Friday, July 31, 2009

If I'm Dominant, my lover must be submissive, right?

Being out as Dominant, both online and in person, can be quite interesting. I've gotten lots of questions and comments over the years. More recently, as I've gotten more comfortable both with being 'out' and with exercising my personal power, I've had people asking me questions about my relationships, and more specifically, about my primary partner. Most assume he is submissive. It makes sense, right? The complement to Dominant is submissive. Not in our case. In fact, we have a rather vanilla relationship with infrequent BDSM play. But the power exchange is still there, oh yes! Allow me to explain.

For the purposes of writing this, I will call my lover Gabriel, after the angel whose strength is God. I've known him for more than a decade, and we've been intimate for over five years. And for most of those years I thought he was a beta male like many of the men out there: not alpha but a contender for it if circumstances required; content to play a supportive role rather than endure conflict; caring, thoughtful, insightful, and occasionally moody, ie, more in-touch with his feminine side. And yet, in the past year or so I've seen another side of him, one that I'd only caught glimpses of, one that has become more pronounced as our relationship has developed in intensity. Gabriel is naturally dominant. He's always been very competent, very confident, and he has a subtle charisma -- in fact, I'd say the key word to describe him is subtle. When he wishes to he takes control of situations, not by force, but in a most subtle fashion -- he speaks and acts in ways that inspire others' confidence in him, and they trust him to make decisions or to do what he says can be done. He understands behavior modification and what works best for positive outcomes and he uses praise and reward in ways that are entirely genuine and incredibly effective -- he inspires great loyalty in others. And while there is no doubt that he is a sensitive man who does not believe in male or female superiority, he does not bow to the idea of equality between the sexes. Instead, he strives for parity. He sees the sexes as complementary. He understands the yin and yang, the roll and tumble of the masculine and feminine and how they can work together to form a whole that is mutually-beneficial.

I used to think the Gabriel was shy because he tends to withdraw when he's in groups, and while that may indeed be part of it, I think a lot of it has to do with the demands of dealing with non-alphas. He tends to observe groups in order to grasp the dynamics, and then decide if he wants to bother to participate. He is a kind man who abhores stupidity, and so he often prefers to withdraw from a group rather than make others feel stupid. And yet for all that he doesn't give up a single inch of his dominance. He is a man of formidable intellect and great assurance, a Dominant who doesn't need to be domineering, and, like me, doesn't want to be troubled with needy submissives.

Subs require a lot of care and feeding. Subs are attention-seeking. They need approval. They want guidance. They want someone to tell them what to do and when to stop doing it. They want the comfort of knowing their place in the world. They want someone to provide structure and context for their personal reality, because Reality is so full of uncertainty and chaos. They want someone to tell them what the rules are and what the rewards and punishments will be. They want someone to take control of their pleasure and pain, because those are the two ways to control people and they crave the feeling of being controlled and being out of control at the same time. They love games, especially ones of the mind-fuck sort. They need to be cherished, appreciated, doted upon. And they need to contribute. They need to feel that they are making a contribution to their Dominants, if only by doing things that are meant to make life easier for the Dominant. They need to feel like they belong, and they'll do whatever it takes to make their Dominant happy. And while I do enjoy submissives -- they are a constant source of amusement and amazement -- they are a lot of work. Instead of being a source of energy for exchange, they can often be energy-sinks, draining their Dominants.

If humans are pack-like or herd-like animals, then Gabriel and I are the alpha male and alpha female and while we wrestle around playfully, we neither of us attacks the other. We respect each other too much, and recognize that making the other one feel less or wrong or injured is ultimately self-defeating: it lessens the whole, the entirety, of what *we* are. We both struggle for Dominance in some areas and acquiesce to each other in other areas. We play and the exchange of energy is a delight. There is no drain, just the charge of an alternating current.

And all this has been established by communication, by holding our ground when it comes to our self-expression and well-being, by being Dominants without being domineering. Games are not played. We call each other on it. As often happens with people, we expect certain responses when we are in discussions and often we are reacting to what we expect rather than what is really going on -- and Gabriel and I call each other on that when we see it happening.

As much as I love the sexual charge of having someone bound and helpless and begging for more, I love the feeling of just being with someone who gets me in ways a sub will never get, someone with the same sense of fun, someone bright enough to get my jokes, and strong enough to not let me trample on him. And every once in a while he gets the upper hand, and he uses it, and when he does I know that thrill that a sub feels when a Dom has zeroed in and the energy between them crackles like a violet wand on bare skin.

