Domination isn't all about harsh tones and corporal punishment. It's not all about hair-pulling, face-slapping, and pussy abuse. Those things are a part of BDSM, of course, but they're not what it's all about.
There's art. There's seduction. There's setting the mood and maintaining it. There's tone of voice, there's creativity, there's a manner of breathing, there's the reading of body language. There's getting to know everything about your slave or sub and using that to not just to do your will, but to make her desire to do everything for you, to live to please you.
My slave and I were sitting on the couch, watching a movie, and we were talking about how I had a surprise in store for her sometime soon. She was intrigued, but she couldn't guess; there are so many things she likes. We were going over those things, and she mentioned how she loves it when I dominate her in whispers.
I used to say it often: "Domination is in a whisper." I don't mean that you have to dominate anyone in a whisper. What I mean is that you understand the art when you can. It means that you know what to say to get your slave turned on, and you don't just bark orders at her or manhandle her into doing your will.
I ran my hand up her leg and I exhaled heavily near her ear, then I took a breath and whispered, "I desire you. I want you. I want to devour you. I want to sink my teeth into your flesh and make you cry out as I give you pleasure." My voice turned into a growl as my finger found her wetness, sliding it to lubricate her already-swollen clit.
"I want to degrade you. Treat you like a dirty little whore. Use you like a cheap piece of gutter trash. I want to ravage your body until you're unable to move," I growled, breathing heavily, running the hand that was not giving her clit attention into her hair, grabbing a handful, and slowly yanking her back so she was looking up at me. Her body was reacting to the attention her clit was getting, and I could feel the wetness spreading to her inner thighs.
"I own you."
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"You're my plaything."
"Yes, Master."
"Do you want fucked, little whore?"
"Please Master. Please fuck me. Please..."
I led her to the bedroom. I laid down on the bed beside her, moving my mouth in close to her ear, as it was on the couch, and I continued to whisper. "You want fucked, do you? Not yet. Not yet."
"Please."
"I'll fuck you when I'm ready, slave." I began moving my finder more rapidly as I exhaled, growling against the back of her neck. She moaned, her body writhing, making me want to enter her...but I held back.
Not yet.
"Please, Master, may I cum?" she whispered. "Please? Please, may I cum?"
"No." I pulled my hand away and caressed her body, from her thighs to her belly to her breasts, rolling her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, massaging her breasts, caressing downward again, teasing with my hand over her, making her writhe in anticipation. Then I began again. It wasn't long before she begged some more.
"Please, Master. Please. Please let me cum. Please?"
I pulled away again. "No," I whispered. "You'll cum when I let you." She gave a sexy, frustrated little whimper. I teased her again, then moved my hand back between her thighs and pleasured her some more.
"Please! Please Master....please may I cum?"
"Cum for me, little slut."
She came, arching her back, mouth opening in her ecstasy as if trying to moan, but her breath caught and she held it until the feeling subsided. I didn't stop. I kept rubbing her sensitive clit, and she begged again: "MastermayIcumPleaseMasterPlease..." she gasped.
"Cum for me," I growled.
She came again, her involuntary reactions making the intensity obvious. Her ecstasy was almost painful.
I made her cum again. And again. And one more time.
And then, I couldn't wait any longer. I had to use her sexy little body.
After I used her hard, I stroked her hair, her face. I looked into her eyes, I kissed her lips, and I whispered into her ear, "I love you, little slave. You still have a surprise coming, but I think you had fun tonight."
She smiled. "Yes, Master. That was...hot."
We fell asleep, naked and satisfied.
JT Stockroom
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Sunday, January 18, 2015
BDSM Play 15: Leather belt, breath play, hard fucking
Privacy is hard to come by these days. One of the kids is in cyber-school, so she's at home every day. We mostly play after the kids are in bed, and we have to be relatively quiet, which limits us. Last Monday, however, my slave urged the one who does school on her computer to go to the science center with her boyfriend, and we had the place to ourselves.
I wasn't feeling good, and I thought that might ruin things, but the more I thought about our privacy and what we could do with it, the more I gained the will and desire to play. It's funny how that works; you're feeling under the weather, then something that brings out your passion makes you ignore whatever's bothering you, and you end up going at it harder than you do at other times.
