Wednesday, 24 of September of 2014

Tag » humiliation

POTW: Wet Bed, Wetter Panties

Penny has had an accident, soaking her bed and her little, white, cotton panties.


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AB/DL Orientation


RA Penny has selected you for a special form of sorority hazing that involves AB treatment that EVERYONE is going to get in on. After she feminizes you and puts you in a diaper, she drugs you and forces you to wet. Then she makes you go ask the hot girl in the room next to you for a change. Welcome to university!

$9.00 / 12:50


Vlog: the Saga of Sam Solo


Mondo Shoot

Sunday was spent shooting with Daisy Ducati, Sam Solo, and Siouxsie Q. It was pretty fun!

Siouxsie got there first and did some POV shoots with Sam, which I’m sure he enjoyed. I walked in on one of them to find Siouxsie wearing bikini bottoms and deep throating a HUGE dildo. Like, I have seen some big dildos in my life and some gigantic cocks–Jack Hammer! *cough* Prince Yashua! *cough, cough*–but this thing was just…monstrous. Anyway, even though I’ve been in porn a long time, I still feel rude watching stuff like this, so I turned around and literally just stared at the wall. The more turned on I am by a shoot in progress, the less likely I am to watch it. First of all, I’m worried that I’ll make the whole room smell like pussy and second of all, I feel like I’m stealing something. Like, if it’s my shoot, I’ll damn well watch, because I paid for it and I want to make sure it’s going well, but if it isn’t mine…nah. I did a shoot once where a girl brought her boyfriend–without asking me first–and then tried to get him to come over and watch the action. Luckily he had better manners than she did and declined. I mean, I was there to do a shoot, not a live show for some uninvited stranger. (Okay, maybe if he was devastatingly handsome, but he was more nice than cute. Not my type. Sorry.)

So after Siouxsie was done doing her thing with Gigantor, she and I filmed an AWESOME shoot that I wish was for my site. She was a ditzy friend of my son’s who was swiping beer during a pool party. She flounced out into the living room in a swimsuit holding the pilfered beer in her hand. I saw it and dragged her over my knee for a hard spanking–after pulling her top off, of course. At some point while spanking her, I pulled my boobs out. (It doesn’t have to make sense.) Then, while she was still over my lap, I was nice enough to hold the cold beer against her ruby red butt. After her swimsuit bottoms came down, there was lots of pussy spreading, too. It was very, very nice. I really with this shoot had been for me, but, alas, it’s for Siouxsie. (I’ll link when it’s up.)

We had a few spare minutes before Daisy showed up. I was wearing lingerie and heels and I really had to pee, so I figured that was a shoot right there.  I threw on my coat and told Sam to get the camera and follow me to the public bathroom down the hall.

Sam: “…No. I…I don’t want to get in trouble…”

Moi: “What are you talking about? Come on, I have to pee.”

Siouxsie: “You afraid of getting kicked out? The lease is up in two days. Just go.”

Sam, still looking nervous: “…Okay.”

I enjoy making Sam uncomfortable. He doesn’t blush really. He just sort of cringes into this little human letter C and starts smiling and lamenting before he gives up and charges in.

So, we got to the bathroom and Sam was trying to hide the camera under his arm, which was hilarious because while it wasn’t a big camera, Sam’s a small guy and he wears these skintight sweatshirts that must be made for 12-year-olds. I started teasing, opening my coat, and squated to pee.

Me: “Hold. You need to get a wider angle. Move back.”

Sam, crying as he gets down on the floor of the super skeezy public restroom to film golden shower fetish porn. (When I met Sam, he worked in education for some non profit or something. … I haven’t been a good influence on his life.)

Me: “Just move back! You don’t have to get on the floor!”

Sam, wailing: “I’m already down here!”

I threw my hands up and we finished the scene. He filmed me a little in the hall, looking terrified the whole time.

Then we got back to the studio and Daisy showed up. We did a three-girl shoot for my sissification site where we were teasing Sam. Long story short, there was lipstick, a tutu, and ass worship.

