I often get asked if I was ever turned on when I was sessioning in the dungeon. Oh boy, I’ve got a story for you.
It was midnight. He requests strap-on play and I tell him to bring wine for me online. I walk in there with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth, thigh-high pvc red lace up boots, lace blue thong with a matching (barely there) bra, and I almost fall to the floor when I see this man. He is standing there, naked, with a fedora and blonde hair parted at the sides. Two glasses of red wine, one in each hand. A cock as beautiful as art. I get a slight smile and I almost fall over again. He offers me some of his artwork, which is surprisingly good. I’m trying to remain dominant and in control, but I’m slowly fading. I chug the wine like it’s the last thing I have to survive.
We begin with my back massage. Within 5 minutes his tongue is in my mouth. I’m fucking surprised at how easy I opened up, and then within another five my thong is of and his tongue is in my… you know..
I giggle after the big O and grab his fedora, light my cigarette, strap on my cock and bend him over. Gender roles are completely reversed, and he takes it so eagerly, but it seems to really overpower him. He can barely breathe with each orgasm.
I know it’s against the rules to go home with a client, but I can’t take his card anyway, kick him out and tell him to wait at the corner. No tip, but I know I’ll be getting it later.
I meet him and we grab a cab to his place. I remember how naughty I felt, his hand on my thigh, speeding up the East Side Highway. His apartment was gorgeous. He is an artist, and he uses his apartment as a studio, so gorgeous images of emotion slathered in red, and pieces of work in progress throughout the halls. The second we get into the bedroom we can’t get off of each other.
I don’t feel so much like a domme anymore. I tell him that I want him to tie me up. (What the hell was I thinking?! I have never been submissive before, except for without agreement, and I know how much of a stretch that is for me). He goes slow and steady. Crop is out. I can’t even remember if I was tied to the pole or I was in some sort of mental bondage. My ass cheeks feel like they are steaming. I don’t know how what it was that made me trust him, maybe it was Fiona Apple playing in the background.
We fool around until morning, and spent the afternoon together, after we go to Ricky’s and buy a nice big cock. Free session, I see…. I don’t mind though. I had this insane notion that he was actually interested in me, maybe it was the chess, maybe it was the looks. Within the next two weeks I obsessed over him, wrote about him, fantasized and moaned over him. He ignored me. We saw each other a few more times and had dazzling nights.
Then, one night, I tell him I want to be a little more exclusive.
“You’re going to have to get over that. I’m a slut.”
He’s still a client. Still a slut. I was so angry. I never get played like that. I’m usually the one doing the playing.
Needless to say, it made me realize that, as soon as you submit to someone, the level of trust that is involved is too intense not to fall. I don’t know how some of my clients do it. And I absolutely understand when they fall in love with me.
BDSM is not just whips and chains, it’s hearts, emotions, and fucking vulnerability that you can’t get back.
I don’t like being on bad terms with people, so we agreed to disagree and see each other at social gatherings, no sex and no strings (or cocks) attached. Lost his number in the midst of things though, so I doubt I’ll see him.
Whether he knows it or not, he is a key figure in shaping my sexual identity. That little bit of submission I gave to him really fucking changed me, and made me realize how men can be total sluts because of that little spot about an inch up their ass.
I’m just not going to honor that spot anymore unless I know the boy is mine, cause a bitch like me does not like rejection. Hah.
