Anonymous Submission

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My name is Marley. I am 22 years old and not quite a year out of college. I live just south of Chicago, have a good job, good friends and a boyfriend I love very much. So why did I take all my vacation days in January, ride a smelly bus for over 40 hours to Las Vegas and find myself alone in a hotel suite blindfolded with my hands and ankles cuffed waiting for a woman I have never seen, let alone met? Well it all started on Halloween last year. Looking back, if I had not had that stupid fight with my boyfriend over what costume to wear, none of this would have ever happened. But sometimes accidents change our lives for the better.

We had plans to go to a Halloween party and we had trouble picking out a couples costume. It was stupid that we each had our own ideas what to go as and neither of us was willing to budge. We ended up having a huge fight and actually broke up for a few days. But that isn’t important right now.

What is important was instead of staying home to mope, I showered and dolled myself up and still went to a bar with a couple of girlfriends. The place was a meat market (my girlfriends were trolling for a hookup) and was having a costume contest with first prize being $500.

You may anticipate my story begins with a poorly chosen one-night stand to soothe the heartache of breaking up with my boyfriend, but you would be wrong. I am an emotionally strong woman and if he didn’t want me, I wasn’t going to lose my head over him. I went to the bar mostly to support my friends who had visions of winning the costume contest. I ended up wearing a store bought catwoman costume because wearing half of a couples costume seemed stupid. I looked good, but I had no illusions of winning the contest. There were plenty of people who put a lot of effort into their costumes and I was sure one of them would be chosen.

I was having fun at the bar. There was plenty of drinking and dancing. Single guys were hitting on me, but again, I preferred not to be a casual hook up so I brushed them off. They did help my ego though. Then a couple walked in that I was sure would win the contest. Actually it was a threesome. It was what would best be described as a dominant couple (I knew a bit about “the scene” from reading Fifty Shades of Gray) along with their slavegirl. The couple was wearing all leather. The woman had on a short leather skirt, fishnet stockings, thigh high boots and a bustier displaying her ample breasts. The man had leather pants, a leather vest that was unbuttoned showing off a firm, muscular chest and also wore boots. It was their slave that really caught my eye. She was wearing, well, not much at all. Like her Mistress she had on fishnet stockings, but instead of boots she had on fuck me pumps with four-inch heels. She had on a micro mini skirt so short it showed off the clips on her garter belt. I wondered if she had on anything underneath. That was a weird thought for me because I’d never given what other women wear any consideration. But she enthralled me. Her breasts were covered by what appeared to be black tape wrapped around her chest a few times. She also wore a thick leather collar. It had a chain attached that the man was holding. It seemed like the entire bar stopped when they walked in. Although the party had an air of sex, nobody was a blatant as these three people. That is why I was sure they would win the contest.

I wished I had the courage to go and talk to them. They kept to themselves mostly at a table along the wall. I watched them discretely until the man unclipped his slave’s collar. She walked toward the bathroom. Something made me follow her. There was a line to get in the bathroom and fortunately I ended up standing next to her while we waited our turn. I finally worked up enough courage to talk to her.

“I love your costume,” I told her trying to sound friendly.

“Oh, thank you,” she replied. “But it really isn’t a costume.”

I must have looked dumbstruck so she explained.

“I dress like this most weekends, but usually we don’t go to a bar not in the scene. Master and Mistress like to go to places more friendly to us.”

“What does that mean?” I asked her. “Everyone here seems friendly.”

“Master and Mistress like to show me off in ways that wouldn’t fly here,” she replied. Unfortunately the bathroom door opened and she disappeared before I could press her further. When the next person left and it was my turn in the bathroom, I couldn’t tell which stall she was in so it wasn’t practical to continue our conversation. When I returned to my table, I noticed she was on the dance floor. She was moving with grace and beauty. She also oozed sexuality. Plenty of guys were checking her out and some of the girls on the floor looked jealous. I just sat back and watched.

