Fantasies of Taking My Submissive’s Virginity

Relieve him of his virginity
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Silver is somewhere out in the Midwest doing family things like the caring, good son that he is, but in that time I am entertained by a fantasy of fucking him.

I already told you that he is a technical virgin. The reality of his “innocence” is, of course complex. He builds desire together with me with sophisticated experience because he didn’t particularly limit himself in exploring his kinks, just (in my perception) the complexities of wading through three miles of waist deep vanilla courtship expectations, just to reach a possible opportunity to try an activity that wasn’t the highlight of his fantasies, provided no incentive.

But I like penis in vagina sex, so it’s on the table. Between Covid-19 and some incredibly complex feelings on my side, it hasn’t happened yet. But, not for lack of desire.

He seems extremely interested in losing his virginity now.

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Covert Kink, Desperation, and Crossborder Femdom in Covid19

I don’t want to make a spectacle. Regardless of my personal politics of wanting a world where collars are as welcome as wedding rings, we want to go some place private and fuck, not have our covert kink in a national park.

I want him chained to my bed, instead I am picking a goth lite outfit, and a cream and blue picnic tablecloth, while refreshing the weather report over and over again.

We definitely do not want to make our way through the neatly manicured lawns of the park, and past every other couple doing the same thing to find this relative privacy. I have to throw a blanket over our laps because my nibbling on his ear gets him rock hard, and all our twining up together causes my skirt to ride up to my waist.

From time to time there is a pause as passerbys stray too close. We are mindful of the fact that this is a “family” park. I think there was even a wedding going on at one point.

Fuck. I want to practice the glide of a strapon in and out of his ass, and instead we are discovering an advanced form of footsie.

A boomer grandpa, local, notes we have been there almost long enough “to pay taxes”. Silver deflect politely would that jocular kind of conflict prevention Midwest politeness that he seems to manage to keep everyone at arm’s length with. 

I really, really don’t want any of these people involved in my love life, but here we are, like a couple of teenagers dodging our parents, sighing with a sticky yearning that glues our gaze to each other. This is time two, last time was for my birthday, covertly hypnotizing my submissive at the park.

But it’s a date, and I have taken care with my makeup, although the humidity pulls my dark hair into curls. A halo of short pieces standing up about my scalp, while the first hints of my grey hair peek where I will brush dye this week to turn it back dark. Nonetheless, I feel content that I look pretty, and feel myself. The only real hint of sexuality is black thigh highs, opaque and fixed to my pale skin with sock glue.

Silver’s dressed casually too, just like last time. Fabric soft to my touch, tasteful, and if you didn’t know there was a pattern, rather camouflaged by maleness to appear invisible. I guess the word is Normcore? I like it. He makes me feel safe in a way I haven’t figured out how to articulate completely yet.

He also brings other supplies in a black duffel bag, and a slightly imperfect latte order, which he handles getting wrong with an acceptance I prefer. The picnic lunch for me is berries, olives, cherries and smoked salmon, and for him a simple wrap.

I meet him where the path leads off into the American parking, hopping the edge of a decorative flower bed to get closer quicker to kiss him. Over the course of this long quarantine he’s lost a little bit of weight, and I feel it when we press together. As usual he has almost no scent other than the imperceptible pheromones that I suppose you can’t really put a smell label to, but there is that warmth in aliveness of another human, and that presence that I love.

By now in our relationship I’ve learned the density of his body the stiffness so well, I could recognize him by touch. It’s an exploration that started the first time I pushed him down onto his carpet. I can’t be so bold, here in the park.

But femdom isn’t about the obvious costumes, and it isn’t about needing elaborate furniture. It’s not even about sweeping gestures you can see from a mile away. I can be subtle and I can be so appropriate I could carry on in the front pews of a church. I fit our dynamic into this space, where it belongs.

The only hint of what we’ve done so far is like an inside joke only we get: a pocket watch that hangs around my neck on a long brass tinted chain. It doesn’t look naughty, and if you weren’t a hypnosis fetishist or you didn’t know what we did together, you wouldn’t know what it implied. When I show it to him, after we’re cuddled up together, he ends up with his hand wrapped around. 

It’s less what I do, this time, but what it means.

It means I love him. It means that I see the idea of swinging a watch and speaking in a trance pulling sing-song sexy. It means that I meet him half-way on any perversion, not out of indulgence but because it makes me wet.

So much of kink really is just elaborately overwrought romantic gestures with a fig leaf of harshness. All the business of collars and promises of obedience, and the other ridiculous backstage scaffold to make power exchange work, ridiculous romantic drama. I swear half the attraction to this is your ability to go over the top and keep your street cred.

