Sunday, we played casual over webcam, myself in a clingy leather look mini dress but also wrapped in a loose black cardigan, and him no collar or other symbols except the hidden presence of a moderately sized butt plug.
I did not plan, let my mood decide where things went. As I am prone to I let a riff about my future desire to lay out belated birthday spankings with a hard backed hair brush pull us into that intimate state of focus on eachother, and the theme of the day became discipline.
Discipline is not a common activity for us. I don’t like the sensation of not receiving compliance and correcting it, most of the time, and have a hard time eroticizing not getting what I asked for. But it serves a purpose, and I ventured there: had he been bad?
He, squirming and enjoying the penitent vulnerability, confessed to missing three days of daily edging. Technically within compliance- as with most of my orders it was and if/then. If he is not sufficiently stressed by life, then edge and tell me about it.
But I had given him the option that if he acquired guilt he could purge it in scouring. I am attracted to anxious people, and understand a fair amount about their psychology, one part being the painful state of feeling insecure about disappointing long after the disappointed party has gotten over it. And I know any anxious person go into a guilt spiral when they contemplate the comfort of being told something they feel they caused is still pricking them.
Punishment here is an act of reassurance. I mean, ultimately it’s makeup sex for kinky people, something we mutually enjoy to turn off the scumbag brain going NoNoNoBad
I can’t, with distance and Covid19, obviously do pain play the usual ways, but while I am not a fan of the self spanking (I think I could get into literal self flagelation with a knotted rope scourge, but we don’t have one), we have the pavloc and the relative safety of stress positions.
Although pushing a button to make a zap, wince and erection throb will never get old, I like stress positions in particular, for Silver, because he is in meticulous physical shape (my cute little gym bunny!) and is the sort of person to whom if you said “fuck yourself until you are tired” he would do so not until his arm was sore, but until he was a weakly twitching heap on the carpet.
Summoning my disciplinarian voice, which for the record, is still in the territory of “croon”, but conveys a slight edge to ratchet tension, I ordered him to strip. This, he did so, shucking off clothes with wild abandon.
So I made him stop, remember to fold everything neatly. I enjoyed the enthusiasm he peeled off with, don’t get me wrong. There’s an erotic thrill in the strip and toss, but the Aesthetic is a dominant’s most useful weapon in maintaining a unified mood.
Chastened by my observation of his flattering but accidentally disobedient display of eagerness, everything else was removed and duly folded, then piled in a tidy stack and held, fancy waiter style, on a flat palm with arm extended.
He edged for me and I corrected him accordingly, reminding him I would never discourage him from being excited, but he still needed to remember for the sake of remembering, and finding satisfaction, we moved on.
I made him hold the stress position called “motorcycle” which is basically a wall sit sans wall and with your arms up, and edge the three times he said he missed. During that he had to repeat several times, the first because he forgot to count out loud (to be fair I didn’t tell him to) and the next few times because his legs had enough.
Anguished, exhausted, vulnerable. I stressed that not doing wasn’t the failure as much as not telling me. And that I didn’t mind him collapsing and trying over and over again.
As much as he endured for me, I also layered on cooing, encouragement, reassurance. I am a sadist with a soft heart. I love his suffering and making him so makes me gooey inside. My physical arousal at each desperate groan when is strength gave out was matched with a certain sympathy.
Good boy. In the aftermath of his punishment the topic turned to the erotic, asking him when he did have free permission to cum (basically before me). What moment in fantasy was his release?
We all have our triggers. Mine is usually when the text hits a climax demonstration of some symbolic extreme loss of agency. Not shockingly I tend to read a lot of modification, brainwashing and captivity stories. And, as I mentioned these are often vile, physically impossible nonsense, and most definitely the sort of stuff we firmly call “cnc” to separate the barrier between really wanting to keep someone in your basement and imaging elaborate scenarios where this might be possible but no real persons are harmed.
His trip, more often than not, is the moment when the victim-protagonist succumbs to the control, hypnotic or otherwise, usually a symptom there of being their own orgasm.
So thus, I pushed, no orgasm until I take something from him permanently, only endless edging. He could either wait until I take his virginity in October (mine now!), or come up with something else.
Right hand continuously stroking a rather immensely thick erection, he thought for a moment and daringly suggested his twitter user name.
“You have a twitter account?”
Yes, lurking to follow points of interest, including a quiet follow when I first propositioned him back in November 2019 (American Thanksgiving), after I gave him my various and sundry online details so he could get to know my sexuality. Unlike Ferns, I treat my body of work so important to my core self that I do not want sexual or romantic contact with someone who has no interest in it.
Also of course, predating me, Silver quietly follows other content makers and dommes, either past service providers or persons of interest- this being the actual revelation. I actually am not sure what to do with that information since while I am a big believer in healthy relationships when practical with exes and in trust that it’s fine to think your friends, or other people are hot, I am not sure I want to pry into what feels like their intimacies.
For example, I enjoyed him sharing a few past scene photos providers had snapped of him, but in these cases the “she” wasn’t in the photo and I could admire her work more abstractly.
Providers aren’t exes, but they add the desire in me to treat them with the same respect and accommodation. Although I find the “true love waits” purity of a one partner only rhetoric alarming, I see the concept that intimacy and romance change a person, paid or otherwise, as a feature not a bug.