I made her strip, then bend over the arm of the couch. I took a leather belt out of the toy bag. We have a few belts; most have metal studs. However, the solid leather belt stings the most, and it's seldom since July that I've been able to give her a proper ass beating. When we first started talking, it was one of those things she kept asking for from other men, and no one delivered. I delivered--on our first night together, and on several occasions since...but since we moved, it's just too loud an activity.
No one could hear her cry out Monday. No one could hear the leather connect with her lovely, round little ass. No one.
I caressed her naked body, randomly slapping her ass, warming her up...then I took the belt and swung without mercy. I knew she could take it; I knew she would love it. I left one red stripe after another on her ass, till the whole thing was red.
"Count for me," I said. "We're going for twenty."
"Yes, Master," she replied, sticking her ass out in anticipation.
I started whipping her ass again, five in a row on each cheek, then stopping to rub her ass, hoping she would forget her count and cause me to start over. But no: she kept her count, even as her voice shook and she cried out in pain.
No matter. Mercy wasn't desired or forthcoming. I began to whip without a count, my cock hardening as her pain reactions became more obvious, her cries, louder. Then came several hits in a row in the same spot, and:
"Master, I'm weak."
I yanked her up by her hair, looped the belt through the buckle (the prong removed) and put it over her head, pulling it tight around her neck--not too tight, but tight enough to lead her by it. I led her back to the bedroom, pulled her down onto the bed by the belt, the pulled it back over her head.
"Spread your legs, slut," I ordered. She complied without hesitation. Good little slave. "We're going to ten on your pussy. Keep count, whore."
"I'm not going to make it to ten, Master. That belt hurts so much," she said, looking up at me with her head turned in submission, pleading with me with her eyes as well as her voice.
"That's not your safe word. Take it until you're weak."
"Yes, Master."
I whipped her pussy once, twice, three times...she closed her legs a bit. "Spread your fucking legs, slave." She complied. Four, five...
"Master, I'm weak. Oh, that hurts. That hurts so much."
I took the belt and looped it again, put it around her neck again, then roughly fingered her clit. She loves it rougher than most, and I was aggressive. It wasn't long before she was begging permission to cum.
"Keep begging, little whore."
"Master, please let me cum. Please?" she gasped. "Please? Master, please...oh please let me cum..."
"Cum for me, you dirty fucking whore."
She came, arching her back, her ass lifting slightly off the mattress, holding her breath. I felt sure she was going to squirt; the orgasm was fairly intense. It got her really wet, in any case, and I wanted so badly to enter her...so I pulled her roughly to the edge of the bed and rammed it inside her.
"You're so fucking wet. Are you my little piece of fuckmeat?"
"Yes, Master, I'm a piece of fuckmeat."
I pulled the belt tight and cut off her breath. She held her composure for awhile, then began to have the panic reaction I loved so much. She grabbed at the belt, clawed at my arms, then finally, when she could take no more, tapped out.
I loosened the belt from her neck, fucked her harder, then pulled the pillow closer to her head. She feared the pillow. It's heavy. It's memory foam. She's had it over her face so many times in the last year or so, and she still fears it. That fear triggered a gush of wetness that I could feel.
"You're afraid of the pillow."
"Yes, Master."
"And that fear turns you on so much..."
"Yes, Master, it does."
"Are you ready?"
"No, Master."
"Does it matter?"
"No, Master, it doesn't."
I put the pillow over her face and held it there, fucking her savagely, not letting up till she tapped out in panic--and panic she did. Much worse than with the belt. She cried out, and her muffled cries turned me on so much...but I held out. I didn't want to cum yet. I wanted her to feel like she'd been properly fucked.
I took the pillow off her face and smacked her in the head a couple times, then I grabbed her by the hair and fucked her as if I was in a rage. I fucked her with all of the intensity I could muster. In the meantime, she caught her breath...so it was time for the belt again.
I pulled it tight around her neck, and her panic reaction came sooner this time. She didn't tap out right away, though; she actually came close to losing consciousness. When her grip on my arm weakened and her reactions weren't strong anymore, I released the belt and grabbed her hair to snap her out of it. I grabbed her hair with both hands and started fucking her with all I had. I came inside of her, ramming it all the way inside when I did, filling her.
