Here I was, thirty-five and never married. And the thing was, unlike a lot of men who seemed to devote a great deal of time trying to avoid matrimony, I’d sought it out assiduously for many years, dating a myriad of women without finding the one.
After the last time, I’d pretty much despaired of finding the ‘right girl’. Part of this was caused by a belief that I was ‘too weird’ for a serious relationship. Or, at least, this had been my self image; one of disgust with my own perversities.
For, you see, I’d craved a fantasy woman since my teen years. This fantasy woman was strict and quick to discipline me with harsh spankings. I truly don’t know the origin of my obsession but I know that since I was a teenager I’d had these thoughts.
I’d never acted on them until I’d been a college student. A fraternity pledge, I was subjected to rather severe hazing and our fraternity had a reciprocal arrangement with a sorority whereby I would be sent to the sorority on a virtually daily basis, report to a pledge mistress and submit to a severe paddling.
The paddling was not delivered with the customary fraternity paddle - which I imagined would have caused severe bruising, given its weight - but, instead, with a thin-bladed wooden paddle, similar to a ping pong paddle that had been denuded of its rubber pads, sanded and holes drilled throughout.
This paddle was incredibly stingy but I willingly stripped nude and yielded to the demands of the sorority co-ed, who seemed to delight in my begging and crying. Crying, indeed, as she would swat away on my bottom with a metronomic efficiency that would cause my cheeks to feel sunburned and swollen.
After she paddled me, she would always sit in an easy chair, spread her legs, lift her short skirt and direct my attention to her crotch. Her pussy was always bare, bare of panties as she would invariably be commando; and, bare of any pubic hair as she kept shaven and waxed to delicious smoothness.
I learned, during that pledge time, to be addicted to her attentions and to the privilege of serving her sexual desire. I reveled in the submissive nature of my humiliation, reduced to the status of a little boy as she paddled me into an obedient, devoted supplicant at her alter of womanhood.
She taught me the vagaries of cunnilingus, and I was an avid student. But, it was more than my avidity. It was the paddle. It was my tears. It was the submissive nature of my oral devotions. After she’d taught me to lick her pussy, she’d spent many hours enjoying my similar devotion to her bottom crack and especially to her butt hole.
I would lick between her buttocks with a devotion that I’d never known. I felt, as my tongue laved her bottom, that this was what I was born to do. My destiny. My place in the world. On my knees, tears on my face from a severe paddling from a woman. My face between the thighs or the buttocks of my goddess.
After the pledging period, this girl became a steady thing and we enjoyed the relationship until graduation, when she moved back home to nowhere, Arizona and I back home to Indianapolis.
And, from that day forward, I never found another woman to take her place. Sure, I found a woman from time to time that was willing to spank me. Never hard enough. Never long enough. Never with the zeal of my college sweetheart.
Over a decade had gone by and I’d met and dated so many women. And I’d not found that special woman. That woman to whom I could devote my life.
I’d maintained a 4.0 grade average in both high school and college. So, in one respect, I wasn’t stupid. But, like many intelligent people, I was blind in so many ways.
This being the case, I had the Oprah-esque aha moment when I was driving in my car, the radio on an oldies station and the sound of ‘Looking For Love In All The Wrong Places’ filling my car when it hit me. Doh.
I’d been living the pop-definition of insanity - continuing to repeat my actions and expecting a different outcome. What I’d done was to attract a lady that suited my taste visually and superficially, and then attempt to sell her on a lifestyle of a female-led relationship; one based on corporal punishment/training of the male - myself - with her as the disciplinarian.
Invariably, once I had revealed my perv self, she would escape, convinced that I was simply a weirdo. This made sense, as I’d come to believe that very few women would find such a relationship to their liking. Little wonder that my approach of trolling for a pretty woman and then running my proclivities past her didn’t yield success.
I decided in my moment of illumination that I should seek out a woman who knew herself to possess such desires. Possessed a desire to spank her boyfriend or husband. Possessed a desire to have her submissive man lick her to multiple orgasms and wait on her hand and foot when they were together.
To this end, I went to the internet. And, boy was I surprised. Surprised, first, to find such a widespread interest in this subject. I’d felt so alone with my fantasies and desires. And, then I found web sites for HOH, which I learned was ’head of household’, CFNM, ’clothed female nude male, ’under her thumb’, orgasm denial, strap on dildo use on male submissives, cuckolding, creampie eating, and on and on.
These web sites informed and some were rather sobering. My college girl had paddled me and only paddled me. Sure, she’d do so with gusto, leaving my bottom blistered and my face covered with tears. But, she hadn’t thrashed me.
From my reading, I learned of women who would mercilessly cane a man to tears…and then thrash him bl**dy following the caning. Women who would wield a Scottish tawse, viciously lambasting a man’s buttocks and thighs to a bright crimson, then following up with a whipping, using a single tail whip to leave welts that would last for many days thereafter.
I learned of these things by reading of these things. I’d never had the courage to pursue this newly revealed reality - until recently.
In my internet surfing, I’d found blogs and chat rooms filled with adherents of ’alternative life styles’. While these places were an enduring source for pornographic concepts that would arouse me during masturbation, I was too timid to approach any of the women there.
Finally, I succumbed to my weakness and initiated a chat with such a woman. She went by the username of ’Strict Disciplinarian’ and her chat seemed to corroborate this claim. Over time, she’d told me that, if I put myself in her hands, she would mold me into the devoted submissive that I craved to be. And, she would mold me with the paddle, the cane, and the whip.
Rather fortuitously, she lived only an hour away and it was only a matter of time before our online chatting led to my making the drive to meet her. She’d invited me to visit her in her home and laid down some rules before she agreed to give me an audition, as she called it.
She’d insisted that, for her safety, she have another lady there with her. She said this would probably be her s****r, but might be a girlfriend. She said that she didn’t wish for this second woman to participate in my thrashing, she might allow them to use my mouth for their pleasure. I’d agreed to obey both her and her friend and I agreed that I would submit to an initial thrashing.
I understood, from her dialog, that, after my initial whipping, I would be allowed to leave or, if I wished to stay, would be granted the privilege of serving the sexual desires - and commands - of the two of them.
She emphasized that, after this initial whipping, I would be repeatedly subjected to a regimen of extremely severe corporal discipline. I’d agreed that this would be done without a safeword. That is, I would relinquish total control to her and she would be the sole arbiter of my chastisement.
As I drove to her home, I was terrified. I knew that, without a doubt, I would be receiving a thrashing the likes of which I’d never known.
But, on the other hand, I’d had an erection throbbing, mile after mile, filling my panties with pre-cum. She’d required that I go to the store and purchase women’s thong panties and wear them to our meeting. It was these that were being soaked with my seeping cock.
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