Act 4, Scene 1: Warming up

He skipped a breath when she shut the door behind him. It was his first glimpse of Mistress A in person, and she was absolutely stunning... and so tall. Just about as tall as he was in her heels. Edgy and nervous as he was stepping into her studio, a rush came over him as he was contemplating the arresting beauty of her smiling face, her superbly sculpted body, and the rich mezzo voice that was inviting him into her web.

Mistress A led him to her selected playroom for the evening's session. It was quite a fair size for a single room BDSM-play setting, and contained more than enough toys and equipment to provide an eternity of subspace. A fairly large padded chair with spreader, a suspension bar with leather cuffs attached to a winch, and a bondage bed with metal cage bars extending most of the way around it were complemented by thick piles of bondage equipment, toys, and implements stacked on long pegs on one of the walls. On the window sills were a bunch of finer and more prickly tools. Finally, filing cabinets, one tall (perhaps 7-8 drawers) and one short (3-4 drawers), were placed on diagonally opposite corners of the room. He never quite discovered all of what was in those drawers, but for what Mistress A pulled from them, he would know by the time they were done that they held wonderful objects of torture and ecstasy.

The introduction was brief... he had provided her with a fair amount of background, and between what she had read about him and a quick phone conversation the day prior, Mistress A clearly felt like she had all the information she needed to enjoy the next few hours. As she left the space for a few moments, he was expected to strip naked and place his clothes on one of the hooks on the wall that held so much enticing equipment.

He waited for her return kneeling and looking down at the ground. As she returned, and created a warm feeling inside of him by telling him what she would get from him that evening, she didn't quite seem satisfied with his kneeling position. She reached over for a tall glass container full of small, highly polished pebbles, poured out about a third of them from the container, spread them over a small area on the carpeted floor, and ordered him to kneel on them. The discomfort was definitely felt but it was quite bearable. It did increase a notch when she ordered him to straighten up, to stand on his knees and to look at her. She told him that respect was nice but she did not want her beauty to be wasted. In a flash of rationality, as his grasp on reality was already starting to slip, he realized that she would have a better sense of his reactions when he was looking at her rather than looking away. Not that he would mind in the least... he was still in awe of the beauty of her face, and now he would get more of those playfully expressive, mischievous eyes, and her great smile, a smile both enticing and scorning. And her voice... firm, tantalizing, and contemptuous, was a siren call to which he would be unable to resist. And yet, that voice would remain the mental lighthouse which would be his only link to his actual here and now for the next few hours.

Mistress A had already given his nipples a few tweaks from her gloved hands when she reached over to the top of the small cabinet and pulled out a cigarette. She then proceeded to light it in a way that was at once so sexy and contemptuous. Since his youth he had had a huge fetish for beautiful women smoking, and she sent his mind reeling with just this one visual. In fact, the single visual of her smoking would have been powerful enough, but the cross-imagery of this just stunningly gorgeous dominant woman looking down on him, contemplating what to do with his surrendered will, washed a first wave of subspace over him. Mistress A's smile to his reaction was pure enjoyment, and it seemed to him like she was definitely going to hold that against him.

As she stepped back closer to him, she played with and pinched his nipples harder, one at a time, as she let the smoke fill the space around him. Perhaps by that time she realized how pliable he would be to her will and her whims, and then she described how she was going to fuck him that evening. She was going to fuck his mind, fuck his body, and exploit his frustration of not having had release since she had ordered him to restrain.

Once she was done with her cigarette and her verbal tormenting, she came in even closer to him, pushed his chin up and ordered him to open his mouth as she leaned just a bit over him. She very slowly and deliberately spit into his mouth, and as it landed onto his tongue, a wonderfully intense burst of the sweetness of her saliva and the smokiness from the cigarette exploded in his mouth and provided him with a rush that ran from his mouth throughout his whole body.

Enjoying the sun setting...

Firmly but in the most intoxicating manner, she placed the collar around his neck as she was sitting on the edge of the bed. He was kneeling at her feet, hands behind his back, looking down at her beautiful boots, respectfully not taking in any of her beauty despite the incredible temptation to do so.

She had called him into the bedroom, and as soon as he got a glimpse of her, in knee-length black boots, black panties and bra, and her own collar, he knew what was expected. He went down on all fours, and slowly, deliberately, crawled to her. He removed his jeans, and T-shirt, and assumed the most submissive position he could, feeling the vibe of her mischievousness even before she spoke. The smell of the leather implements on the bed was already making his head spin and his stomach tense, and that was before he picked up on the scent of her fragrance... spicy, understated, deliciously making him hungry for her.

