A Lesson in Submission
We'd become friends over time, always seeing each other at the club, flirting, teasing. At some point we'd exchanged numbers, and then he came over for some late night conversations. Something about him fascinated me. I couldn't have put my finger on it... perhaps because he was so different. Perhaps it was because I had never spent any real time talking to a male Dominant. The type of Dominant that interested me -- a hard player, one who dealt pain. And yet he wasn't abusive.
Well, I guess that depends on your definition of abusive. I've seen the look, when a sadist is truly enjoying hurting someone else. Unmasked, the glee on his face scared and unnerved me. He liked to make her beg... to beg to stop. It was still within the terms of safe word, but it frightened me.
He was different. He dealt pain because he enjoyed it, but
his needs of sadism were similar to the needs of masochists. And
I based that judgement not only on myself, but on what I had seen in
the needs of others. He played hard, and demanded much from his
submissives. Yet it was done with a level of caring. He
clarified that in scene was different. The person was different.
The way he treated them was different. And after scene he was
different. Caring. Calming. His presence spoke of that.
I'd fallen asleep in the late afternoon, and his call at 8:00pm awakened me. Well, sort of. I'm never quite awake when I first wake up... I get to this middle stage which, if it's too heavy a sleep will put me right back to sleep after a phone call. At 75 to 80 degree weather I wasn't sleeping that deeply.
He told me he was thinking of going out, and asked me if I wanted to join him. In a half-drowsy state I told him I was probably in for the night. We hung up.
Five minutes later I was fully awake and called him back, explaining
the fact that I had been asleep, and asking him if the offer still stood.
It did. Fully awake I teased him, asking his suggestions as to
what I should wear. We narrowed it down. My new black
stretch mini-skirt... possibly, I said, coyly not wanting to commit.
I knew I would though. I knew he would like it. And I love
to tease. I hinted at him I might wear my new heels, 5" spiked
black patent leather. But perhaps not... I still teeter too much.
Haven't quite learned to walk in them. But the excitement in his voice
when I mentioned them made me want to try. I didn't identify
the feeling until now, but he made me want to please him. It
was part of his style.
We ended the call, and I hurried to the shower, washing quickly and toweling off. I didn't have too much luxury time, but I managed to rub lotion into my skin and let the last part of my hair dry naturally so it would curl. Using the blow dryer completely dries it out and leaves tangles.
Then I had to figure out what to wear. The black skirt, of course.... Possibly a shirt? No, a black body suit. Of course there were choices there too, because I have several. I chose a simple one, with a high neck and the shoulders cut out. It was little warm out at the time for longs sleeves, but I didn't plan on taking a jacket and knew it would cool down. Garters seemed like too much work, so I opted for sheer black panty hose. And then I tried on the spiked heels. And teetered. Walking from one mirror to the other, I applied my make-up, hoping that my feet would get used to the height. They began to hurt.
With a sigh I put them back in the closet, pulling out my next highest
heels, which are about 3 1/2". High, but not exciting. As it
turned out, I was ready early so I wondered around the apartment and
decided to do one last quick check on mail. Logging on, I delete
list stuff, and then log off. Then I wandered back into the bedroom,
applied perfume, and thought about those spiked heels again.
On a whim, I traded them out of the closet.
Strangely, this time they didn't hurt as much, and it seemed like my step was firmer. I guess wearing the lower heels had made my feet familiar with the shape. I decided that I could wear the high ones that night. Pleased with myself, I smiled as I went to answer the door buzzer to our building.
I opened the door and stepped back, waiting until I heard his steps on the last set of stairs to walk out the door. He smiled as I appeared, and the appreciation in his eyes made me feel beautiful. He held out a bunch of flowers.
He was dressed in all black, the silver chains on his jacket the only relief to the solid color. His dark hair pulled neatly back into a short pony- tail. We exchanged a warm hug which brought me to tip-toes despite the heels, and then he followed me in, closing the door behind him. I went into the kitchen for a vase and water.
"You look incredible" he said with an intensity that both made me smile and turn away in embarrassment.
I tried to pass it off lightly with a "thank you, kind Sir", as I put the vase down on an end table. I turned and he was following me. We hugged again and then were on our way.
"Your car or mine?" I asked. Silly question. His.
I was very impressed just standing on the street looking at his car. It was not the car that impressed me (a dark grey Nissan Sentra), but the fact that it was actually clean! Even I don't keep my car that clean. Even the inside was spotless. A perfectionist, I thought.