I laid down on the bed and pulled her close to me, stroking her hair, caressing her body. The rest of the day, after the kids were home again, I spent time sitting with her on the couch, caressing her, showing her affection, loving her.
I wasn't feeling good, and I thought that might ruin things, but the more I thought about our privacy and what we could do with it, the more I gained the will and desire to play. It's funny how that works; you're feeling under the weather, then something that brings out your passion makes you ignore whatever's bothering you, and you end up going at it harder than you do at other times.
I made her strip, then bend over the arm of the couch. I took a leather belt out of the toy bag. We have a few belts; most have metal studs. However, the solid leather belt stings the most, and it's seldom since July that I've been able to give her a proper ass beating. When we first started talking, it was one of those things she kept asking for from other men, and no one delivered. I delivered--on our first night together, and on several occasions since...but since we moved, it's just too loud an activity.
No one could hear her cry out Monday. No one could hear the leather connect with her lovely, round little ass. No one.
I caressed her naked body, randomly slapping her ass, warming her up...then I took the belt and swung without mercy. I knew she could take it; I knew she would love it. I left one red stripe after another on her ass, till the whole thing was red.
"Count for me," I said. "We're going for twenty."
"Yes, Master," she replied, sticking her ass out in anticipation.
I started whipping her ass again, five in a row on each cheek, then stopping to rub her ass, hoping she would forget her count and cause me to start over. But no: she kept her count, even as her voice shook and she cried out in pain.
No matter. Mercy wasn't desired or forthcoming. I began to whip without a count, my cock hardening as her pain reactions became more obvious, her cries, louder. Then came several hits in a row in the same spot, and:
"Master, I'm weak."
I yanked her up by her hair, looped the belt through the buckle (the prong removed) and put it over her head, pulling it tight around her neck--not too tight, but tight enough to lead her by it. I led her back to the bedroom, pulled her down onto the bed by the belt, the pulled it back over her head.
"Spread your legs, slut," I ordered. She complied without hesitation. Good little slave. "We're going to ten on your pussy. Keep count, whore."
"I'm not going to make it to ten, Master. That belt hurts so much," she said, looking up at me with her head turned in submission, pleading with me with her eyes as well as her voice.
"That's not your safe word. Take it until you're weak."
"Yes, Master."
I whipped her pussy once, twice, three times...she closed her legs a bit. "Spread your fucking legs, slave." She complied. Four, five...
"Master, I'm weak. Oh, that hurts. That hurts so much."
I took the belt and looped it again, put it around her neck again, then roughly fingered her clit. She loves it rougher than most, and I was aggressive. It wasn't long before she was begging permission to cum.
"Keep begging, little whore."
"Master, please let me cum. Please?" she gasped. "Please? Master, please...oh please let me cum..."
"Cum for me, you dirty fucking whore."
She came, arching her back, her ass lifting slightly off the mattress, holding her breath. I felt sure she was going to squirt; the orgasm was fairly intense. It got her really wet, in any case, and I wanted so badly to enter her...so I pulled her roughly to the edge of the bed and rammed it inside her.
"You're so fucking wet. Are you my little piece of fuckmeat?"
"Yes, Master, I'm a piece of fuckmeat."
I pulled the belt tight and cut off her breath. She held her composure for awhile, then began to have the panic reaction I loved so much. She grabbed at the belt, clawed at my arms, then finally, when she could take no more, tapped out.
I loosened the belt from her neck, fucked her harder, then pulled the pillow closer to her head. She feared the pillow. It's heavy. It's memory foam. She's had it over her face so many times in the last year or so, and she still fears it. That fear triggered a gush of wetness that I could feel.
"You're afraid of the pillow."
"Yes, Master."
"And that fear turns you on so much..."
"Yes, Master, it does."
"Are you ready?"
"No, Master."
"Does it matter?"
"No, Master, it doesn't."
I put the pillow over her face and held it there, fucking her savagely, not letting up till she tapped out in panic--and panic she did. Much worse than with the belt. She cried out, and her muffled cries turned me on so much...but I held out. I didn't want to cum yet. I wanted her to feel like she'd been properly fucked.
I took the pillow off her face and smacked her in the head a couple times, then I grabbed her by the hair and fucked her as if I was in a rage. I fucked her with all of the intensity I could muster. In the meantime, she caught her breath...so it was time for the belt again.