When it came time for the contest, her Master clipped her leash back onto her collar. Each person in the contest walked across the stage and was gauged by the applause they received. The threesome clearly was the winner although only two of them walked. My new friend crawled bursa escort behind the couple as they tugged on her leash.

I tried to drink some more liquid courage so I could talk to the two dominants and learn more about this lifestyle their sub spoke about, but I just couldn’t do it and soon after the contest they left the party. My friends were disappointed they had not won and a little while later they wanted to go home as well.

That night in bed, all I could think about when I tried to fall asleep was how the girl looked and how free she must feel to be able to subjugate herself to the couple in front of a hundred people. I didn’t realize it at that moment, but visions of her and her couple would begin to haunt my dreams. I wish I had a way to contact them. I wanted to learn more about their lifestyle. My mind was drawn to it, even though I didn’t know anything beyond what I had learned in a fiction novel. I decided like anything else, some research on the Internet was necessary.

The first thing I learned was that a lot of people absolutely hated Fifty Shades because they claimed it was not an accurate portrayal of the lifestyle and mostly glorified abuse. Having never experienced submission in real life I couldn’t say one way or the other, but their criticism seemed reasonable. The second thing I found was a huge online community of people talking about the subject. I am always cautious about talking to people online because it is difficult to determine if someone is honest or full of shit. I found a group that seemed legit so I created a profile for myself. Since using my real name was out of the question, I chose Candie for my online persona because I am so sweet 🙂

Of course I was flooded with messages from guys claiming to be Doms hitting on me. Looking at their profiles, none of them appealed to me. I tried to stay just on the public message threads and not wade into too many private discussions. I figured I could lurk and learn safely. That was until I happened across the path of Mistress Q.

Some people you could sense were on the message board just for kicks or were not who they claimed to be. That was not the case of Mistress Q. She said she was from Los Angeles and clearly knew what she was talking about. I followed the advice she gave to both men and women, submissive or dominant. She obviously had a lot of experience. She seemed like the kind of person who could answer my questions. She had a lot of pictures on her profile, but none of them were of her. They were all her conquests, that is, people who had served her. She didn’t seem to keep anyone for long. Apparently she was a use them and lose them kind of woman. Before I got up the courage to contact her, I did send messages to a couple of women and a couple of men who had hooked up with her. All four praised her and said they loved the time they spent together, however brief it was. The longest person to stick around was three months and was one of the women. The guys were shorter lasting from a weekend to a week. I wasn’t too upset by this news since I had no intention of ever meeting her and even less interest in serving a woman. I pictured myself hooking up with a hot kinky guy. But any advice Mistress Q could give me would be helpful so I sent her an introductory private message. She didn’t reply right away. I figured she wasn’t interested in talking to me. Then a week later I got a message from her. It included the first of many commands she gave me and I got my first taste of actual submission.

“Dear Candie,” the message started politely. “Thank you for your interest in my training program.” I didn’t realize I had shown interest in a training program. My message just asked if I could ask her a few questions.

“I do accept online submissives occasionally if they show aptitude, but I do not have a lot of spare time for fakes. If you wish to serve me I require several things from you before we begin. First, I want a selfie of you holding a piece of paper that says “Mistress Q” on it to prove you are the woman you claim to be.”

I was not comfortable sending my picture around the Internet, but I understood why she would make that request. I’m sure there are plenty of guys living in their mom’s basement who send her messages. At least she didn’t say I had to be naked.

“After you send the picture,” she continued, “I want you to write me a detailed history of your sex life. I want to know when you lost your virginity and how. How many partners have you had? Male, female or both together? How often do you masturbate and what do you think about to make you cum? How long have you thought about BDSM? What made you start thinking the lifestyle was for you? What is the kinkiest thing you have ever done? Tell me everything so I know I can work with you. You must never lie to me and I must believe you can tell me your darkest secrets. I’ll know if you are not telling the truth.”

I wasn’t sure how she would know if I wasn’t truthful since she had never met me, but somehow I believed she could. bursa escort bayan That was a message that would take me a long time to write. I would have to put some thought into it. Sending her that information was more intimate than what I had shared with any boyfriend. I wasn’t sure if I could do it. Then when I read the last instruction in her message, I realized the letter was the least of my worries.

