I wet some kleenex, stuffed my ears, put on the red mitts, and approached my speed bag this morning. Gave it a few taps, then built up a slow rhythm with my left hand. Switched up to the right for twenty jabs, then a left-right alternating rhythm, all the while slowly building up speed. Pom bipity Pom bipity Pom bipity.
At first the arms are heavy, the co-ordination uncertain. I’m out of breath easily, and must stop for a rest. Then I go in full force with my good right. BAM! bipity bipity BAM bipity bipity BAM! bipity bipity. I’m soon breathing heavily, but my stamina has kicked in. Switch to the left. Bam bipity bipity. I can’t keep the heart rate up for much longer, so settle back into a slower rhythm, four hard fast hits with each arm; POM bipity POM bipity. By now the legs are feeling weak. I back up from the bag and give it my hardest possible right, then duck back as if waiting for my opponent to leave an opening. BOM! My best left. BAM! BOM! over and over until my heart wants to explode from my chest and my legs are ready to give way. But I don’t give up; I just slow down into a different rhythm, until I’m again ready to wake the dead.
The heart muscle grows fast. The arms and co-ordination come a little slower. Every day of training brings the stamina, power, and skill to a higher level. After a week of this instead of being exhausted, I’m pumped up. Bouncing up and down on my toes.
Then I go downstairs to the second floor studio. My girl is readying to leave to do errands for me. She’s slow to leave, so I tell her to go away. She’s still slow, so I give her that look, that look that says watch out, don’t toy with me, I’m serious; you are going to be in trouble if you stay. She still dawdles around so I throw her on the chair and forcefully rape her. This also takes co-ordination, as her opposition meets my force. Just a few minutes of fucking, as I haven’t been inside her yet today. Then get up, dismiss her, and give her a goodbye spank.
She bounces off downstairs to her waiting brother. Just when I think she’s gone, she interrupts me on the piano again. Apparently the job wasn’t finished. So I pick her up and violently throw her on the bed.
I’m at my peak, juiced and pumping. I enter slowly but the head of my dick is so hard that even without movement it’s a force to be reckoned with. I push in past tight sphincters of pussy resistance to the deep end. Then again harder, forcing fast past all resistance, then hard again. No foreplay here, it’s not about that today; this is overwhelming lust that takes what it wants. She’s inexplicably receptive. But this is not splainin time; this is fucking time.
“Call me Daddy.” She’s very turned on and eager to please, but this has been a sticking point for ever. She’s heard a few of my past girlfriends call me Daddy, and she wants to be unique. It’s going on two years, and today is the day. “Call me Daddy! Say it! Say it!” “Da ….. ddy.” “Say it again!” “Da……ddy”, she says, uncertainty now mixing in with joy and lust and that magical doe eyed look all men thrill to.
Somehow the head of my dick grows even harder, until she can feel my pulse inside her. “See that! See how hard my dick gets when you call me that? Say it again”. “Da … ddy”. “Oh, I love it when you say that”.
But then somehow her brain wakes up, turns up the house lights and shuts off the disco ball. She starts to complain about this game. “What other girls have called you Daddy?”
“Never mind that. I’m fucking YOU now. I’m trying to get close to YOU.”
She can’t buy it, and I can’t get high if she’s not high. I deflate, pull out, and go back to my piano.
And here is where the speed bag changed my attitude; I’m still pumped up. The legs might be a bit weak, but I’m coming back for more, and I’m going to give it more. I tell her to throw in the garbage all her thoughts, they aren’t important. This is sex. It doesn’t matter why I like being called Daddy. What matters is that I do. “But what about all those other girls?”, and she names off three. I list off six that start with S. “Ya, they called me Daddy, because they knew I liked it. That made them happy. And they ate my ass and sucked my dick, and did everything they could to please me. You can’t get rid of all the girls in my past. You can’t get rid of all the girls out there. When you call me Daddy that makes me closer to you. To YOU. I’m not thinking of other girls, I’m getting as close as I possibly can to YOU. If you refuse to do that because you want to be unique, then you can’t compete with all the girls who do whatever it takes to please me. They win.”