The light trailing of her nails against his skin as she fixed the collar in position, in contrast to the smooth coolness of the collar, was suddenly overwhelming, like there was nothing else in the world. Once the collar in place, she grabbed the leather handcuffs and told him to present his hands. As she was strapping them on, he felt his will give way to hers. With a completely evil, possessive deliberateness, she closed the locks on each of the wrist restraints with a clean "click", as to emphasize that there was no turning back. Placing his hands herself behind his back, she clipped them together, and stood for a while to enjoy both her handiwork and what was to come.

Next came the ankle cuffs, as she gave his ass a slap so he could raise himself from sitting on them. She strapped those in too, and also clipped them in place.

Finally, she reached for the dog leash, clipped it to his collar, and gave it a tug as she told him to follow her. The knee steps were short but quick. As he tried his best to follow her, he got a quick glance at the stunning view that was before him: the beautiful legs half encased in the black material of the boots, the revealing black lacy panties and bra, the leash coming out of her right hand, and the leather riding crop she held in her left hand.

They did a slow walk around the next room before moving on to the dinning area where she turned around one of the chairs and sat down. She pulled him close to the chair facing him, and told him to sit back as she pulled on the leash. His chin right next to the edge of the chair, he was lost in the scent of her body's fragrance even before she was ready to start. She got up, straddling the chair, and started pulling down her panties. She turned to the side a bit as she put a foot on the chair, sliding her panties over the knee and down her leg. As she lifted her foot out, they fell down the other leg, and she just stepped out of them, sitting back onto the chair.

She pulled the leash tighter, until he had no choice but to place his head where she wanted, and he quickly got high on the sweet smell that was engulfing his whole being. She reached back to take hold of the riding crop, and controlled the pace of his service to her, changing his rhythm by short, sharp strokes, and marking changes of technique by single, stronger strokes.

As he was slowly bringing her closer to climax, he felt a regret that he couldn't stretch out the experience longer. He was all hers to do as she pleased, and it was a good place to be. There was an indescribable warmth and comfort inside of him to be be in such a place. He wished that he could extend this for longer, but the pace was clearly dictated by his Goddess, and he wanted nothing more than to bring her pleasure as she wanted.

Then, after an incredibly erotic moment for him where his nose and a much larger area than his lips were covered with fluids from inside her, something wonderfully unexpected happened: she wanted more. While the second round was much shorter, the strokes were faster and sharper, the pace was more furious, and the tugging from the leash harsher. The second release was even more powerful than the first one, and he so wanted to just stay there and enjoy the moment.

But it was not to be. She was sated for now, and leaving the riding crop on the dining table, she let go of the leash and left for an instant to get her bath robe. As she slipped it on, she reached for the leash again, and pulled him close to her, uncoupling his hands from his back, and clipping them in front. Now on all fours, she walked him over to a counter top where her purse was, and grabbed her cigarettes and lighter. She headed toward their balcony, leading him by the leash, and he did his dutiful best not to slow her down.

Once on the balcony, she positioned him on all fours, parallel to the front guard of the balcony. She stood between him and the guard, lifted the back part of the bath robe over him, and she sat on the lower part of his back. She wiggled her bum teasingly as she sat at a bit of an angle, undoubtedly to have a better view of the sun setting from the top floor balcony. She lit her cigarette, took in a deep inhale, and had a quiet exhale as he could smell the smoke coming out. The smell of the smoke was just another part of the sensory overload he was experiencing. While she was very light, his position on hands and knees was somewhat uncomfortable, especially on the latter, because of the hard concrete of the balcony. But this was a mild, exciting discomfort that was barely noticeable in comparison to what he was feeling elsewhere. Her warm naked ass on his back felt like the most erotic thing that had ever happened to him, and then, to excite him even further, he started feeling a little bit of moistness over the back of his kidney area. Between drags, she gently ran her nails down his back, and sometimes she reached up beyond the collar, gently scratching the scalp on the back of his head. Once or twice, she grabbed a handful of hair and gave his head a tug, just as a reminder of her total control over him. But they were loving hard tugs... they felt as much a gesture of appreciation to him as displays of control.

