I always had what I would describe as a “thing” for being dominant. But I could never fully put myself into it. I would occasionally smack my hubs with the crop but it was normally a laughing matter. Not really to be taken seriously. I eventually decided my horse crop and flogger needed to touch flesh, for real. I’ve written about this before, how my hubs eventually got into doing these things. But I just now realized, it was for me. Yes, I asked him to act a certain way, to hit me with objects, but I didn’t command him to do it.
I ran across a blog post, http://delvingintodeviance.wordpress.com/2011/06/03/the-devaluation-of-male-submission/. Something that was said struck me:
I love pain. It makes me come. I instruct him in exactly what kind of pain I like and how to administer it, just as I tell him exactly how I want him to lick my cunt or finger me. I tell my submissive to do something that makes me come, and he does it. Exterior trappings or individual acts are not what make dominance and submission. It is the connection, the control; one person leading another on a journey of trust and intimacy. I am the one who leads.
Since “I am the one who leads” in those situations in my life, does that make me the dominant? Even though he is “acting” as one?
I haven’t written about one of the last times we pulled a prop out. It was my flogger, and I am pretty sure he was the one who said to get it. But once it was out, I instructed him what to do.
He was to hit and tease me with it, while I played with myself. I also wanted him to tell me to do things and if I said ‘no’, to hit me with the flogger. This worked incredible, my skin pink, from excitement and the lingering of leather to flesh. I came incredibly hard as the flogger continuously fondled and stung me.
After, he shoved his cock into my face and said “Suck my dick.”
Wanting to follow through on our plan, I looked him straight in the face, “No.”
Then he broke! He sheepishly nodded and said, “Okay.”
I got irritated- “What the fuck? You are supposed to tell me I have to. And hit me if I balk.”
He slipped back into dominant mode and did as I had instructed him. This was incredible, albeit slightly unreal because I knew he was really having to think about what was happening, not just doing.
So here’s my source of pondering, am I the dominant one? The line is too blurry for me to see clearly.
The hubs has become more comfortable with his sexual dominance over me. A few nights ago, he instructed me to move to the end of the Zeppelin, legs slightly spread, face to the floor. He moved onto my legs, so that he was sitting on me, and pounded ruthlessly. My cheek rubbed into the rug, my elbows tried to hold myself in place, but it was a lost cause. He put one hand onto my shoulder blade, forcing me to keep position. The mix of the angle he was penetrating me, with the sheer intensity of his lust, caused me to scream out over and over. Only stopping to try and catch my breath a few times, I’m lucky my neighbors are apparently oblivious to my loudness. This was exactly what I have been craving, him losing himself, becoming a creature of need.