It’s Not What You Do

It’s not what you do, it’s the way that you do it.

I had my first serious boyfriend at seventeen. When we were finally alone together, we started kissing and getting naked, and generally exploring each other’s bodies. I kissed my way down the length of his torso, so naturally when I got to his cock, I kissed that too. I had no expectations at all, merely touching and sucking in a way that felt good to me, and that seemed to be getting a good reaction. When he came, I made a wonderful discovery. Cum tastes like the froth on a pint of Guinness, and I love Guinness. I swallowed. Well, what else would one possibly do?

In recent times, as a submissive, oral sex has been something I have come to consider as an integral part of my submission. It is often the first thing commanded of me in play, although I sometimes pre-empt the command slightly, foreseeing the demand. Even when done spontaneously, fellatio feels like an act of service, a submissive giving of pleasure. My enjoyment in the act for its own sake is swallowed up in my desire to please.

Different relationships it turns out, have different rules. There I was, with my boy, kissing, exploring. His cock was in my hand, hard and smooth, and I knew I wanted to taste it. For once, no sense of obedience or fulfilling expectation, merely my desire to enjoy him in a way which pleased me. I crouched down, taking him in my mouth, delighting in the feel and taste of him, and the moans of pleasure from above me. In that moment I felt a real sense of dominance, taking what I wanted from him, in the way I chose.

I wonder how an observer would have interpreted what was happening, superficially viewing those actions. Our roles within that invisible except to us, defined by dynamics and emotions they could not know.

Remember, what you see may not always be what you think.

Hurting Him

I finally got to start exploring my domme side, moving it from fantasy to reality.

Let’s call him Mat. He’d been pushing all day. A persistent cheekiness I recognised as an attempt to see how far he could push me, and whether I’d push back. I don’t really like being manipulated like that (even though it was done in a humorously mischievous and lovably forgivable way), and I think in future my response should be slightly different, but on this occasion I knew it was time to give him what he had been so obliquely asking for.

I had him kneel naked at my feet, and felt a sudden awareness of my power as he did so. As I held him there, I hesitated momentarily, wondering if I dared cross that invisible line, to raise my hand to him at last.

I ordered him over my knee then, the sofa long enough to hold him comfortably, and began to spank him. His bottom glowed a rosy red, and the gentle stinging of my hand kept me conscious of what I was doing to him. An intimate and gentle beginning.

Later he pushed again, this time I used the riding crop on him. Delighting in the lines it left on his buttocks. Watching his face buried in my pillow as his hips moved in response to each stroke. He was almost silent, with only the slightest of whimpers. My very good little boy.

What did it feel like?

I hurt him. Knowing what I was doing. Deliberately. Wanting his pain. And he accepted it. Enduring each stroke. Submissive. And he made it something beautiful. In that moment I became his. His Domme. And he became so much more to me than I can begin to describe.

An incredibly special moment.

The Other Side

A week ago, if you had asked me if I had a domme side, I would have said no.

My fantasies have always been submissive ones. I have occasionally considered the dominant’s point of view, but would have said I was doing it for the intellectual challenge of considering that point of view, rather from a desire to fill that role.

In the last week it occurred to me to ask myself whether I have a dominant side. I imagined myself, in some theoretical club, with a theoretical submissive at my feet, and quite honestly felt slightly sick at the prospect. To be fair though, that’s a strange image to choose. I have almost no experience of public play at all, and have never been to a kinky club, even as a submissive, so trying to put myself in an unknown place in an unfamiliar role is bound to be difficult. Perhaps the problem, is that I don’t know what having a dominant side would mean.

Fast forward then, to a perfectly lovely social evening, with some lovely kinky people. I had persuaded a gentlemen of my acquaintance to attend, and had lured him there with the (sincere) promise that I would look after him, and not abandon him in a room full of strange people!

Starting out then, I felt a definite sense of responsibility. A need to make sure that his evening was rewarding and pleasurable. As we talked and flirted together I saw his subtle reactions to my more jokingly assertive comments, and felt a certain thrill at his enjoyment. I began to see the appeal of control, the creation of something special, the joy of being the artist rather than the clay.

I also think that I realised a difference in me between domme and sadist. I don’t think I would much enjoy hurting someone; but control, shaping someone’s pleasure, there’s a real kick there. Of course, sometimes pleasure is pain…it’s not a binary choice.

I am still inherently submissive, and my relationship with Perrin exists within that dynamic. Yet each relationship you have creates its own dynamic, unique to the two people involved. I certainly have a domme side, if only a tiny one. I think it might be rather fun for that to get out and play a bit more.