You are very welcome.
Willing to aid you in your pursuit of erotic adventures.
And to see you in your sexy Goddess form
Willing to aid you in your pursuit of erotic adventures.
And to see you in your sexy Goddess form
My Confessions
- Thread starter Deleted member 1452313
- Start date
I can't wait to enjoy hearing more of your training
What followed were a series of exploratory questions designed for my trainer to better understand who he was working with.
Assignment: Provide a list of your sexual likes and dislikes, your kinks, boundaries, limits etc. Be fully specific and explicit.
All my proclivities were to be exposed. And that's when I had to disclose my desire for cock.
Essentially this was what I most coveted. A man's cock inside me makes me feel I am serving my purpose as a slut, and my pursuit of having this is precisely what motivates my behaviours. I love being naked. I masturbate frequently. I love having my tits and nipples played with roughly. Spanking is good too. I don't like mean or cruel attention, no blood, no toilet play. But I was very clear, what I did want was men to fill my holes with their cock and take their pleasure.
All was revealed. My sexual perversions were laid bare for my trainer to analyse, contemplate and determine how to proceed with my training. It was difficult to divulge and admit these things, but in the end, my determination to succeed overwhelmed any hesitations.
If indeed I wanted to learn how to let men use me fully, and to leave them with no doubt as to my intention, sharing this information, and having faith in my trainer, would benefit me and my ambitions.
Assignment: Provide a list of your sexual likes and dislikes, your kinks, boundaries, limits etc. Be fully specific and explicit.
All my proclivities were to be exposed. And that's when I had to disclose my desire for cock.
Essentially this was what I most coveted. A man's cock inside me makes me feel I am serving my purpose as a slut, and my pursuit of having this is precisely what motivates my behaviours. I love being naked. I masturbate frequently. I love having my tits and nipples played with roughly. Spanking is good too. I don't like mean or cruel attention, no blood, no toilet play. But I was very clear, what I did want was men to fill my holes with their cock and take their pleasure.
All was revealed. My sexual perversions were laid bare for my trainer to analyse, contemplate and determine how to proceed with my training. It was difficult to divulge and admit these things, but in the end, my determination to succeed overwhelmed any hesitations.
If indeed I wanted to learn how to let men use me fully, and to leave them with no doubt as to my intention, sharing this information, and having faith in my trainer, would benefit me and my ambitions.
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Being naked all the time leads to alot of fun and a lower chore for laundry. Pain for making bacon though. Can't wait to see what assignment he will give you next.
Again, I have to thank you. The comments you leave here give me confidence to continue. You won't have to wait too long.
I'm glad I can give you the confidence you need to enjoy being a good slut. How often does he give you assignments so we know when to check back?
There's no fixed schedule to my assignments, but I will try to post here regularly. It sometimes takes me awhile to convey everything here in words what I'm experiencing as I respond to my training.
Well I can't wait to see what he has next for you
Assignment: Make an audio recording of yourself masturbating and coming.
To say I was reluctant at first would be an understatement. This is "audio porn", I thought, this would be degrading and humiliating. My instructions had stated, "The purpose of this is designed to both test your commitment and to remind you of your status. Sending the recording will further condition your way of thinking and train your perceptions". I was not willing to do this, but despite that, deep down I knew I eventually would, nothing would be achieved by refusing. And then in a moment of clarity I realised, this is something a slut would do, so my compliance became inevitable. As part of the assignment I was also required to write about the experience,
"How did you feel during the recording?"
At first I felt ashamed, performing like this for the recording because I wanted to be a slut, this was the level of debasement I was willing to be reduced to, just to achieve my perverted needs. But of course, I soon forgot about the recording and became immersed in the sensations I was provoking with my vibrator.
"How did it feel listening back to yourself?"
I felt flustered and a little disconcerted hearing the sounds I make when I come. But there was a moment of revelation, when I heard my voice pitch deepen slightly, I knew that was the moment I began to climax. I didn't hate hearing myself and I became more accepting of the process, more open to further training.
"How did it feel sending the recording?"
