. Adoration, admiration, bliss. He had me get up, turn around and bend over. He grabbed me by my hips and then simply pushed into me; in one direct and intense thrust. I hadn’t expected him to go for it so directly. Maybe some vanilla left in me. But… the joy of feeling his huge cock fill my pussy! The incredibly feeling of belonging and finding the logic of all the hours we had spent together over the distance. He thrust into me a couple of times and the pulled out, again without much ado about it. That was the deal. My pussy was his.
I felt his fingers on my ass, pushing into it, testing, probing – and preparing. We had talked much about anal sex… which I loved, but never got these days. He pulled his fingers out and then pushed his cock into with the same direct and straight simplicity he had done it with my pussy. Taking possession of what was already his.
The hours that followed were made of pleasure and sensations I hadn’t known so far. He was my master. He had become my master before that, but here was the confirmation. He collared me, he fucked me into every hole I had and in positions I had never tested, he spanked and beat me – and I loved him for it. When he left, I was exhausted. My back and shoulders hurt for having been on my knees and leaning on my arms so much. My ass was red and there were clear marks left by his hands and the rod he had used. My pussy and ass were sore; my nipples were sore from the clamps and his hands, my lips hurt because I had dug my teeth into them so hard and long while sucking on his dick. The taste of his sperm was in my mouth. Even gone, he was still all over my body. I had love every second, loved every mark he left on me, loved what I had become during these hours. There was no doubt left, just the peace of knowing that I had become what I was – his bitch, his slut, his slave – everything he wanted me to be.
Our chats on Skype started again. His request and demands were difficult for me. We diverged particularly on the question of women – I didn’t want another woman near me. Ever. He wanted it.
And then, I committed the big offense. The one I shouldn’t ever have committed. I run away from him. He was mad at me. I thought I had lost him and was grieving.
He contacted me again. Everything in me was screaming for him when I saw his message. He took me in again, but the condition was hard, unbearable for me. He wanted me to kiss another woman and send him the picture.
“Sir, I can’t do that. I don’t know anyone I could do that with.”
“It’s not up for discussion. Pay for your fault, accept the punishment.”
“I could do it if you were there… Don’t you have a friend who could come when we meet next?”
“I do have a friend – and she’d love to use you…”
His friend was a female dom. It would mean two doms with me at the same time. The hierarchy would have to be clearly defined, him on top, her next, me at the bottom. She would be allowed to do with me as she wanted – as long as my master would agree to it.
Rather than kissing a friend and somehow managing to take a picture of it, I would end up with a female dom next to my master.
I started at my screen. There was no way out of it. The second option seemed possible, not the first one. Then I typed.
“I will do it Sir. Please don’t leave the room at any time. Please be with me…”
I’m waiting for him to let me know when to come. And my pussy is wet.
He had been my master for almost a year by then, and I had had to realize that I couldn’t be without him. I had tried to hide, tried to run away. It was useless; there was no way out for me. Only the acceptance of who I was and who he was. I couldn’t be without him, I needed him desperately, in my thoughts, my mind; I needed his text messages, his calls on Skype, his smile and his hands, his body, his cock. It was a lovely and desperate condition I was in.
How had I ended up so hooked?
It was still a mind-blowing question for me. I was an adult, functioning, serious, slightly turned on when reading BDSM stories and intrigued by how people could like and look for this. How openly some could talk about it. I’d always considered myself an unsubmissive and taken pride in being just that. A freethinker, a free mind, a sceptic, not bound by anything or anyone. My sexlife was good. Not great, not amazing. It was… ok. Much better than nothing. I was – normal. Standard.
I met “him” on Lushstories. I was there for the stories, not for finding people or hooking up. Not my thing. I just used the place in order to let out some steam through my stories and get a kick out of reading the ones others had written. It took him two months to break down my barriers and get through to the real me. He was the only person online whom I ever told my real name, who I ever let me see as I was. I had to let go of all pretence when being with him. I told him the most shameful things about me and my life. His reactions made me feel – different. He showed anger when I told him some things, compassion and protection about others. He made sense. He brought in sense.
He told me early on he was a dom. I found that intriguing. He made talking about it easy. He told me his ideas and fantasies; I started telling him about mine. He suggested the contract. I ended up saying yes. If I hadn’t, I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.
He made me show myself to him. My overweight, mistreated body I had stopped taking care of after some serious family trouble which had brought me into depression. He wouldn’t budge. So I picked up sports again and my weight slowly dropped, little by little. He, him. It was “him” for me, from morning to evening. It was “him” for me during my nights and my frequent masturbations.
