DoveinBlack

How do you know what you like?

By learning.

Two lessons: Told and shown.

--

Stupid and pretty is how I recall him.

He was gorgeous. But dumb. Not only unlettered, just...dense. As thick as a ripe wheel of cheddar. I wanted him to keep his mouth shut, so I gagged him. Not out of desire but necessity, as the more he showed me the creaky inner workings of his mind, the less he gleamed iand shone in my eyes. His beauty was marred by his lack of awareness, of himself and the wider world.

It wasn't useful for either of us, to ride that particular see-saw. Attraction is sometimes an intersection, not just a one-way street.

The other was pretty stupid.

He fought me constantly, argued, challenged me, bucked my commands. Afterwards, he would cry, saturated with unhappiness at my cross mood and his failure, his dissatisfaction.

Mentally, he was a giant. I loved to hear him talk. That was the only time I enjoyed him, as once he was naked, he spent all his energy battling me.

He told me of his inner turmoil. He hoped to tame it via the twack of the belt on his skin.

I would skin him before he would find tranquility, as beatings would not soothe any of the savage beasts within his psyche.

The first one taught me that beauty is not enough.

The second one showed me that true beauty is a calm spirit.

There were days when I wanted to kiss him, caress his cheek. Make him feel strong and safe.

Other days, I wanted to make him scream and watch tears roll down his face. Make him feel unsteady and weak.

It was best for me when he had no warning of what the day would hold.

Every memory has a scent, a sound.

One that comes to me is how he blushed, when I teased him. It started on his neck and spread upwards, to his ears and finally, spreading across his cheeks.

I was only using words, across from him a a table, in a crowded place.

When I got close to him, days later, I held my fingers on those places, feeling the heat from his shame and excitement. He cleared his throat, stumbling over his words.

He smelled of soap, a light musk from his aftershave and a pinch of salt, from his sweat.

When I see a man blush, I think of him and his scent.

I wonder if he thinks of me, when a woman caresses his face, as he blushes.

It might seem strange or odd.

But if I wanted you, I would approach you.

Talk softly to you. Caress your ear.

Woo you.

If I haven't called you to me, twined you around my fingers like an obedient snake, it is only because I do not want to do so.

My hands itch.

My fingers tingle.

My palms ache.

I have not used them to beat anyone into tearful submission.

Not because the unwilling have approached.

They do, in droves.

But because they were all unworthy.

All of them.

What is a proper tribute?

Eyes properly downcast? Humility? How quickly commands are obeyed?

Is it sweat pouring down bruised skin? Is it tears? Screams? Breath escaping from laboring lungs? Is it that moment when a man knows he cannot win, so his soul sighs and his body collapses?

Is it giving up what one treasures most?

The loss of: time, freedom of movement, pride, delusions.

Even money or material things.

Who knows what you truly worship besides yourself?

Serve your god(s) as you wish.

But refrain from telling me. 

I have not asked for anything, from anyone. I expect to not be offered saliva-splattered invectives of disgust about what 'those other Dominas' are doing.

The rants about the evil findomme, the spoiled princess and so forth are meaningless. Those unwanted words pile in my inbox, like old torn leaves caught in a barbed-wire fence, on a late Autumn afternoon.

We all want different things. We all have different needs.

What one doesn't need, should be passed by.

It's easy.

Try.

There are days when a quick spanking sets a sub straight.

http://www.spankingtube.com/video/18587/slave-training-humiliation

He starts off smiling but ends up crying for mercy.

http://www.spankingtube.com/video/38541/21-year-old-jack-takes-it-hard

It does not bring us closer, these shiny pieces of plasticized metal that buzz, vibrate and chirp without regard to light or dark.

They keep us on either ends of the see-saw, one up, one down. Rarely do we balance.

We are missing out on seeing pupils dilate, mouths softening and relaxing, brows furrowing and sweat beading and rolling down flushed skins.

.

How do we know we are alive, if we cannot feel the heat rising off each other nor hear breath escaping out of our chests, early in the morning before the birds begin to sing?

In an odd way, he thought he was complimenting me. he went on and on about my skin, my ethnicity, how I made him tremble, swoon and weep.

In a curious way, he was very much tied to what i was supposed to be, all due to an accident of birth.

'

He turned me into a fetish object, one of a string that he relentlessly pursued with equal ardor.

I choked him one day (it was raining, the windows were shaking with the force of the wind), when he was launching off into a litany of praise. As he strangled and gasped, those words stuck in his throat, I told him that it is not about the vehicle.

It  is about the journey.

He kept a still tongue but his eyes tearfully said it all.

Somewhere, on yet another rainy day, he is making another object out of another woman.

Tsk, tsk.

He didn't know what he was looking for. It was all general: eyes, skin tone, hair texture, shape of the body. Boxes checked off, a list neatly detailed.

I was specific. I picked him because he was blonde and blushed easily. I liked seeing my presence on his skin, long after the sounds of punishment had faded away.

He is never specific. I always am.

Is there any wonder why the entire structure of pain and desire I was building collapsed?

No, there isn't.

Fun.

http://www.drtuber.com/video/368087/black-sex-queen-steps-over-subdued-slave-face-sitting-him-in-female-domination-sex-video

It is the nature of men to fight against what they desire most.

 Out of the mouth are words that have not originated in the soul thus causing unrest and discontent.

Until the mouth utters the words from the soul, no progress is made; wheels spin aimlessly.

One of the reasons why Dominas like strng men at their feet is to see the exact moment  when the transition occurs: a man goes from a male into a sub.

Yet, such a wonderful event does not occur as often as it should.

So we keep looking. And we continue to dream.

Be good and help out or get a spanking for messing up Christmas!

I love when she says "Who are you?"

http://www.spankingtube.com/video/7377/dana-s-christmas-album-seasons-beatings

I have not spanked two at once yet but if I had a sub helper, I just might...

http://www.spankingtube.com/video/9778/michal-tomas

She is stunning. Reminds me of my way of handling a sub.

NSFW.

http://www.spankingtube.com/video/12206/woman-vs-man-full-video-at-http-www-general-erotic-com-db

And a link to share sent by a thoughtful sub (Thanks, A):

http://www.xvideos.com/video3507343/ebony_domina_is_queening_her_slave