Take our little bit of sneaky bondage: binding Silver’s wrists with a hand dyed grey silk ribbon. The gesture is covert kink again and not so obviously in bondagey anyone can tell what we are doing. Later, the ribbon ends up around his neck as an eccentric accessory.

Who specifically obsesses for weeks over finding ribbon soft and perfect enough to be suitable? The poor etsy purveyor who expected to sell it to decorate bridal bouquets contends with a lower star rating because I think it frays too much for the aesthetic I wanted.

I care so darn much about these things.

Meanwhile, his urge to serve means he has yet again brought me flowers, this time pink lilies, with almost tiger like stripes. He wants to give more to me. I can tell he really does.

Normal relationships don’t let you do that kind of thing. You would come across as weird and obsessive. Maybe on special ritual occasions it would be permitted, but things like him automatically bringing me a bouquet just for this casual little hangout (at least for white educated, middle class leftie nerds), would otherwise be seen as a bit much. Here? Perfect.

I think as much as people focus on kink as whips, leather and giving yourself as an object, kink is just as much about the permission to transgress social boundaries without transgressing personal boundaries. It’s the meaning we assign to symbols, not the symbols themselves that have the power.

And some covert kink is more physically hidden.

It’s funny, even with hours of the spooning up together, for the first half we talked about very little. I suppose that’s why they call it sweet nothings; coming up with a dozen synonyms to say that you love someone.

He discovered a new cruelty in this situation. Because we do not want this to be shared with the public, when I touch him, I command him not to move. Not one wriggle, hump or thrust. Nothing to get more sensation than what I give him, and the moment that unavoidable biological programming makes him break, I stop.

And then he collects himself and, when I know I won’t violate anyone else’s comfort, I start again.

He says I have ruined him in a dreamy sort of voice, before flopping off to the side. It’s terribly butterflies inside producing for me, making him this helpless.

The worst, for him, is when he is kneeling in front of me, just about the length of my legs, far enough to have to lean to kiss me. My dextrous feet find the outline of his cock through his pants and up between his leg, pressing that spot where that length of his cock tucks back into his body. Silver is built so it is uniquely close to the surface, and that grab between the legs turns him into a submissive puddle. This is barely a pat, but because we have that shared memory, if I can’t just handle him like we do in private, I can take him close to that place.

I have long toes, and a fair amount of flexibility in my feet. This is easy, sitting sock footed, grinding and stroking his cock with the ball and arch of my left foot, while my right keeps up the pressure on his perineum. All this is concealed away under a blanket and his palms, by my command, stay flat on the ground. It’s also memories of being a silly dumb teenager in a park with another virgin, doing way too much PDA. He’s “middle aged”, I am almost there. I see what people mean when they say love makes you feel young again.

Remember: No moving. No hints. Keep it hidden. Keep it tasteful.

At one point he gets so overwhelmed that he reveals another quirk: his natural tendency to bite.

The poor thing is self conscious about it. I had my suspicions when he out of the blue suggested biting my breasts the first time he got his mouth on them. He swore he was simply anticipating my masochism.

Silly man, your secrets are all mine eventually. I know what you crave even before you have learned to articulate it.

The next round of teasing my hand is in his mouth, ordering him to bite down. I am much too aroused to find this painful and I enjoy forcing him into what he likes.

It’s a fun kind of dehumanizing. After, each time I have matched prints and realize some upper middle class dental requirements of his childhood took a couple of the front teeth, to give him that perfect white, even American smile.

He seems perplexed at the tooth imprints  even as I admire them, and kisses them at my command. He says he feels like he should apologise and I tell him if he does that I will slap him.

I watch his mind process that, until a smile of complete content smugness washes over his face. He realized the game is rigged: He always wins, exactly the way I want him to.

One apology later and I deliver a pop-slap from a short distance, discreetly but with a sting. That’s the least covert kink activity the whole time, very careful.

The real and heavy.

The last hour gets oddly serious because I talk about my trauma. We are discussing the general operation of our brains- him navigating not wanting to insult me by saying that had our connection via pastimes ceased, prior to the revelation of my interest in him and my kinks he would have continued merrily along in bachelor isolation.

Nerd love. He is an island unto himself, I described myself as having a personal affect like the Prince Ali number midway through Aladdin. I am not an open book, I am an animated billboard spelling out my seemingly innermost thoughts.

You, reader, cannot hurt me as you have no access to this vulnerability: that I could be made happy in a way that made me care if I got more. Silver and I have managed to mutually catch each other by something we deeply need.