On the way to the club we talked about music. It seemed we had similar taste, and Dream Theater was playing in the CD drive. About half way there he casually changed the subject.
"That outfit is beautiful." He told me. "And you know how it would really look nice?"
"How?" I asked, looking at him.
"With a collar." He gave me a moment to digest that information. I had to admit it had crossed my mind. He reached up to one of the pockets in his jacket and pulled out a collar. Which he'd "just happened" to have with him, of course. Right.
I took the collar in my hands and gave it a long look, pretending to study it while my mind raced. It was a simple collar, black leather that buckled in the back, with a silver ring in the front. I was torn.
Carefully I placed it on the dash board, not exactly refusing it, but the accepting it either. I wanted to.... I knew it's significance and implications. I had fantasized about it for a long time. Mentally I felt safe with him, and I really wanted to put on the collar, but there was a part of me that held back.
Decisions. Implications. It was the implication that bothered me. To put on the collar would mean to be owned. Once on, I would not remove it. He would. I don't know where I came up with this logic, I just did. And I thought of Lasher.
Lasher and I have an open relationship--as long as we talk honestly, and are safe we make it okay. But to not belong to Lasher? Even in scene space? I did not know.
Then I realized I was being silly. I would not change my love for Lasher no matter who's collar I wore. I think I secretly wished it was his collar. Then even if I was in scene as someone else's submissive it would still be his collar.
Once I rationalized this out, the decision was easier. Yes, there would be repercussions from the scene, but it was something I wanted to do, and I thought I could handle any repercussions. Tentatively I picked up the collar and buckled it on. He looked over at me, brushed his hand over my cheek and gave me a warm smile. My heart jumped with excitement.
There is something freeing about submission. It's exciting
and scary at the same time. Here I was, sitting in the car of
someone I knew and yet did not know at the same time. Change the
context, and you change the person. I now knew _of_ this person
sitting next to me, but I did not know him. And the newness of
that alone was exciting. New scene. New person. New
freedom... I just felt very alive at that moment.
The club was called Jacques, and it was very interesting. Apparently, it was a major hang out for TV's, TG's... PeeWee Herman.... It's a long story. Let's just say I could have done without PeeWee.
We circled around and made the customary greetings, he knew more people than I did, but I knew a few. The women there were gorgeous. Some pre-op, many post-op, most very beautiful, and absolutely convincing. In the back there was a small stage set up, and the women could come up and Lip synch very professionally to the music. As they sang people would hand them money in compliment. He handed the woman singing a dollar as she performed. Then he handed a dollar to me to give to her. Uncomfortable and a little shy I looked at him for reassurance and he nodded forward toward the stage. I slid over on the cushion and held out the dollar. A graceful hand took it from me without loosing a beat. I scooted quickly back out of the spotlight and we continued watching the show. Well, if you can call it watching.
Part of me watched because the women were truly fascinating. But there was another part of me that was acutely aware of the dynamics between us. I scooted back across the couch I was quite close to him. I was sitting, hands folded together over the back of the couch, sitting sideways to it. And he stood above me, almost touching but not.... at least not at first.
I don't know which one of us starting it; I can't remember whether I leaned back to rest against him, or he started playing with my hair and neck.
Gently at first, brushing his fingers through my hair, and sliding his thumb over my lips. And then more demanding. Gripping my hair firmly; holding my neck in place. Occasionally pulling it a little as a reminder to me that he had control of the way my head moved. I leaned my body toward him. His other hand moved to tug gently on the collar around my neck. Then at some point, using my hair, he pulled my head backwards and gently kissed me on the lips. I stared at him, unable to break the eye contact as if magnetically pulled. Finally I did, lowering my head as far as the grip on my hair allowed, still leaning against him. And we proceeded to watch the show.
Occasionally he would move away, walking toward the open space on the floor to hand a singer a dollar. About the third time he went to do this I stopped him. There was a feeling there of wanting to please him. And this time I knew how to do it. With my eyes and my hand I motioned for the dollar. Surprised, he handed it over.
I smiled at him, then clutching the dollar rolled over on the couch so that my heels were waving in the air, and the rest of my body stretched on the couch. I thought about the picture it made as I held out the dollar as high as I could. The black skirt and teddy molded to my body, and the gold of the heels glittering in the light. I felt his hand reach out and grab one. There was a definite appreciative gleam in his eye and smile. He let go of the heel and I straightened up slowly, curling my body effortlessly back into position. I received a kiss as a reward.
