It was the sound of his voice that triggered the knowing. In that split second, when I heard the acoustic waves created only by his vocal cords, I knew I had found my perfect submissive. He is the other half of the amulet, the yin to my yang, the missing piece that fits my kinky puzzle perfectly. Intelligent, articulate, completely depraved and perverted; he fits me. He is my equal and my opposite in every way. For all of my excellence and superiority he is excellently and equally inferior. He craves filth in a way that is far more extreme than most people could wrap their heads around and I can deliver what he craves and then some. He recognized my inherent dominance from our first communication and I could see his sub-human true nature instantly.

He’d been molested as a child. His father’s best friend had his hands in his pants before he was in little league. The abuse lasted until he was well into his teens and it grew more and more extreme, more twisted and perverted as the years progressed. By the time the man was promoted and moved away, my bitch had been emotionally and psychologically warped beyond repair and sexually used by more men than he could count. Now in his 40s, he’s become successful in his career and maintains the image of normalcy but it is just an image, a fake persona he wears. He is obsessed with sex. It consumes him. All day, every day, he thinks of nothing more than how to get his next nut, of how he can make it more extreme. His needs for stimulation have graduated far beyond anything remotely close to vanilla.