Power Plays

I may have mentioned this once or twice before but I was a truly terrible Domme.  I lacked a certain ruthlessness necessary for a successful top.  Nevertheless, I was in demand as all Dommes are.  Lately I find myself revisiting those early D/s days.  Part of it is a shortness of temper due to the stress of the current situation, part of it is how much I’ve discussed my time as top lately, part of it is my natural tendency to reflection and self-analysis.  For whatever reason I find myself being more… not dominant, exactly.  Maybe domineering.  Controlling in some conversations, unwilling to accept some of the bullshit that normally helps to grease the wheels of everyday social interaction.  In work I’ve finally taken control of some issues I’ve been ignoring for a long time, taking advantage of my current temporary lack of fucks given.  I’ve discussed some sessions as sub and now seems as good a time as any to discuss a session as a Domme.

Even the best Domme in the world can’t work alone.  So much relies on the interaction between Domme and sub, between top and bottom.  In either role I was spectacularly uncomfortable with pain, either giving or receiving.  As Domme I tended to look for subs whose preferences complemented my own leanings.  I learned quickly to ask what they wanted, not tell them what I wanted and listen as they magically decide that’s exactly what they’re looking for too.

Physical pain was out.  I specialised in humiliation – wanton cruelty to the psyche, a caning of the ego, a punch to the self-importance.  Even then I was cautious with my cruelty.  Words can wound far worse than any poorly-wielded tawse, leaving lasting scars and lingering self-doubt far beyond any masochistic urges.  I would never be cruel about someone’s looks or penis size, both being outside a man’s reasonable control.  I would focus on his performance, on his self-importance, objectifying and dehumanizing.

One of the most effective things I did was have a sub use a clone a willy kit.  When I realised how much fun I could have with it I made every subsequent sub arrive with his dildo already made on our first session.  It’s more difficult than you might imagine to use the kit solo – you stir the mixture for a minute or two then immediately have to get your erect penis into the tube of mixture and keep an erection for another two or three minutes.  A man who can stay hard while mixing a packet of moulding goop and then holding himself in a frankly ridiculous looking plastic tube of what feels like wet cement… that’s a man with great determination.

Once we had a replica of his cock I could really go to town.  I would put a kitchen chair at the foot of my bed and have the sub sit in it.  Sometimes he’d be tied, sometimes forced to control himself.  One of my subs liked to be locked into chastity, but that was a rarity.  I would use the dildo to masturbate while having the sub watch, forbidding him to touch himself or me.  After all, it was my pleasure and not his that was the focus.

The main point of the dildo was that the only thing I was interested in was his cock, the rest of him was entirely surplus to requirements – he was just a piece of fuckmeat to me, literally.  I would keep up a stream of filthy talk for as long as I could form coherent words, telling him exactly how little I thought of him, that the silicone phallus was a better lover than he could hope to be, that he should take lessons from it.  It was his cock, but would never go soft.  It would never climax early and leave me unsatisfied.  It was always ready and eager to do my bidding, and it always did exactly what I wanted it to do without complaint, unlike the particular sub who was watching.

Occasionally I would relent and allow one of the more pleasing subs to wield the toy.  I would have him bring me to climax over and over, all the while begging me for his own release, to be permitted a caress or enough stimulation to tip him over the edge.  I quickly learned that for my favourite subs allowing that release gave them almost equal parts bliss and disappointment.  In a conversation with A (a particular favourite with whom I still chat) I was introduced to the concept of ruined orgasm. 

It was fascinating to me to bring A to the point of climax over and over, edging him for as long as I possibly could before giving that slight half-stroke to start his climax, then removing all stimulation and watching his cock bob and jerk as his ejaculate spurted across his skin, technically an orgasm but lacking any of the satisfaction one normally gives.  He obtained physical relief but was still revved up and incredibly aroused, his poor flaccid cock drooping and incapable of taking any more, no matter how mentally aroused A felt.  Those were the nights he would attack me with the toy and his fingers, his passion becoming almost frenzied in his frustration, the best or worst of all possible worlds depending on your point of view.