At 12:00 the club shut down, and it took them about 15 minutes to get everyone out of the club. We hooked up with three friends and discussed moving on, or separating from there. Suggestions were thrown out until we were thrown out, and finally we decided to join the three of them at one of their houses.
By this time I was truly starting to thing of him as Sir, although I had not yet vocalized it. But I felt like I had fully placed myself in his hands, and was willing to go along with whatever He wanted.
We arrived at the house directly after the others, and got half way up the stairs when I realized I'd accidentally left my purse in the car. I wasn't worried about my purse, but I was worried about the safety of his car if the purse was visible. Stopping, I turned to him and explained. I started to apologize but I was cut off, and he gripped me roughly by the arm and the back of the hair and yanked me around. He called an explanation to the others and we went back down the steps. At the bottom he let go of my hair, but kept a grip on my arm as we walked back to the car. I apologized to him and explained that it was not my purse but his car that mattered. Halfway back he stopped and kissed me; a quick, punishing kiss, and then kept us walking. We retrieved the purse and then finally made it into the house, where we joined the rest in the living room and talked.
At some point everyone started comparing and showing toys, and scene just seemed to start. He, then he and I topped one of the others while she leaned over the bed. We worked well as a team, he was easy to match pace with. He set the pace, of course.
Then the two others played, all of us helping out a little until they were exhausted. Finally, it was our turn, and he used the leash clipped to my collar (when had it been clipped on? In the car, I think.... funny, I had forgotten about the leash until writing this now.) He used it to bend me over, scratching my thigh with his nails. Then he pulled me straight and used my hair to pull my neck to the side. His bite to the muscles at the top of my shoulder took me too my knees.
It was an incredible sensation, to have my knees collapse under me from pain. I've only had that happen once and it was because I passed out. This was not all that far from it. My eyes were shut, and my knees just collapsed under me, bringing me down to the floor sight unseen. It was pain, but it was a pleasurable pain. I whimpered under it. When he let up I opened my eyes. I heard him whisper "very good" like a caress under his breath. And then he helped me back up.
His next moves where not quite as gentle, as he threw me down on the bed, pinning me with a hand on my neck, and kicking my legs apart. His nails raked my skin, scratching down my back, bottom and thighs, and then back up again. I wiggled under his fingers, and he placed one of his legs between mine, to keep them from closing. I tried to hold them apart without his help. I remember moaning, feeling his hand jerk my hair back and then stopping to kiss me. I moaned into his kisses, leaning forward, trying to express my gratitude. Then he would start over again with his nails.
It's a good thing I'm a moaner, not a screamer. Our scene was interrupted suddenly by a knock on the front door. He and I froze, and our host and his girlfriend closed the door behind us as they went to the front room. It was the police. One of the neighbors had called about the stereo being up to loud. We'd been so wrapped up we hadn't even heard the music. I think our host started breathing again after the officers left. That pretty much ended the scene, and wrapped up the night. Straightening clothes, everyone left shortly after that.
It was 4:00am when he and I drove back to my place. On the way I explained to him that I was torn, that half of me wanted to invite him in to continue the scene, but the other half was scared because I did not trust myself. I was horny, and hormones have this strange way of screwing with one's judgment. At least it does with mine. In the past, when I had allowed hormones to overwhelm judgment I had beat the hell out of myself later. And I explained all of this to him. He said he was also torn. Part of him wanted to stay and play, and the other part of him just wanted to cuddle me and fall asleep. I felt a little abashed that I had not thought about cuddling. Usually that crosses my mind. I guess my hormones were in overdrive.
In the end, he did come up to my apt. To use the bathroom. And somehow the hug goodbye ended up on the with both of us on the couch, cuddling, tickling, and loosing items of clothing at the same time. And then we were naked, rubbed up against each other teasing and cuddling at the same time. All in fun... and mutual pleasure--kissing, pinching, running fingernails over each other. And then the question came up again. The couch was becoming small and uncomfortable and the bed seemed like such an attractive alternative. Again my fears stopped me. I felt comfortable with him. I wanted.... more from him. But I was afraid to trust my own judgment. Sensing my fear he just held me as we talked. He reassured me that just because we chose a more comfortable site, did not mean we automatically were going to have sex. It made sense....