“My final requirement involves a phone call. You could still fake the picture and perhaps you are a great writer and could fool me. But you can’t fake your voice. Tonight when you go to bed, I want you to masturbate. When you are about to orgasm, you must call me.” She included a phone number. “Since you are two time zones ahead of me I probably will not pick up, so leave me a voicemail so I can hear you cum. If I do happen to be free and I pick up, don’t cum until I give you permission. If you pass all these tests, I will consider taking you on as an online slave.” The message was simply signed, “Q.”

I read her message over and over. I felt flush. I just wanted to ask her a couple of questions but she expected me to follow her instructions and complete her tasks before she would talk to me. That certainly was not what I expected and not what I had experienced with the other people I chatted with on the board. Then I realized maybe Mistress Q was the first real dominant I had messaged. Maybe everyone else had been fakes and this was what a real person in the lifestyle would expect. Maybe she was the person from whom I really could learn. I set about to complete her tasks.

The picture was easy to take, but hard to send. Even though she didn’t specify that I was to be naked, as would have been a reasonable request if she were testing my resolve to talk to her, I didn’t want a clothed picture of me holding a sign with her name out in the open. I was not a lesbian, but anyone seeing the picture would think I preferred women. But I knew if I failed to have the courage to send it, I should not bother messaging her again, so trying to stifle my insecurities, I clicked send. It was done. Now I moved on to writing my personal sexual biography.

This turned out to be easier to write than I imagined. Once I got started, the text flowed out of me as I confessed my earliest sexual experiences and thoughts up to and including writing this biography. I gave her explicit details of what I thought about alone in bed when my boyfriend wasn’t there to take care of me. I told her the nasty thoughts that helped me cum while my fingers danced on my clit and sadly that I had never had a three-way. I had to confess that most of the wild things I thought of to help me orgasm were just that. Thoughts. I had blow my boyfriend in the car and gave him a hand job once in the water at the beach, but except for some kinky chat, I was plain vanilla by most standards.

Calling her when I orgasmed would prove to be the most difficult task to complete. As protective as I felt about sharing my picture, sharing my voice in the throes of passion was even more difficult. My boyfriend ended up staying over that night so after he fell asleep I had to sneak away to the bathroom to play with myself. I had already sent the messages with the picture and biography so I knew Q would expect me to leave the voicemail soon after. It had already been a couple of hours so I hoped I wasn’t too late. I was already wearing a baby doll nightie after being intimate with my boyfriend. He always sleeps well after her cums so I wanted to be sure to wear him out. I had not cum from his efforts because my mind was thinking on Mistress Q had her command not to cum until she could hear me. I wasn’t sure what compelled me to worry about that as my boyfriend was fucking me, but I did.

Alone in the bathroom, I was prepared to carry out her final task. Maybe then she would answer my questions. I sat down on the toilet and slid my fingers into my panties. I was still damp from my boyfriend’s attentions. From there it was a quick trip to arousal and lust as I thought back to the Halloween party and the slave girl. I imagined her being fucked from behind by her Master while her Mistress lay in front of her presenting her pussy for licking. I’d never wanted to lick another woman, but I could understand why the slave girl would enjoy it. Following Mistress’ directions it seemed natural that if she wanted me to pleasure her, that I would do so. The slave girl didn’t have to be gay (or bi) to bring her Mistress gratification. I rubbed my clit faster as in my fantasy my Master began fucking me harder and I began to alternate from licking my Mistress’ pussy and begging her for permission to cum.

In only a matter of minutes, I felt myself on the edge of a climax. It wasn’t one I was just going to fake for my boyfriend’s ego satisfaction either. This was going to be a real one. By body ached for release. I dialed Mistress Q’s number. I was conflicted whether I really wanted her to answer. I had accepted that I would bursa merkez escort let her hear me cum, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted her to pick up and make me beg for it. For better or for worse, I got her voicemail. The outgoing message wasn’t very long but I learned a couple of things from it. First was she had a low, lust-filled voice that excited me. Second she identified herself as Mistress Q and not by her real name. She must use this number to talk to many submissives I theorized. But that didn’t matter. My body was prepared to crash into orgasm and as soon as I heard the beep to leave a message, I did.