So it takes more courage to gently let him know just how insecure I am. That my initial refusal of random acts of delivery soup when I am ill, or being doted on with material things is a particular kind of lengthy damage.

There’s that Hozier song “It will come back”.

I know who I am when I’m alone/

Something else when I see you/

You don’t understand, you should never know/

How easy you are to need/

Hozier

The kind of damage you give a child by alternatively depriving and smothering them. Where they learn to be wary in love, because that’s how you get got.

It’s not a kink thing, where I dominate because my mother abused me and my father abandoned me. My desires exist separate to that. On the contrary the predation of my kinks get tangled up in the gunshy vulnerability of a serial abuse victim- I don’t feel submissive in this vulnerability, but I feel more cautious because to let someone submit to me is to open myself to joy.

It’s always been easy to love someone, and never been easy to be loved properly.

Last week, as well as enduring seventeen days of migraine, I examined my history in the context of past relationship choices. Brain weasels skip about. I feel incredibly embarrassed about this.

But it is who I am and what I feel.

Canada will later extend the border closure, surprising neither of us. By the time this is written, the park will be closed again on the Canadian side, citing that the sheer parking overflow was causing issues, even if the meetings themselves were safe. A petition to reopen the park is at over 2500 signatures now, and ticking up, but who knows when or if I will hold him in my arms again?

But, we endure. What other choice do we have, for now?

Image provided with permission, by Pen & Kink

Fantasies On The Weekend

I wonder about how he’d look helpless. We haven’t had that opportunity to restrain him completely, although I know he’s game (no leashes though, no! Noooo! It’s kinda cute how resistive he is, even if I’m going to respect that hard limit). Coy man will hide what he wants behind what I want, but occasionally can be pushed to state a preference.

My cunt’s a cleft of wet, panties carrying the stamp of my thoughts in white on black, fingers smelling of the apple scented hand soap after I carefully remove my own scent from my fingers after another orgasm. I come easily and frequently, sometimes with the width of a thick toy eased inside me, sometimes just plain old fingers like since I was a teenager.

It’s a mixture between the ostensibly vanilla and the overtly kinky. I have a want to engulf his cock down my throat and the poor man keeps telling me that he’s hard to get off that way and blah, blah… Maybe I just want what I want. It’s not about getting him off, it’s the taste and the sensation of fullness. My mouth is all nerves, more complex than my cunt, which is either pleasure, touch or ouch but cannot, for example, enjoy texture because I cannot feel fine details, only pressure.

I think about straddling his lap and having him hilt in me. He likes all sorts of positions, but me on top is his go to, says he likes giving the girl control over the depth. While he is not monstrous he is on the larger side of normal, surprisingly hard for me to cram into my mouth.

Maybe I need to tie him to a chair and interrogate him about fantasies.  Poor man doesn’t want to take a little torture, but even if my clips and clamps and bits of leather and wood and the sharp bite of the claws on the ends of my fingers are all exempt, I will leave his soft, pale skin unmarked. It follows then to see just how he will react to a little teasing instead. Do you think he’s break after an hour or just be left grinning and daring me to continue?

Really only one way to find out, practice until I can learn his body as well as my own and edge him, practice until his mind’s my playground.

I like a challenge sometimes.

A Sex Shop Date With Wildcard

sushiLast Saturday, Wildcard identified my doldrums as needing fixing, s we went out to watch Dr. Strange and then gorge on sushi, the latter activity almost  meaning a visit to the nearby sex shop, called “Romance“.

Every relationship has its rituals. I have an undying love for salmon, particularly raw or smoked. Wildcard has a tradition of eating his feelings in delicious all you can eat buffet omnoms. Having a favourite fishing hole, and being fond of me, he shared the location and now we make monthly pilgrimages. Faces get stuffed, then we invariably go sex toy shopping.

At first the shopping trips were an accidental extension of geography. The store just happens to be between us and where we always park. Honestly, showing up there started with very little expectation other than having a giggle at the hilari-bad porn DVDs.

This branch is open absurdly late, which was probably the first draw.  Plus, in addition to the breast shaped macaroni and strawberry flavoured lube (euch), they have an upstairs BDSM and fetish section. It’s an Adult Novelty style shop, but it is more than dick hats and copies of Pink Eye 2.

Still, why pay the markup?

You might wonder our motive for being there. After all, it is never going to be as cheap as shopping online. No brick and mortar store is going to beat a fresh-from-the-warehouse site like pinkcherry.ca in cost. If I want a bouquet of a half dozen riding crops,  I will never argue meatspace is cheaper.

