Kinky interactions for the D/s inclined

You read a book, met a guy, desperately needed a restroom and walked into a BDSM club, or whatever. The allure of being a submissive made you question everything you ever thought about yourself.

Scene:

Domly One with his tuxedo jacket off, three buttons undone, sleeves rolled up, sitting in a burgundy, leather, high back chair holding a glass with: Bourbon, Whiskey, Rum, Scotch, or really anything that isn’t followed by the letters -aid.

You're naked, kneeling on the floor next to his legs with a leather belt that secures your wrist cuffs to your sides.

Domly One slides one hand up your neck, grabs your hair, pulls your head back to expose your throat. He bites your neck while his other hand slides between your legs. “Open your legs for me, kitten.” he growls in your ear. You comply. His fingers work magic inside you. “Cum, slut!” he commands. Your body is wracked with wave after wave of orgasmic bliss.

Ummmm, Where do I sign up for this??

That is how we are baited into this world of fantasy, ecstasy and carnal desire.

Sneaky Doms!

Do you remember life before D/s? Do you remember all of the daily responsibilities of laundry, cooking, dishes, raising kids, grocery shopping, paying bills, making doctor’s appointments and working your day job? Guess what! Those things are still there.

So, what changes when you decide you are a submissive? Let me tell you!

Laundry, Cleaning, Household Responsibilities

Pre D/s: Whine, grumble, complain, procrastinate, cajole the Future Domly One into doing some, if not most, of it.

Post D/s: Do it quickly, do it well, no complaining allowed, Domly One laughs at your cajoling. And now, if you don’t complete it in a timely manner, you must wear nipple clamps or other torture devices conjured by the Domly One to make sure you get it right the next time.

Excuses

Pre D/s: We had a plethora of options available. I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I’m not in the mood. I have a headache. I’ve got my period. I have to get up early in the morning.

Post D/s: “I didn’t ask if you were tired, slut, do it.” “Keep it up, your day will get longer.” “I’m using you, not dating you.” “Take an Advil.” “That is why you have a mouth and an ass.” “Of course you do, Pet. I need my coffee ready by 5:45am”

Clothing Options

Pre D/s: Sweat pants, cotton underwear, bra and t-shirt. No need to shave your legs because no one will ever see them.

Post D/s: Skirts or dresses because the Domly One wants easy access to your pussy. No underwear, or something lacy and sexy based on the Domly One’s desires. Bra? Yeah, right! No t-shirt, only low cut tops that emphasize your breasts. Shaving? No, my friends, you don’t need to shave because the Domly One will insist you be waxed from neck to ankle!

This is my warning to all of you Newbies out there. All of that mundane, tedious, annoying stuff you had to do before D/s, you still have to do it all only now you can be punished with nipple clamps, remote controlled vibrators, orgasm denial and caning.

I've never believed in anything at first sight. It all takes time, even butterscotch sundaes. Things can be pretty, sparkly and magical on the outside but have no substance.

I need to learn and know and grow into something/someone.

For example, I have no interest in an Insta-dom and have no interest in being an Insta-submissive. Those people may find each other and live happily ever after, it's just not me.

For me, I need more. I need a connection on a psychological and emotional level.  That's what draws me closer. 

That safety, security, confidence, deference and respect drive me. 

To whom do I submit? The one who knows me. The one who tries to know me better. The one that pushes boundaries slowly and respectfully; at my pace. The one who has my respect. The one with whom I feel safe and secure to release my desires and his. The one who thrives in his dominance of me and inspires my submission to him

No love at first sight for me.  I'll give my submission at long last. 

"Baby girl, don't leave me." He whispered in her ear pressing the length of his body against hers. She squirmed against him. The pressure in her ass heightening as his hardness pressed against her.

The force of his body pressed her against the trees and he slowly unzipped her dress. She was hugging the oak that stood before her. Letting the shoulder straps slip from her frame. She hugged all the harder feeling the bark on her soft skin.

The skirts fell around her feet and she quickly kicked them away.

"There is more for you, my sweet," he spoke to her in a slightly more sinister manner. He pulled her arms apart and began attaching rope to her wrists, secured by carabiners in the trunk of the tree.

Her breasts scraped against the abrasions of the tree bark. Her ass clenched in shame. With one swift stroke of the knife, her panties were gone.

"Oh damn!" what had she gotten herself into?!?!

His hand stroked her back and she felt reassured; until he reached down and smackedher tender ass.

"Noooo!" she cried. The pain and pressure of the plug intensified exponentially. Did he know she was an anal virgin?

"No, my sweet?" he asked menacingly "No, what?"

The entire front of her body was being pressed and scraped against the tree.
The full moon lit the lake in front of them like a candle in a mirror.