I pulled it tight around her neck, and her panic reaction came sooner this time. She didn't tap out right away, though; she actually came close to losing consciousness. When her grip on my arm weakened and her reactions weren't strong anymore, I released the belt and grabbed her hair to snap her out of it. I grabbed her hair with both hands and started fucking her with all I had. I came inside of her, ramming it all the way inside when I did, filling her.
I laid down on the bed and pulled her close to me, stroking her hair, caressing her body. The rest of the day, after the kids were home again, I spent time sitting with her on the couch, caressing her, showing her affection, loving her.
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
BDSM Play 14: Overnight hotel stay, spanking, leather belt, pussy abuse, hogtie with bamboo pole
My slave and I arrived at the hotel, our bag of toys in hand, excited to play outside of the home for the first time in months. After we showered, I started by stripping and edging her with my fingers, bringing her close to orgasm five times...then I denied her, smacking her there instead. When she was a lovely shade of red, I shoved my fingers inside of her wetness, first two, then three, then four. I rammed them into her, knowing it would make her sore for later, for when I was inside of her. When I was satisfied that she would be good and sore, I climbed up on the bed, straddled her face, my balls resting on her mouth, nose, and cheeks (they are big and can smother her if I lower myself onto her), and I began stroking my cock.
"I'm going to cum on your tits, abuse you some more, then I'm going to fuck your sore pussy for a long time, slut."
As I stroked it, I rubbed my balls on her face. She moved to put her tongue in my ass, the dirty little whore...such a good little slave. She knew her place. I was good and clean from the shower, and I wouldn't have her tongue in my ass any other way, but it's a good feeling, and I love it when she does it. I came on her chest and her neck, then went to get a towel to wipe her off.
I resumed fingering her. She begged to cum again, and again I denied her. Instead, I got several lengths of rope, a bamboo pole, and the bondage mittens. I made her lay face down, then laid the bamboo pole across her shoulders. I tied her arms to it, then I bent her legs and bound her ankles to it, as well. I fingered her again, allowing her to cum this time. I continued to give her clit attention, and again she asked me to let her cum. I brought her to orgasm after orgasm, feeling her wetness grow. At the same time, her labia were swelling because of the beating I gave her earlier, and her insides were sore from fucking her with all of my fingers. She was ready.
I picked her up and put her on her knees, turned her around, then laid her down on the bed. Her legs were spread from being tied to the pole. I pulled her to the edge of the bed and shoved my cock inside of her. The look on her face from the pain made me savage, and I began fucking her hard. My hands closed around her throat while I gave her everything I had, slamming into her. She began to lose consciousness, so I released her and smacked her head. Her eyes went wide form the pain, and she begged me to stop.
"Please don't. It hurts so bad," she gasped.
"'Please don't' is not a safe word, little whore."
"Please stop. Please," she begged.
"I'm not going to stop, worthless fucking slut," and I continued to thrust hard, making it hurt. "You love it when it hurts." I slapped her. "Say it! You love it when it hurts."
"I do," she whispered. "I love it when it hurts."
I kept going, getting hot, sweaty, and wild...but the ties were beginning to cut off circulation, so I stopped to untie her. Instead of continuing to fuck her, I turned her over and spanked her hard, reddening her ass. It had been some time since she'd had a good, loud ass beating, and I made sure she felt it. I eventually grabbed a leather belt and made her count the strokes, then I turned her over and whipped her between her legs with it, on her already-sensitive labia and clit.
"Master, I'm weak," she moaned. Her safe phrase.
I turned her over again and spanked her some more, this time with the crop. Her safe word was only for the whipping of her pussy. I worked her ass with the crop, reddening every inch of her beautiful, round ass that hadn't been reddened already. Then I flipped her over and mounted her again, making her feel every inch of me, getting off on her pain reaction. I put a pillow over her face to cut off her breath, and felt myself building up to orgasm. I summoned every bit of energy I could to give her even harder thrusts, then I came inside of her, flooding her with my second load of the night.
We rested, laying next to each other. I stroked her and told her that I loved her, and she responded in kind. We decided to go and take a shower to get the sweat and other fluids off of us. She washed my body as she always does, lovingly, ritually, thoroughly. It's a ritual we've been doing since the night we met, and it feels strange when we don't shower together. Once we were clean, we fell asleep next to each other, naked and satisfied.
