I Was a Domme Once (Part Três, as in, strike three, get your ass outta here)

So there I was, straddled on top of him while he was finger fucking me, and I felt nothing. He was trying to please me after the funeral, but my body just wouldn’t allow any pleasure. I pushed off him, opened the door and got out of the car to straighten my skirt. I leaned against his car and didn’t say a word. I didn’t have any words left. My cheeks were raw from crying. My eyes burned. Then he opened his mouth and out came something that made me want to rip his face off. He complained about how long the funeral procession took. I had no idea he was going to follow after the service. I really didn’t care. I was in the limo with my family and I was glad it was an hour drive to the cemetery.

I turned to leave my father’s gravesite and get back in the limo for the miserable ride home and there he was, in his stupid fucking car, up on the hill overlooking the gravesite. This was wrong. He was wrong. He shouldn’t have been there. He didn’t belong. I told my family I was going back to the house with him because I knew he would get lost driving. They were all in too much of a fog to care what I did. We drove in silence and I made him park down the street in a secluded area near the causeway that crosses the reservoir. Here we were, in the same situation as on the day we met – me barking out orders, him going soft, then a finger fuck that led nowhere.

Our relationship lasted about eight months. This was never something that could have amounted to anything because it started out in such a bad way. My initial aggressiveness didn’t last long because it’s not who I really am. We agreed to meet at the same club the following week and I apologized for my behavior. He didn’t mind at all and said he liked assertiveness. I still don’t know why I didn’t leave it at that and move on with my life, but I decided to continue to see him. Maybe because I saw myself in him, the eager puppy following selfish boy-men. Maybe because I was lonely. Probably both. Our big problem (in hindsight) was that I was a submissive and I kept trying to get him to lead in some way. I would ask him to please make plans, but he always wanted me to do it. Basically, I used him for sex the whole time and the sex was always aggressive, like I was trying to get him to take me, but it was I who had to do all the taking in order to get my needs met. After a while I got bored and I should have broken up with him months earlier. On that sad, grey day in November, I told him to leave and that it was completely over. I walked up the long, steep hill to my house, breathing in the cool air deeply to clear my head. The house was filled with relatives and I immediately went to work serving and trying to please. I needed to serve someone, to please anyone.

A week later I started dating my ex and you can probably guess why. He took charge and I craved that. It was initially bliss, but I didn’t see the warning signs. The pendulum swung the opposite way with a powerful momentum. Of course that relationship couldn’t last long either. I was deemed much too needy and he wasn’t willing to invest in me. It would take Coach to come along and get me to work through my feelings. The question he would ask over and over was, “What do you really want?” No one had ever cared to ask. He wouldn’t have a relationship with me until I was sure of what I truly wanted and he was (still is) a patient man. I was allowed to feel whatever I wanted to feel, cry or laugh as much as I wanted, and was never thought of as too needy or too independent or just too much. I was allowed to be me and that’s all he ever really wanted. He would support me, no matter what, encourage me, no matter what, love me, no matter what. He’s remained true to his word for over 27 years and still asks me the question, “What do you really want?”

Oh, The Joy

Oh, the joy of not caring at all
Of walking through life straight and tall
Fearing no one and being true
Allowing your heart to feel and renew
 
Oh, the joy of being strong
Of knowing yourself and that you belong
Choosing to live and not fearing death
Laughing, crying, taking a breath
 
Oh, the joy of risking it all
Of letting it go and chancing a fall
Being the one who doesn’t sit by
Spreading your wings and learning to fly
 
Oh, the joy of offering your soul
Of allowing the change that makes you whole
Letting in and giving out
Never wavering, no room for doubt
 
Oh, the joy of being bold
Of finally breaking out of your mold
Living in truth and harmony
Your heart and mind allowed to be

I Was a Domme Once (Part Dois, that’s 2 in Portuguese, folks)

Where was I? Oh, yeah, this was going to be fun! I saw the shiny red Trans Am in the parking lot and decided to walk ahead of him to his car so he can watch my ass as I walk. Turns out Portuguese men are very fond of the ass, much like Italian men. I was determined to be in charge of this. I scooted up onto the hood of his car most provocatively as he stood in front of me smiling. I told him to come over and kiss me. He started off slowly, but that’s not what I wanted. I needed hard, so I pulled him in and shoved my tongue down his throat. He reciprocated and our tongue dance began. I pulled away and offered him my neck. He began to gently kiss and that annoyed me. I told him to bite me. He sunk his teeth in and bite hard and I just fucking groaned. No one had ever bitten my neck and once I felt that sensation that first time I was hooked forevermore.

I knew what I wanted and I wanted it fast. I ordered him into the passenger side of the car. He sat and put the seat all the way back. The unique thing about this situation was that he wasn’t too tall (about 5’5″) and we had a fairly good amount of room to get the job done. Nothing against short men, but this was the first short guy I ever gave the time of day. Up until then, the Swede had been the shortest at about 5’9″. I come from the land of giant men so compared to them everyone is short. I love the feeling of being overpowered physically and I’m sure I wouldn’t have been so bold if I tried to bag a taller guy. I am all of about 5’3″ so I needed to be on equal footing and in my heels I was. I hoisted up my skirt and straddled him. I gave him a bit of a lap dance to arouse him more and to get myself more aroused. I could see his hard on bulging and all I wanted to do was lower myself onto it. I reached into my purse for a condom and told him to put it on. I always found it erotic to watch a man slide a condom on, maybe because I liked seeing his member in his own hand (they ALWAYS stroke themselves). I shimmied off my panties and then I lowered myself onto his cock. This is the part I love when I’m on top and I take my time with it because I love feeling every inch go in slowly. He was a normal length and girth (nothing to write home about), but it was just right. I took him all the way in and began to move. He completely submitted to me as if it was the first time submitting to anyone. He was either very new or he just discovered something about himself. It was then that I felt him getting soft. SOFT! Yeah, that’s right, fucking soft.

