NoOneofConsequence(dom male){Taken}
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3 years ago •
Dec 3, 2020
To a certain extent, I get it. Albeit possibly from the other side.
For a long, long time I had a false perception of BDSM. To my mind, it was those metal-studded leather-wearing freaks that someone had to punch someone in the face for foreplay. And I was not one of those weirdos. What I did was just normal to me. And to the people I was interacting on that level with. No one ever told me it wasn't. Not that I would have listened if they had. I would have laughed at them for accusing me of being one of those strange people that needed blood and broken teeth to get an erection. Saying such things about the lovely, lovely ladies who gifted me with their time and attention would have been a quick way to find yourself pinned against a wall with your feet searching for the ground. I've written about it pretty extensively in my blog. Probably even too extensively. I don't see any reason to bore anyone by going into it all again. Those interested (and with the stamina to make it through) can read about it over here; https://thecage.co/blog/userblog.php?postid=39413&blog_id=52303 For those uninterested in a long, meandering reminiscence by Grumps in his rocking chair, I'll just synopsize that I was doing it without realizing I was and without labeling anything for a long, long time. I didn't watch PornHub and think "oooh, that looks interesting." The internet didn't exist when I started. I didn't read books or magazines and think "well, now." I didn't talk to people about it that I wasn't actively involved with to find out what they did. It just occurred organically by virtue of being who and what I was at the time and who and what the person I was with needed. Which has been a little confusing for some that I've tried to talk to that have been more involved in "the scene" for longer when our lexicons don't necessarily align. Most often with me going "what the Hell are you talking about? Oh, that. Well, of course, I've done that. Hasn't everybody? That's just normal vanilla stuff... isn't it?" And the world of Dominance and submission headed the list. It just didn't make sense to me that being the one to make decisions was fetished kinkery. Or even necessarily sexual. In my world, if one person was walking alone, then they picked the direction, obviously. If another person was walking with them, then what happened when they disagreed on the direction to be taken? They could either part ways or someone was going to have to make the decision and someone was going to have to compromise on which direction they walked. Sound silly? It did to me. What the Hell did that possibly have to do with those BDSM weirdos that needed to be punched in the pudenda to get wet? The thing is, I was never one of those that just needs to get out of the house and go walkies for no other point or purpose than just to be out and about. I had neither the inclination nor the time. I had too much to do and too little time to get it accomplished already. On the rare occasion when I didn't have somewhere I needed to be and something I needed to be doing, I was perfectly fine with being right where I was and doing nothing as efficiently as possible. I was not, however, anti-social (despite what some might think). I was picky with my friends and I did not need or want a wide circle of friends because, in my view, too many friends would cut into the time I could spend with each one. Two was enough for me. But, I am human. And I do occasionally need some human contact. So, sometimes my point or purpose was just that I needed or wanted to be around my friend, spend time with them. And sometimes they wanted to go for a walk. (Or maybe to ride their bike. Or, later, for a drive.) Not for any point or purpose other than to get away from where they were for a little while. "Where are we going?" I would ask. "Out," they would say. Well, that didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. But, my goal was to be beside them, talking with them, listening to them. So, whatever. They wanted to go out for a walk (or a bike ride or a drive in the car), then that just meant my target destination was moving, so I moved with it. As long as they fuckin' picked a direction! I'm sorry, but that just drove me insane when someone I just wanted to be with just had to get out, but didn't have a clue where "so long as it isn't here" (wherever here was), and looked at me and wanted to know where I wanted to go. What the fuck? I was where I wanted to be, near them. I had been perfectly content where we were. They were the one that had this need to go somewhere else. Didn't they know where they wanted to go? Why go if you don't have somewhere to go? And, do you know? I was accused that I was hard to be friends with! All because I couldn't give their restless ass a direction to move in. "(Sigh.) Fine. Let's... walk out to the overpass two and a half miles south of town." "That's too far!" "Alright, then, let's walk out to the overpass a mile north of town." "That's too far." "Alright, then, let's walk out to the cemetery half a mile west of