For a while, we just cuddled on the bed. I curled up against him and he just held me. It felt nice, but I had a lot of nervous energy and was having trouble holding still. I think I switched to uppity bottom. Teasing him, threatening to pull leg hair, looking for ticklish spots on his body. To his credit (I believe) as a Dominant, he did not show any reaction to the annoying things I did, although there was some definite response to my pleasurable teasing. We were talking, and although I don't remember the exact words of our conversation, but I remember the essence. He was talking about full submission, and being always curious, I was asking more questions. I didn't understand his explanations. I do now.
At some point he said something on the order of 'the submissive has to make the choice to serve....' I thought about that. "What if I don't want to have the choice?" I asked him. He asked me what I suggested to remove the choice. I might as well have offered myself up as a lamb to a slaughter when I suggested something about 'through pain'. Quickly, I found myself pinned on my stomach with his teeth in the muscle of my shoulder, and his nails raking my legs. I wiggled and moaned against the pain. He spanked my bottom with his hand a few times while continuing to bite.
A quick break in here, to explain something. Normally, when I scene with someone I tell them no open hand spankings. It is something that is sexually intimate to me, and I generally do not bottom that intimately. Unless it is with Lasher, I don't mix sex with topping or bottoming. Somehow submissive is different because it required a deeper level of intimacy.
In the car ride over we talked about the previous scene. He told me he did not spank me because he remembered my saying something in the past about not allowing that in scene. I was touched by his memory, but explained to him that it was OK in a Dom/Sub scene, just not top or bottom. The scratching he had done in the earlier scene was just as intimate to me.
Now he took full advantage, forcing my head into the pillows as he spanked me. His hand spanks were hard, but not strong enough to evoke the same "dancing" reaction that the biting or scratching had before.
"Do you have a paddle?" he growled in my ear.
"Yes Sir," I whispered.
"Get it!" he commanded.
I started to explain that it was in the top drawer next to the bed, which was right next to him but he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me off of the bed. "GET IT!" he ordered sharply without letting go of the crushing grip on my arm. Quickly I opened the drawer and fumbled for a paddle. I heaved a mental sigh of relief that it was on top. Gingerly, I handed it to him, and was immediately thrown back down on the bed on my stomach. The paddle came down hard and accurately, pausing only when I threatened to hyper-ventilate, and then only to let me half-catch my breath. With each blow of the paddle my body twisted involuntarily, feet kicking, and hips twisting to get away from the paddle. And yet loving it's feel. Only his hand pressing on the back of my neck kept me on my stomach. My hands were by my head, held by nothing but sheer will. I never even thought to move them to protect myself.
"Tell me what you want." he spoke quietly against my ragged breathing.
"I want you," I replied "But I am still afraid. I still don't trust myself." The paddle came down again. Three series of blows, with breathing breaks in between, landed squarely on the burning heat of my backside. I don't know if he counted. I wouldn't be surprised. I couldn't if I had been asked right then. My brain felt as if it were shut down, and all I could feel was my body. Pain and pleasure mixed with intense need.
"What do you want." he stated again. Not a question, rather an inferred order.
"I want you....but" I started. And was cut off as he kissed me harshly, silencing what I was saying. The paddle came down again, and I swallowed a sob of pain in the back of my throat as I twisted under the blows. He paused long enough to ask again. This time I did not hesitate. "I want you" came my quick reply.
"I want you inside of me." I whispered.
"I want you inside of me, Sir." I spoke this time, though fairly quietly.
He jerked my head up by the hair. "Louder!"
"I want you inside of me, Sir!" Prompted by the paddle my voice rang out in the room. It continued.
"Describe what you want!"
Between paddle strokes and moans I tried to force words out. Words that were not part of my every day vocabulary that still embarrass me now to say.
"Please Sir," I begged, "I want to feel you deep inside of me... "
"Where?" he asked. I blushed as I realized he wanted me to be more graphic. The paddle continued.
"In my vagina, Sir." My body was crying for sex. Real sex. The paddle continued.
"Please Sir," I babbled "please.... please, I want to feel you inside of me. Deep inside of me. Your cock in my vagina." I surprised myself with the last. Pain is a wonderful motivator.
At this point I was completely given over. All doubts gone, just physical cravings. Cravings for the pain and the pleasure. All sensations mixed together, existing only for what he wanted. I had completely submitted to his desire.
He called an end to the scene.
It's hard to describe the feelings I felt wash over me when he called an end right there. Some relief, knowing that the pain had ended, some confusion, my head clearing rapidly from the pain, but mostly disappointment, that it had ended.
He lay next to me, sensing I think my disquiet, and stroked my hair and back as my breathing slowed. When I could almost breath naturally I turned over and looked up at him, staring for a moment before I spoke. "Thank you Sir," I whispered. He smiled and kissed me gently on the lips.