Now, Sam and I have an agreement that I’m allowed to sexually harass him whenever possible. Nay: I’m supposed to or he’ll quit. I like this because I rarely touch anyone’s penis other than Manny’s and Sam’s is actually pretty nice. However, poor Sam does still get embarrassed, probably because I like to tease him while I do it. So, Sam’s standing there, literally covering his face in shame with both hands, and I’m swirling his cock (I like to call it a wing-dand-doodle) in a circle purely because I think it looks funny. Siouxsie and Daisy are sitting there watching and trading zingers with me over Sam’s predicament. So fun. Like, this is why I make porn. I love humiliation fluffing.

So, we did that shoot and then we did one for Daisy that was a sleepover wrestling thing. And I got to wear one of those T-shirts that’s printed to look like a hot, cartoon woman’s body in a bikini. You think you won’t like it, but you will. I made it sexy. Anyway, the plan was for Daisy to loose the semi-competitive wrestling match, but I ended up on the bottom–like a freaking knew I would–and Daisy was grinding away on my face and Siouxsie was stripping me and rubbing all over me and, I admit it, I started to excited to the point that I was beginning to be worried about moving. I don’t cum particularly theatrically, but I tense up and you can totally tell what’s going on. So I just kinda lied there while they not-tortured me. It was very reminiscent of a high school trip to Ashland, Oregon where I shared a room with two straight female friends and they spent the night basically wrestling with each other on top of me while I just lied there and wondered when the hell I was going to be able to masturbate again.

After that I had to take off, but I trust that sexy times were still had by all and I look forward to perusing the results in the privacy and leisure of my own room. And, don’t worry! The lovely Maxine Holloway did a really hot POV AB/DL clip that I can’t wait to share. :)

The R Word

I had a shoot with yesterday that was cut short. (I was just off my game that day for some reason. They treated me with a level of professionalism and respect that I wish was more common in the adult industry and I’m anxiously looking forward to finishing the shoot with them. Matt Williams is he kind of dom you hope for and their talent manager and other staff displayed a humanitarian concern that was moving and helpful.) During the initial interview, Matt Williams, the director and my co-star, asked a lot of his questions that were difficult to answer on the spot because they were things that I was not sure that I could say on camera. For example, when he asked how old I was when I began engaging in BDSM, the truth is that I was in elementary school. However, I can’t say that on camera, so I vaguely answered, “Before I was legal.”

Then he asked, “What do you like during sex?”

“I like to be bound. I like to feel like I don’t have a choice… I like… I’m not allowed to use the R word, am I?”

Matt’s brow knitted. “The R word?”

A camera girl to his left, quietly but anxiously, said no.

Matt was still confused. “What’s the R word?”

The camera girl, again low and quick, answered, “Rape.”

“Oh, god! No, you can’t say that!”

I gave a sheepish smile and continued, “Well, I like to be held down and having the guy–sometimes a woman, but usually a guy–say, over and over, ‘I’m going to R you. I am R-ing you.'”

We finished the interview and got on with the shoot, which, again, was unfortunately but with professionalism and caring, cut short.

After I got home I spent some time with my children, then dropped them off with their father. I got home and cleaned most of the apartment and took a bath and put on a cute satin teddy from Secrets in Lace and a pink satin robe. I put on some turquoise earrings, my boyfriend’s birthstone, and started to clean my room.

The doorbell rang. This was a little odd, because my boyfriend has a key and usually just lets himself in. I went to the door and it was him. He had just gotten off work, but had changed into jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black jacket. He had a bulging backpack over his shoulder, which I assumed held his clothes.

I let him in and we stood in the doorway kissing for a while, whispering to each other.

“Did my baby girl miss me?”

“Yes, Daddy. Please touch me.”

“I love you.”

“Are you hungry? I could make something.”

“Let’s go to the bedroom.”

We walked to my room. He was behind me and usually when he is, he’s caressing me and stroking me, but this time he wasn’t. We got to my room and I got up on the bed. When I turned around, his backpack and jacket were off and he was holding a fistful of rope and, well, this:


It’s a custom “slap bracelet” that my boyfriend had made ages ago. The idea is that, if he can get it on me, I have to do whatever I’m told. It’s a way of “activating” me. I had it in my jewelry armoire and had told him where it was, but didn’t know that he had actually gone in and found it. For all I know, he took it out ages ago.

