There are two words that hold incredible power over me.
Whispered into my ear as he holds me down, taking all of him into my ass, slowly gently easing himself into me “Good girl, you can take it…” guaranteed that I always can with those magic words of encouragement.
Spoken with pride as I make myself cum, writhing on the bed, putting on a show “Good girl” accompanied by smug smiles and appreciative nodding that spurs me on.
Written in text when I complete a task “Make sure you’re wearing your butt plug when I get home… ” a photo taken in the mirror as proof rewarded with his reply “Good girl”.
Growled in approval as I hold the chain of my clover clamps firm in my mouth as he pounds me, dealing with the predicament of the overwhelming pleasure that makes me want to gasp, pant and throw my head back, against the extreme pain of the clamps on my nipples when I do.
Holding the chain tight between my lips because he placed it there and I would rather endure the pain and predicament than disappoint him. I earned my praise of “Good girl” when he finally allowed the chain to fall, rewarded by orgasm washing over me.
“Good girl” makes me melt, saying it can act as instant arousal, like flicking a switch. Those two words confirm I’ve pleased, that I’ve done well, that they’re proud of me and I can be proud of me too, boosting my confidence.
I haven’t always had such a delicious reaction to two small words, I suspect it all began when I started associating with perverts. Hurrah for perverts and opening my mind to new and increasingly hotter phenomena. Discovering how effective words are in general has been a wonderfully enlightening experience and those two words in particular are the ones I crave to hear.
Though I may not fit nicely into the box of ‘submissive’there are parts of me that are eager to please. Perhaps it’s the puppy in me, responding to the positive reinforcement when I obey? After all, good girls get rewards.
“Fetch the toy, there’s a good girl…now hold still…”
“Turn over for me, good girl…stay down…”
“Did I tell you to stop…that’s better, get back down there, good girl…”
My wonderful Fiend takes it deeper, she tells me
“My desire to be a ‘good girl’ is a really powerful way to harness, in a sensual, erotic and filthy way, my desires for approval. To be rewarded for being good, punished for being bad, adored and scolded, like a little girl who thrives on those reinforcements; and by channelling that desire into consensual filthy play with equals I am sated in it, which means I can take defiance and anti-authoritarianism and “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” to where it’s needed, to the outside world.
I can be disapproved of where it’s needed yet satisfy my primal urge for approval whilst being a perverted fuck. That’s awesome”
As ever, the Fiend is awesome, drawing out some of the driving forces behind the filthy play we indulge in. How BDSM and filthy sex allows us to explore either terrible things and reappropriate them or balance the demands of real life. It can’t just be a cliché of the high flying businessman who loves to be humiliated by a Dominatrix, right? I’m not called a good girl by the staff who follow my instructions, by the friends who share happy times or even publically by my husband; that approval comes privately.
Being someone’s ‘good girl’ is deliciously rewarding, being shown off as a good girl, even more so. In the middle of the dancefloor, in the middle of the party, my man works his fingers inside me forcing whimpers from my lips, as I pant and try to squirm away, unable to as I’m held in place by another, equally strong, pair of arms – by the gentle man that I call “Uncle”in recognition of how he makes me feel safe, calm and protected yet lusts over me in a very wrong-hot way. The two of them hold me between then, discussing me as if I wasn’t there “She makes a lot of noise, doesn’t she? Is she always this noisy?” My man nodding to confirm.
Then, finally, with my man focussed on me, I receive a demand ““cum for him, show him” as if I could help it with his fingers working me so expertly and the restrains making it impossible to escape I flood the floor to the positive response “She’s a good girl isn’t she?”, “Why yes, she is. Indeed.” Their pride inflates my pride.
The power of those two words isn’t lost to me either, I know the effect they will have when they slip from my lips, when I use them to demonstrate how proud I am of my pup, or to gently tease my not-so-innocent friend by text and imagine her beautifully blushing.
Unexpectedly I used them to powerful effect on a former Domme, playfully turning her own toy against her, I held her vibrating strap-on firm in my hand as we gently swayed on the dancefloor, requesting that she push against it and watching the building arousal wash across her face. She had come to me with the intention of pushing it against my clit to make me melt but in demonstration of her rejecting labels and opening herself to other power-dynamics, she went with my cheeky request, resulting in a shared exploratory experience of win. Stopping before her fluster became uncontrollable public orgasm I rewarded her with a simple “Good girl” and proud smile. Unbeknown to me this was a first and her text to thank me days afterwards still makes me wag, a new fetish for her, happily shared.
There can be unexpected side effects of the associations with ‘good girl’ of course, that colleague who thinks that because she’s old enough to be my Nan she can call me ‘good girl’ in a meeting and throw my train of thought, and then between the latex gloves, restriction on my jaw and confirmation that I’ve been a “good girl”, the dentist is a rather different experience that it once was.
Pervert problems I’m happy to accept because harnessing the power of those two words is worth it.