The lake!! It drew her eyes and made her forget, just for moment, that she was in discomfort and aroused. Yes, she was aroused. She felt herself melting into her pussy with juices flowing.

SMACK

Harder this time. Right against her ass, pressing the plug deeper inside her. Again and again he tortured her. Or so she thought.....

whirrrrrr

It was unmistakable. That sound....

She tensed against the tree, breasts aching with the abrasions. She squeezed the tree tighter fearing what was to come next. She knew. She didn't want it. She wanted it. She needed it. But NO!!!!

But Oh My God, YES!!!!!!

He came up behind her and pressed his leg between hers. He pushed them apart and breathed into her ear. "Now, my sweet, you will wish you had left." With that he spread her legs further apart. The vibrator move against her thighs threateningly. Slowly, methodically, he moved it closer to her pussy.

"DON'T cum!" he commanded as the vibrations hit her clit. Over and over the waves of frustration plagued her.

"PLEASE!" She begged.

"No," he responded, whispering in her ear, pressing harder against her clit and moving it back against her pussy. Over and over again he tormented her.

"PLEASE!" she begged once again.

With that he withdrew his tormentor against the tormented. He unhooked her restraints and guided her to the fire pit.

There she collapsed on the ground between his legs.

The moon shone so brightly she could see and feel the erection pressing against his slacks.

He wrapped a blanket around her and let her rest her head on his leg. He stroked her hair and smiled down at her.

How did he know she wondered? How did he know that the denial of her orgasm was as heady as the orgasm itself?

Sweet and sour.

I've been asked this question before.

Am I alone in thinking kink is not the "be all end all" of who and what I am?

I want more than you standing over me while I kneel at your feet.
I want more than leaning into you and worshipping your cock.
I want more than your fist in my hair.
I want more than the feel of cum in the back of my throat.
I want more than your fingers inside me.
I want more than your mouth on mine.
I want more than the wet, hot orgasm of my cum spewing over your hand.
I want more than feeling the strike of a flogger at my back.
I want more than your hands making bright, red marks on my ass.
I want more than the stripes of a whip against my thighs.
I want more than the clamps on my nipples.

Don't get me wrong.... I want this.

But I want more.

I want to go to dinner and drinks.
I want walks with my dog.
I want cuddles on the couch.
I want strokes of fingers in my hair.
I want you stroking my hair while I lay in your lap.
I want "good girl" for doing nothing other than being myself.
I want affection.
I want attention.
I want focus.

Yes, I want You.

Sometimes a girl just wants to hear she's fuckable. 

Count the minutes until you see me again.

Count the words in each message I send.

Count the steps in those high, high heels until you reach me.

Count the seconds between each breath you take.

Count the ways you may have disappointed me.

Count the links on the chain binding your wrists and ankles.

Count the beating from the wooden paddle.

Count the ways you belong to me.

Count the fingers inside you.

Count your devotion to me.

Count the seconds you go without air while my hand encircles your throat.

Count the ways you can please me.

Count the strikes of the whip on your back, thighs and ass.

Count the strokes of my cock inside you.

Count the times you cum.

Count the marks I've left on you.

Count for me.

Could you be patient with me?

Can you see that I don't yet understand? Can you see my fear wrapped in a mask of bravado?

Could you be patient with me?

I move slowly. I trust slowly. I feel .... deeply.

Could you be patient with me?

As you would teaching a child to ride a bike? They long for the exhilaration of riding free with the wind in their face. Yet their feet don't reach the pedals. They can't keep their balance. Time and again they fall and cry. Each fall making it harder to try again.

Could you be patient with me?

Be my strength while I falter. Be my cushion when I fall. Be my example. Be my leader. Be my courage to try again and again.

Could you be patient with me?

I have so little to offer. It is of no value to anyone as it gathers dust and erodes. But it is enough for someone.

Could you be patient with me?

Do you see something in me that would be worth your time and effort? Can you see what I cannot?

Could you be patient with me?

Are you willing and able to allay my worries, dispell my insecurities every time they raise their ugly head.; challenging you, doubting you.

Could you be patient with me?

I know I have to in order to live, so I inhale in short little breaths, then exhale deeply.

trying to cleanse myself

But there is no cleansing. How can you empty yourself?
Could I exhale enough air to dispose of myself and be ... someone else?

I can't face another year, another month, another week, another day, another hour, another minute. How can I make it stop?

It hurts.
I'm just not strong enough.

People say, "God doesn't give you more than you can handle." Never was there a greater lie told to the masses.

If I could handle this, I'd be inhaling and exhaling deeply; strengthening my resolve to move forward.

Yet, that is not the case. The breaths I take are short and stunted. Yearning to be the last; and at the same time knowing the next is coming.

Fuck

It hurts to breathe

But is it? Is it all we have to expect from this encounter a sexual connotation?

