Sex, Shame, and My Inner Slut

Okay this post was hard to write - so please forgive me if I'm long and rambly.

This need of mine -- to submit-- has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. The fantasies about being tied up, being controlled, being enslaved started back in my childhood. I was drawn to my mom's romances about the pirates who would kidnap the girl and half her bosom would be hanging out on the front cover. The pictures of the chains wrapped around the ankles and wrists of the slaves in the story of Moses in my Bible called to me in very kinky ways (oh, please don't send me to hell for that one). And oh yeah there was that scene in Return of the Jedi with Princess Leia.  Heck, I even accidentally figured out how to give myself an orgasm around the time I learned to ride a bike. I say accidentally because I had no idea what it was at the time -- just that it was fun.

But at the same time as this was happening, I was growing up super-involved in a Christian church. We were there practically everyday of the week. I attended their school during the day. So pretty much every day faith, religion, and the idea that sex was some an extremely sacred act was being shoved down my throat. We were taught sex was something that happened in the confines of marriage and that things such as masturbation and fantasies were wrong and a way of 'cheating on your future spouse'. Those dirty little fantasies of mine --  I became deeply ashamed of them. I learned to bury them so deep so that nobody would ever know. I hid behind the façade that I was a good, sweet, innocent Aurora.

But in the back of my head I always felt God knew about them. And I think this made me even more ashamed of them.

About the time I hit junior high, my family moved to another state. My parents quit going to church and enrolled me in a public school. Going from the private school I grew up in to the public school at the time was like jumping in a lake when it's fifty degrees below zero.

Huge shock.

One of my very first friendships began with a girl I'm going to call Brittney (she would love that if she knew). Brittney was loud (what some would define as obnoxious), gutsy, and not afraid to speak her mind. About anything. She also had quite the kinky side and wasn't afraid to show it -- the majority of everything I learned about sex and kinky sex, I owe to her.

I was drawn to Brittney because she was everything I was not. Extroverted. Confident. Brave. But the closer we grew as friends, the more she let me in on her own insecurities. Brittney ran on the fringes of all those normal junior/high school cliques, never really quite fitting in anywhere. She was excluded because of her boldness. Constantly called names by the girls...expected to 'put out' by the boys.

If my religious background wasn't enough to shame me into hiding behind my 'good Aurora' image, being an observer to the constant slut-shaming Brittney experienced throughout her teen years pretty much sealed the deal. I became so good at hiding 'kinky me' that even Brittney (who I'm still friends with today) would never believe me if I told her about some of the stuff Daddy and I do now.

I ended up losing my virginity to my first boyfriend because I was tired of being that 'good Aurora'. I figured maybe it would help shed some of that image. Unfortunately though, the whole experience brought back a lot of that 'religious guilt' to the point that I got it in my head I could never be with anybody else now so I'd have to marry that particular boyfriend. (yes, I seriously thought this way). This was a disaster that ended one night with a bottle of peppermint schnapps and another guy who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. It's odd...looking back I can clearly see it as rape. But it was also an ending to this boyfriend being my 'one and only'.

This is what Daddy got when he got me. I was messed up -- so much shame and guilt over what I had done. I was in therapy for an eating disorder and to deal with lingering issues over a babysitter who had molested me when I was five. I had hacked off my hair, weighed less than 90 lbs, and was smoking terrible things. And I was still so ashamed of sex that I hated it.

Yeah, I was a real catch -- I really still have no clue what Daddy saw in me. Maybe he thought I'd be good in bed...ha!

I was both a terrible girlfriend and wife when it came to sex. Daddy likes to say that I gave up control to him in everything but the bedroom, and that makes sense. I didn't think about sex much. I didn't want it. I only did it for him, and I wasn't very good at hiding that fact. I preferred it lights out, missionary, quick, and without any cuddling. And please oh please don't try to give me an orgasm. Poor Daddy -- it kills me to think how much I hurt him throughout the years. I struggle with so much guilt over this.

Daddy will be the first to remind me that he's far from perfect. That he's made lots of mistakes and there were many times he hurt me deeply. And that it's not quite the sexual desert I remember it as. There were some good times where I actually was into it. Times where that dirty side slipped out, and he began to suspect that there was a kinky side to me. He remembers that the first time he ever brought me to an orgasm was when he handcuffed me to the bed. I asked him why he just didn't make me his slave right there and then (and saved him all that crazy heartache) and he'll tell me that I wasn't ready yet.

I've always been a slow learner. I guess I'm just lucky that Daddy's super patient. He could've...maybe should've...given up on me so long ago. But he didn't. He waited for me...he waited for that inner slut of mine to break loose.

And when she finally did, it was crazy. I think we had sex for the first month straight. Or at least it felt that way. It was freeing to finally be free from all the shame.

Once Daddy stopped spinning though, he took the control and slowed things down a little bit. I began to learn that being Daddy's slut isn't just about the sex. Oh that part's great -- very great. So great that I weep for all those lost years. But being Daddy's slut means that I've finally been able to open up, to let him in, to love him with everything inside of me. To stop hiding and let him see everything.

I've come a long way, but I still struggle with this shame sometimes. It slips out. I get insecure. I find myself getting embarrassed. I struggle with writing sex or about sex. I have trouble being naked. I still feel the shame whenever I share a new fantasy with him.

When the insecurities come, so does that 'good Aurora' shell that I perfected all those years ago.But Daddy doesn't let it stay. He fought too hard to break that shell, he's not about to let it come back.

It's a day to day thing sometimes -- but I trust him.

No more 'good Aurora'.