What to do? What to do? I asked it he was OK and he shrugged. I asked if he was on anything and he said no. I felt disappointed. I then tell him to finger fuck me and get me off. He plunges two fingers in me and moves slowly. Damn, what is it with this guy and slow? I tell him to go faster and he does. I start to build and I knew it wouldn’t be long. I started to let myself go and then the light shined in the window. Fuck, the cops!

I Was a Domme Once, Part Um (that’s Portuguese for one, kids)

I have a confession that may surprise some of you. When I was the ripe old age of (cough, cough) 18 I tried my hand at being a Domme. I didn’t call myself that, but nonetheless, that’s what I was.

Some background: I was pissed off at myself for being so submissive in relationships, all three of them at this point, with a couple of minor trysts of the caliber only a teenager can have (more coughs). I did anything the Swede said. Oops, some of you may not know who the Swede is. If you want to read about him and the other two I’ll briefly mention you can go here, but come back because the rest of this may get good. I still don’t know what I’m writing yet, but I’ll try to make it interesting.

Back to the background: I was just a little puppy following these stupid boys around. I was just a girl knowing that something in me needed to be fulfilled, but I had no idea what that was. I wanted so much to please. I went out of my way for them and I know I was used. I was back and forth with the Swede while he was in college and he turned out to be a dick. The wealthy guy used me solely for sex. You see, he was a virgin and I guess I was his educator. My experience was limited to my times with the Swede and I never had vaginal sex with the Swede, only anal. See? It does get interesting! The wealthy guy could never bring me to orgasm so I would masturbate in front of him. At least I had the wherewithal to take care of myself. He came so fast, but many 17 year olds do. The Harley guy was older than the Swede and actually didn’t use me. He really was good to me. He looked after me and made me feel important and special. He listened and said the most beautiful things to me. He loved to make me cum. He spent a lot of money on me. Why did we break up? Two reason 1) He was a drug dealer and he really didn’t have a future, ya know? 2) He had a very small penis. I could barely feel him in me. He had great oral skills and used his fingers expertly. He was also an incredible kisser, but I really need more in the cock department. We kind of fizzled out as opposed to any real break up. About four years ago he died of a drug overdose. So did the chiseled jaw guy mentioned in my other post. Actually, they died within months of each other. My long time friend, J, jokes with me that all my old boyfriends are dying off. She really can’t joke too much, though, because her high school/post HS boyfriend also died of a drug overdose over a decade ago. We were apparently hanging with the wrong crowd.

Back to the story: Without knowing I was a submissive, I was a submissive. Easy to see now, but then I thought of myself as weak and I’m sure it was because of so many conflicting messages being hurled at girls. I was frustrated and annoyed with myself so when J suggested we go to our favorite club on a Saturday night (drinking age was 19 in Connecticut, but they always let us in) I decided I was going to pick up some random guy and fuck him. It was a fantasy of mine and I felt bold enough to do it. We get to the club, get some drinks at the bar, and start trolling for cock.

I wasn’t seeing anyone interesting for over an hour when suddenly, there he was. I spotted him from across the dance floor and our eyes locked. You want interesting? Here you go…I sauntered up to him and said, “Buy me a drink and then fuck me in the parking lot.” Oh, yes I did! I felt sooooooo powerful. Words like that NEVER came out of my mouth before. With all the other guys I waited for them to initiate. I would politely ask for things so bashfully. I was afraid of being displeasing. On this day I could give a flying fuck what anyone thought of me. He smiled and said yes and that’s when I heard the Portuguese accent. I was intrigued. We walked over to the bar and he asked me my name. He said my name back to me and the way he said my name with his accent went straight to my pussy. He then started to tell me his name and I cut him off and said, “I don’t care.” Oh, yes I did! He bought me my Tanqueray and tonic, extra lime, just like I told him to. Wasn’t I just so cool ordering a top shelf alcohol (cough, cough)? We sat in silence as I drank. I must have looked like I didn’t have a care in the world as casually as I was acting. He looked like he was about to drool. Obviously this had never happened to him before. I finished my drink and told him to lead me to his car. Well, well, well, parked in the far corner of the club’s parking lot sat a gleaming red Trans Am with a t-roof. This was going to be fun.

I Was a Bad Girl Last Night

I couldn’t sleep, I tossed and turned

No relief in sight, I thought I learned

Your breathing steady, your slumber sound
Extending my hand, what it sought it found

My plan was hatched, how could you have known?
I was on a quest, my desire had grown

Selfish was I, I needed to ask
Contrite today, but I completed my task

Lubrication was drizzled, I plunged it in slowly
It felt so good, I took it in wholly

In and out, I got into a rhythm
My orgasm focused, light through a prism

My hips did swirl, my solo unbridled
I danced with myself, like Billy Idol

My imagination was spurred, oh it ran wild
Just a moment longer, this wouldn’t be mild

I looked over at you, my orgasm unleashed
My juices exploded, it flowed on the sheets

I stayed silent, my head moist with sweat
I’m such a bad girl, I start to regret

I fell asleep fast, but it wouldn’t be long
The morning was near, I’d have to tell you my wrong

I opened my eyes, wrapped in your embrace
I could have lied, I didn’t leave a trace

I explained my inner slut, that I needed to sate to her
Your words were loud and clear, “She will pay later.”