duckie’s note: this happened last week, but i knew Madam’s article was publishing today, and this seemed like the perfect piece to accompany it. writing this little public admission was actually part one of my punishment for the offense i’ve described above. part two is considerably less literary and will be administered during my Magazine punishment ceremony in September. apparently Madam believes some lessons should be learned at both ends of the duck. 🙂

ok, this might sound like a humble brag.

it isn’t supposed to be. in fact, Madam commanded me to write about it because apparently “duckie needs to learn from this” is how we’re framing the situation.

here goes.

i am too big for some women.

there. i said it. everybody admire my tremendous accomplishment of being born with anatomy i had absolutely nothing to do with earning.

and before anybody thinks i’m entering myself in some sort of giant dick competition, i’m not. i know i’m not the biggest. i’ve seen guys who are considerably bigger than me, and good for them and whatever poor pants they have to buy. nobody is handing out trophies here.

that’s not the point. the point is that what i’ve got is sometimes more than a particular woman’s body comfortably wants, and recently i screwed up by forgetting that.

one of Madam’s guests told her that after we’d been intimate, she was sore enough afterward that she described herself as feeling a little “sore.”

fuck.

that is not something this duck ever wants to hear.

and Madam made the problem pretty damn clear. being well-endowed doesn’t automatically make me good at using what i’ve got. if anything, it gives me an additional responsibility to pay attention.

i should have warned her better. i should have taken more time. i should have paid closer attention to how her body was responding instead of assuming everything was fine because nobody had told me to stop. because bodies are different.

something that’s perfectly comfortable for one woman can be uncomfortable for another. arousal matters. lubrication matters. position matters. depth matters. communication matters. and sometimes the correct answer is simply, “i’m sorry, this may not work.”

there isn’t a trophy for fitting. and really, i should know better.

i’ve spent years being trained to serve women, and i’ve become particularly skilled at using my mouth. that’s useful for about a thousand reasons, but one of them is very simple: penetration isn’t always what a woman wants. sometimes slowing down, changing what i’m doing, or doing something else entirely is the better service.

because let’s be honest, i’m not really trying to be anybody’s great romantic lover here. i’m Madam’s property. i’m her service sub. and sometimes i’m basically a sex toy she loans out.

a well-trained sex toy is supposed to make the person using it feel good. if the toy hurts somebody because duckie’s little brain stopped paying attention, that’s a pretty shitty toy.

so Madam’s lesson wasn’t particularly complicated. duckie, quit treating your dick like it’s doing somebody a favor just by showing up.

message received, Madam.

i can joke about having a generously sized cock. i can enjoy the attention it sometimes gets. i can even be a little proud of what Madam has trained me to do with it. but none of that matters more than the woman i’m serving being comfortable, safe, and enjoying herself.

so yes, apparently this oversized duck needed a refresher course in anatomy, communication, and not being a dumbass.