In the sessions where I didn’t allow a sub physical contact with me I would have him watch me bring myself off without allowing him to touch himself and sometimes I’d wipe the wet dildo across his face, smearing my wetness around, rubbing his nose in it.  With one of my subs he wanted more pain than I was prepared to administer, but I could always slap him in the face with the dildo.  Cockslap him with his own cock.

Another favourite, G wanted to experience public humiliation.  He was something of a cliché I suppose, ex-public school, senior job, charming, attractive, plenty of cash but kinks he could never bring himself to discuss with a partner that left him long-term single and trawling D/s hookup sites to find relief.  I once watched him orgasm in his trousers with no physical contact at all, just the overwhelming stimulation of a discussion about all the possible ways I could degrade him in public.  He had a chief executive’s fear of being too exposed in case he was seen or recognised – no parading him in a collar and stockings, something more subtle was called for.

We went out for dinner.  As a rule I didn’t socialise with subs.  Doms either, as it happens, and I rarely socialise with my vanilla lovers outside of an initial meeting to size them up and allow them to size me up in return.

G drove a large silver saloon car.  I’m not great on cars but I think it may have been a Mercedes.  It was a car that didn’t scream money, but it whispered it with class and good taste.  At the time we met I drove a Peugeot 206 that was relatively new but had suffered the inevitable scratches and dings that happen when a car spends 90% of its time in public car parks.  I would always drive.  G would fold his angular frame into the passenger seat of the most feminine of small cars and would hold his tongue when I drove badly (I’m not a great driver).  When we got to the restaurant I would order for him.  I would make a big deal of choosing a glass of wine for him, discussing it with the waiter as though G wasn’t present.  I would make fun of him, telling the waiter how much he liked a sweet wine and had no head for anything stronger.   When the food arrived I took great delight in telling the waiter that the salad or whatever light dish I’d ordered was for G, dehumanizing and objectifying him further by laughing with the waiter that I was watching G’s weight because I didn’t want him losing the figure that first attracted me.  A couple of times I caught the waiter trying not to laugh – I am so fat myself that the very thought was completely ridiculous but it had the desired impact on G.

I would have G discuss his most embarrassing fantasies while we ate, occasionally reaching under the table to feel the impact it was having on his cock.  If G was feeling particularly daring or if we were somewhere he was unlikely to ever return I would wait for the plates to be cleared, and as the waiter approached I would loudly ask “do you need the toilet?  I don’t want any more filthy accidents” then I’d send him to the toilets to wank while I paid for the meal.

Occasionally I would reach under the table after paying the bill and stroke G’s cock through his trousers, making sure he was fully hard before standing up and making him walk through the restaurant with a very visible erection.  On one memorable occasion he was wearing interestingly faded old jeans, and as my hand made contact he came.  If his loud grunt hadn’t given the game away the darkness of the wet patch at his crotch as he followed me back to the car certainly let everyone who noticed it know exactly what had happened.

I had great fun with all my subs, but particularly G and A, because their kinks sat well within my comfort zone.  Neither wanted physical pain (although A had a fascination with CBT videos but was happy to keep that as a fantasy as long as he was my sub), both were happy with the mild humiliation I was comfortable dishing out.

It’s a strange thing, but as arousing as I found both subs on first meeting them, once they’d allowed me to give them a thorough head-fuck I no longer found them sexually appealing.  I was on friendly terms with both (still am with A), but at no point did they make me in the slightest flushed or needy.  The scenes we played out weren’t about my sexual pleasure at all (although being me, I certainly didn’t go short of orgasms when I was with them).  Sexually I found them no more arousing than the dildo I had them use on me.  Used correctly it will get me off, but looking at it sitting in a toybox will never make my nipples harden or my pupils dilate.  I have no way of knowing whether that’s a standard reaction of a top to their bottom but based on the reaction of my Doms when I subbed for them I’m guessing not.  I’m not precisely a sapiosexual, and I don’t know what the term is for being attracted to someone based on their refusal to let me get away with manipulative head-fuckery, but whatever it is, I guess that’s how I’d classify myself.