"That's because you're just a teensy bit smarter than me," I said to him after he'd teased me for not knowing some bit of TV trivia.
"Stick with me and I'll make you smart," he said with a big grin on his face.
"Oh?" I said, and slipped my arms around his neck. I leaned in for a kiss.
"Yes." His hand fell hard against my ass, catching me by surprise and making me gasp.
He grinned his devilish grin and said, "I like to make you smart."
I laughed, hard. I'd set myself up for that one.

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Monday, July 20, 2009

Quickie intimacy

The sun and the wind conspired to tease me. The sun glowed in a cerulean sky, and its touch on my skin was like a lover's smile, warming me from the outside in. The wind tickled me, dancing along my skin like my lover's fingers. My nipples peaked, the heat of the sun and the chill of the wind enflamed me, and I sighed languidly there in my lounge chair by the pool. My languor was interrupted by a shriek of laughter from my niece, a green-eyed coppery mermaid whose hair and skin were all of a color now that summer had kissed her. I lifted the edge of my big straw hat in time to witness my lover pop out of the pool, grab hold of my niece, and unceremoniously dump her back into the water. She came back up, gasping and spluttering, and I closed my eyes.

Water dripped on me. I opened my eyes to find him standing over me, barechested and bronzed, gleaming like a god. I moved my legs to make room for him and he sat by my calves, resting his hand on my thigh, just above the knee. It made me gasp, the coolness of his hand on my over-heated skin. My libido surged. My nipples crinkled up so tightly they ached, and my skin pebbled until it felt like every hair was standing on end.

"I miss you," he said to me, and his fingers moved in a minute caress.

"Mmmm," I sighed. I missed him too, missed the feel of his legs tangled with mine, missed pressing my lips to the smoothness of his chest, but my niece had supplanted him as my bed companion and would do so for another few days. Hell!

He was sliding his hand up my thigh when my niece called out his name. His fingers squeezed me and then he rose and with a few quick steps, launched himself back into the pool. While they splashed and played, I lay in the sun and dreamed of love.

* * *

My bedroom. She sat on my bed waiting for me to pull out a change of clothes, and when I turned around she was asleep on her side, limp as a kitten. She didn't wake when I unwrapped her from the towel. I left her in her swimsuit and covered her up, then slipped out of the room and closed the door behind me. I made my way quietly down the stairs with an eager smile on my face, only to find my lover stretched out on the couch, napping. Darn!

In the kitchen, I warmed some sweet almond oil and grabbed a hand-towel. He made sleepy noises when I sat on the couch and moved his feet into my lap, then moaned when my hot, oiled hands touched him. I massaged his feet firmly enough to hit his pressure points but not enough to hurt. He sighed and moaned and stretched his legs out. His fingers laced themselves just below his navel, and his cock moved a bit, thickening.

I poured more oil into my hands and slid them up his calves, massaging him with long effleurage strokes. More pleasured moaning from him as I worked up to his thighs, my hands alternately gliding and pressing into the muscles. His cock swelled and twitched when I reached his inner thighs. I worked his trunks down past his knees and squeezed that nice warm oil on his balls. He sighed and spread his thighs for me then, one leg bent and leaning against the back of the couch, the other draped across my lap. My fingers quested, teased, pulled and pressed. My slippery hands glided along his cock, bringing it to full attention.

And when I could bear it no longer, I straddled him. I straddled him and sunk down onto the thickness that jutted ceilingward and we both moaned at the long slow glide of him into me. Our hands joined, fingers entwined, and I bounced ion him, my white sundress concealing everything. I bounced and rocked and watched him, watched his mouth open, watched each gasp and moan percolate from him. The tension built and eventually his eyes opened wide and unseeing. His body tensed and bowed beneath me and I rose all the way up and slammed back down onto him, loving the feel of him inside me. I clenched on him, clenched and released, trying to find my orgasm in time with his, knowing that I had to come, come now, now now now because it would be days before I could come again.

I released his hands and placed mine on the arm of the couch, one on each side of his head, and I battered myself against him, grinding my clit into the stubble on his mound. His hands rose and he pinched my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, and I convulsed, opening my mouth on a silent scream as I came hard. Pleasure slammed my body again and again, rocking us both. And as I climaxed he bucked under me, bucked a few times, and then he, too, was coming, his face frozen and his dark eyes blank.