She tried to agree with a bargain, saving her power. I sat down and explained for 10 minutes in detail why it wouldn’t work to call her Baby and Sweetheart (uggghhh) if she likes it, as a fair trade for her sometimes calling me Daddy. I explained how her brain would never admit how she likes to be dominated, how the other boys who called her sugar-plum and followed her around for years never even got a kiss from her. How I spoke to her body, and knew what I was doing, and how she needed to trust me, and submit, and let go. I told her of the face she gave me last night, during one of the hardest fuckings she’d ever had; eyes rolling back in her head yet still struggling to lock onto my gaze expressing a sinful joy mixed with sweet devotion. She’d given in and given up in total surrender.
She tries to be oppositional. I call her out. “If I tell you the wall is yellow you will argue with me”. She eyes the wall suspiciously. When she’s oppositional there is no getting through to her.
Finally I get frustrated and tell her to “fuck off and get out of here”.
She comes back a few minutes later, telling me I shouldn’t speak to her like that. “You know why I speak to you like that?” “No”. “Because you don’t know why I speak to you like that. You don’t listen”.
My final comment before she left the 2nd time was a gentle “You’re not very good at conversation. No matter what I say you say the opposite”. Not something a girl like her can process on the spot. But something will seep in. Before leaving she muttered some weak agreement. This has been the introductory lecture to bedroom talk skills 141, and the unwilling student has been forced against all her willpower to take mental notes.
The speedbag will bring out the fighting spirit in you. You’ll feel like a man. You’ll feel alive.
This story is part three in a series.
Part one was where she was being oppositional, refusing to acknowledge that her pestering me for permission to go out to the disco alone dressed up in her sexy suit was a shit test designed to piss me off and ruin our evening out. I didn’t give up on her until it led to more than a hard spanking. Left a visible mark. After that we’ve had our best 3 weeks ever. No shit tests, loving devotion, way better sex, and more often.
Part two was a few days ago. Her brain became derailed in a jealous fit about money I had spent years ago after breaking up with an ex to set up her life with a small business. She went on and on about her financial and security needs, using the most oblique language possible, and wouldn’t change the channel; I had to threaten to get out of the taxi and leave her. Then that night she was being cold and emasculating, yet demanding attention. I tried to settle her down with a fucking, but she played starfish. After twenty minutes of fucking that silent log, I pulled out and started railing at her. “If you aren’t happy with me, then leave.” I addressed in explicit detail all her financial concerns and reminded her of all the ways she had been bringing them up; stories of how much money her sisters boyfriend gives her sister, stories of how much money the neighbours boyfriend gives every month. Told her go find her happiness then. If I’m not making her happy then she needs to go. It’s not good for her and it’s not good for me to have her here if she’s not happy.
That really confused her. Because she’s in love with me. And she’s not materialistic, right? None of her rich suitors got a piece, after all. And yet conflicting with this need to feel good about her upright persona are her deep and serious needs for financial security and to be able to send money to her poor family who really need support and the huge peer pressure from everyone who tells her that I’m not giving her enough. I wouldn’t let up, and really pushed it. “You can’t go two weeks without having a breakdown. Dealing with you is like babysitting a child. You can’t even moderate you own emotions.” Told her again to get out. Must have railed into her for 20 minutes.
She couldn’t process that all right away either, but managed to sputter out some apologies. She worked it out with a lot of crying the next day. And wingeing to whatever ear would accept her pain.
The end of that situation was that look on her face referenced above. Some of the best sex we’ve ever had. The most submissive she’s ever been.
Men are wary of using their aggressive masculine natures with women.
Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. If you want total devotion from your love slave, you will need your full range of mature human emotions.
Update: She is now singing “There is something in the way you look at me” through the microphone, her face blushed with love. Now she’s singing the full song over again. Same song she sang to me on our first date using my fingers as a mock microphone, while I video-recorded her. “It’s as if my heart knows, you’re the missing piece”. Oh, now’s she’s starting in on her 3rd love balad. “So unbelievable”. Now 2nd round. She told me she was crying while she was singing it.
It’s so unbelievable,
And I don’t want to let it go,
Something so beautiful,
Flowing down like a waterfall.
I feel like you’ve always been,
Forever a part of me.
And it’s so unbelievable to finally be in love,
Somewhere I’d never thought I’d be.
Coincidentally, my next planned post will be about making a woman melt with the passion of your gaze.