You might want to get yourself a coffee and get comfy before you start reading this one. It’s going to be long…real long and what I have to say might even just blow you away.
*looks around to make sure everyone is properly seated*
domming… domme-ing… making M into my bitch for the past week.
He has been wearing a red leather dog collar, I’ve been beating his ass and he’s slowly morphing into something akin to the fairly needy, subbly-type thing I used to be.
That’s really fucked up, isn’t it?
Of course when I say ‘really fucked up’, I mean as unexpected and shocking as a cold, un-lubed nine-inch butt plug up your ass in the middle of the night.
I think I’m suffering from a bit of shock myself because I haven’t even started angsting about it. In fact, I’ve hardly given the whole situation a thought beyond, ‘Okay, so I’m the one with the strap-on on around here now.’
In my last blog, I’d mentioned how I was starting to have thoughts about torturing someone and at that stage I was thinking about the possibility of getting a girl whom both M and I could play with. That thought somehow got transformed very quickly into me trussing up M like a pig for roasting and cropping his cock and balls.
What a bizarre world we live in…
To be honest, I’m not actually sure how it started. I have a vague memory of M suddenly appearing from his bedroom, naked, and wearing a red collar and ankle and wrist cuffs last Saturday afternoon. I also have a hazy memory of cackling like a hag when I first saw him appear like that, but then when I understood that he was being deadly serious, I stopped and took a sobering look at the situation.
Could I do this? Is this what I wanted? Could I beat the ass of someone who used to beat mine?
I’ll be honest and say at the time that I felt very much like I was being forced into taking on a role that I did not feel comfortable with. I really didn’t know what to do.
Part of me knew that I couldn’t brush him off. I understood that if he was being deadly serious, the brush off would be soul-destroying and he’d never get over the rejection. But part of me knew that I did not want to be forced into something that I didn’t feel comfortable with.
So I went along with it. I ‘played’ the role of Mistress Kitten – although it was mostly on his terms. He was kind of telling me what he wanted done, but thinly veiling them as questions along the lines of, “You want to do xxx to me, don’t you?”
And he enjoyed it and I was…amused.
I pulled all the acting tricks out of my bag from my years of embarrassing community theatre and played it up. I put my bitch boots on, attempted a few mind-fuck double twists and put my extensive knowledge of his sensitive bits to good use. It was fun, entertaining and not nearly as ouchie as being on the other end of the implements.
I was stunned how well M just slid into it. He was like a duck to water and doing the, ‘Yes, Mistress, no, Mistress’ without missing a beat. I’d struggled and angsted over calling him, “Master” for months – years maybe. I’d felt horribly embarrassed and self-conscious every time my mouth even attempted to form the word, but he was happily peppering his answers with ‘Mistress’ so often anyone would think he had Tourette’s and ‘Mistress’ was an expletive.
He was compliant, obedient and pleasingly passive. For a man who has beaten, pierced and tattooed me, he was disturbingly easy to dominate.
I have a sneaking suspicion that he actually prefers to be dominated. He has always been more of a pleaser than a selfish dom. While he may have said that he chose to spoil me because he enjoyed it, I think he spoiled me because he knew that I enjoyed it. Even while being made into my bitch, he is extremely focussed on my pleasure – soaking up everything I give him like a sponge that can never be satiated.
Except, there is one thing which I’m going to have to work on. Like the boy he is, he has very specific things he enjoys and he is not afraid to let me know what they are or attempt to steer me in the direction of them. Not that I have much experience (read zero) torturing boys, but I hear they are a lot more…how shall I say?…demanding?…than girls tend to be. Although this may be nothing more than a misnomer or an urban myth, it’s my understanding that boys tend to be particular about the ways they are played with. It amuses me that M is like this too and it amuses me even more that he thinks he isn’t.
Case in point, on Monday he ordered himself a steel collar because he thought that I’d like him to wear a collar 24/7. Now, I may be new to this
domme turning someone into my bitch thing, but even in my inexperience, I’m pretty sure the selection of the collar and even the idea to collar someone should be up to the one holding the beating implements. He thinks he is doing the right thing by getting me something he thinks I’d like, but is he?
And this is a fabulous example of the massive gray area that there is in the concept of ‘pleasing’ someone.
But that looks like the subject of an entirely new blog post or two…or ten.
So I’m treading a fine line at the moment between nostalgia and dominance. I look at the toys that were used on me and the man who used to use them, but now they are very different things. It’s strange to see the leash in my hand, but it not be attached to my collar and it’s even stranger to be buying lube in the supermarket, not for me, but for him.
I have a feeling that I will need to do things my way and with new things. At the moment there is a strange mix of revenge and ‘give him a taste of his own medicine’ in my domming. I need to cut the umbilical cord that, thin as it is, still ties me to submission and experiences I had.
And I need to put away my steel collar that is gathering dust on M’s bedside table. It’s not what it once was, and probably will never be again.