The next morning, we went and had breakfast, came back, and played again. I spanked her some more with my hand and the leather belt, then I fucked her. She was still sore from the night before, and she was begging me to stop--though she didn't want me to. She loves it, and begs me to turn me on. We cleaned up again and left the hotel happy.
"I'm going to cum on your tits, abuse you some more, then I'm going to fuck your sore pussy for a long time, slut."
As I stroked it, I rubbed my balls on her face. She moved to put her tongue in my ass, the dirty little whore...such a good little slave. She knew her place. I was good and clean from the shower, and I wouldn't have her tongue in my ass any other way, but it's a good feeling, and I love it when she does it. I came on her chest and her neck, then went to get a towel to wipe her off.
I resumed fingering her. She begged to cum again, and again I denied her. Instead, I got several lengths of rope, a bamboo pole, and the bondage mittens. I made her lay face down, then laid the bamboo pole across her shoulders. I tied her arms to it, then I bent her legs and bound her ankles to it, as well. I fingered her again, allowing her to cum this time. I continued to give her clit attention, and again she asked me to let her cum. I brought her to orgasm after orgasm, feeling her wetness grow. At the same time, her labia were swelling because of the beating I gave her earlier, and her insides were sore from fucking her with all of my fingers. She was ready.
I picked her up and put her on her knees, turned her around, then laid her down on the bed. Her legs were spread from being tied to the pole. I pulled her to the edge of the bed and shoved my cock inside of her. The look on her face from the pain made me savage, and I began fucking her hard. My hands closed around her throat while I gave her everything I had, slamming into her. She began to lose consciousness, so I released her and smacked her head. Her eyes went wide form the pain, and she begged me to stop.
"Please don't. It hurts so bad," she gasped.
"'Please don't' is not a safe word, little whore."
"Please stop. Please," she begged.
"I'm not going to stop, worthless fucking slut," and I continued to thrust hard, making it hurt. "You love it when it hurts." I slapped her. "Say it! You love it when it hurts."
"I do," she whispered. "I love it when it hurts."
I kept going, getting hot, sweaty, and wild...but the ties were beginning to cut off circulation, so I stopped to untie her. Instead of continuing to fuck her, I turned her over and spanked her hard, reddening her ass. It had been some time since she'd had a good, loud ass beating, and I made sure she felt it. I eventually grabbed a leather belt and made her count the strokes, then I turned her over and whipped her between her legs with it, on her already-sensitive labia and clit.
"Master, I'm weak," she moaned. Her safe phrase.
I turned her over again and spanked her some more, this time with the crop. Her safe word was only for the whipping of her pussy. I worked her ass with the crop, reddening every inch of her beautiful, round ass that hadn't been reddened already. Then I flipped her over and mounted her again, making her feel every inch of me, getting off on her pain reaction. I put a pillow over her face to cut off her breath, and felt myself building up to orgasm. I summoned every bit of energy I could to give her even harder thrusts, then I came inside of her, flooding her with my second load of the night.
We rested, laying next to each other. I stroked her and told her that I loved her, and she responded in kind. We decided to go and take a shower to get the sweat and other fluids off of us. She washed my body as she always does, lovingly, ritually, thoroughly. It's a ritual we've been doing since the night we met, and it feels strange when we don't shower together. Once we were clean, we fell asleep next to each other, naked and satisfied.
The next morning, we went and had breakfast, came back, and played again. I spanked her some more with my hand and the leather belt, then I fucked her. She was still sore from the night before, and she was begging me to stop--though she didn't want me to. She loves it, and begs me to turn me on. We cleaned up again and left the hotel happy.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
BDSM Fiction 1: The Ceremony
The slave told her family she eloped; her new husband and she were off on her honeymoon.
It was a necessary lie. What she was doing was far more important, far deeper and dearer to her than having family she barely knew and friends who didn't know the real her come to an expensive party with meaningless rituals. No, her Master had more exciting plans, and her family could never know.
Slave girls readied her for the ceremony, weaving several silver chains in her hair, rubbing scented lotion all over her naked flesh, attaching the leash to her metal collar.
When they had her prepared, they presented her to the man who was to walk her down the aisle, a known and respected member of the BDSM community. "Are you ready for your Master, slave?" he asked.