Serving as her seat right then, right there, after what happened a bit earlier, having her enjoy the view of the sun going down as she relaxed, was just the best thing in the entire universe. It could not get any better. And he was in a happy place.

Perceptions and Expectations

So what does a dominant or submissive look like? How do they behave? What is their personality like? How do all of these match up with the desires in their mind and the longing in their heart?

And is there a difference inside the scene and in real life (RL)?

I enjoy taking people aback a bit. Most of the time, I don't set out to do so. It keeps them wondering. Especially those who know me. But the reaction is not always positive, and sometimes, it can be quite the opposite.

Overwhelmingly, people within the BDSM scene think of me as dominant from the very first meeting (and for the most part, they are right). Either that, or they don't really think about it because they have a hard time reading me. At a distance I'm cold, fairly expressionless, with a low key sense of humour. I'll laugh, but it better be good and witty.

I'm sure size has to much to do with it. Inevitably, there is a certain association of power with size.

Almost as much as size, it's difficult for me to hide my confidence and attitude. I have a lifetime of RL experiences, successes, and challenges that have made me the way I am. And if I do say so myself (please forgive the bragging), I am well-educated, well-read, and a cultured individual, and that tends to be apparent as soon as a I open my mouth.

Unless someone's first encounter with me is one of those rare occasions when I play a submissive role, I don't believe I have ever been perceived as anything else than dominant.

So why is it so much of a shock to those around me when I occasionally do take a submissive role? If not a shock, something they have a hard time accepting? Or in some cases, something they refuse to accept?

I remember a number of discussions or events where this has come up, and I have found dealing with most of the reactions rather challenging.

"B" was a wonderful alpha-sub that I had many sessions with. Over the course of several months, our public and private play went beyond the scene and we developed a wonderful platonic friendship. During the course of conversations about travelling, philosophy, arts, the BDSM scene, and more, she had asked me something along the lines of what I enjoy most about the scene, and what I would like to do more often if I had the chance. I had answered very truthfully that I would enjoy to play a submissive role more often. At that time, I hadn't done so in many years. The sense of betrayal coming back across the table was palpable. I had clearly bumped the vase over the shelf, and the image she had of me had definitely been shattered for a few moments. I can't say whether that statement remained in her mind in a suspended state of disbelief, or whether she decided to ignore my answer altogether, but it was clear in her gaze at the time that something did not compute.

"BS" was a sophisticated, brilliantly smart, and witty sub that I became friends with. It was clear from the start that our playing styles were not suited for each other, but we developed a terrific friendship that lasted for over a year, including going out to fetish events together, even if it was to play with other people. A stunning looking young woman, I was for a while the best friend of every male top that wanted to play with her once they realized that "BS" and I showed up together but did not play together. I always chuckled when I was approached by bold male tops politely inquiring about our status and/or asking permission to play with her.

But "BS" and I had two minor fights or arguments. Both of them when we discussed the concept of switching, and that I enjoyed switching. To be fair, I think she had more of an issue with the very idea of switching than of me doing it, especially since she had never seen me switch or play a submissive role. But again, there was something in what I was saying that seemed quite wrong for her.

In one of the most memorable evenings ever, my Dearly Beloved (DB) and I fulfilled a huge fantasy of ours when she spent over an hour on make-up transforming me into a tiger, and we walked into the dungeon with me on my knees and her as the dominatrix trainer. We are talking orange-and-black face and full-body make-up job, with black latex briefs, black leather collar, and leather handcuffs and ankle cuffs. The weekly regulars to that dungeon, who knew us well, were stunned. For a moment, floggers stopped stinging, paddles stopped warming, and everyone held their breath once they recognized us. Beyond the mind-blowing play we had that evening, the experience was noteworthy for some of the younger submissives that all of sudden found themselves approaching me and chatting with me without the heavy etiquette of dealing with a top. Some of them had fun, while nobody was looking, pulling on my tiger tail to slow me down and get me in trouble, as my lovely dominant mistress for the evening, my DB, was leading me on a leash on all fours toward the racks area.

Still, the reaction in the eyes of those who knew us was one of surprise, disbelief, something wrong or odd, and in some cases, diminishment. In view of the fact that my DB had been seen topping women, men, and sometimes double-topping women with me, clearly, those thoughts and feelings were not directed at her. For all of them, it was the first time they saw me in such a role.

