OWNED AND BRED
'When we meet, that's it, you're mine. And then I'm going to fuck ya and breed ya.'
So said Conor at the end of the last phone message before I traveled to Dublin to meet him. For the first time. Though I had known him for years in Internet chat rooms and numerous phone calls. But no, we had never met.
I had tried to - on two occasions. I had booked an hotel room in the city centre and he couldn't wait to see me and again he had said the same thing.
'When we meet, that's it, you're mine. And then I'm going to fuck ya and breed ya.'
Except we hadn't met. He canceled - at the last minute - twice. Each time I had been dressed, made up and ready for him. A tgirl like me takes a meeting very seriously. It takes time to get ready. I shower, douche, shave my body, get dressed, put on makeup. I'm quicker these days but then that all took at least two hours.
And the bastard canceled!
First time I was angry but his excuses seemed so sincere and he was so contrite that I decided to give him a second chance.
When he let me down again, I was incandescent with rage. Refused to listen to his excuses. Told him to fuck off and get a life. Slammed the phone down, when he tried to call. Blocked him on every social network site he used. Deleted every photo of him. Even though he was a wonderfully handsome man.
And a few years passed... I would tell the story from time to time to illustrate the perfidy of men or to laugh at my own credulity. In time I even struggled to remember him, what he looked like. But from time to time I'd hear him in my mind saying,
'When we meet, that's it, you're mine. And then I'm going to fuck ya and breed ya.'
He had such a strong Dublin accent. When I first chatted to him, I'd understand about a third of what he was saying. His voice was a turn on even as I struggled to grasp what he was saying. It was so masculine, confident, and yes, dominant. But there was something almost matter of fact about the way he talked about his dominating nature. 'I tell you to do something, that's it, end of story, you do it.'
Then one day, I'm in a tv chat and up pops a message from a very sexy black guy who lives in London and with whom I'd had a number of fantastic sex sessions.
'I was in Dublin last week on business and I ran into an admirer of yours.'
'Who's that then? And how on earth did you ever get round to a chat about how you both know a tranny from the north of Ireland?'
'Oh, I've known him for years. We meet for business but always end up having a few pints. So little by little we've opened up to one another.'
'Well who is it? I've only ever met a couple of Dublin guys.'
'Well it seems you never did actually meet but he's still holding a candle for you.'
'Hang on a minute. This admirer wouldn't happen to be called Conor would he?'
'Yep, that's him.'
'Oh yeah? And did he happen to tell you the whole story of how I went to Dublin twice, booked a hotel room...'
'Yes, he told me everything, and he's really sorry but he's one hundred per cent genuine. And he's crazy about you. He wants you. He wants to own you. Still. After all these years.'
'Tell him to go fuck himself.'
'He won't mess you around. Give him another chance.'
'Why are you so keen for me to do that? It's not some nasty little plot cooked up by you both to get a laugh at my expense?'
'No way! He's a great guy. One of the best. He wants a tgirl in his life and is only interested in you. Just give him another chance. He's a great looking guy too though don't tell him I said that.'
'I'm not telling him anything. Hell can freeze over before I meet that bastard!'
And on and on...but I was flattered all the same and began to weaken and Tony, sensing this, said, 'Look let me phone him and tell him to phone you and just chat. Ok?'
The whole thing was so unlikely that I began to see some sort of cosmic significance in it. Maybe it was meant to be.
And five minutes later he called.
'Now look, Nancy, I'm not going to rake up the past and I know you were angry and ya had every right to be but that's all just water under the bridge and we're going to move forward because, you're the one, Nancy, you're my girl. You're meant to be my girl. Now we're not going to live together or anything like that but you'll be my regular fuck and ya won't fuck with anyone else unless I say ya can do it. Because I own ya. You're my girl, that's all there is to it.'
In vain did I put up token resistance. He knew that by allowing him the phone call that he was back where he always had been, on top and in control. And we talked, over the next few weeks, how we talked. Or rather mostly he talked and I listened.
'Now you've got to know what you're letting yourself in for, Nancy, that's only fair. So there's no crying to me later that it isn't what ya expected. I'm a dominant man, Nancy, there's no two ways about it. Now a lot of guys knocking around these days think they're dominant and in charge and they're not. They're subject to women who tell them what to do and where they can go and how much they can drink and when and if they can have sex. That's not me and you have to know that. When I see ya, that's it, you're mine and I'm going to fuck and breed ya. And I'm going to breed ya whenever I want and there's no noes from ya and "no I don't want it" outta ya. You're going to be like an Irish wife from the 1920s. You're going to look after your man and put out for your man. You got that? I'll say to ya do this or do that, Nancy, and ya'll do it. Because I know ya, and I know it's what ya want and it's what I want too. It's simple. It's a very simple setup. Couldn't be simpler or easier. Now I'm not going to stamp around shouting at ya or anything stupid like that but when I say do this you do it. That clear?'
'What if I do say no?' I said, mustering defiance.
'I'd back hand ya one, right away. I'd have to teach you a lesson, ya see that, don't ya? Yes, you'd have to be taught a lesson. That's the way of it.'
Every genetic girl in the world would run a mile from a guy like this, I told myself. But it just makes me weak at the knees. I must be mad. I'm signing up for sexual slavery, for the stripping away of the rights generations of women fought for and I'm all for it. It's abusive, it's unfair, it's from the Victorian era. It couldn't be more politically incorrect. And my sissy clitty is hard.
And so here I am, driving to Dublin, yet another hotel room booked. I'm a mad slut, I know it. But I'm dying to give myself to this man. And be owned. And bred.