town." "That's too far." "Well, damn, Jack! Where the Hell do you want to go, then?" "I don't care. You decide." ***facepalm*** But, I was the one who was difficult to be friends with. Because he was a friend, I got to be good at picking a direction that he would want to go. And he really was a good friend in other ways. Once I would pick a damn direction so he could settle the fuck down and just enjoy the day. The whole "dating" thing kind of screwed with me a little bit. Oh, I was just fine at picking a place to go and something to do together. After all, I'd been doing it for my friends for years. So, that part worked just fine. But, then, there was the whole other side of dating that I didn't worry about with my friends. Holding hands. Hugging. Kissing. Sexy fun times. Those things that you only did with a girlfriend. And we were right back to "you decide, wait I don't want that." Only it was a lot harder because they didn't want to talk about it at all! My childhood friends, I could at least pay attention to what they talked about going and doing other times and measure the excitement in their eyes, so I had a little something to go on. Sexy fun times should have been easy-peasy. Insert tab-A into slot-B. Repeat. Big finish. Move on to the next thing on the agenda. Heh! Yeah, right. A woman that can't read a topographical map expects me to navigate all that blind? She is a fuckin' topographical map! And one without a legend to explain it all! A guy looks down, notices that weird finger or toe between his legs is sticking up instead of pointing down and touches it. That feels pretty good, so he does it again. It's round, so he wraps his hand around it so as to touch as much of it at the same time as possible. Even better. But, it's longer than the width of his hand, so there is some not getting touched. Alright, this isn't rocket science. Just move the hand to touch what isn't being touched. This uncovers the part that was previously being touched, so you move the hand again. And again. And again. Then white stuff comes out and it feels really good when that happens. It doesn't feel so good to touch anymore, so you stop touching it. And thus years of stroking are born. A variable length of time later, we experience a pussy wrapped around, and it can cover the whole thing at the same time! And we do what Richard Pryor claims when he talked about mixing skim milk and whole milk, then dipping the cookie in and that shit blew up! "What do you mean it wasn't good for you? That was some of the best shit I've ever experienced!" No. Nope. Unh-uh. All right, so let's take it from the ground floor. A guy knows he is aroused when his dick gets hard. It swells and stands up. That's the time to stroke. If it's not hard, if it's pointing at the feet, then you leave it alone and do something else. There ain't no dick on a gal! (At least you hope you don't find one when you get up her skirt.) So, how do you tell she's ready? Well, she gets all wet and her labia starts to open like a blooming flower. And, if you look really, really close, there is this teeny tiny little nub up at the very top that starts to swell like a miniature penis. But, it's really small and mostly hidden in the folds, so you have to know it's there to go looking. And those born with a penis instead of... all that complicated stuff don't know this unless someone tells us! No big thing for a gal figuring out what she likes. She was born with this stuff. She's had years to figure out where everything is in her house. But, girl, you don't take a hillbilly born to a one-room shanty and expect him to figure out your mansion! All I knew was I wanted to stick my cookie in the shit and have it blow the fuck up! But, that just wasn't gonna work. First, you had to get the milk mixed. And how the Hell do you do that? She wasn't giving me directions around her mansion. And her mansion was a whole Hell of a lot more complicated than my little one-room shanty. If she could find a point where my dick wasn't hard, well she could hang on for about five minutes and that would change. Or, she could touch it and *dingdingding* we were open for business. On the other hand, if she was the one who wasn't ready... Let me tell you folks, touching a kitty who isn't ready to be touched is a real quick way to get scratched. You're sitting over here with a hard dick nursing claw marks and she's over there still hissing and spitting. "So, tell me what to do!" "You should know!" O-o-okay-y-y. That just didn't make any damn sense. But, she wasn't going to tell me a damn thing else. So, off I went to gather information from other sources. Now, just how it is that any random teenaged boy thinks that some other random teenaged boy might know a damn thing about a pussy... Yeah. That went about like you think it did. And the "adults" who might know a little something were so incredibly full of shit. If you don't want to say, just don't say. Don't make up some cockamamie horse-apples about storks, for fuck's sake! So, it would have been pointless to ask them anything. Books and magazines it was, then. And a whole lot of trial and error. 