It was 7:30am, and he was understandably exhausted. Unfortunately, I was not, so he took up an earlier offer of a back massage and relaxed under my fingers. I persuaded him to take a nap, and that I would take a shower or something because I was not sleepy. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Meanwhile, I picked up the apt. and then showered to cool myself down. Around 9:30 I went back into the room and quietly placed a glass of cold water by the bed. He was a light sleeper, and awakened to look at me.
"Shhh" I said, "Get some sleep. I'm going to run down and put
money in the parking meter for your car." I took my time, combing
out my hair and brushing my hair before 10:00 when the meters started.
It gave me time to think. My body was still whispering 'I want
him' at me, and my mind was trying to persuade me to go along.
I made the decision it was OK, that I wanted to and would have no regrets.
When I entered the bedroom again around 10:30 he was awake again, so
I sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked his chest. Looking
him directly in the eye I told him 'no regrets'.
He told me that if I wanted it, I was going to have to put on a pair of garters. What color did he wish, I asked, black, black and green, pink, red, or cream? I like garters, and have a few. Red was his request. Of course that was the one I couldn't find. We settled for black garters and red fishnet stockings. I sat in the bed next to him and put them on. When I was done, I stood up to hook the back, and then turned to show him.
Gently he pulled me down to him, kissing me gently at first, and then harder with more urgency. When he finally pulled me off of him, so I was laying on the bed, I saw him reaching for the paddle. I buried my face in a pillow, actually relaxing at the thought of re-starting the scene. At least until the first blow hit, then my bottom reminded me just how sore I had already been, and then I was tense. I whimpered into the pillow as his hand on my neck kept me there firmly and the paddle came down.
"Tell me." he ordered sharply, changing his grip to grasp my hair firmly, using it to pull my head sideways.
"Please Sir," I gasped between spanks, "Please I want to feel you inside of me so much. I want to feel your body against mine, with you deep, deep inside of me. Please.... Please Sir...I want you so much. I want to feel your cock deep inside of me. Please Sir."
Finally he stopped. I heard him drop the paddle on the bed, and the sound of the drawer opening as he reached for a condom and lubricant. I tried to catch my breath into the pillow, my body too pliant to move. And then the grip of his hand on my hair, pulling me up until I was on my elbow, forcing my head up high. He pushed my legs apart with his knees, spreading them wide. Then I felt him up against me, touching the entrance of my vagina with his penis. Teasing. I had no leverage to push back against him, but that did not stop me from trying.
"Please Sir," I cried, "Please..." He entered me swiftly, almost to the hilt in one stroke. The pleasure and relief washed over me, leaving me gasping and moaning at the same time. And then he proceeded to fuck me. Not love--pure sex, and lust. He used my hair to pull me back against him, while denying me the leverage necessary to get to my knees. Instead I was in almost frog position, with my legs kicking on top of the sheets as I tried to pull back against him. With his spare hand he raked my back with his nails, scratching hard and causing me to twist and arch my back with each stroke. Occasionally he would bite my shoulders. I could feel myself getting close to orgasm.
"Oh, Sir. Please Sir. May I cum Sir?" I begged. I did not know if he was the type of Domme who required their submissive to ask permission first, and I was not about to risk finding out the hard way. "Please Sir, may I cum?" I begged for permission for release at least 10 times before it was granted. It was only about a minute after permission was granted that my body sailed over the first wave of orgasm. I remember babbling "Oh Sir!" repeatedly between moans.
He carried me over at least 5 more orgasms pinching, scratching, spanking, before he finally let go. I was almost completely incoherent by the time he roared out his orgasm, and moaning consistently. When it was over we collapsed together. Absently the thought crossed my mind for a towel since we were both hot and sweaty, but I figured I could deal with the sheets later. I half rolled toward him.
"There is a towel off the side of the bed," I grinned at him. "You're closer." He groaned and leaned over the side to retrieve it. I love the way men always seem to end up closer to the towel. *smile* Intuitively I knew the scene was over. The mood in the room had shifted drastically, and neither of us had the energy left to continue it anyway. Or at least, I certainly didn't, I cannot vouch for him. He did fall back to sleep shortly afterwards however, so I would assumed he was also exhausted.
Another short cat nap, another shower for me and one for him, breakfast on a TV tray by the bed, and he left. I think I smiled for the entire rest of the day, at least.