While our fantasy evening was a huge hit, over the years, even my DB has had issues with the part of me that longs for a submissive experience. For her, I've always been a source of strength, of stability, of wisdom, and of sanity. She has seen what role I have played in the community, and in RL. She thinks I'm much bigger than life. I don't think she understands that part of me, despite the fact that it is part of her (she also switches), and somehow, after all these years and many tentative discussions, I'm not sure she will ever accept it. I think there is too much RL baggage there.

* * * * *

I'm very secure intellectually in my feelings about my alternative sexuality. It is an extraordinary world of discovery and sensations I feel privileged to have had a chance to explore. I feel privileged to have gone further in the realm of sexuality than most people are even aware exist. Topping is a very erotic experience for me, and, as I've mentioned before, playing a submissive role is an incredibly intense, powerful, and deep experience for me. Yet it is ironic how challenging it has been to find acceptance for my submissive side in people of the scene, and among those that know me. As secure as I am about myself, about my sexuality, alternative and not, those reactions have left me a little embarrassed, a little ashamed, a little worried. Worried that it will always be difficult to find outlet for those feelings. Ashamed that I'm doing something wrong and of having those feelings. Embarrassed that I'm doing something that doesn't find acceptance in the eyes of those who should know better.

Of course, it takes two to tango, and I don't have to let myself be bothered by the aforementioned reactions. But in the course of letting myself be vulnerable to a certain extent, something I do so rarely in RL, I guess I find it difficult to filter out those reactions, and they have stayed with me.

So what DOES a dominant or submissive look like? How DO they behave? What kind of personality SHOULD they have? Expectations can give those who have them a misguided understanding of reality. Perceptions can be deceiving. And both can hurt a little bit... and not in a good way.

Act 1, Scene1: Symbols

His very first glimpse of Mistress S took his breath away. With a stunning figure, impeccable fetish clothing, and taller than he had expected, even discounting the height of the heels of her boots, her arrival into the waiting room was the first of many peaks to come.

A few matters of prefered etiquette later, par for the course for such a first meeting, he was collared before being made to sit on the ground before her. A rather pleasant and highly erotic conversation ensued to discuss where the day's session would lead them. It was easy to focus on what Mistress S was saying, despite the intense emotions and the mental states storming within him, because beyond her voice, the rest of the universe had the volume turned down.

The Mistress on a chair with him sitting on the ground before her... the collar she had placed around his neck... the twinkle of her gaze... the mischeviousness in her smile... the shiny black clothing she was wearing, both hiding and revealing the form of a goddess... the long black boots that were level with where he was sitting... the racks, tables, toys, and ropes of the space around them... the stainless steel water dog bowl she had filled for him in case he needed to quench his thirst... The symbols around him evoked some of the most powerful imagery his mind had come across and compiled. And yet, here he was, in an environment that would create a brand new set of some of the most vivid experiences, emotions, and images he would ever live through. And here she was, ready to start creating on a new canvass he had brought in just for her.

She was visibly satisfied at the fact that he had few expectations. Likes and dislikes of both parties had already been exchanged, and within the very wide range of possibilities left, he made it clear, in the appropriately humble manner, that he was there to serve, and he was there for her BDSM pleasure and enjoyment. There would be no other purpose to his presence than to have the opportunity to submit to her, whatever she was in the mood for.

* * * * *
The symbols were, and are, ultimately, powerful accessories to the experience. Some of them more important, some of them less; some of them are interchangeable, others are not. All of them can be intoxicatingly erotic in their own way. But it remains that BDSM is about individuals, and that interaction is at the core of what the power exchange is about. In this case, Mistress S' personality, her skills, her experience, her will, her love for what she does, is the real fabric of such an encounter. And power exchange is the pattern. Everthing else is there to accessorize the experience.

Origins (1)

8 years old. Third grade. Small kid. Youngest in the class. Exceedingly shy. A favorite target of bullies.

During rec break, most of us in the class, boys and girls, were involved in a major snowball fight. Forts... prisoners... snowballs stockpiled in advance... the whole thing. One clean shot made you a POW... until members of your team overwhelmed the fort where you were held and rescued you.

For some reason that I wasn't really conscious of, in the middle of the action, I started daydreaming that two cute girls from the opposing camp, P and S, would be the ones to capture me. After nailing me with a snowball that would make a satisfying WHAP! against my snowsuit, they would call me out, and subdued, I would be marched over to their fort. Imagining myself held captive by them, I felt a warm feeling inside of me, a sense of relief that I was no longer on the run from other assaillants, I wouldn't get hit in the face by a snowball, or bullied by the class meanies as a sideshow to the actual snowball war. At the same time, I would be in the company of two pretty young girls that I evidently liked, without knowing or understanding why, and I would not have to go through the incredibly challenging task (and without doubt, embarassing task) of having to ask them to be their friend.