'Cause, let me tell you, Letters to Penthouse might sound good and everything... But, I figured it out. I did. Woop woop! And I knew what she thought I should just know. And there was much rejoicing. For about five fuckin' minutes. Then there was some whole new thing that I should just know. Then it was something else. And no matter how much I learned, there was always something else I should just know. And it wasn't enough, and we parted ways on our walk. That was alright, though. It really was. 'Cause there were other fish in the sea. And when I caught the next one, I would already know all the things I was supposed to just know. Heh. Heh. Yeah, right. Not a single damn thing that worked with the first worked for the second. The third... We don't talk about the third. I'm pretty sure that was a reptile instead of a fish. And the fourth wasn't a damn thing like ANY of the first three! What the everloving fuck, over?! There must have been times that I've thought wistfully how much easier it might be to be gay. And then I met Delroy. Whoa, shit. I don't care how complicated women seem sometimes, they are a thousand times less complicated than... all that. And I was just trying to work with the dude! Like, literal work. Earning a paycheck. With me over here in my office and him over there in his office. So... Any road, I got married. It took a few false starts. Three failed engagements before I made it all the way to the altar. But, I did it. And that should have been that. Right? The finish line. Baby, that was just the fuckin' starting line! All of a sudden, there's this person in my house. And they can't even put a roll of toilet paper on the holder the right way around or fold a pair of socks the proper way! And, good God almighty, when we have to be somewhere at 0900, that means we get there before that time, not start looking in the damn closet for something different to wear at that time! Oh, ho! I sense rotten fruits and vegetables out there in the audience. Yeah. You don't say these things out loud. Not unless you are a very, very light sleeper. What you do, is you make a mental note of what time you are supposed to be somewhere. Then, three hours before you should leave to get there, you start gently steering them to get ready. And, you figure out just what battles aren't worth the effort. Mine was the damn screwdriver in the kitchen drawer rather than with the rest of the tools. ***sigh*** The screwdriver is back where it belongs now. And, you know, I would be willing to move it back if she hadn't gone and died on me. But, I'm still here. And it looks like it's gonna be a while until I can follow. So, I figure, why not? I mean, I've got this baby wired now. Dating. Fuckin'. Living together. The whole schtick. Why not put everything I've learned to use? Bait the old hook and throw it back out there? I mean, I know all the things I'm supposed to just know by now. Right? Heh. Heh. Yeah, right. My sweet little spice thinks the leash and halter I got for her is the coolest thing ever. "Bungeeeeeeee!" But, we're not here to talk about my babygirl's yo-yo fetish when she needs to go walkies. Not to go anywhere in particular but just to get out and away from where she is at the moment and has not the first idea of any sort of direction to take, so I gather up my cane and her leash and halter and off we go. No, no. The question was can you learn to want to Domme somebody? If you wanted to learn to Domme somebody, that's a simple question. You can learn to do anything you want to if you want to badly enough. But, learning to want to in the first place when you don't already...? Well, I did. But, it started at a young, young age. Is it possible for someone in their teens? Their twenties? In their thirties? In their forties? To learn to want to be the one steering? I honestly don't know. But, I think the relevant question is the one I faced way back up there when I went to visit my friend Jack and he wanted to get out and go somewhere and do something but he didn't know what and wanted me to figure out something we could do. Did I value our friendship, the companionship, enough to make that decision? And again? And again? And again? The same question I faced when my first "boy-girl" experience went the same direction and I was just supposed to know. The same question I faced when I married Love and began to share a living space. The same question I face every day with my sweet little spice now when my mind is slowing down, when I'm facing memory loss, hallucinations, and loss of cognitive function in addition to bradykinesia, tremors... When it's not so easy anymore to keep track of everything planned and make snap decisions when the plan goes awry. ***shrug*** It's all I know. Old Wolf. Old tricks. But, yes. Yes, it is worth it to me. Even when I am tired and just want to sit quietly right where I am rather than go for a walk. Or maybe lie down for a nap. Is he worth it for you? That's a question that only you can answer. I admit, though, I am a little puzzled by your description that you find it gross. What is gross about being the one with the plan, the one who makes the decisions? I don't see anywhere in your post that you're supposed to