We talked about politics, about culture, music, articles – and sex. My list of punishments was getting longer. And then, he said it. “Come to X, it’s time we met.” I booked a flight, I went there. Tense and nervous. I had received detailed instructions on how to prepare and ended up in the hotel room, naked, shaved, on my knees on the bed with my ass in the air, waiting for him to enter. A blindfold over my eyes. Thinking I was going to die – and how it was still worth it. The tension ate me on the inside and made me feel alive. Incredibly alive, breathing, existing, happy.
I heard him open the door, walk into the room and lock it. I felt his eyes on me. Heard him put his bag on the floor and take his coat off. Then he slid his fingers over my pussy which was soaking wet and my ass. I felt his hand glide over my back and butt. I heard the two slaps on my butt more than I felt them but at the same time, they added to the intensity of the moment. I didn’t move, I knew what the deal was.
I heard him open his pants and then felt his hand grab me by my hair, directing my mouth on his cock. I could have yelled at this moment, feeling his incredibly big and hard cock gliding into my mouth. I hadn’t expected him to be so big… Feeling, tasting, swimming in the happiness of doing what he wanted. Finally being with him. Getting to touch him, getting to know his smell, his way of moving, his gestures. He had me undress him. I was linkish, still blindfolded. But I knew from the second on he had come into the room that this was it. The real thing, real life, the real me. There was no more hiding. And there was no more shame, maybe for the first time in my life.
When he was naked, he let me explore him. On my knees, starting with his feet which I kissed and licked, the way he wanted it; moving on unto his wonderful cock. That’s what religion must be like. Adoration, admiration, bliss. He had me get up, turn around and bend over. He grabbed me by my hips and then simply pushed into me; in one direct and intense thrust. I hadn’t expected him to go for it so directly. Maybe some vanilla left in me. But… the joy of feeling his huge cock fill my pussy! The incredibly feeling of belonging and finding the logic of all the hours we had spent together over the distance. He thrust into me a couple of times and the pulled out, again without much ado about it. That was the deal. My pussy was his.
I felt his fingers on my ass, pushing into it, testing, probing – and preparing. We had talked much about anal sex… which I loved, but never got these days. He pulled his fingers out and then pushed his cock into with the same direct and straight simplicity he had done it with my pussy. Taking possession of what was already his.
The hours that followed were made of pleasure and sensations I hadn’t known so far. He was my master. He had become my master before that, but here was the confirmation. He collared me, he fucked me into every hole I had and in positions I had never tested, he spanked and beat me – and I loved him for it. When he left, I was exhausted. My back and shoulders hurt for having been on my knees and leaning on my arms so much. My ass was red and there were clear marks left by his hands and the rod he had used. My pussy and ass were sore; my nipples were sore from the clamps and his hands, my lips hurt because I had dug my teeth into them so hard and long while sucking on his dick. The taste of his sperm was in my mouth. Even gone, he was still all over my body. I had love every second, loved every mark he left on me, loved what I had become during these hours. There was no doubt left, just the peace of knowing that I had become what I was – his bitch, his slut, his slave – everything he wanted me to be.
Our chats on Skype started again. His request and demands were difficult for me. We diverged particularly on the question of women – I didn’t want another woman near me. Ever. He wanted it.
And then, I committed the big offense. The one I shouldn’t ever have committed. I run away from him. He was mad at me. I thought I had lost him and was grieving.
He contacted me again. Everything in me was screaming for him when I saw his message. He took me in again, but the condition was hard, unbearable for me. He wanted me to kiss another woman and send him the picture.
“Sir, I can’t do that. I don’t know anyone I could do that with.”
“It’s not up for discussion. Pay for your fault, accept the punishment.”
“I could do it if you were there… Don’t you have a friend who could come when we meet next?”
“I do have a friend – and she’d love to use you…”
His friend was a female dom. It would mean two doms with me at the same time. The hierarchy would have to be clearly defined, him on top, her next, me at the bottom. She would be allowed to do with me as she wanted – as long as my master would agree to it.
Rather than kissing a friend and somehow managing to take a picture of it, I would end up with a female dom next to my master.
I started at my screen. There was no way out of it. The second option seemed possible, not the first one. Then I typed.
“I will do it Sir. Please don’t leave the room at any time. Please be with me…”
I’m waiting for him to let me know when to come. And my pussy is wet.
Maddy
- 05.02.2023
- 19
- 0
- Category:
- BDSM
