I’ve been thinking about my ‘submissive’ fantasies and why I have them when I don’t really want to be submissive at all.

Actually when I look at it most (maybe all) of those fantasies are sexual. Let’s face it; ‘nice’ girls aren’t supposed to enjoy sex, these days it’s not even always safe to enjoy sex and anyway Dommes are supposed to be ice queens denying everybody sex.

So, that doesn’t leave many places to go with a slutty sexual fantasy. Whoever I am being, I’m not supposed to be the one being the centre of sexual attention (these days that’s surely Mat’s role) even if I’d like it. Plus while I like the idea of slutty sex (no I’m not putting the details in this post but you could read my fantasies for ideas), where on earth does one find clean, STD-free cock, that comes with an intelligent, considerate and consent aware person on the other end.
Actually, I can find those, but then when you like and respect the person on the other end, I feel rather uncomfortable about asking them to be part of my fantasies (especially if it involves multiple men which experience so far leads me to feel most men are less keen on).

Even the non-sexual aspects of those fantasies are about permission to enjoy myself, to enjoy sensations, pure physical moments without feeling guilty that I’m ‘making’ someone else do something for me, that they’re only doing it to please me, that I’m being selfish for demanding it of them.

Really (and I know some of my readers will throw something at the screen at this point) I don’t want to be a bother to anyone. Fantasies, especially submissive ones, are my way of setting up a scene where I know that I’m not a bother, where I can enjoy getting what I want, without asking and therefore without feeling guilty either for the desire itself or the imposition on someone else’s pleasure.

Whereas in real life I want (and need) to feel in control because trust does not come easy. Plus all that planning and negotiating is sometimes an unreasonable amount of effort for something I can happily enjoy in my head safely, any time I please, without any worries at all.

So fantasies are a great escape into great sex. For me, it doesn’t always need to be real, because in my head it always is.

Mat was feeling slutty. He had been feeling that way for a while and his need was boiling over in him. I should probably point out that I had (originally) no intention of letting him cum that day and he knew it.

Lunch was leftover pizza from the night before. Well brunch really. Actually I mean, despite the lateness of the hour, it was actually breakfast – but pizza for breakfast is good, right?

I’d heated it up in the oven and was offering Mat some but he was initially reluctant. Then he suggested (frivolously) he could spunk on a slice of seafood pizza and then eat it.

Oh, so much, yes.

I gave him a plate with the one remaining slice of seafood pizza (tuna, onion, prawns and double anchovies) and sat back with my own plate of pizza to watch the show.

Mat was feeling slutty. He was naked, wanking his cock and telling me his filthy fantasies. Expressing a desire to suck cock, to be spunked on and to have his virgin cunt raped by an enormous cock.

That fantasy wasn’t enough for him alone, he needed more. He requested permission to use a toy and I granted it. He fetched my big blue dildo and proceeded to fuck himself on it eagerly.

I watched, I ate pizza, I tweaked his nipples and slapped his balls and told him what a filthy slut he was. I enjoyed the show.

He came, like a good boy, on his slice of pizza and then, like a good boy, he ate it up. Grimacing in the aftermath, a pizza almost too salty even for my anchovy loving Boy.

A pizza with a topping you can’t order.

Who am I? Sometimes it’s simple. Sometimes I’m just a Domme, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that.

I’m confused, lonely, frightened, endlessly searching. I want confidence, reassurance, growth.
Sometimes I’m submissive, wanting to be used, abused and loved. But for me submission turns out to be a road that leads to pain and not the good kind either.

To give myself to a Dom, what would I be asking for? Let me tell you.
I want to be encouraged, I want their hand holding mine. I want them pushing the back of my bike as I cycle along until I’m flying and I turn and discover they let go some time ago and have just been running along side me for reassurance.
But when I wobble, then I need them to be holding fast, to stop me from falling.

No human being can possibly be expected to be that person, to take me to the darkest places in my soul and bring me back safely, to give me strength and never let me down. So, submission, for me is pain, disappointment, damage to a heart already scarred by hurt.