It was like a declaration I was sending, affirming my wanton status by recording it in the first place, then having the brazeness to share it with others. It was an audible confirmation that I was a slut freely advertising what I would do to let men know that I was a slut. And I felt that this was my newly assigned function. I accept and remain focused on my destination.
To say I was reluctant at first would be an understatement. This is "audio porn", I thought, this would be degrading and humiliating. My instructions had stated, "The purpose of this is designed to both test your commitment and to remind you of your status. Sending the recording will further condition your way of thinking and train your perceptions". I was not willing to do this, but despite that, deep down I knew I eventually would, nothing would be achieved by refusing. And then in a moment of clarity I realised, this is something a slut would do, so my compliance became inevitable. As part of the assignment I was also required to write about the experience,
"How did you feel during the recording?"
At first I felt ashamed, performing like this for the recording because I wanted to be a slut, this was the level of debasement I was willing to be reduced to, just to achieve my perverted needs. But of course, I soon forgot about the recording and became immersed in the sensations I was provoking with my vibrator.
"How did it feel listening back to yourself?"
I felt flustered and a little disconcerted hearing the sounds I make when I come. But there was a moment of revelation, when I heard my voice pitch deepen slightly, I knew that was the moment I began to climax. I didn't hate hearing myself and I became more accepting of the process, more open to further training.
"How did it feel sending the recording?"
It was like a declaration I was sending, affirming my wanton status by recording it in the first place, then having the brazeness to share it with others. It was an audible confirmation that I was a slut freely advertising what I would do to let men know that I was a slut. And I felt that this was my newly assigned function. I accept and remain focused on my destination.
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You are quickly becoming my favorite slut.
Then I'll have to be sure to continue updating my confessions. Thank you for reading, and for your comments, it reinforces why I'm here. Knowing that, slowly but surely, people, those here anyway, are hearing me admit that I am a slut in training is part of the conditioning I'm coming to rely on.
Then keep the posts coming.
Here is an assignment for you, my pet.
Find yourself a pole. Wear lacy lingerie. Very suggestive outfit.
You will oil up your entire body. Make sure it gleams with the light. You shall lap dance, striptease to sexy erotic slutty songs.
Must do it in front of a mirror. Your dances will be very suggestive and very slutty.
And you will record yourself and you will replay it to remind yourself wanting to be a big slut. Your desire to please men. To satisfy their kinky sides.
Find yourself a pole. Wear lacy lingerie. Very suggestive outfit.
You will oil up your entire body. Make sure it gleams with the light. You shall lap dance, striptease to sexy erotic slutty songs.
Must do it in front of a mirror. Your dances will be very suggestive and very slutty.
And you will record yourself and you will replay it to remind yourself wanting to be a big slut. Your desire to please men. To satisfy their kinky sides.
Assignment: When you next have a day at college or work you will wear a skirt and no panties. The challenge is to firstly encourage men to notice you and then if you dare you can flash them. Let them know you're a slut, give them something to brighten their day and to remember later when they're home stroking their cocks, picturing you.
I decided which skirt to wear, not too short, not too tight, definitely loose enough that I could spread my legs . . . if I dared. I was taking tram to college, it wasn't too crowded that day. I did choose a seat strategically opposite two men. I knew they noticed me, men always look. Then my skirt suddenly seemed inadequate to cover me and I squirmed, trying to hitch it down. I was so aware that only my skirt was between them, their eyes and my nakedness. I will confess though, it was an amazing feeling. I crossed and uncrossed my legs several times throughout journey, but I knew I was clenching my legs together no matter how much I reprimanded myself.
All day I was aware, I felt intensely sexual and alive. But I also felt disappointed that I hadn't been able to show off my sluttiness, not completely, not in the way I knew my trainer really expected me to. Before I came home I checked my messages, and there was a message from him. It was the boost I needed and I boarded the tram with single minded determination.