run out and invest in a latex suit, six-foot braided leather bullwhip, an eight-inch strap-on dildo for you, and a chastity cage for him. As a matter of fact, you specifically state that he won't tell you how to, what he wants, that he just wants you to tell him what to do. Okey-dokey. Ignoring any jokes about shoes being on the other foot, let's find out if he means it. Tell him to strip naked. Once he has done so, tell him to put on an apron. Once he has complied, have him wash the dishes. What? It's legit. He wants you to tell him what to do. You told him. What's the problem? Oh, yeah. I get that a lot. "I meant the fun stuff that I want to do. Not the boring stuff." What you answer is; "so I guess you weren't serious about being submissive to me then." One of two things will happen. Either he'll go off and pout. Or he'll get off the stick and give you some examples of what he wants. ***sigh*** But, I guess you did bring up sexual shenanigans. I've said it before and I'll say it again, Dominance does not necessarily mean tying someone up and beating them with a live chicken. Bondage and Discipline and SadoMasochism don't necessarily HAVE to enter into D/s if You don't want them to. First things first. He doesn't get to stroke his cock anymore. He waits for You to decide You want some of that dick he gave You. And if that's a week, two weeks, a month, then he's just going to wait until You want him. You've heard of "riding cowgirl?" Where he's lying flat on his back and you're riding astride, bouncing up and down on him? Yeah, I know. It's a workout for the legs. But, it's a start. Personally, I don't feel in the slightest dominated when I have my babygirl ride me because I can buck like a bronc when I decide to. (And I have it on good authority am "more fun than any ride at Six-Flags!") Or I can press her off me and flip her over whichever way I choose next whenever I choose. Tell him to lie still. Tell him to keep his hands to his sides. Or laced over his head. Or on your tits. Or one on your ass and one diddling your clit. It doesn't matter. Whatever you want to tell him to do with them. That's the whole point of the game. You tell him what to do and he does it. (Of course, if You break him, You won't be able to play with him later. So, keep it safe and sane.) Here's where it gets fun. You are in control of this show. Tease him. AS much as You fuckin' want. For as long as You want. Lower yourself down until your labia are just kissing the tip. But, don't penetrate yourself with it. Rub it around. Take your time. Let your inner prick tease out to play like you did when you first grew boobs and noticed the boys lost about twenty-five I.Q. points before you started getting uncomfortable with the stares as they walked stuff because they were too busy looking at you. Feel that moment of power again. This is Your dick to do with as You please. That's what he said, right? That's what a sexual submissive is. He has surrendered control to You. Giving You the choice whether You do anything more or not. And, you know what? If You decide You just aren't in the mood after all, then You get off him and redress. Without his dick ever getting more than the tip held against You. I will just caution you here that while blue balls aren't really as big of a health concern as little pubescents like to pretend, phlebitis from maintaining an erection for over four hours is a very real danger. So, let him go soft. At some point. Eventually. An hour or two being hard and then going soft without getting to cum won't harm him. (Always provided he doesn't have a heart or brain condition.) And when he starts getting mouthy about how he is all hard now and achy, tell him to stop his whining. That this is what he wanted. He belongs to You. His dick belongs to You. His cum belongs to You. And he'd better not slip off to the bathroom to jack off. If he is serious about it, he won't. If he does slip off to the bathroom, give him the stroke test. Start stroking his cock. You know him. How long does it usually take for him to get hard when you do that? Do that about five times through the course of the day, by my best guess (I only work with female subs, so it is just a guess), when You wish. And when You are so worked up that You can't take it anymore (or are just ready for the game to end), go ahead and ride him to Your orgasm. Tell him that he doesn't get his until You get Yours. Then, when You are ready, tell him, "you can cum now." He has until You are done with him to manage. If he doesn't, and your legs ache too much to do anymore, then that's just tough luck and maybe he'll get to next time. For now, he can get his ass to the kitchen and make You a sandwich. And he'd better not touch Your dick until You are ready for it again. Pretty simple, right? Nothing too "gross?" Oh, and you know what? Your boytoy is looking a little soft around the middle there. Are those saddlebags? Why don't You assign him to come up with a workout regimen for You to approve? And some cooking classes might not be amiss so that instead of a sandwich, he can cook You a meal worthy of You... |
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