He held the bracelet in his fingertips and swung it from side to side. I got into a defensive position. He lunged.

From there we played for maybe three hours. We wrestled. He bound me, I escaped. He entered me while the bracelet was on, then took it off to watch me struggle. He put it on my ankles and wrists–wherever it would go. Once, when he was moving me, it came off and I almost got away. I held it in my hand and refused to let go, even when he twisted my arms and dug his fingers into my pressure points. We got so sweaty that twice we had to take breaks to go shower. (Sex is my favorite workout!)

At one point, the bracelet was off and he was trying to get it on me, but I was blocking him successfully. Instead of being confrontational, I began to plead with him. “Kiss me. Please kiss me so that I can kiss you back.” I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him close. “Not like this. Make love to me. Please. Don’t you want to hold me?” I let my voice shake and tried to looks as, well, pitiful as possible. I thought he was going to crack. He was still struggling to get the bracelet on me, but not as hard. He was avoiding meeting my gaze and swallowed hard, as if he was restraining himself. But he didn’t crack–and he eventually got the bracelet back on.

After that, I bound his wrists and gagged him, got him in some holds and punched him in the back good and hard. I really like to watch men struggle while in bondage and punching can feel very satisfying.

However, he managed to turn the tables. I had bound his wrists in front of him because I was showing him how to do a certain tie. Big mistake. He got his arms around me so that he was hugging my neck. He pushed his mouth to mine and kissed me hard. I tried to bite him, but he just kissed me harder until I was overwhelmed.

Then he growled in my ear, “Take my cock out.”

I refused, but he squeezed my neck until I did. I reached down and drew his hard cock out of his boxers. He immediately plunged it into me. I moaned and tried to buck, but his weight was holding me down. As he took me, he told me how this was inevitable, how he would always win, how much stronger he was. He fucked me until I came, then we lay in each others’ arms until he wanted me again, then he fucked me until we came together as I screamed, “This is what I want from you; give me your cum.”

Those three hours were some of the best sex I’ve ever had and they were very R word role play heavy.

I don’t understand why the R word can’t be used in porn. Rape ROLE PLAY is about being FREE. Actual rape is the hard opposite of that. If a porn company uses pre- and post-shoot interviews and negotiates with models and has a policy of stopping shoots that go wrong, I see no reason why this common female fantasy can’t be indulged.

I have been sexually assaulted three times. Once when I was thirteen, and twice by my ex-husband when I was twenty-six. I will not go into details because they were all pretty horrible instances that undermined my belief in the justice system to the point that I think cops should be abolished. The only help I got was from other adult industry people and if, god forbid, something should ever happen to me or someone I know again, I will not waste time going to the cops. I don’t believe in vigilante justice, but I do believe in outing rapists and doxxing. I just wanted to make my stance on that clear. I also want to make it clear that my interested in rape role play survived my assaults and did not result from them. And, as an interesting point, I have absolutely no fantasies about street harassment/catcalling. That’s just annoying and makes the perpetrator seem weak and kinda stupid.

So while I’m not about to fight for my “right” to use the R word in porn, it’s only because I think there are many things that are more important. Like, probably literally everything. Like, finding that Lego block I lost yesterday is more important. I just wanted to share a little about what I like, in case you were wondering. I also imagine that my average reader is a male who has not experienced sexual assault, but knows and loves women who have. I know it was hard for Manny and me to start having sex again after the last and most violent instance of assault that my ex-husband committed, but we got through it and now enjoy a happy role play life again.


His breathing has been steady for at least thirty minutes, but I’ve been waiting for this all day and I can’t ruin it by being over anxious. I have to wait until I’m sure. My arm oozes across the comforter to check the time on my phone. 12:33 am. He must be asleep by now, deeply enough that I can slide out of the bed, keeping my legs straight until I can bend them gently to melt against the floor. I do not move so much as seep across the bedroom to the closet. I’ve left the door open so that I can reach in and feel around the top shelf under my sweaters until I feel something even softer, something that crinkles.