She nodded solemnly, eyes downcast, humble as a good slave should be.
"Crawl to your master," he said, and she obeyed, handing him the leash and dropping slowly to her hands and knees. Slowly, sensually, she crawled along the aisle, watched by people who knew her for who she was, understood her desires, understood the fulfillment absolute obedience and commitment to a master gave to her. The rules, the structure, the discipline, the aftercare...they knew. They were more a part of her world than any family she had, and she was unashamed to be so vulnerable and on display in front of them.
She kept her eyes just ahead of her on the floor, but from a distance, her Master stood in her field of vision. She suppressed a smile, but the sight of him, the memory of her time with him filled her with excitement and longing. As she neared, she bowed her head in respect, waiting for the leash to go into his hand. When it did, she did as they rehearsed: she got on her knees, sat back on her feet, and kept her head bowed as he stood next to her, facing the officiant.
"Masters and Mistresses, Doms and Dommes, slaves and submissives, and those in between," began the officiant, "we come together today to witness this woman give herself to this man completely. From this day until they have no more breath in them, he will remain her Master.
"Sir, do you promise to be her Master, to take full responsibility for enforcing the rules you have agreed upon, honoring her hard limits, caring for her safety and emotional well-being, and treating her as your valued property until your death or hers?"
"I do," the Master replied.
"Slave, do you promise to love, honor, obey, and worship your master, respecting him at all times in all places, and deferring to him in all decisions, except those he allows you to make?"
"I do," the slave responded, head still bowed.
"By the power vested in my by the state, I know pronounce you husband and wife, Master and slave. You may do with her as you will."
Her Master led her down the aisle, crawling as she did before, all eyes on her naked body. As vulnerable and exposed as she was, she never felt more secure.
It was a necessary lie. What she was doing was far more important, far deeper and dearer to her than having family she barely knew and friends who didn't know the real her come to an expensive party with meaningless rituals. No, her Master had more exciting plans, and her family could never know.
Slave girls readied her for the ceremony, weaving several silver chains in her hair, rubbing scented lotion all over her naked flesh, attaching the leash to her metal collar.
When they had her prepared, they presented her to the man who was to walk her down the aisle, a known and respected member of the BDSM community. "Are you ready for your Master, slave?" he asked.
She nodded solemnly, eyes downcast, humble as a good slave should be.
"Crawl to your master," he said, and she obeyed, handing him the leash and dropping slowly to her hands and knees. Slowly, sensually, she crawled along the aisle, watched by people who knew her for who she was, understood her desires, understood the fulfillment absolute obedience and commitment to a master gave to her. The rules, the structure, the discipline, the aftercare...they knew. They were more a part of her world than any family she had, and she was unashamed to be so vulnerable and on display in front of them.
She kept her eyes just ahead of her on the floor, but from a distance, her Master stood in her field of vision. She suppressed a smile, but the sight of him, the memory of her time with him filled her with excitement and longing. As she neared, she bowed her head in respect, waiting for the leash to go into his hand. When it did, she did as they rehearsed: she got on her knees, sat back on her feet, and kept her head bowed as he stood next to her, facing the officiant.
"Masters and Mistresses, Doms and Dommes, slaves and submissives, and those in between," began the officiant, "we come together today to witness this woman give herself to this man completely. From this day until they have no more breath in them, he will remain her Master.
"Sir, do you promise to be her Master, to take full responsibility for enforcing the rules you have agreed upon, honoring her hard limits, caring for her safety and emotional well-being, and treating her as your valued property until your death or hers?"
"I do," the Master replied.
"Slave, do you promise to love, honor, obey, and worship your master, respecting him at all times in all places, and deferring to him in all decisions, except those he allows you to make?"
"I do," the slave responded, head still bowed.
"By the power vested in my by the state, I know pronounce you husband and wife, Master and slave. You may do with her as you will."
Her Master led her down the aisle, crawling as she did before, all eyes on her naked body. As vulnerable and exposed as she was, she never felt more secure.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Dim Doms
My intention with this article is to help dim doms recognize their problem in order to correct it, either by removing themselves from the BDSM community, or by modifying their behavior and becoming assets to the community.
