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At the end, after we both took turns climaxing (I’m getting pretty good at typing one-handed), she asked me to meet her.
Dominatrixes are everywhere. Emilie Paris writes in “Underwater”:
Some of my friends would be shocked by my tastes. I simply don’t look the part of the dominatrix. I’m slight, but I’m tough. My lovers have always submitted to my needs. There’s never been a question about it. I call to them, the ones that like to bow down. I don’t seek them out, they come to me.
N. T. Morley spills a craving for a dom in “Date Night”:
She flipped through the channels and quickly settled on a tall ice-blonde Dominatrix in a tight latex dress smoking a cigarette in a long holder while a very cute and very nude brunette worshipped the Mistress’s shiny knee-high boots.
Yum. That would do rather nicely, thanks.
The domme in “Working Late,” by Andrea Dale, has multiple instructions for her man:
His chest heaved when he saw what I’d packed for him. What I had planned for him.
“Tell me what you’ve found.”
He tried to speak, failed, cleared his throat and started again. “A pair of small clamps—nipple clamps. A butt plug, and a packet of lube. Ma’am.”
“Tell me what you’re going to do with them.”
Sometimes I gave orders, but often Jack was smart enough to know what I wanted. I mean, duh, they weren’t unusual toys. Besides, having him describe what was going to happen heightened the anticipation—for both of us.
My breasts felt heavy, swollen beneath my silk blouse. I didn’t need to look to know my own nipples were clear against the soft fabric.
“I’m going to go to the men’s room and put the clamps on my nipples. I’ll probably have to massage my nipples a little to get them ready for the clamps.” Jack looked down at the items on his desk. “I’ll coat the plug with lube, and also my fingers, and open myself up before inserting the plug.”
“Will you like that?”
It wasn’t an easy question and didn’t have an easy answer. He had a love-hate relationship with the plug, craved the sensation while aware of how it looked, what it meant.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said.
“Then what?”
“I’ll come back to my desk, and when you see me, you’ll call me with further instructions.”
“Good boy. Go on, then.”
Jax Baynard’s “Meltdown” also takes the domme’s point of view:
I snapped the whip a couple of times, limbering up, trying to think calmly. What was he after? If I knew what it was I could either give it to him or not, my choice. But I didn’t know, and the anger and the hurt running beneath it, the hurt I was trying frantically to stay on top of, made it impossible to think rationally. So I hit him. Despite my threats, I pulled a few punches. I pulled all of them, actually, practicing restraint as a cautionary measure. After a minute or two he said conversationally, “You probably deserved it.”
“What did you just say?” I asked.
“You heard me,” he said, which, of course, I had.
I snapped the whip, the fine tip at the end making a crack. If I hit him like that, he would bleed instantly. It was the same as being sliced open with a knife. They don’t pay me so much for nothing. I was good enough to be blunt, hitting him hard without breaking the skin. He jerked with the force of it.
“You’re probably a real cunt,” he said pleasantly. “I’ve thought so for years.”
Those might not be my first words to a domme with a whip. But there are so many different ways people work to get what they want. If you’re a woman who has always craved control—or a closet sub who craves giving up the reins—take a deep breath, approach your lover and confess.
You might wind up getting more than you want. You might get what you deserve.
TANTALIZING TIPS
•Pay attention to the media. There are so many examples of domme women to learn from. Check out the ads for Justin Timberlake’s naughty 901 Tequila ads—foreplay in seconds.