My heart races and I can’t be careful anymore. I grab the diaper and quickly walk down the hall, holding my breath. I sneak into the bathroom and switch on the light, illuminating my naked body and the thick, white diaper. I squeeze it hard and my clit throbs. I open it and lay it out on the tiny bathroom rug then lie down on top of the diaper, pressing my ass into the softness. I wiggle back and forth, pulling the front of the diaper up over my vulva, and I moan softly.

“Yes. This is what I want.”

I’m alone, but I don’t want to be. I imagine a man kneeling at my head, his knees brushing my ears as his warm hands knead my breasts while I rub my eager clit and wet slit against the diaper. My dampness soaks into the absorbent loveliness and I imagine his deep voice playfully chastising me, “This is why you need a diaper. Without it, you make a mess.” I tape the diaper as tightly as I can and my sex convulses as each tab is pressed down.

I lie on the floor working the diaper against my pussy, but the part of me that is made of longing rolls over onto her knees, presses her breasts together, and asks the man, “Do you need to pee?”

He grunts and stands before me. His cock is not fully erect, but he is definitely excited. He grasps it with one hand and tilts my head back with the other. I feel his hot urine splash against my face. I open my mouth and lap at his stream. His urine runs down my breasts, over my belly, and into my diaper, filling it so that it bulges between my legs.

I rub myself furiously on the bathroom floor as I release my bladder and fill the diaper, imagining that it’s the man’s pee and not mine, that he is marking me and claiming me. I’m getting close, so close to cumming against the soft, white diaper, warm and wet and–

The door opens and M stands against the darkness. I’m illuminated as thought I was on a stage and he can see everything that I’m doing: my hands between my legs, the wet diaper, my flushed cheeks.

My eyes start to tear as I ask, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

He is looking between my legs, not at my face, when he answers. “I need to pee.”

I start to cry, sitting on the floor, looking up at him. I don’t sob, I don’t make a sound, but tears run down my cheeks, down my neck, spreading over my skin.

I realize that, in avoiding his gaze, I’m staring at his crotch. He stirs, gets bigger. His glans pushes its curious way out into the fluorescent light.

I imagine that, somehow, he’s mocking me with his erection. “Stop it!” I cover my face with my hands and begin to cry in earnest.

He kneels down and tries to take my hands away. “What were you doing? Were you playing with yourself?”

“Yes, okay! Yes!”

He continues to gently pull at my hands and I continue to hold them to my flushed, wet face.

“Did you wet it? Do you like it?”

I push against him, refusing to answer. Finally he gets frustrated and just wraps his arms around me. I can feel his hot, hard cock against my leg and then against…my diaper.

He moans and pushes against the thick plastic. “Oh, baby girl!”

“Stop it, Manny!”

But he doesn’t stop. He pushes me down so that I’m on the floor and he’s on top of me, pressed hard against me. He’s breathing hard and rutting against my diaper. It almost feels like sex, the way the warm, wet diaper is digging into my sex, the way he’s holding me so close.

“Why can you like it, but not me?”

“You don’t like it!”

“Oh, but I do.” He gives one long, hard push to drive the point home. I open my hands to peek at him and his mouth connects with mine. He kisses me hard, as though he means to devour me, and I realize that I’ve wanted this for a long time.

There’s no denying that he’s aroused by finding me like this. I melt and let him kiss me as fiercely as he wants to.

“It’s wet!”

I begin to get nervous again, but he reassures me, “I like that it’s wet! It’s so sexy.” He kisses me. “Can you wet it some more?”

I bite my lip and nod.

“Do it.”

I relax and let the rest of the warm liquid flood my diaper. It swells up and overflows each time he pushes against me.

“Oh, fuck!” His hand flutters around my hips as he tries to undo the tapes of the diaper, but he’s never done this before and can’t seem to figure it out. I reach down and help him, untaping the sides so that he can pull down the front of my diaper and slide his dripping cock into me.

He thrusts over and over again, the diaper making a sweet squish each time he pushes into me. His arms are wrapped around my neck and he has me pulled close to him. My eyes are closed and all my being is focused on experiencing the warmth of his body and the warmth of the diaper as they cradle me from either side.