What is a dim dom? It's a difficult label to define, but some examples of behavior might give us a clue:
- Domination by default: If you expect obedience and submission from everyone you meet, you're a dim dom. You are not dominant just because you say so; you're dominant because you are able to get someone to want to submit to you. If you can't get anyone to submit to you, then you need to do research, get a mentor, read a book, take a class--you are the problem, and you need to change, not the subs who aren't into you.
- Fiction is your guide: If you treat scenes as reenactments of porn, or worse, if you use Twilight fan fiction or bad science fiction as your BDSM guide, you are a dim dom. You can play by any set of rules you like, but fiction doesn't teach you about risks, precautions, best practices, or techniques.
- Consent is optional: If you think consent is optional, if you don't believe in safe words, if it's more of a turn-on if you don't get consent, you're not only a dim dom, you're dangerous. You shouldn't be anywhere near a BDSM partner.
- One-trick ponies: If you approach every submissive in the same way, you're a dim dom. It's okay to have preferences, but not everyone you find is going to be into everything you want. Compromise is key, because consent is key. If you absolutely have to have something that is a hard limit for a sub, then you have to move on or have an open or poly relationship--and that has to be okay with your partner, as well. Rules have to be tempered by reason, and you can't force everyone into your mold.
- No subtlety: If you believe domination is all about aggression and a harsh tone of voice, you're a dim dom. It's also about seduction, persuasion, mental preparation, rules, responsibility, guidance, and subtlety. It's about creativity, knowledge, and skill. It's far more than pushing someone around whom you perceive to be weaker.
- No confidence: So you want to dominate, but when you get a submissive to be with you, you constantly check on her, making sure she's okay every five seconds, ruining the mood. Yes, you want to make sure your submissive is handling what you're giving her/him, but you can do it in ways that incorporate it into your play. Safe words are there to stop play (as long as you honor them). You can take it slowly at first, going light to heavy with anything painful or uncomfortable. You can smack that ass, then rub it, taking time to note the reaction. You can have the sub count to see how steady the voice remains. Asking, "Are you okay? Are you going to panic?" every five minutes is going to make your sub think you're unsure of yourself, which you definitely are.
- No creativity: You get all of your scene ideas from other people, fiction (see above), or your sub, and you have no real ideas of your own. If you can't come up with anything of your own, you are a dim dom.
- Cult BDSM: If you have adopted someone else's rules and consider them unchangeable, you're not only a dim dom, but you're also a cult member.
- The almighty penis: If you think a picture of your cock is enough to get someone to submit to you, you are a dim dom. If you think your penis gives you the right to be dominant, you are a dim dom. That's true the other way around--if you think your vagina gives you all the power, you're not very bright, either. BDSM isn't the vanilla world; your penis or vagina might not be as important as your tone of voice, your air of confidence, your skill at mixing pain with pleasure, your ability to make rules and enforce them, your capacity for nurture, your ability to seduce someone into obedience and worship. Your genitalia are less important to the BDSM community than your mind.
I'm certain this list will grow, but the reader should have an idea now. Do you have contributions to the dim dom list? Comments are welcome.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Even if she's done it in the past
I was watching an episode of "Law & Order: SVU" last night with my slave, and the story brought up some interesting points. In the episode, a woman who had done rape fantasy porn had two men corner her in the bathroom at a party and treat her like she'd been treated in the movies she'd done--but without her consent. There is no question in my mind that it was rape. No matter how she'd been treated in films, she had always given explicit consent. That's how the industry works--or should work. The "victim" in the film is aware of what's going to happen, and she can stop it at any time. With the young men who raped her, there was no discussion of safe words or hard limits. I find consensual non-consent hot, as does my slave, but we still enforce hard limits, and a safe word will still stop the play.
In the absence of safe words, "No" and "Stop" are your safe words. Absolutely. Beyond a doubt.
The rape victim didn't get justice, though. The defense attorney used her film work against her, saying that the only difference between what happened to her without her consent and what happened on film was that she didn't get paid. No, that's not the difference. The difference was lack of consent. The difference was a lack of discussion of limits and what was going to happen. Sex workers are not exempt from rape.