The conclusion is a strange man saw my cunt today. I was returning home on the tram and again selected a seat positioned in the sight line of a middle aged business man. I let my skirt ride up a little this time, I crossed my legs deliberately and slowly, slightly exaggerating each movement. I was reading but could see him turn his face and focus in my direction. I was pretty sure I was on display, but to be sure after a few more adjustments in my seat, my skirt creeping upwards, I uncrossed my legs, twisted in my seat, looking out the window behind me for a few moments, stretching and shifting, I knew if he was still looking he was getting an eyeful. When I faced forward again, I recrossed my legs and pretended to look around me. His gaze was definitely centred on me . . . on my cunt. Oh my god. I felt shame flush my face, my cheeks were hot and I knew I couldn't stay there any longer, I felt embarrassed. I stood up and got off the tram a couple of stops before mine.
I wish now I'd made some kind of gesture, or given him a certain look showing him I knew he'd seen up my skirt and between my legs, indicating to him that I wanted him to look, wanted him to see.
I decided which skirt to wear, not too short, not too tight, definitely loose enough that I could spread my legs . . . if I dared. I was taking tram to college, it wasn't too crowded that day. I did choose a seat strategically opposite two men. I knew they noticed me, men always look. Then my skirt suddenly seemed inadequate to cover me and I squirmed, trying to hitch it down. I was so aware that only my skirt was between them, their eyes and my nakedness. I will confess though, it was an amazing feeling. I crossed and uncrossed my legs several times throughout journey, but I knew I was clenching my legs together no matter how much I reprimanded myself.
All day I was aware, I felt intensely sexual and alive. But I also felt disappointed that I hadn't been able to show off my sluttiness, not completely, not in the way I knew my trainer really expected me to. Before I came home I checked my messages, and there was a message from him. It was the boost I needed and I boarded the tram with single minded determination.
The conclusion is a strange man saw my cunt today. I was returning home on the tram and again selected a seat positioned in the sight line of a middle aged business man. I let my skirt ride up a little this time, I crossed my legs deliberately and slowly, slightly exaggerating each movement. I was reading but could see him turn his face and focus in my direction. I was pretty sure I was on display, but to be sure after a few more adjustments in my seat, my skirt creeping upwards, I uncrossed my legs, twisted in my seat, looking out the window behind me for a few moments, stretching and shifting, I knew if he was still looking he was getting an eyeful. When I faced forward again, I recrossed my legs and pretended to look around me. His gaze was definitely centred on me . . . on my cunt. Oh my god. I felt shame flush my face, my cheeks were hot and I knew I couldn't stay there any longer, I felt embarrassed. I stood up and got off the tram a couple of stops before mine.
I wish now I'd made some kind of gesture, or given him a certain look showing him I knew he'd seen up my skirt and between my legs, indicating to him that I wanted him to look, wanted him to see.
You made that man's day. Maybe next time offer him a slight wink or a little kiss to show you'll keep his secret.
Just to be clear, exactly what sort of pole . . . Flag? Telephone? North? . . . so many poles . . . Barbers? Fishing? Tad?
Cute and a sense of humor. Even better
Inspired and noted, yet another milestone along your journey. You did well and will carry the memory of this as an ember to warm you whenever you might doubt you can reach the apex of your desired state of becoming.
Imagine, if you will, receiving a sealed black envelope pushed into your hand by a stranger on the tram the next day...
To the Tease in the Skirt,
You don’t know me, but I know you—or at least the wicked little show you put on that day. I was the one in the suit, the one you caught staring, the one whose day you turned into a throbbing, unbearable obsession. That tram ride home wasn’t just a commute—it was a descent into madness, your image seared into my skull, your scent haunting me like some phantom musk I couldn’t shake. I saw it all, you slut—your legs spreading slow and deliberate, that skirt riding up to bare your cunt, pink and glistening, daring me to look. And fuck, did I look. I couldn’t stop. You lit a fire in me, and I’ve been burning ever since.