I didn’t have a quiet little happy orgasm. I had a monster yell and scream orgasm. I totally forgot I was on the phone. I had planned a little speech identifying who I was and thanking Mistress Q (I figured it was the thing to do) for permission to cum. I figured she would like that even though she had not really asked me to do so. But it didn’t quite work out that way. I was lost in a fog of lust as waves of orgasm crashed over my body. I’m surprised I didn’t drop the phone as my body convulsed and my fingers continued to rub my clit prolonging the desire. By the time I calmed down enough to get my wits back, the recording had stopped. Apparently I went on too long for Q’s voicemail. I crawled back into bed wearing my soiled panties and fell fast asleep.

My boyfriend left early the next morning, as was his custom. Usually this would upset me, but today I didn’t care. I quickly logged into the message board to see if Mistress Q had responded. She had but she didn’t answer my questions. At least she did not answer directly. She did praise me for completing her tasks fully. She said most of the people she talks to screw up somewhere, but that I had been detailed, truthful and forthcoming. She also gave me some additional tasks. I was to photograph my clothes so she could pick out what I would wear today. I did that and followed her instructions on how to dress. I then sent her more questions.

Each time I asked her something, she would send me a task at least somewhat related to what I had asked. At first I didn’t understand her method, but then I realized she was helping me live out my questions instead of just answering them. Along the way I began to find great satisfaction in completing her tasks and began to take pride in myself whenever she called me a “good girl” or “sweet baby.” I would only masturbate on days that she told me to and always called her to leave her a voicemail of my climax. She seemed pleased when I started calling her multiple times per day. Then, as eventually I suppose it must happen, she picked up her phone right as I was about to cum. I immediately stopped masturbating (at her insistence) and listened to her instruct me exactly how she wanted me to touch myself. It was so much more exciting to masturbate completely under her control. I could have just rubbed my clit quickly and came, but instead she had me go slow and tease myself. She had me rub and then pinch my nipples. She even had me lick a finger and then push it into my ass. I had never done such things while talking on the phone and when she finally gave me permission to cum, I exploded into the best orgasm I ever had in my life. I was hooked on her.

The next night she called me. There was no question that I would stop what I was doing and follow her instructions. This time she had me strip down and get into the bathtub. I was excited just by the sound of her voice and the fact that I was doing a task for her live on the phone was just icing on the cake. She allowed me the pleasure of using warm water. She warned me that somebody she would use ice on my clit to control my excitement, but this time she just had me lay in the bathtub and direct the faucet to dispense between my legs.

I was allowed to use my free hand (the other held the phone) to stimulate my nipples, but at no time was I to touch my clit. The water allowed me to slide back and forth under the nozzle to vary where the stream of water hit me. I didn’t keep it directly on my clit the entire time because I knew I would cum too quickly if I did that. Mistress Q obviously enjoyed hearing my passion sounds and was not in a hurry to give me relief. She definitely had a mean streak in her with regards to teasing me. Every man I had ever been with was concerned with his own orgasm first and never worried if he climaxed before I did. They were not concerned if I climaxed at all. Mistress Q was different. She made me work for my orgasm(s) but eventually I would be allowed to cum and they were always explosive.

Mistress Q slowly brought me into the lifestyle and in essence answered all my questions by letting me feel all the aspects of being a submissive. She taught me how to spank myself with a paddle she had me buy. She also had me buy restraints on Amazon as well as a rabbit vibrator. I teased myself for hours with that until she finally gave me permission to cum. By December I decided it was time we meet and that I finally experienced submission in real life. Unfortunately Mistress Q was not down for that plan. I pleaded with her to change her mind claiming I was ready to serve her in any way she desired. I even sent her a playful Christmas themed picture to try and convince her to meet me. Who could resist a present like that?

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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