But, obviously providers don’t want some civie patiently slotting them into the same category I do of former members of my kid brother’s polycule, which is to say a distant sense of positive obligation that they have remotely plausible chance to turn up and be given a cup of tea.
So I get ridiculously British concerned about manners over it, a sort of fumbling divide by zero where I am feeling awkward because I am imagining a dominatrix bothering to reach out to a former, fairly casual client to catch up because she is in town or whatever. I project that role onto a hypothetical *them* and then immediately feel wildly embarrassed about daring to presume. Because obviously that isn’t plausible.
You can add a third meta hypothetical of said poor dominatrix standing in my kitchen patiently looking perplexed while my overly fussy brain steams out the ears harder than the kettle I am making her tea with.
Back to the moment (and erection) at hand
It’s not the first time Silver’s told me something relationship related mid-edge. Last time I ordered him to confess I learned, while pumping his cock, that he had politely sent his former dominatrix a letter cancelling her (er, his?) services and told his parents I existed.
I think it’s kind of endearing that unless he’s come recently, my presence tends to cause the urge to furiously masturbate.
I teased him about being “sneaky”, and I admit to a little spur of sharpness, even though contextually it was something that made the most practical sense, mostly because I assumed he did not have one after he mentioned not wanting to participate in the hurly burly of the barely moderated social sphere.
But, I also reassured, enjoying the bit of fight and the vulnerability of having a secret pocket he compulsively had withheld.
I leaned into this, pushing for more, asking what else, and he offered out handing over previously stashed erotica and porn (not to deny by my preference, rather as intimate data).
Yes, but I knew he had those. What else?
He had a pause here, a mental barrel scrape, and I observed something very true but very difficult.
With every relationship, within 1 to 6 months, that person’s core structure become self evident, non-negotiables that I accept. Silver is an intensely private person. He will omit to mention things you would think were normal- not just a sort of grey rock, but affecting a river tumbled smoothness.
He would never give you his opinion on politics or share the latest documentary he is listening to. He wouldn’t mention an event he attended and spare any show of temper, blanketed under the most careful bland patience, withdrawing from the hint of social drama.
I had previously accepted pieces of him will surface in their own time. We might be ancient and well wizened decades from now, only for me to discover that every day he takes ten minutes to do an act of anonymous charity, or that he is a huge fan of 90s EuroPop sensation Aqua.
But, without thinking it would be hurtful, I teased about his tendency to lie by omission. I had meant to underline the known contrast that Silver is deeply submissive and immensely independent and individualistic. It did not carry that.
This isn’t the first time I have played with the real. The other week I did a mind fuck, narrating that his (normal) anxieties about the relationship were actually his real self asserting over my seductive hypnosis, producing extremely aroused shivers of fear from him.
This time he visibly shrank back a bit and his eyes took on a hurt cast, small an vulnerable. I could not and would not eroticize that. His penis, previously rock hard, gently curled towards the left.
Oops.
Silver did not cry off, but after a moment of reading his expression I did, breaking tone. There’s a difference in the way I use my voice, and had I been there in person it would be my arms that held him.
I do have to be careful, for me what is a reasonable right to privacy, is not necessarily a part of the self everyone is proud of. I told him that I loved the whole him, that I didn’t need all truths just for the sake of collecting them and preferred him to keep his space and secrets.
Even these blog posts are run through him first, catching anything, in description of his life or our shared intimacy, that is too much and too raw to feed to the world.
Me keeping a blog is non-negotiable, me treating his own story with care is reasonable.
He told me that it was a hard moment where he thought he might safeword but he also thought I was really upset. And obviously, in his mind, he couldn’t safeword out of my raw feelings?
I told him he very well could. It is ok to take a break on a heated or difficult discussion, to make some things off limits, even to someone who loves you.
Obviously there are practicals, but ultimately short of trying to shut down “aaaugh you are literally on fire” a safeword is BDSM’s best contribution to interpersonal relationships.
We talked a bit until the raw feelings dissipated, in in the way that we do my words began to arouse him again, drawing his cock back up skyward and him restored. And I took back that purr of presence, by gesture and word telling him I was forcing him to come for me.
Swift, hard, and with a complex sort of regret. Tease and denial versus making a man come is a bit of wanting to have my cake and eat it too. I want that rapt attention and desperation, but also I want him to have that mind blanking sensation of release.
And then cozy discussion after, the usual routine, cupped palm to avoid anointing the carpet with thwarted biological imperative, rinse, towel around his middle. Chatting about the week ahead, we pretend covid and the US political situation wasn’t ominously intervening on the earnestness of our longings.
Parting ways a tiny bit of sad quirked, and he picked up on it and asked if something was wrong. I explained that I was just labile after, and it wasn’t his place to need to reassure me for something that was a bit of echo sad for finding a boundary. I told him, honestly, it would dissipate on it’s own.
By the next day it’s mostly gone, and fits into my knowledge that my ability to deserve trust as a dominant is not born of telepathy but testing, and proof that I won’t mangle things when tenderness is needed.
I discussed this with Silver a bit more than his usual read through because it deals so much with his vulnerability. I do ask you treat the privilege of his consent to share with the same respect I do.
