Monday
1PM: Flying home from a quick business trip, and trying, in vain, to sleep. Instead, I’m thinking about my girls.
I live in New York with my partner, Sarah. Well, primary partner; we each have a few other girlfriends we’re romantic and sexual with. A through-line in all those relationships, though, is that I’m the one holding the riding crop. I’m their loving dominatrix girlfriend. And one especially needy, submissive girlfriend is waiting for me back home.
At the moment, we’re hosting Anja and her partner Cait (who Sarah and I are both involved with). Days before she arrived at my apartment, Anja asked over Facebook messenger: “Do you think we could scene while I’m there?”, an elegant way of saying “would you like to do naughty, S&M-y things to my body while I’m there?” How could I say no?
Anja and I met ages ago at a conference I was reporting on. Her aloofness belied a roaring passion. A willowy, nerdy programmer who needed the release only sexual pain could provide–spanking, caning, cropping, hair-pulling, biting; the works. Me, her partner, and her other girlfriends are all too happy to oblige that endless need.
A through-line in all those relationships, though, is that I’m the one holding the riding crop. I’m their loving dominatrix girlfriend.
That defined our sexual relationship from the start, the exquisite way she’d close her eyes and squeakily gasp when I took a fistful of her sunset hair and pulled. We don’t make each other orgasm. Our genitals are all but forgotten in favour of a pleasure cycle that electrifies each of us in different ways. Her from my touch, me from the utter joy in seeing and feeling her reactions. I’ve dommed quite a few people, but everyone is special in their own way; with Anja there’s a purity of need, the way her eyes light up when she looks up at me, kneeling in rapture.
I’ve missed her. I think I might even love her.
Now I’m rushing back to New York to be with her.
The first night she confessed to being a painslut, during an orgy, I’d left a bleeding cruciform on another lover’s back, and then focused entirely on Anja, her eyes shut, open mouth trying to curl into a smile as her pleasure reached new…
I suddenly realised the flight attendant was trying to get my attention. “Chicken, or pasta?”
2PM: Lunch done (chicken) I go back to thinking about kink. Kink gives me another way to feel my body in an all-over way, for other sensations to course through me and pull me into the moment, the way spicy food or a stiff drink might. You thrive in that second, aware of every molecule in your body. Your perspective feels total.
5PM: Traffic made my trip home agonisingly slow, but when I saw Anja open that front door all stress scattered away. Like a good service-submissive, she was quick to grab my bags and scurry them to their proper place. I stripped my blouse and skirt suit off then and there; I had half a mind to just jump her. And Cait. And Sarah.
5:10PM: When I fly I dress to impress–all the way down. There I was in a black push up bra, matching panties, and lace top stockings. Even as a domme, you still yearn for the approval of your lovers; you thrive on their admiration of your body; it makes you feel like bronze icon in an eternal temple.
5:15PM: I bent Anja over my armchair and put on some Wagner: The Tannhäuser Overture. Good for spanking. I got out my red silicone tipped riding crop and got to work. I pulled down her skirt and began striking her through polka dotted panties. You start slow, slapping gently at first, you warm the skin to your touch and addict it to your strikes.
5:20PM: I ramp it up, feeling more and more present in myself as I crop her… and then the horns came in. Hard, long strikes singing through the air, her flesh yielding in ripples beneath each.
5:24PM: I almost didn’t notice that Cait and Sarah had sat to watch; Cait sits cross legged on the floor, mouth agape. I make a show of it as if I were a conductor myself, waving my hands in elegant streaks that flow into each crop strike.
I bent Anja over my armchair and put on some Wagner: The Tannhäuser Overture. Good for spanking
5:26PM: I asked Anja if she’s doing okay and if there was anything I shouldn’t do. With great domination comes great responsibility. “I want more, Mistress!” came the cry. I grabbed her hair, smiling sinfully. The music swelled and I obliged.
5:29PM: A mighty torrent of strikes pounded down as I tightly focused to land each blow with precision; with how hard I was hitting, I couldn’t afford to miss and accidentally hit her tailbone. And then it was over. I bow to my audience of two.
And Anja? I pulled her hair, scratched her back, and clawed her arse to really rub in the pain of the strikes. She loves that. She didn’t come; she got something much, much better. Anja melted until I bade her to stand, pulling down her panties to reveal the blossoming inkblots of bruises I’d painted on her, presenting her to my other lovers like a masterpiece. I was home; so was she.
RELATED: “I’m Into Kink…And A Virgin”
Related stories
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
