Sunday, August 18, 2013

A Slut is Born

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.

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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….