He’s breathing like an animal as he pants, “You’re a dirty little girl. I can’t believe that I’ve been fucking such a sick little pervert for so long and didn’t even realize it. What other dirty things do you do when you’re alone?”

I gently push him back until we’re looking into each others’ eyes. “You have no idea.”

He cums inside of me and I feel the warmth everywhere: in my sex, on my ass, on my belly. It feels amazing and I can’t wait to feel it again.


Diapers at the Hustler Club!

That’s right! I wore a Bambino, t-shirt, and heels to wander around the Hustler Club! If you missed it, I hope to be performing there again, so don’t worry! Hopefully you’ll get your chance.

It was a really fun performance. Bella Rossi is quite the little performer. She was sexy, flirty, professional, and friendly–everything you can hope for from a featured dancer at an upscale club!

I had mentioned in a few groups on FetLife that I was going to be dancing at the club and that I was hoping to do some diapered lap dances and, like, five guys came out just for that. I was psyched! I did only diapered lap dances all night, cycling between these guys. There were hands on my diaper CONSTANTLY. It was intensely hot.

After my first set was when I started being available for dances–and I use that term very loosely because I can’t dance to save my life. My favorite dance was definitely the one I gave to a guy who had stood up for me on FetLife. It means a lot to me when people do that. I get so much hate mail from guys when I a) won’t date them b) won’t fuck them c) won’t scene with them for free and it gets a little tiring. A lot of them feel entitled to me simply because they find me attractive and it can be a little draining to constantly remind them that I’m in a relationship with a great guy. When someone–especially a guy who is in my “target audience” (i.e. is a straight guy into diapers)–stands up and says that it isn’t okay to treat me like that, my heart just swells. It’s sad that I have to be excited over that, but, well, what’re ya gonna do?

So it was already more intimate that other dances. Other dances were more, “This is hot, isn’t it? Let’s get to know each other!” This one was more, “My hero! I want to show you just how much that meant to me.” I liked the dynamic and, of course, it’s always great to know that you’re doing something nice for someone who goes out of his way to stand up for the underdog, who takes the time to say something NICE on the internet. I like knowing that the guy I’m grinding on is not just a decent person, but a good one.

Beyond that, Eve Minax was so good as to send over a Molicare! Awesome tip, right? She wasn’t there herself, but she gave it to friend and he brought it. I was very flattered.

It was also fun to run around the club in my Bambino. Of course I was worried that at any moment the floor manager was going to come over and tell me that I couldn’t wear a diaper on the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. I tried to sort of cover it up by pulling my t-shirt down, but it didn’t really work. Finally when it was time to take off the diaper, I went up to one of the guys and nestled by diapered bum between his legs and asked him to take it off of me. He was a little shakey, but he managed to get all the tapes off. I was wearing my panties underneath because another guy had diapered me and I can’t have exposed genitals in the club. A diaper may fly at Hustler Club, but not an exposed vulva!

The whole night was huge fantasy fulfillment and I can’t thank everyone enough. The Hustler staff was great, the patrons were really awesome, and my co-performer was just too hot. I hope that I get to perform again!


Reverse Age Play Within Age Play

It’s no secret that my new partner isn’t into age play. At least, not really, but he does like to have me, you know, enjoy the sex, so we found a way of compromising that works pretty well.

Usually when I’m age playing as foreplay, I first age play as a teenage daughter who has been pissing off Daddy in some way, maybe testing her budding sexuality or just being a brat. Then, for punishment, my adult privileges and trappings are taken away. A big kink for me is being told that I’m no longer allowed to wear high heels and being made to wear mary janes or saddle oxfords or something like that. From there it devolves into diapering and sexual punishment.

But Manny isn’t into that. He likes women. He likes curvaceous, opinionated, strong, intelligent women–that he can humiliate and fuck like animals. His tastes are completely different from my ex’s. But there are some parallels between his desires and mine. We both like for the submissive partner to start off holding all the cards, as it were, and be taken down a notch. The big differences come in when I want to be taken down by having my sexual power and status taken away and he wants it enhanced to the point that I’m no longer really a person, but more of a fuck doll.

