I never liked plain vanilla ice cream, or chocolate for the record.

Take me to the Caribbean with a few scoops of creamy coconut, crunchy frozen chocolate bits, chewy candied pineapple chunks, I’ll sprinkle spiced rum and squirt cream on it, then we’re talking.

Garnish my summer evening with strawberry ice cream, made of fresh strawberries with the tiny seeds and juicy fruit-flesh, dark chocolate chunks, swimming in a coupe of prosecco. 

Or pure innocent vanilla with fresh mint and roughly chopped After Eight chocolate-wafer bits, cream oozing out, and vodka that kicks with horseshoes on and we’re on to a great night, you’ll never forget

When you told me, you have done swinging before and you’d like me to try it, I had no idea what I was signing up for. I naively imagined clubs- maybe somewhat seedy ones, couples, flirting, some girl-on-girl action for the hubbies’ viewing pleasure, some wife swapping maybe.

As it turned out, that wasn’t your gig. Instead, we hooked up with mostly single men online and after a brief chat and video call, we were off to theirs for an evening of fun.

Your kink was watching me with other men, giving them blow jobs, being pounded by their big cocks- the bigger the better. There were a few, I couldn’t even handle. But I've tried, I've always tried. Because you wanted me to try.

You enjoyed watching me turn into an insatiable slut. Apparently, your filthy, up-for-anything girlfriend was irresistible. I guess it made you proud that every single one of them voiced at the end, just how fucking lucky you were to have me, to get to take me home.

I used to be the perfect slut: eager to please, sloppy mouth, wet cunt, insatiable hunger for cock.

But we had a tiny little secret, which we never planned, ruled out, or even discussed. It just happened that way: as much as I enjoyed myself, I never came during those sessions. Only you could make me come. Not because I kept myself for you, or you wanted it that way. That’s just how it happened, always.

Only when we got home and we re-lived the previous few hours; you telling me on your teasing, mock condescending voice, how much you enjoyed watching your cock hungry slut... You told me, allowed me to cum. And I did.

This little, unplanned tradition ended when you accidentally matched me with someone much more dominant than yourself, who had BDSM gear that would have turned Christian Grey – Christian Green.

***

I remember every single minute of that night in heartbeat-rising detail...

I was sipping bubbly from a glitzy champagne glass in his posh Kensington condo, wearing nothing but my underwear and fishnet stockings. My legs were curled under me, heels on – he told me to keep those on, despite the pristine-white, fluffy rug. The two of you were tasting some god knows how old whisky...

Kian- his name was - looked at me and asked what I wished to try, and I knew, I was in for a very special night.

“I liked everything you showed us on those pictures earlier,” I said quietly, eyes cast down onto my glass, my voice trembling with anxiety and excitement.

He stood up and strapped a thick leather collar around my neck and clipped a chain leash onto it.

Crawling on my hands and knees - fishnet scraping, stretching against the hardwood floor - I was paraded along the hall like a prized pet around the ring, competing for Best In Show. 

Once in the bedroom, you took over and with a strong grip on my collar, pulled me onto the bed with such a force, that I was barely able to find my footing upon the soft bedding.

“Good kitten," you growled, stroking my hair and playfully scratching a spot behind my ear. 

A spreader bar had been fastened to my ankles to keep my legs open for you and my wrists were cuffed to my collar, out of the way, so the other man could go on to give me a good face fuck, without me being able to rebel against any of it.

I don’t often hear those caged animal whimpers, I cried that night. And I don't often have that wildness in my eyes. 

The walls and ceiling were all covered with mirrors and there was no escaping to face the depraved beast I’ve become. But instead of shying away or being shocked by the image of this wild, chained animal looking back at me, I held her gaze - helped by Kian's strong grip on my hair and his words along the lines of ‘you are the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.'

I loved what I saw.

That image, that feeling is still so fresh in front of my eyes to this day, as if it happened yesterday: a whirlpool-like, cross-dimension black mirror to the darkness of my soul. Unrestrained, raw, distortedly beautiful.

Needless to say, I’ve never been the same person since.

When the two of you have finished using and wrecking me, having left your marks and cum smeared all over my body... I was still shivering with need.

From that dark, now familiar pit of my being, the wildling voice spoke and not only begged you to make me come, but I specifically asked that you use the brushed steel chain -link by link - on my clit to relieve me of my agonisingly undone state.

Kian had returned with some refreshments and was watching us from the doorway - wide-eyed - with the drinks in his hands, as I writhed against my restraints in a wave of much-needed orgasms. 

I didn’t hold back any longer. 

That night, I had learned what I was, what I needed. I'd learned to ask for things.

And I also discovered, that I quite possibly have a metal fetish.