I rushed home that night, my cock already straining against my trousers before I even hit the door. I didn’t make it past the hallway—boots still on, keys clattering to the floor, I yanked my belt open and freed myself, your memory driving me wild. I pictured you there, sprawled out, thighs wide like some filthy invitation, that exposed cunt winking at me, begging for it. I could still see the way you twisted in your seat, the soft curve of your ass shifting under that flimsy skirt, the way your thighs parted just enough to show me everything. My hand wrapped around my dick, hard as steel, and I stroked myself to you—fast, desperate, grunting like an animal. Your scent lingered in my mind, earthy and sweet, like pussy and sin, and I imagined burying my face between those legs, tasting what you flaunted.
I came so fucking hard I nearly blacked out. Thick ropes of it, spilling out as I pictured aiming it right at you—splashing across your spread thighs, dripping down to that slutty little cunt you dared flash me. I wanted it to mark you, to smear you with what you’d done to me, to watch it glisten on your skin while you squirmed, knowing you’d pushed me to this. My knees buckled, my breath ragged, and still I saw you—shameless, teasing, a dirty little dream I couldn’t shake.
You’re a slut, and I mean that as the highest fucking compliment. Women like you, bold enough to show off, to stoke a man’s lust and leave him wrecked—they’re rare. You brightened my day, alright, and damn near every night since, my cock twitching at the thought of you. I hope you ride this tram again, hope you sit across from me and give me more—lift that skirt higher, spread those legs wider, let me see every inch of what you’ve got. Keep feeding this fire, because I’m hooked now, and I’ll be watching, waiting, ready to rush home and explode all over the thought of you again.
Yours in filth,
The Man You Broke
The tram doors hissed open, and there he was—the man in the suit, his presence pulling her in like a tide. His eyes swept the crowd until they settled on her, and she felt it—a molten jolt, his letter’s confession of stroking himself to images in his brain of her cunt still humming in her veins. Shame was a faded whisper; now, she was alive with intent, eager to draw him deeper.
She’d chosen the skirt—loose, flirty, a breath of fabric—and beneath it, a secret twist: a black lace thong, sheer and clinging, the damp heat of her arousal already soaking through. She’d prepared it herself, scissors trimming the band, Velcro stitched in—a gentle tug would set it free.
The thought danced through her as she sank into the seat across from him, thighs brushing, close enough to feel the air grow heavy between them. His unblinking gaze struck her, dark and ravenous, his fingers tightening on his briefcase until the leather creaked. She had him. She knew it.
Her tease began slow and deliberate. Legs crossed, the skirt slid up, revealing the black lace stretched taut over her cunt—wet, glistening, the outline of her lips stark through the fabric. Her fingers danced along her thigh, tracing the edge of the thong, guiding his stare. His jaw clenched, a vein ticking at his temple, and she savored the tension she was building.
Leaning back, she let her knees drift apart, teasingly, slow and shameless, the lace pulling tighter, her arousal darkening it to a slick, obsidian sheen. She was a vision of sluttiness—thighs framing a vibrant young cunt barely contained, dripping for him—and his eyes drank her in, wild, unblinking.
She’d chosen the skirt—loose, flirty, a breath of fabric—and beneath it, a secret twist: a black lace thong, sheer and clinging, the damp heat of her arousal already soaking through. She’d prepared it herself, scissors trimming the band, Velcro stitched in—a gentle tug would set it free.
The thought danced through her as she sank into the seat across from him, thighs brushing, close enough to feel the air grow heavy between them. His unblinking gaze struck her, dark and ravenous, his fingers tightening on his briefcase until the leather creaked. She had him. She knew it.
Her tease began slow and deliberate. Legs crossed, the skirt slid up, revealing the black lace stretched taut over her cunt—wet, glistening, the outline of her lips stark through the fabric. Her fingers danced along her thigh, tracing the edge of the thong, guiding his stare. His jaw clenched, a vein ticking at his temple, and she savored the tension she was building.
Leaning back, she let her knees drift apart, teasingly, slow and shameless, the lace pulling tighter, her arousal darkening it to a slick, obsidian sheen. She was a vision of sluttiness—thighs framing a vibrant young cunt barely contained, dripping for him—and his eyes drank her in, wild, unblinking.