My name is Sapphire. Sapphire the Fucktoy.
This is what my Dom calls me.
I love it.
I asked him to use my name. It wasn’t to assert my identity, or to spare me being completely submissive or anything like that. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but i knew it was something i wanted. I wrote to him:
I like how you referred to me as your fucktoy, your slut, your good girl… However, i would love it all the more if you would also use my name — in this context…. I don’t know where you stand on this issue, or your philosophical leanings as far as using a sub/servant/slave’s name while in the throes of passion, but i’d be more than happy to hear them.
His initial response:
A big paragraph of what with no why.
I had to think about this long and hard before i replied. I wasn’t exactly sure why, and it took some serious consideration before i realised.
The first image to which he had me serve him was of him fucking me from behind, holding on to me by a leash, and saying my name: “Good girl, Sapphire… Good girl.” I had to have this image in mind, and masturbate until i came, hearing his voice saying my name in my head as i did.
The idea was and is incredibly arousing. No medical reason, or anything. It just added that extra level of spice, and it has featured in all my fantasies about him ever since.
It’s odd, because as i said before, it’s not that I’m attached to hearing my name in any deep and significant way. But the rules of everyone else do not apply with him — he is on a wholly different plane for me.
I explained this to him, ending thus:
It would mean a very great deal to me, although i will of course accept whatever decision you make.
(As Eliza Doolittle was wont to say, I’m a good girl, I am.)
The next time we met, his first instruction was “Kiss me.” As we kissed, the passion grew and grew until i felt my knees actually buckle.
He has this effect on me. I’m so lucky.
Suddenly, his hand, entwined in my hair, tightened its grip and jerked my head away from his. With a nudge from his other hand, he spun me around until his lips were close to my neck. He spoke as he kissed me, an arm holding me tightly around my neck, but not enough to move me to tears.
“So you want me to call you by your name?”
(Kiss, kiss, nip, kiss. My skin — on fire. My knees — buckling.)
“Why, again? Give me a good reason.”
I reiterated. “It’s because you gave me the gift of hearing you say my name as i came, as part of the first time you gave me an instruction. It’s made hearing you say my name incredibly arousing to me, Sir.”
He smiled, I could feel it as he spoke.
“I like the name Sapphire the Fucktoy. I like that as a handle for you. I think it suits you.”
It does. It’s me.
Sapphire the Fucktoy.
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