I cannot live those fantasies without harm, so I will not live them.
Yet they resurface now and again, to be enjoyed alone inside my mind and also, it seems, here with you.

Writing something here is a yearly tradition but there is perhaps little to say. This year has brought little that is new, few startling revelations for me or for you readers. Yet I have relationships that flourish, I am loved and love in return. I even find I have a few people I can talk to, in the flesh so to speak, about my life, my loves and my kinks.

So perhaps all I can say here for now is that it is, what I wish for you all, a very happy new year.

I was at a social gathering, small and friendly and slightly boozy. I was having a good time. One conversation led to another, and a card game was produced, one that clearly labels itself as only suitable for adults. Here is where my trouble began, because it transpired that one of our number was still a child (below even the age of consent). I’m not averse to adult oriented humour, even when it’s slightly questionable, but I felt very uncomfortable with the prospect of corrupting a child.

Mat pointed out reasonably, that one of the child’s parents was present and they seemed perfectly comfortable with the situation and this is true, they did. But still, I found myself unable to reconcile myself to the situation.
I sat the game out, making polite excuses about not really playing that sort of game (while mentally running over the fun I might have playing it in the right situation), I stopped drinking too, I needed to be in control of my behaviour. Still I felt awkward and uncomfortable. If I could have found a way to politely excuse myself and go home I would have.

Now I’m perfectly aware that I’m the one out of step here. That nobody else saw the game as a moral dilemma and I understand that; but to me childhood is brief and precious, and innocence once lost can’t be regained. I may be a filthy pervert (you’ve read this blog, right) but I play with equals (in some senses at least) who have their own perversions.

When Mat tells me that he’s innocent*, I love it, am charmed by it, but equally I don’t really want to be the one to corrupt him. Yet I will happily help him make any of his own filthy fantasies come true if I can.

Innocence is precious, don’t rush to lose it, it’s a one way journey and you can never go back. On the other hand, if it’s already gone, then you’re very welcome here.

*He’s not nearly as innocent as he makes out, dear reader.

Mat wanted cock; more than that, he needed it. It had become a hunger and he needed filling in every sense.

I approved his search for a man, someone who would let him suck his cock and, important to us both, would let me watch. I was surprised how quickly he found somebody, how quickly we managed to arrange a meeting.

We were nervous and approached cautiously. We were looking for someone who was looking for us. Our paths crossed with a man and we walked on.

“If that’s him”, Mat checked with me, “do you want to go through with this”.
“Yes”, I was suddenly more confident, “I do”.

We wheeled round and this time we all greeted each other. Nervously, hesitantly we made our way inside. The location was as described. Comfy chairs gave me somewhere to sit and watch. We kept the lights low but I could see perfectly well.

Mat kneeled in front of the man and began stroking him through his jeans. He looked sideways at me, putting on a show.

Still as I watched he forgot himself as the man in front of him instructed Mat in how to pleasure him, controlled him, fucked his face, used him.
I watched. I told Mat he was a Good Boy, I held his head and stroked his back and then sat back to watch some more. This was sexy and good.

This man knew how to use him, how to speak to him. I felt a tingle of electricity as I watched and listened.
“Some men are destined to suck other men’s cocks, don’t you think?”, he remarked to me.
Watching Mat with his mouth full, eagerly pleasuring him I felt inclined to agree.

When his kind benefactor gave him a face full of spunk I ran my fingers across Mat’s face, feeding it to him, watching him swallow it down eagerly.

This done we all sat back to relax, to chat and to agree that we might indeed like to do that again someday…soon.

 

I’m in bed; a large bed with crisp white sheets. A hotel room bed…

…I hear gentle breathing and I look down to see my Boy curled up on the floor beside the bed. He is lying on his side, his knees slightly drawn towards his body. His feet are tied together and the rope loops up to his wrists tied behind his back from there it runs to the bed where I am holding it firmly. I can tug it and he reacts to the movement of his bonds.
Looking down I can see his cock, hard and proud, as he lies there in my rope. It is mine to demand when I wish it. He belongs to me.
For now though I will keep tight hold of the rope and drift back to sleep.
My Boy is beside me…

…I am a happy Mistress.

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