I sat astride him for a few minutes, catching my breath and enjoying the tremors and jolts that ran through me like the aftershocks of an earthquake. It was marvellous, a delicious and much-needed intimate interlude that was interruped by a little voice calling for me.

I lept up and tossed the handtowel to him so he could clean up, then headed toward the stairs, our fluids running down my thighs.

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Wednesday, July 15, 2009

My Lord Is My Shepherd


I texted him


Five minutes later my phone rang.

"1 900 Hot Babe," I answered.

"You need a plumber?" His voice, doing an impersonation that sounded like Mario the Mafioso.

"A plumber?"

"Yeah, you need some caulking for that leak?"

I laughed. Caulking indeed.

"As a matter of fact, I could use some cocking."

"A hot babe like you? Can't find someone else to cock her, has to call for a plumber?"

"Its an emergency!"

"They all are, lady."

"There is wetness everywhere. Please how soon can you get here?" The desperation in my voice wasn't feigned.

"Well..." he rolled the word around in his mouth. "If I skip my lunch hour, I could be there in 15 minutes."

"Make it 10," I said. "And I'll feed you lunch, too."


"Yes, pie. Shepherd's pie."


Saturday, July 11, 2009

What happens in Vegas...

In July.

The sidewalks are shimmering by 9am. The palpable heat rises upwards, forming thermal air currents. The wind blows one way, then another, evoking the experience of a convection oven. If you're unlucky, it blows your hair about, making it stick to your sweaty forehead. If you're lucky, you're inside, gambling just to have an excuse to be where it's cool. If you're really lucky, you're winning at the tables or the slots. Or at the game of love.

We checked into the MGM Grand around noon. Our room was on the 20-something floor. From the windows I could see the fountain show at the Bellagio, and the construction of the monstrous new Cosmopolitan Resort, which was rather depressing. Given the state of the current economy, I wondered when its three towers would be completed. Plaiting my hair in twin braids that gave me a girlish look, I took a quick shower and changed into a flimsy white muslin sundress with a plunging vee neckline perfect for hanging my sunglasses on. I've got plenty of décoleté and I was fully aware that eyes would be drawn there--especially since my nipples get very hard and long in the air-conditioning.

My lover gave me a long, level look when he saw what I was wearing. His eyes are dark, and while they are often as open and transparent as a child's, in this case, I sensed a good deal of ambivalence. He walked up to me and gave me a long kiss, then snaked a hand up between us and tugged on one of my prominent nipples, making me moan and lean into him. I hadn't seen him in weeks and I was so hungry for him all I wanted to do was tie him to the bed and keep him there for days.

His other hand slid searchingly along my backside. He broke the kiss and said authoritatively, "Wear panties under that dress."

I pouted and considered going commando anyway, but in the ever-present struggle for dominance that is our relationship, I knew he'd simply pull his trump card. He'd deny me what I wanted most from him: the feel of him over me, on me, and in me. In the world of D/s some people are controllable through pleasure, some through pain. Me, I am controllable via my turbo-charged libido. I'll do anything if I'm denied sex long enough, and silly me, I'd taken a vow of monogamy -- albeit a rather loosely defined version that would not be recognized as monogamy by most vanilla couples.

So I went and put panties on. And for revenge I put on the granny panties I always pack just in case Aunt Flow decides to visit. And then we took the elevator down to the casino.

I like the MGM Grand because it's one of the more understated hotels on The Strip. Not as understated as the Park Hyatt in Tokyo, mind you, but for Vegas, it's quite bearable. Since I choose not to watch television or listen to the radio (I think I was Amish in another life) most of the Las Vegas casinos overstimulate me within minutes, and seeing as I had been high up in the Sierras just a few days prior to visiting Sin City, my sensory net was particularly sensitive. It didn't take long for me to blue-screen, and I lost count of the number of times I bumped into people because I was wandering around in a daze. Finally, my lover pulled me aside and asked how I was doing.

"Protein," was all I could think to say.

He took my hand and towed me over to the Rainforest Cafe, where I devoured my lunch to the accompaniment of trumpeting elephants, nodding leopards, and thunderstorms. When I finished, I wanted a nap.

"Let's play the slots," he said.

