Dominair

I love the “submitting out of affection” theme.  That could be my personal credo.  That is where the deeper trust comes, which is the basis for all of the productive activities in bd/sm.

When a woman is endeared to me, I can reciprocate by giving her gifts of feelings and awareness of self, which can bring her ecstasy and relief.

We learn by doing.  Sometimes by our mistakes, sometimes by using our gifts and experiencing the joy it brings.  Sometimes we have to step out and rely on our instincts that are bound in our personal orientation.  

            My next sub was a Navy girl.  She was a neighbor and had a plumbing problem.  I was willing to help.   She was visibly lonely, genuinely glad to see me, and overly friendly.

Hi, how’s it going?  Ok, I guess, her eyes went sadly to the floor.  So, what seems to be the problem?  The kitchen faucet leaks.  Let’s have a look. 

So, how long since your divorce?  A year.  Our eyes caught.  She looked down.  I fixed my gaze on her.  When she looked back up she was troubled by my stare; not as in offended, but as in a disconcerting stirring within herself. 

Well, I said, with and inviting smile, you’re a strong woman?  I’m amazed at your durability and perseverance. 

Oh, I’m not that strong, she confessed, with a melting smile; and my endurance is wearing thin.  My impulse was to grab her, so I quickly went to work on the faucet.  With her standing, and me lying down, we chatted the whole time I worked; she vented and unloaded. 

Ok, that’s fixed, I boasted.  She sighed in relief, not so much that the faucet was fixed, but more that she had had someone to communicate with and who could listen and understand her situation. 

Thank you so much she said.             

Before an awkward moment could occur, I held out my arms to give her a hug.  She received me warmly and we embraced.  The standard second or two had passed when the hug should be over.  I slowly began to release her.  She was slower than me.  I let my cheek slide against hers as I pulled back.  Time stood still for a moment as I realized there was a critical moment of truth where I could either draw my face away from hers, or continue to glide back in towards her. I fearfully chose (because who knows how she might respond), to let my lips touch the corner of her mouth.  If she pulled away, it could be awkward.  But she reciprocated my advance and pressed her lips into mine. 

It wasn’t a kiss as in general terms; it was an intercourse.  A blending of anxious worlds into a pool of calming passion.  There was more heat and passion than I could remember.  I guess we were both so grateful to have someone to feel our hungry hearts.  Like a parched desert where new fountains spring up to quench the barren thirst.  We didn’t rip off our clothes, as in the movies, we relished each caress, each stroke, every touch.

A few days into the next week, she called.  Hi, I wonder if you have time to come by this week.  Sure, I can be there in an hour.  When I walked through the door we embraced, kissed, and caressed.  Would you like a drink, as she led me into the living room?  Yes, thank you.  When she returned, I noticed she had on thin spandex shorts which highlighted every inch of her, accentuating her labia!

You’re feeling naughty aren’t you, I teased.  She just breathed hard and groaned, knowing that I was drinking in her lust.  Do you know what happens to naughty girls?  She breathed heavily again, shyly shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, signifying “no” but not meaning, “no”.

Like a snake striking, I grabbed her wrist and thrust her over my knees.  She squealed with surprise, but yielded to my assault.  I shall have to show you won’t I?  No answer.  I ran my hand over her perfect round bottom, she waited.  I smacked her once; her head drew back as she breathed in and then let out a moan.  Naughty girls get their bottoms paddled!  I declared.  Again I spanked her, with the same result.  I could feel her relaxed response. 

I slid my hands into her pants and began working them down.  She grunted.  The spanking continued without the shorts.  She jerked, writhed, and twisted, but never complained.  I decided to transition into obedience. 

I want you to get on the ottoman with your knees on the edge.  She obeyed.  I watched her.  (I learned later that she had ben spanked before, once by a boyfriend, and once at a sorority haze, but she had never been a submissive or known about it.)  Take off your shirt.  She complied, with the expected mixture of reluctance and delight.  Spread your knees and put your chest down.  She seemed to be finding a comfort in the freedom of being under my control. 

The spanking had set her up for the appreciation of yielding to my dominance.  Now she was feeling it and thriving on it.  She lowered her chest and raised her bottom up.  I caressed her bottom, ran my hands into her thighs and over her pussy.  She quivered and whined.  You wanted to tease me with your pussy, now I can see it all, and I can do whatever I want to with it.  Can’t I?  I demanded.  She nodded.  You must answer me!  She tried to answer but gave out a garbled, muddled up, yes.  I accepted it.

It’s time for more punishment for you mischievous lady, are you ready?  No answer.  Are you ready?  I insisted.  Again, the garbled, yes.  Swat, swat, came the subsequent blows.  She took it all and I watched her descending.  The pain coupled with the relinquishing of control had had released in her a surge of restful delight. 

I fondled and probed her wet pussy, she was uncontrollably orgasmic.  I persisted, she kept coming.  Finally, as she started to collapse sideways, I caught her and carried her over to the couch, where I held her and stroked her, and kissed her for just short of an hour.

I was discovering more of myself.

My first experience was with a slave who had been badly abused. Broken bones, broken nose, etc. It fell upon me to nurse her back to health, emotionally, psychologically, etc., and in terms of her identity as a submissive. I learned as much as her. I discovered I am a dominant not a brutal sadist. I only enjoy inflicting pain or control when it yields direct or indirect pleasure or growth in my sub.

I am a creative thinker. I construct circumstances for sub orientations to surface. Your specific needs require someone who is able to plan a course specially suited to you.

Don't give up, the search is never easy it's a swim against the tide, chances are a million to one. But when you find a path that brings obvious good growth in you, you're not only a better person, you're in a position to be a better friend, which continues the cycle of your development.

I am into nice dinners, fine wine, belly laughs, skilled spanking, strategic discipline, and controlled bondage. I strive for the female acctualization of personal identity and physical and emotional fulfillment. It's about discovering your deepest longings and aspirations. You desire to serve; I desire to lead and guide you to that end.

Give up the feeling of responsibility, let go of your hold, resign the care of your personhood to another's powers, be genuinely indifferent as to what becomes of it all and you will find not only that you gain a perfect inward relief, but often also, in addition, the particular goods you sincerely thought you were renouncing.

We are kissing, I am looking deep into your eyes.  Now it’s as though I am inhaling passion from you.  You glare up at me with glazed eyes with a look of desperation, as if to say, “What are you doing to me?  I am completely and totally exposed and open and naked to you.  You are holding my heart in your hands, I am powerless, I go where you take me, how much more can I stand?  I go from climax to release, back to climax again; waves of passion rolling over and all through me. I love you so desperately I am afraid of you, but you comfort me again!  Hold me and never let me go!”

    Sexual fulfillment comes for the woman with the freedom from choice, decision, and confusion.  She needs to be in a state of relaxed abandon to the skill of her lover and his commitment and determination to satisfy her completely and more.

   You are not done until she begs you to stop!  If you stop after she seems to be fulfilled, you may not have taken her to her true limits.  She may be happy to stop before you get her there.  But you must press on.  Not only to get her to experience her capacity in orgasm, but to instill in her mind the assurance for the future, that she can trust and rest that you are going to take her there again.  She will relax quicker and reach greater peaks in the process.