So, we found a compromise–i.e. something that neither party really wanted, but that works out well. In fact, it’s kind of hot. Manny isn’t particularly good at overly structured scenes, and I love overly structured scenes, but they just fail, so we got rid of that, but we maintained the Daddy-girl dynamic, which he says he hadn’t thought of before, but really, really gets off on now. So, the basic scene is this: I’m Daddy’s little girl of unstated age, which is pretty standard for the hodgepodge style of age play that I do. For some reason he’s displeased with me and I’m trying to get back into his good graces. At this point, I’m all sweetness and concern, maybe implying that I might do something sexual to earn forgiveness. From there he proceeds to slutify me. This means off with the cute little dress or uniform and on with the lingerie and stockings. Of course I can’t be in a diaper! Gross! Teddy bear is snatched from my grasp and my searching hand finds his cock instead. My mary janes are flung across the room and I find my feet pushed into scary and exciting high heels.

Other times, I may start off trying to slutify myself already, but screwing it up somehow and needing to be punished. “Are you trying to be a big girl in those stockings, little girl? Too bad the pink bows and pigtails ruin it.” “Do you really think that Daddy wants to fuck you in a diaper?” That’s pretty hot, too. I always liked the scene in Cinderella where her step-sisters rip her homemade gown to shreds and these scenes are kind of like that. It’s humiliating to have something pulled off of you like that, especially when you’ve worked really hard on it.

And I love that I’m still finding new ways to explore age play. Seriously: I’ve been doing this for nine years and it just keeps getting better.

Finding Daddy

I recently re-entered the dating world and, being an AB/DL girl, was seeking a Daddy Dom, or at least a Daddy. The search was…unpleasant. Most of the guys that contacted me just weren’t my physical type. A lot of them didn’t have interests that were actually compatible with mine, but were so desperate that they were trying me anyway. A few just seemed dumb. Others were confusing adult baby play with older-for-younger, which is a pet peeve of mine.

Then I contacted a long-time friend, F. We started talking about his problems dating. He’s pretty shy and is currently a student, despite being in his late twenties, so he feels like he doesn’t have a lot to offer a woman. However, he’s very handsome, he’s nerdy and shares a lot of my non-sexual interests. He also likes to date age appropriate women. I think he’s quite appealing and have told him so over and over again.

I actually met him when I was very pregnant with my first child. He was joining our Dungeons and Dragons group. (Don’t laugh–you know you’re jealous!) Since I was so huge, I asked a friend to get the doorbell rather than waddle down the stairs myself. I was sitting on the couch, probably dosing myself with Tums to quell my pregnancy heartburn when this super hot guy walked in the room. I said something like, “Oh, please tell me that’s the new gamer.” He blushed and laughed. It was adorable. Evidently I’ve still got it, even when I’m gigantic and not wearing any make-up!

From there we started a two-year-long dance where he would sit across from me and surreptitiously look down my blouse. I started to wear more revealing tops and dresses to help him out. (And, of course, when I caught our friend M looking down my top I got super pissed. Remember: the clingy, low-slung sweater is not always meant for you!)

My husband was horribly jealous the whole time. If I laughed at any of F’s jokes or told him that I had no idea why he was having so much trouble dating, it would lead to an hour of fighting. Don’t get me wrong, I was way more into my husband, but F was cute and I like to flirt. Then, one day in June 2011, my husband walked into my room and, out of the blue, said, “You know, you’re young and beautiful and should be able to do what you want. Go ahead and hook up with F.”

I was so happy! I spent the next two weeks shamelessly flirting with F. Then I sent him a FaceBook message asking if he wanted to do me. (Classy, I know, but I certainly wasn’t going to ask him with my baby on my hip and my husband in the next room.) He was a little shocked, but said yes. He checked in with my husband to make sure it was all cool and a week later we were having sweaty, grindy, nasty sex. He spit in my face, he pulled my hair, he held me down, he grabbed me by the hips and slammed me down on his hard, uncut cock. It. Was. Awesome.