So I followed him to a bank of slot machines and watched him sit in front of something that looked suspiciously like a video game for 8 year olds. Push a button and watch five rows of three symbols roll around until they stop. And when they stop hopefully there is a row of three symbols matching, and hopefully on the line you bet on. I'm not a gambler. It goes against the grain to throw money at something where the odds of coming out ahead are so low. Sitting in front of slot machines is suspiciously like the grinding one does in MMPORGS like World of Warcraft. Push button. Spin spin spin. End turn. Push button. Spin spin spin. End turn. Repeat. Yawn. I grew bored of watching and pulled out my iPhone. Heros of Sparta was far more interesting.

Eventually he grew concerned about my apparent boredom. Was there something else I wanted to do?

To reassure him, I pulled a dollar out of my pocket. For all the times I've been to Nevada, I've never gambled there. I fed the dollar into the penny machine I was sitting at and blindly pushed a button. It cost me ten cents to watch the video screen tumble. Nothing.

A man sat next to me, drink in hand. He looked at my breasts, noticed me noticing him looking, and asked, "How's your luck?"

"Nothing yet," I said, and turned back to my machine.

I pressed the button again.

The screen rolled, same as before, only this time, when it stopped, the machine started dinging. And kept dinging. And dinging. Apparently I'd hit a jackpot for 1300 credits. Which on a penny machine means I made 13 dollars.

I cashed out.

My lover smiled at my good luck and asked me how I wanted to celebrate my win. I leaned over and whispered something into his ear, then hit the 'cash out' button on his machine.

Time to head upstairs to our room.

We threaded through the casino, following the 45 degree angle of the floorplan from one side to the opposite end, where the hotel access was. The elevator was empty and he teased my ass with his hand on the way up, making me squirm. I leaned forward to kiss him, but he blocked me, giving his head a firm shake.

He let us into the room and I went immediately to the bathroom, which was quite spacious, with black and white marble tiles and a big oval mirror on the wall between the shower and the commode. I ran the tap on warm and stripped down, then stepped into the tub to give myself a quick anal douche. I knew what I wanted, and I wanted to be ready for it.

Feeling clean and confident, I rinsed off and towelled dry, then slipped into a short and slinky black satin nightie. When I stepped into the bedroom he was waiting for me, completely naked. I felt an anxious thrill as he slipped his arms around me and gave me a long, lingering kiss. His hard cock pressed against me and I took it in my hand, wincing a bit as I did so. Even after four years, his size was a bit daunting.

Suddenly, he pushed me forward onto the bed so that I landed face-first and somewhat sprawled, with my legs mostly over the edge. His hands gripped my hips and he pressed himself against me, searing me with his heat. I wriggled a hand under me and guided the head so he rubbed against my clit a few times, making me gasp with pleasure. I moved my fingers farther back, opening myself, fingers seeking the wetness deep inside, but he pushed my hand aside and shoved into me. It hurt. A lot. He's so thick that I can't take him without serious lubrication, and so my body produces a profusion of it -- only this time he wasn't waiting for it. This time he wedged his cock incrementally into me, making soothing sounds whenever I cried out. He brushed my hair aside and kissed my back, grazing it with his whiskers. Another shove, this one easier than the last.

"There we go," he said. "I found what I've been drilling for."

He pulled back until he was almost all the way out, then pushed in again, seeking to tap all that moisture. Within moments we were both well-lubricated. And within moments, I was coming. It was a voluptuous orgasm and I relaxed into it, my body lengthening and my throat releasing my pent-up breath on a long wail of pleasure.

No sooner was I finished coming than he pulled out and pressed the big mushroom head of his cock against another opening.

"Oh wait, please wait," I begged him. "I'm not ready there. It's going to hurt."

"You like it when it hurts," he reminded me.

"Yes, but it's been weeks since we had anal sex and I'm not opened at all."

He backed off a bit and planted both hands on my ass, separating the cheeks. I collected some of my juices on my fingers and worked them up against the dark rosebud he'd been pressing on. I knew he wasn't going to give me much time, so I slipped my fingers inside, opening myself up, frantically trying to get as much pussy juice around that little hole as I could. Anal sex normally pushes the pleasure/pain barrier, but with him, well, accomodating him was akin to fisting -- and I'd tried that with one of my girlfriends. (Yikes!)

