Last time I contributed here, I shared some stories about a beautiful little angel I met in my sophomore year of college who not only pumped my confidence sky high, but allowed me to explore what are now my absolute top kinks. If interested:

https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/1dghhwl/mf_corrupting_the_innocent_college_girl_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

She was the first girl who truly showed me what a perfect submissive could be and she will always have my immense gratitude.

This story takes place a few years later.

I’m now freshly graduated from college, finally making some decent money, and spending all of my free time partying with friends and chasing girls. (Not all that different from college, I suppose, apart from the money). And while I have had no shortage of luck with the ladies, sadly I am still chasing the high that was my sophomore year. As much as I will always enjoy the fun that accompanies meeting a new girl, developing tension, and then releasing that tension all over each other, I would unfortunately still find myself craving what I truly wanted.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you a bit more about me. Despite some admittedly awkward years in adolescence, by the time I graduated college I was 6’1, 185 lb of lean muscle paired with a dash of humorous charm and a nine inch cock. And as conceited as it makes me feel just saying it, the fact of the matter is that I had NO trouble picking up girls. But as I mentioned, I had developed some darker tastes and despite all my successes, I could not seem to find what I was looking for. A dirty talking, big cock worshipping, impact-playing, true blue submissive fucktoy.

And before those initial violent urges to scream “misogynist!” or “abuser!” bubble to the surface, please just give me a quick chance to explain, because admittedly I, myself have had to spend a lot of time reconciling my kinks with my otherwise progressive worldview. Throughout my life, I’ve been taught to work hard, stay humble, and help those in need whenever necessary. To recognize that the world is filled with inequity and injustice often based on nothing more than arbitrary factors such as what race you are, what connections you’re born with, or even as stupid as how conventionally attractive you look. And so this bred into me an utter contempt for any/all successes that are transparently attributed to those factors that were not fought for or earned. My goal was not only to be a success in life, but more importantly, to earn it the right way. Through sheer effort, discipline, and grace.

What irony that I end up a tall, handsome white guy with an athletic build and a big dick.

So here I am, the recipient of all these inherent gifts, trying to pretend like I’m not going to lean on them in any way to cultivate success. I can tell myself the beautiful, noble story that everything I have, I’ve earned, but deep down I know that I can never separate myself from these attributes. They will always influence every interaction I have and so I will never truly know if I’ve earned anything on my own. And so in that way, I grow to resent them.

Fucking boo-hoo, I know. But I promise I’m not trying to garner sympathy. It’s just the closest explanation I can come up with for why I want a partner who is a stunning, intelligent, powerful woman in everyday life, but a complete and utter slave in the bedroom. To be worshipped so desperately by my partner is to allow myself private little moments to truly own and admire my gifts. To know that my woman is turned on by being dominated requires me as a good partner to give her what she wants. A psychological hack. A short circuit. I am given explicit permission to brag about my strengths in service of another.

In summary, I need a powerful, intelligent woman who will beg me to facefuck her with my massive cock every night. I think that’s reasonable.

This brings us back to the story (thank God). It’s at this point I unfortunately have to age myself a bit and mention that during this first year out of college, a brand new technology has just hit town. Tinder. And while I admittedly was having plenty of success in the analog world, who am I to stifle innovation? But more importantly, I realized that this new fancy black magic might be the perfect solution to my problem. Throughout my fun the previous few years, I found it was difficult to find a girl with the exact kinks I was looking for, especially considering the inherent trial-by-error dynamic that exists with taking girls home from the bar. You meet, you flirt, you fuck. And it’s not until the fucking that you truly get to learn each others yearnings. But now, some genius has designed an app where all the young people looking to fuck are all organized in a nifty little box and it is not only possible but encouraged that the initial interactions happen within the safety of an online chat. Perfect.

I immediately made a profile and began experimenting with the new alien technology. After a bit of poking and prodding, I settled on a strategy. I was not so crass as to mention my true desires right there in my bio, but I certainly allowed the subtext to communicate that I was looking to talk dirty. Then, as the matches rolled in (absolutely earning them, of course), I would quickly yet respectfully try to steer the conversation towards kinks and limits. I wasn’t interested in wasting anyone’s time, nor my own quite frankly. Suddenly, I was making more progress in a matter of days than I had in the previous few years.

And then: Melissa.

She was everything I was looking for. Medium height, brunette with hazel eyes. An intelligence in her face and hours of gym in her body. Her pictures were modest, but she seemed to have a beautifully large chest for her petite frame and fit legs leading up to a tight little ass. She seemed exactly as strong as I wanted her and exactly as meek. Honestly, if AI had been around back then, I’d think I was being catfished by a fucking fax machine, she was that perfect. She was very timid in our initial messages. She explained that she was in the medical school and so had very little time to date, let alone sleep. She was toying around on the app to see if anything came of it, but she honestly didn’t think she would be the type to go through with anything. But as we kept chatting, she seemed to get more comfortable with the idea.

“I get it. You’re a super important doctor person and you don’t have time to slum it with a low-life.”

“Oh shut up, you’re the one with a job. The only money in my bank account is courtesy of Uncle Sam at 7% interest. I’m pretty sure my net-worth right now is like negative six figures.”

“Gotcha. So this is more of a sugar-daddy set up for you?”

“Duh”

“Dig it. How about we make a deal then? I’ll cover dinners and drinks for the next few years, and then you can cover the house and vacations once you graduate.”

“Remind me what I’m getting out of this deal?”

“Dinners and drinks. I literally just told you. Oh, and also fulfillment of all your darkest carnal desires.”

“Wait, who told you about those?”

“You're wearing a choker in your second pic and you know who Alice In Chains is. You’re an absolute freak and you know it.”

She goes silent for a few hours and I question my entire existence, typing out potential apology messages roughly four times. Around 11pm, she returns.

“So what if I am?”

I’m immediately hard.

“Then you’re in good company.”

“Is that so?”

“If you’re into it, absolutely. If you’re not, then I’m joking.”

“I guess you’ll have to risk it.”

At this point, it’s late, it’s dark, and it’s clear to me that Melissa is hoping for a bit of warmth on this cold winter night. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our banter thus far, but it’s time to see where this goes.

“I guess you’re right. Would you like to hear what I’m into?”

“Yes”

“I’ll start with the tame stuff and go from there. Sound good?”

“Ok”

The shorter her messages get, the more I imagine her hands are elsewhere.

“I like it rough.”

“How rough?”

“As rough as my partner will take it.”

“Like what?”

“Like throwing around, hair pulling…”

“Is that all?”

“Choking and slapping.”

“What do you like to slap?”

“Everything. Ass, tits, face.”

“Fuck”

“Do you like that?”

“I’ve never had it.”

“But you like how it sounds, don’t you?”

“Maybe…”

“I bet you like the idea of me using you, don’t you?”

“How would you use me?”

“However I fucking want”

“Tell me”

“I’d rather show you.”

“Please tell me”

At this point, I can barely see straight with how much blood is pumping through my throbbing cock, but I decide I have to just lay it out there. She said please, after all.

“I want to use your holes like they belong to me. I want you on your knees in worship of my big dick. I want to fuck you until your soul leaves your body and then fill the empty void left behind with my cum.”

The devil is in my chest and my veins pump battery acid. My breath is sharp and my hands shake. And then she responds.

“Come over. Now.”

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I apologize for the abrupt ending, this has taken way longer than I thought it would and I fear I'm pushing the text limit. I'll continue soon provided anyone has actually enjoyed this so far.

I know, such a tease.