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fallenangel17

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I am a married woman with a present and available husband. Finally. :) If you have thoughts to share....I love to talk. I am not looking for a Dominant....just Dominants or submissives to talk to. My profile seems really simple and to the point....so why do so many still ask questions of me that I have already answered here?

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9/22/2011 7:35:19 AM

Written in January 2011. 

Submissives learn. 

"Are you a good girl or a nice girl?" he asked. I understood the meaning and answered accordingly. "I'm a good girl" I chirped. He smiled approvingly because "nice girls always say yes"  he said. "You don't want to be a nice girl, do you?" I shake my head vigorously. 

My uncle sits beside me at Thanksgiving his hand beneath the table on my thigh. "You look really good" drips from his lips. I squirm unsure of my reaction. I'm a good girl. 

Good girls speak when spoken to. 

My father's mother was an extreme perfectionist and raised my obsessive compulsive father to be nothing less. His father beat him for any transgression thus completing that tidy circle. 

Therefore, doilies were measured with rulers before being placed on dresses as were the lamps and any other nick nack. Fringes on carpets were always straight. You did not use the bathroom sink to wash your hands lest he see water spots. No showers were taken only baths(which don't splash tiles) and the bathroom in general was not used without leaving the door open at all times. 

It took me years to realize it was okay to sit on a chair or sofa. It simply wasn't allowed in our living room. 

We pulled feskew. In case you are unaware this is a wide blade grass that is apparently nothing short of a weed to his lawn. So we pulled buckets. 

A nick on a kitchen table and the entire household of women was whipped with a belt. From mother down through four daughters. I tried to confess. If he was paying attention he would have heard me. We didn't get to go to Florida that morning either. 

He beat me with a belt for trimming two inches off of my long hair. He required us all to have long hair. Down to our bottoms. A girlfriend trimmed mine to make Barbie doll wigs. I told my mother but such was her blindness she couldn't hear or see us at times. Thankfully my coat was leatherlike that day. I only felt the stings of the rogue slaps of the belt.

 Once I was lost for a day. Can you imagine losing your daugther for a day? We had been taken to the park by our older sister. She left telling us not to leave. I was 4 or 5 they said. I went home with a girl I met. Bad choice. When I was found alive after hours of the girl keeping me in her attic til her mom came home my mother and father took me into my grandmother's garage and beat me with a board. But only on one side. Just one side. I screamed, cried, peed all over the concrete floor begging them to please hit me on the other side. They wouldn't. 

I longed for gentleness. I yearned for acceptance...anything akin to the love I couldn't find in my home. I found it in not one but both grandfathers. They would sit me on their lap and touch me. It felt good. I liked that it felt good. I was "groomed" I've been told. "Groomed" to come to like that sort of attention. My first orgasms were at the deft fingers of my grandfather. I came to him repeatedly. Something in me knew it wasn't okay otherwise why try to conceal it? He would find me if I was alone. His hands didn't waste time..... Eventually, I asked him to stop. Avoided him actually....blurted something at him about "having a boyfriend" to which he recoiled. 

In junior high the guidance counselor cornered me in his office. He blocked the door wanting to tell me he found me very attractive. Asked me if he was making me uncomfortable. He eventually opened the door and let me leave.   

My piano teacher from first grade seemed to find me incredibly distracting as I grew in to adolescence. As my body changed his songs selections changed. He would lean over me with a hand at my bottom pointing to the phrasing in Je taime moi non plus. If you've ever heard this song you know what he was doing. I didn't. I frustrated him in how I played it so wrong. He reached across brushing my breasts as he pointed to "Love me Oralee"...clearly a woman's name, no? He commented on my changing figure. How I was "becoming a woman". 

Down the street lived an elderly man who was always kind to my sister and I. We would often come to his home to visit and escape from the daily barage of criticism to be told how glorious women really were! He would extole our virtues as thinkers, reasoning, intelligent creatures. When I was 16 my father kicked me out for a time. My sister and I took refuge in this nice man's home. For a month he watched over us. Fed us. Gave us a place to feel safe. One day while cleaning his bathroom he informed me that if I intended to live there much longer we would need to be married because he had needs. I was 16. He was 68. 

I have been taught long. I have been taught well. I have learned from each lesson. 

I have tried to prove it wrong for years. To prove that a man would enjoy talking or being friends with a woman without wanting or expecting sex at some point for his efforts in listening and conversing with her. 

But remember....I was born and raised a submissive. I have learned my lesson well. 

My purpose is clearly for sex firstly and for cleaning and cooking secondly. 

I'm a good girl.    

I have been married to a kind hearted and patient man for 22 years. I have asked repeatedly for spankings, bondage and force. To be spoken to in a tone that makes me focus. He has resisted most fervently for most of those years. "He didn't think it right to treat a woman that way". He worried "he would be doing damage somehow due to my past". Again I would ask. I'd wait. I'd ask. 

I was raised to be submissive. I struggle with it daily. I make many decisions daily. I take care of things. Yet I still desire this. 

I learned my lessons.   

(My husband says he's listening now. He knows I am witholding judgement. I have explained I wasn't able to have my needs taken care of as a child so I don't trust others to do so now. The mainentance spankings that were spoke of do not occur. The intensity has wained. Whatever)    

 

 

If you have reached the end of my story and do not grasp the hurt and anger in my story towards all of those who treated me as a sexual being only then you have missed my point entirely. I am admittedly shocked at how many read this and then offered me the same.


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slut4leash
 
 Age: 19
 Grand Rapids, Michigan