That's not really the point I wanted to bring up, though; what went on in my mind was prior knowledge of the sexual activities of submissives--and dominants as well--and how it applies to subsequent BDSM activities with new partners. Some people might have it in their mind that because a submissive or dominant did something with a previous partner, that activity is on the table in the current relationship--but it's not. There still has to be consent. Maybe your new partner isn't comfortable doing that thing with you. Perhaps your lack of experience, lack of knowledge and/or responsibility for safety, or lack of skill (you can have experience without gaining proficiency) makes your partner uncomfortable with a particular act. Maybe the trust has not yet been built.
In short: nothing a person has done in the past with kink gives you an excuse to coerce that individual into the act with you. Consent is essential. The comfort level has to be there.
I've done a lot of things with previous subs that required a lot of trust--dangerous things that could result in serious injury, infection, or even death. That kind of trust doesn't come easily for most people, submissive or dominant. Purely from the dominant perspective, there's the consideration of trust where marks are concerned. Where there's evidence of BDSM play, there's also a potential domestic violence or rape charge. Being able to trust your partner not to have you arrested takes time--sometimes. Some people are able to gain trust more quickly than others, but the bottom line is: if you don't trust your partner with a certain kink, you shouldn't engage in that particular act--and by no means should the other person pressure or coerce you into it.
In the absence of safe words, "No" and "Stop" are your safe words. Absolutely. Beyond a doubt.
The rape victim didn't get justice, though. The defense attorney used her film work against her, saying that the only difference between what happened to her without her consent and what happened on film was that she didn't get paid. No, that's not the difference. The difference was lack of consent. The difference was a lack of discussion of limits and what was going to happen. Sex workers are not exempt from rape.
That's not really the point I wanted to bring up, though; what went on in my mind was prior knowledge of the sexual activities of submissives--and dominants as well--and how it applies to subsequent BDSM activities with new partners. Some people might have it in their mind that because a submissive or dominant did something with a previous partner, that activity is on the table in the current relationship--but it's not. There still has to be consent. Maybe your new partner isn't comfortable doing that thing with you. Perhaps your lack of experience, lack of knowledge and/or responsibility for safety, or lack of skill (you can have experience without gaining proficiency) makes your partner uncomfortable with a particular act. Maybe the trust has not yet been built.
In short: nothing a person has done in the past with kink gives you an excuse to coerce that individual into the act with you. Consent is essential. The comfort level has to be there.
I've done a lot of things with previous subs that required a lot of trust--dangerous things that could result in serious injury, infection, or even death. That kind of trust doesn't come easily for most people, submissive or dominant. Purely from the dominant perspective, there's the consideration of trust where marks are concerned. Where there's evidence of BDSM play, there's also a potential domestic violence or rape charge. Being able to trust your partner not to have you arrested takes time--sometimes. Some people are able to gain trust more quickly than others, but the bottom line is: if you don't trust your partner with a certain kink, you shouldn't engage in that particular act--and by no means should the other person pressure or coerce you into it.
Friday, September 19, 2014
BDSM Play 13: Using her in the garage
Since we've moved, it's been difficult to find the time and privacy to play, but we still do. We still crave it. Still need it. So we find our moments when we can.
My slave sometimes presents the belt to me in my basement office, where we have some privacy. One day, after I reddened her ass with the metal-studded belt, I got up, grabbed her by the hair, and growled in her, ear, "I'm going to use that body now, little whore."
I walked her to the door that led to the garage, then led her over to the couch. This couch was a gift and would have gone into my office, but we couldn't fit it through any door, so we left it out there. Good thing. I had a place to use her hard in private.
I shoved her down onto the couch and mounted her, then grabbed her hair in both of my hands and yanked her head back and down, holding her firmly against the cushion. I fucked her hard, letting go of her hair with one hand to smack her in the head, saying, "You like that, worthless little whore? Nasty little slut!" I grabbed her hair again, then let it go and smacked her, saying something else degrading. She loves degradation and the smacks in the head. It gets her so wet.
Continuing to fuck her hard, I covered her mouth and nose with my hand, cutting off her breath. She began to struggle against me as I thrust, making me want to fuck her even harder. Her reactions made me savage, brutal. I took my hand away from her mouth, let her catch her breath, then put both hands around her neck and fucked her violently.
I came inside of her, smacked her in the head and said, "Now get upstairs and get dinner ready, whore." I went back to work, and she made me dinner. Aftercare started after work, when we sat on the couch together, watching a movie, with me stroking her hair or her breasts.
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