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Does something remain a kink if you begin it out of desire and keep doing it out of habit? I don’t know, but going commando started out as a sexy thing I did for John Brownstone. Now it’s an afterthought for both of us. The dynamic of whether I wear panties or not isn’t quite the same as it was in the beginning.
I have a drawerful of lace, cotton, superhero (Iron Man and Wonder Woman), bold panties. I love buying underwear. Finding the cutest or prettiest pair. Imagining how my ass will look in them. But I only wear panties when I absolutely need to – and only with permission. The rest of the time, I’m completely bare down there.
We didn’t start out this way. In fact, my panties were very much a part of our D/s relationship. While we were long distance, John Brownstone picked out my panties every day, and I sent him a picture of myself in nothing but. It was a sexy connection we shared. (How did we organize it? It involved taking pictures of every pair I owned and a lot of cloud storage.)
When he wanted me to connect to my kinkier, naughtier self, I wouldn’t wear panties for the day. Sometimes I wore a dress or skirt, sometimes I didn’t. I’d spend my entire day obsessing about my panty-less body which meant I spent my entire day thinking about him. By the end of the day I was dripping wet and ready to touch myself. Which, of course, was the point to those commando days.
After we moved in together, we each had to switch up our routine. I don’t remember when, but in the very early days he changed from choosing my panties every day to never picking any. He wanted me bare, available, and open to him. I loved it. Not only was I building a new life with him, we were building a new kinky life that could be as dirty and sexy as circumstances allowed. Sans panties fit right in.
If you do anything long enough you get used to it, though. We’ve lived together since 2014 and in that time, I’ve probably worn panties a couple dozen times. Often it’s only when I ask for permission to wear them. I’m commando until John Brownstone says otherwise. We never revoked the original rule: he picks out my panties every day. He simply doesn’t pick them out anymore. If he doesn’t pick them out, I don’t wear them.
Going commando has become more about our power dynamic and my life as a submissive and less about the excitement of an exposed pussy or easy access to my clit. Which means it doesn’t even occur to me to wear any without asking first. And I do ask. I’ve learned that some situations really do call for underwear. The light cotton shorts on a 100 degree day comes to mind. Crotch sweat is a thing, y’all. Parent-teacher conferences while wearing skirts – that’s not the show and tell I’m looking for.
Sure, I enjoy going commando. I like how the fabric of my clothes rubs against my skin. I enjoy the smell of my own musk when a wave of desire hits me. Oh yes, I frequently dip a hand between my legs just to enjoy the smoothness of my waxed, bare skin. (I understand why men hold their junk. It’s comforting.)
But what started out as a bit of a kink has become commonplace. Dare I say, almost vanilla? I remember feeling scandalous the first few times. Now, I feel closed off, almost encased when I wear panties. They’re a rare luxury that make me pause in front of a mirror to admire my own butt. Although, my love of shopping for panties hasn’t decreased.
The turn on for me isn’t that I don’t wear panties 90 percent of the time. Instead, it’s the power of the situation. I wear them when John Brownstone decides I will, and only then. The act of going commando does little for me these days. But his control over what I do? That’s what really gets me going.
It’s Kink of the Week time, and this week’s topic is all about going commando. Am I wearing panties right now? Nope. Will I wear them tomorrow? Only if John Brownstone wants me to. That’s how we roll, y’all. Want to know how other people feel about going commando? Click below!