Negotiating our first scene, two and a half years ago, I
wrote on the list I was making for daddy, under “hard limits”: “no yelling or
name-calling (I'm never a bitch, a whore, or a cunt -- or their equivalents in
any language).” Were I to think of the word “slut” at that moment, I’m sure I
would’ve added it to the list. I hated the idea of being verbally abused or
degraded – I still do – and I could think of no other meaning or purpose for
the words I listed.
A few months ago, at Fet Fest Con, I picked out a choker for
myself – on a narrow strip of black velvet four letters in silver, covered in
crystals: S L U T. Beautiful. It’s one of my favorite adornments, a collar of a
kind – it stands for “daddy’s little slut,” a term of endearment I came to
love. Meanwhile, the words “bitch” and “cunt” still make me cringe – they have that
tinge of malice in them, those sexualized terms used to denigrate me for behaviors
that may have nothing to do with sex, while “slut” and “whore” reflect my
sexual practices and desires without inherent judgment – it’s up to the user to
infuse them with disapproval.
I think my change of feelings towards the word “slut” came after
reading “The Ethical Slut” during yet another upheaval of slut-shaming in the
media. Partially as a tribute to the paradigm-shifting book I was reading (yes,
decades after initial publication it can still be a powerful discovery), and
partially in an attempt to reclaim another sexual word from being a form of
scorn, I publicly (to a group of three classmates who happened to be around during the moment of this decision) declared myself a slut. Little
did I know how far this choice would take me….
There are many scenes I’m sure to remember from our week at
Hedonism II. The sexual highpoint of the trip, however, at least the way it
seems to me right now, came at the end of a really hot threesome my daddy arranged
for me, with him and a young, attractive fellow from England. This was the
second time the three of us were playing around, but the first that we made it
to a bed. I was sucking the young man’s cock, growling with lust, as my daddy
pounded me from behind… Or maybe it happened later, after I was double-penetrated
(I rode our friend as daddy took me in the ass, something that usually takes
time and care, but this time was miraculously smooth and painless, as well as,
coincidentally, incredibly hot), and was lying spread whorishly wide on our bed,
breathing heavily... No, even later, as, exhausted but still turned on we
started going at it again, and this time I was sucking my daddy’s cock,
massively in heat and drooling all over it, my pussy pounded by the nameless
young man: my daddy grabbed me by the hair, forcefully pulled my face off his
cock and, holding it close to his own, told me, sternly, lovingly, tenderly,
that I was such a little slut, his favorite little whore… That was the moment I
burst, orgasming with my body and soul, from the very depth of my heart, my
loins, my mind… I have never been happier; I have never been more loved and
accepted for who I was, for my entirety, for my physicality, for my material, non-pretending,
non-acting, non-appropriate self that I’ve kept hidden from everyone for the
duration of my life. With those few words my daddy released me and allowed me to
finally and fully be me.
********************
Recently we began experimenting with hypnosis. I think next
time we’re playing around, I want the words “slut” and “whore,” when said by my
daddy, to be ingrained as triggers for all my future orgasms. Then again, they
may already be….
