I have a boyfriend. I did try to break up with him but then he changed my mind. Simple enough right?
Nope, not simple at all. Because not only do I have a boyfriend but I also have a Dom.
The Twirtation, now renamed as The Dom, seems to have made me his Sub. Sorry, sub. I’ve learned capitalisation of that is important. In fact, I’ve learned a lot about being submissive. The dominating man I’ve dreamed of my entire adult life has apparently come along (at the WORST possible time) and all of a sudden, I feel very out of my depth. Kinky is one thing. Being a sub is something else… Apparently. Especially when you’re as UN-submissive as I am. I would hardly go as far as to say I’m the dominating one. More of a brat. I never do as I’m told. I can’t follow instructions. I’m flaky. I’m always late. I’m forgetful. I’m the worst candidate for this position.
The Dom said he’d give me until January to make up my mind. We’re playing “the game” remember – he tells me what to do and gives me little tasks and I report back. For the most part, I’ve done as I’m told. I’ve broken boundaries I wouldn’t have been brave enough to break with anyone else. I think it’s because I haven’t met him yet. It’s like I’m braver than I would ever be face to face.
The first task was simple enough. He told me what to do and I was to write about it afterwards. Ticked that box, completed, done. I enjoyed it. It was very refreshing to look at my OWN enjoyment in such detail. It was something I could definitely do again. Writing about what happened during sex is what I do on a regular basis. Actually thinking about it through – thinking about the way things felt and the way I craved more… That’s not something I’ve paid much attention to before.
Forthcoming tasks haven’t been so easy. He wanted me to have my orgasm over the phone to him. Or via a recording. Not a video – he just wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear my ragged breathing and the moans and groans escape my throat as I tipped myself over the edge. He wanted me to tell him how things felt. Petrified, I answered the call to him after spending what felt like an eternity edging under his instruction. Bringing myself to the very edge of orgasm and pulling myself back again was the most will power I’d ever shown. I’d have given anything to cum a hundred times before he eventually let me, and I knew he wouldn’t let me at all if I didn’t give him something in return. I think, in fact, the original task was to edge for as long as he commanded and then head to bed unsatisfied. To be honest, I’m pretty sure I’d have failed that task right away. It took all my will power to hold myself for as long as I did. I don’t think I would ever have made the night.
But they were his two options – I either answer the call and cum for him or I don’t cum at all. The crazy thing is in reality, I don’t need to answer to him or listen to him at all. I’ve never even met this guy. I could stick two fingers up at him and tell him where he could shove his two options. Or I could just do it – I could just make myself cum. I’m a grown ass woman and if I want to, I will.
But I didn’t. I didn’t do that. I answered his call and his questions. So dizzy with my newfound submissive-braveness, I barely even remember what he said. I don’t remember answering his questions. I just remember asking him to let me cum, begging almost, over and over again. I’m not a begging girl and I’m not sure where this submissive side of me has come from but there’s something fucking alluring about it.
I remember him telling me he was close but I wasn’t allowed to cum until he did. It was both torture and heaven all at once and when he finally gave me the green light, the go-ahead to let rip, I did just that. Gushing all over my hand once again, it felt as if my head might explode. It was so intense I could feel it everywhere, like electricity pulsing through me. Giving someone else the power over my orgasm was possibly one of the most intoxicating things I’ve ever done. Even though I could just do it if I wanted to, being his submissive, being told what to do and what not to do, that was all I wanted. I wanted to be a good girl. I wanted him to think of me as his good girl. I wanted more than anything for us to be face to face, panting over each other, a messy, sweaty pile of entangled nakedness. That chemistry and electricity I had with myself – I wanted that with him. A man I’ve never met. A man I’ve only ever spoken to on the phone or via Skype a handful of times. A blog reader.
So, just so you’re in the loop, not only am I in what appears to be an on / off relationship with an angry old guy, I’m also becoming an inquisitive sub for a demanding Dom. And I need to make up my mind between them.