Apparently, watching me slide my fingers in and out of my asshole got him worked up even more. He grabbed my wrist and pinned it to the small of my back, then pressed his cock into me. I drew my breath in between my teeth, alternately hissing and whimpering. I wiggled my ass around under him and squeezed and released my sphincter, doing everything I could to ease the pain. Then with a short little shove the glans popped through the over-stretched ring of my anus. He moaned and I gasped. His hands dug into my flesh, pulling the cheeks of my ass apart like one pulls apart the segments of an orange. He pressed relentlessly into me, and every time I begged him to slow down he told me I'd taken him this way hundreds of times and I was going to take him a hundred times more. My hands fisted the coverlet on the bed and I buried my face against it, crying into it, alternately begging him to stop, and begging him to push on. There is something about anal penetration that is both excrutiatingly painful and exquisitely pleasurable.

He paused for a moment and then pushed on, wedging himself into me in the same way he had worked himself into my pussy -- incrementally, backing off and pushing forward, bit by bit, until at last I could feel his shaved mound pressing against my ass. Deep. It-can't-get-any-deeper-than-that deep.

I sighed and whimpered and begged him to be still, to give me a chance to adjust. He was so huge and so deep and I felt so impossibly stretched that I would have cried if I hadn't known that crying would only make it hurt worse. In response he leaned forward until his chest was draped over my back. As he lay there on top of me, his weight pressing into me, I danced my ass around, wriggling and jiggling and squeezing, trying to get past the "ouch! what the fuck, get the hell out!" stage.

Finally, it happened, whatever it is that happens that changes the terrible stretching from pain to pleasure. Like a leg muscle being repeatedly stretched and worked in different ways, the muscles in my backside finally relaxed and warmed up to my intruder. Something in me changed at the same time. That thing that always happens when I'm pinned under him with his cock in my ass. I became a supplicant, a penitant, a mendicant, and a full-blown anal slut. I released my grip on the coverlet and raised my head.

"Fuck my ass," I said to him. "Fuck it like a pussy, baby."

And oh, did he ever. He arched himself up and grabbed my shoulders in his hands, using them as leverage for penetrating me deeply. He fucked me slowly at first, using slow strokes that reminded me of how long he was, and then he'd clench my shoulders and push deeply, making me gasp. Sometimes he pulled all the way out, and sometimes he pulled out just until the head of his cock was inside, and then he'd fall forward into me like a meteor down a gravity well.

"You love this, don't you, you dirty girl?" he asked after my first orgasm.

"Yes," I gasped, taking his cue. "I love it. I'm such a dirty girl, I love the feel of you fucking my ass. Fuck it so I'm sore for days, lover."

He turned onto his side and brought me with him, and his fingers dove between my thighs. I hooked a leg up over his to give him easier access, and soon he had three fingers buried inside me, pressed up against my G-spot, while the heel of his palm ground against my clit. He cradled my head against his shoulder and gripped my breast in his hand and started fucking my ass with short fast strokes that had me moaning deliriously. Shudders ran up and down my spine, making my fingers tingle like they were sparklers on the fourth of July. I came on his fingers, came hard, a triple anal-vaginal-clitoral orgasm that totally wrung me out. I went completely limp in his arms and he pulled me back to the edge of the bed. I had no resistance left. Conquered completely, I balanced on unsteady legs as he stood behind me. And then the ass-fucking began in earnest.

He pounded my ass through the languidness of the post-orgasmic endorphin rush. Pounded it past the tingly phase. Pounded it into over-sensitivity. Pounded into me until I was begging him to cum, begging him to fill me with his cum, begging him to end it soon because the pleasure arc was no longer smooth. It was jagged with points of pain.

"Please baby, please. I'm such a dirty little anal slut, you know I am. I want you to cum deep inside me. I want to feel your cum inside me all night."

And then he slapped my ass, a hard flat-palmed slap on my sweetspot, which made me bolt forward, and he followed me, mounted me higher, his knees up by my hips, sawing his cock between the cheeks of my ass until he came with a roar, his body jerking and swaying as he pulsed inside me again and again.

He leaned forward and kissed my shoulder. "You're going to feel that for days," he said smugly. "And when you I notice you're no longer wincing every time you sit down, I'll do it again."

I moaned, half in supplication, half in anticipation. As a Dominant, I know how to make a man mine, but this man, he knows how to make me his. Like no one else, he knows how to make me his.

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