Why can't I want more connection, a relationship, friendship, dominant?

"Senator, it's late. I was wondering if it was okay if I went home." She didn't want to leave if he was going to stay longer but the day was exhausting and she needed some sleep.

He looked up from his desk, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"10:30, sir."

He felt the involuntary twitch in his pants that always happened when she called him that. She wasn't his sub but he had thought about it on more than one occasion. He wondered how her ass would look raised in the air with her head touching the floor, waiting for his command.

"Go ahead, you can go home. Have you eaten dinner?"

"No, sir. I have some cookies in my desk, but that's about it."

"What did I tell you about taking care of yourself?"

She melted inside. Exhaustion was dropping her defenses and she couldn't stop the blush rising in her cheeks at his admonishment.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. Today has been nonstop. I promise I'll grab something on the way home." She sputtered hoping he wouldn't notice her face turning red.

To no avail, he noticed and let a little smile creep into his lips at her obvious discomfort.

"Do you need to be told what to do?" He asked, his voice timbre lowing just a bit. Maybe his defenses were down a little as well.

"Yes, sir. Please." She had felt drawn to him for months now and done everything in her power to keep those feelings at bay. Today, she lost the battle.

It wasn't the answer he expected but it was definitely the answer he wanted.

"Such a good girl, always trying to make me happy." He smiled as his eyes darkened staring at her.

Her cheeks flushed once again and her eyes dropped to the floor but not before she saw his hand move over the rising bulge that was becoming increasingly hard to ignore.

"Yes, sir." She whispered. "You need someone devoted to you."

"Are you devoted to me? To serving me, to pleasing me?" He asked huskily and moved away from his desk without the pretense of covering his, now obvious, erection.

"Sir?" she asked looking up from the floor.

"Will you do what it takes to please me? It's a simple enough question, young lady."

There was a fire in her chest spreading through her entire body making it hard to think and forms words in response.

"I ... well.... I .... well ...."she stuttered over her words.

"Use your words. Be clear." He commanded.

"Yes, sir. I want to please you; to serve you."

"Look at me, girl." He commanded. Yet, he did not look at her so much as look through her. He saw the want and desire lurking in the shadows there. He saw her submission. The submission she had worked so hard to keep concealed. He caught her gaze and kept it.

She stared back feeling exposed by his stare.

"Take off your top." It was a statement, not a question, and she obeyed without a word. She let it fall to the floor without breaking from his gaze.

"Now your skirt." That took a little more effort as she shrugged it off of her hips and let it fall to the floor next to its counterpart.

This time she let her eyes remain on the floor. She couldn't look at him now, she thought to herself.

He stood and walked over to her. She didn't have to look up to feel his eyes burning over every inch of her skin. She was acutely aware of each bump and imperfection and now so was he. She remained still .... waiting.

With one hand he touched her arm, letting it glide up and over her shoulder as he walked behind her. His fingers grazed her neck at the hairline and sent shivers through her body. Slowly he moved back in front of her.

"Good girl. Was that hard for you?"

"Yes, Sir." She whimpered feeling exposed and vulnerable.

He walked back to his desk and sat again. "Look at me."

She looked up afraid to meet his eyes, he had seen into her mind and now had exposed her body. She couldn't hide any more.

"Get down on your knees." He ordered and she obeyed.

"Crawl to me." Awkwardly and ungracefully she did as she was told. "That is what pleases me, obedience. Don't try to hide from me. You are mine, now. Is that understood?"

She remained on hands and knees and replied, "Yes, Sir. I'm yours, Sir." It was like a weight being lifted. She was no longer ashamed. She was no longer trying to hide things from him. She was his, now and nothing else mattered.

"Show me." He commanded.

Immediately, she scrambled between his legs and undid his belt, then freed him from his own restraints, releasing his cock to the fresh air. But that was only for a moment before she took as much of him as she could into her mouth. Her soft moan matched his own.

She stroked him, using only her mouth; up and down his length trying harder and harder to take all of him. His hand snaked into her hair and guided her further. She started to choke and he held her there for a second or two.

When he released her head she gasped for air but was only permitted a moment before being thrust back down upon him.

Eagerly she moved her head in motions coinciding his own rising, thrusting hips.

She took his balls into her hand the lightly tugged, then replaced her hands with her lips. His low growl was enough to keep her going as she lathed him with her lips and tongue.

Once more his hand guided her head back down, this time quickening the pace until finally he held her still and let his cum coat the back of her throat.

Greedily she licked and swallowed as his breathing returned to normal.

"Does that count as dinner, Sir?" She said with a smile.

"Let's go get a drink to go with your cookies. Peppermint schapps and Bailey's irish cream sound like the right mix to me." He laughed and helped her to her feet.