Then he and I started a regular thing and, to keep us going between hook ups, we kept in contact via a private blog where we would share porn and dirty pictures. Things were getting pretty hot and heavy. I hadn’t been dominated like that in a while and, what made it better was knowing that this was him thinking he wasn’t even dominant. I couldn’t imagine how crazy things would get if he just owned up and admitted that he was a fucking tempest.

This is the point at which my husband got into my email, found the blog, and became incredibly, blindly jealous.

F and I cut things off. We didn’t talk. He dropped out of the DnD game. He un-friended me on FaceBook. Whatever.

Then I found out that F had been given to me not out of a selfless desire to make me happy, but out of guilt. Hubby had done something bad. I mean, really bad. As in we’re no longer hubby and wife bad.

So, a few weeks after that discovery, I contacted F out of the blue and asked how he was doing. We started chatting. I was just looking for some companionship, so I didn’t mention that I was getting a divorce. It lasted about a month before he sent a long email about his dating issues. He says that I give better dating advice than most of his buddies, probably because I’m a sex worker and spend a lot of my time being hit on by both competent and incompetent men. At the end, he asked, out of politeness, how things were going with my husband, so I told him. After profusely apologizing for not asking sooner, we started flirting again, and this time he started it!

It was only a matter of time before the rough, grabby sex started up again. I mean, I was getting hit on my by husband’s so-called friends left and right, many of them attractive, but F was different. We started cybering again and we still sext each other almost constantly. Eventually he asked me for a list of all the things I wanted him to do to me in the bedroom.

It was a difficult list to write. There were a lot of things I wanted to include, but was worried would weird him out. He told me not to exclude anything and I finally justified leaving some of it out my telling myself that I didn’t really want him to do those things to me, i.e. diaper me, because then I’d have to look him in the eye the next day. But I did work in some pee play stuff and I’ve been surprised to find that he’s into it. It’s a rare specimen that can work the word “toilet” into sex chat and still make it erotic.

I’m trying to open him up to the adult baby thing. When I first mentioned that my husband had been into it, he shook his head and said, “People are weird.” Not a good sign. I also showed him some AB pictures and he has responded positively to some of them, but he’s also been pretty turned off by others.

Some progress has been made. One night we were chatting and I finally worked up the courage to ask if I could call him “Daddy.” At first he was a little surprised. “That turns you on?” He does seem to have gotten into it, though. I linked him to a post by Minx Grrl on different types of BDSM Daddies.

Last time we were together, he had me bent over his couch, one hand on my hip, the other holding a fist-full of my hair as he fucked me. He asked me to say the most dirty things, from, “Please rape me, Daddy,” to “I love Daddy’s cock,” and of course I did. It was incredibly hot, humiliating, and filthy. After I came in shuddering waves with him hilt-deep inside of me, he let go of me and I tumbled forward onto the couch. I left my hair in my face so that I couldn’t see him properly and, more importantly, he couldn’t really see me.

I was ashamed. I mean, really ashamed; more ashamed than a sex positive sex worker should be over simple, powerless words. I wanted to magically be away from there. My face felt hot, burning, knowing that he was there looking at me after I’d said those awful things, that he had only asked me to because he knew it would get me off.

He sat down next to me. “Come here, so I can hold you.”

I thought about saying no, but to what purpose? I slid over and curled up in his lap. He brushed my hair out of my face.

Still unable to make eye-contact, I said, “I want you to know that my real dad–he never touched me.”

His arms were around me. I could feel his muscle tensed just a little as he cradled me. In an instant he could push me away in disgust and tell me to get the hell out of his apartment, that what we were doing was sick and he never wanted to see me again.

“I know. I never thought that.” He kissed me. “I know it’s just a fetish.”

What a kind thing he did for me there on that couch. He didn’t define me by my kink, he didn’t assume that I must have been hurt or molested in order to want something so unorthodox. I still don’t know which path our play will take and we’re still finding out how we fit together, but when asking for all the experiences I want to share with him, I really have to remember that, even if he says no, he won’t judge me. He may not be my next Daddy and he may never come around to AB/DL play, but at least I can trust him to understand that, “It’s just a fetish.”