Some time later, maybe weeks, but more likely months, on a family trip, I found myself extending the daydream/fantasy when playing in the back of the car. Probably because my father braked suddenly, I rolled off the backseat and I was awkwardly trapped on the floor between the front seat and the backseat of the car. I stayed there for a while. I found my mind straying to a different place, again with an unexplicable warm feeling inside of me, as I found myself captured once more by P and S. I had been bound by rope, in that Cowboys & Indians type binding, with the rope coiled two dozen times around my upper body, in a cartoony kind of way. I was lying on the floor before the backseat of the car, at their feet, and they placed their feet over me to keep me still, looking down smiling in satisfaction at the captive they had in their possession.

This vision/fantasy was a re-occuring one for me over the course of the next 6 years or so. I remember that it often came back when on long car trips, or when a freshly-made bed had had the covers tucked tightly under the mattress, either because I slipped into it while it was like that, which happened occasionally at home, or because, during a stay at a hospital for a rather late incidence of a childhood disease (11 years old), the nurse would tuck us into bed each evening and create nearly immobilizing bondage by placing the sheets so far under the mattress.

The "captured" vision/fantasy took a back seat to other ones when, in my mid-teens, I came across my first novel about a dominant woman teacher forcibly seducing one of her young male students... in a strict but non-abusive way. This book led me to the discovery of a whole variety literature dealing with dominant women and their shy, younger male objects of passion...

Freud, anyone?

Favorite Things... a View From the Bottom

Inspired by a post by morningstar (May 20th, 2008), I thought I provide my own list of my favorite things. Of course, a second list, a view from the top, will eventually be necessary... Two disclaimers: first, not all of these are appropriate for newcomers, ans second, this is a personal list, so it may not work for everyone.

As a submissive, in no particular order, some of my favorite things are:
A caring sadist: someone that will accept the gift of submission with respect and honor. And who will be absolutely giddy at the prospect of what she can do with her new toy...
Bondage: nothing drives the point home that you are at the mercy of someone else like bondage does. Being bound is the signature on the contract of the power exchange...
Floggers/whips: the iconic beautiful, dominant woman wielding a flogger or a whip is a syren song that cannot be resisted. It will bring about altered states of mind if she can use them safely and competently.
Spanking/paddles: as appetizer, as desert, or as the main course, there is something just really satisfying about spanking and/or the use of paddles. Interestingly, it never seems like there's enough of it until there is too much...
Nipple torture: seriously now... is it really BDSM if nipple clamps aren't used? There are few body parts that can provide as a high a ROA (reward on abuse) as the nipples.
Puppy/pony play: makes one feel almost as submissive are one can get without being tied up. The head trip is directly proportional to how much the mistress enjoys it, and how obedient the pet is willing to be.
CBT: about the only thing that can make one more mentally vulnerable than being naked. Funny how CBT is the one type of bondage that no one struggles against or tries to break free from... the less movement, the better...
Servitude: is a room ever cleaned as fast, as well, or with as much enthusiasm as when it is part of a BDSM scene? All of a sudden, keeping chores isn't so boring when wearing fetish clothing, having hurtful implements hanging, or having someone with a crop watching over.
Piercing: within the wide range of possibilities that may come about when making the gift of submission, few things are as intoxicatingly erotic and sensual as offering one's body as a canvas. The needles may form the pattern, but the shades, hues, and colors are all created in one's mind.
Electric play: the combination of the wide range of sensations provided by electric toys and the huge surface of the body they can be applied to are second to none in competent hands. Just try not to think of Luke Skywalker being tortured by the Emperor in Episode 6...
Fire play: the ultimate in the sheer intensity and beauty of the scene, and for the synergy between the players. The nearer to the side of the cliff, the more extraordinary the view is...

There is so much more... but this should keep you busy for a while...

Quirky Observations

1. Recent car commercial by Nissan featuring high-performance CBT transmission...
2. Vanity license plate in a parking lot that read "UBN BAD"
3. Found on a youtube-type website where a trampling video was playing: an advertisement and link for a (vanilla) dating website that said "Have you found your crush?"