I keep going back to Romance, because they beat even my favourite online retailers in immediate customer engagement. The staff cares about and is knowledgeable about all their stock. And, while online sites offer reviews, at a certain point you can’t beat actually touching the merchandise.

Going Hands On

Does it bounce well in the hand with a fleshy weight? How strong are the stitches in the leather? Can you slap it against your thigh to feel the thud or the sting? How does it stand up to my personal tastes? You can tell right away what will and won’t work for you.

For example, this time I wanted a cock ring for Wildcard. We’ve basically maxed out on vibes and insertables, but I wanted to take my teasing game a little further and make his erections more persistent.

Sure cock rings are a cheap grab. They seldom cost more than $20, unless you are moving into the territory of elaborate gilded ornaments. Still, I could have bought multiples online for the price of the one I got.  I paid the store markup because I wanted to actually handle the products properly, and get Wildcard’s immediate feedback. After all it was his penis about to be cinched.

At Romance, anything is available for reasonable in store testing, and I had six or so different sizes and models to play with and figure out which was best. Otherwise, I would either need to borrow a friend’s personal items (assuming I knew someone who did have one), or try my luck with buying before I try. Why gamble and create waste?

Curation Matters

Romance doesn’t stock the super high end, gold plated luxury brands, and while they have a few of the lower quality toys, they are carefully screened for skin safe material. The quality and price point runs a range, but nothing will cause a rash. They have recognizable brands, like Tantus, and various versions of the standards in less recognized brands: glass, masturbation sleeves, bullet vibes, etc… Nonetheless they have their share of the cheap quality stuff.

However, what makes me trust in the quality of their offerings are how they handle duds and poor purchases and how they constantly make purchasing a conversation.

corsetback

For example last shopping trip, I impulse bought a Music Legs branded corset back fishnet tights set. That’s not a band I’d expect much from, but even so, the quality was terrible, neither matching the claimed colours on the package, nor coming laced. Indeed the wretched things gave you your lace as a single length of uncut ribbon- unacceptable for an item fragile enough that the first wearing was likely the last.

Online shopping, you write an irate review, and maybe process a return with shipping at your own expense. The smaller ones have time to address you complaints, but there’s a lot more time and distance involved. Here, you get the immediate feedback and from the staff, checking if it was a one off and pulling the defective product, as well as making a note to discuss the problem with the supplier.

And their relationship building also works in the opposite direction. I admit a certain degree of entertainment in getting a post purchase inquiry into the effectiveness of other toys. As much as they are ready to take unsolicited feedback, when you shop they ask questions- and if they know you bought something in the past, they ask you about what your experience was.

So in all, I might buy most of my toys online or seek out pervertables from cooking supply and hardware stores, but the post sushi sex shop date isn’t going to stop any time soon.


Disclosure: I affiliated with pinkcherry after I realized I was giving them a bunch of business from simply bulk ordering cheapo toys and talking about it. Romance and Priape offer no compensation for being mentioned. The sushi pic is free stock photography from clker.com

 

Reader Letter: Communicating Your Needs To Your Sub

This reader has another common femdom problem- dealing with getting the head space right when your frame of reference is decidedly focused on partner pleasing. Add that age old bugbear of personal anxiety about your attractiveess, and you have a thorny problem worth examining.

readerletterHi Miss Pearl,
I just wanted to say I love your site. You have really given me perspective and help to evaluate how I want my relationship to be, not how others think it should be. I do need some advice though!
I have been with my boyfriend for almost 3 years.  He has been in one previous D/s relationship that ended badly, and has not been in one since. I have recently discovered, especially since being with him, I enjoy being more dominant. The problem is, I have never been in a D/s relationship, and I feel like he is more experienced than me. He also seems reluctant to try things with me, and is convinced I want to be dominant just for him. He also has a hard time telling me anything that he likes, he only says it is about a “headspace” for him. From the things he says, I think he needs a nurturing/loving domme. I also think he has some shame about the things he likes it bed, and usually leaves it up to me to try new things. I find he does open up more the kinkier the things we try.
The problem is I feel like I have hit a wall. I know what I want, and I have all these fantasies, but when it comes to trying them I get anxiety. I end up stopping what I want to try and we just have vanilla sex.

I feel like I am lacking the confidence (I am a bit chubby, and have some body issues) to take the reigns, and combined with my anxiety it’s holding me back. What do I do? How do I get over this anxiety? Any advice is greatly appreciated.
Thanks,
M

Dear M:

Some of your problems are things that you can work on with your partner, some is his stuff to deal with, and some of it are things you need to work on to help yourself heal. I’m going to start with you, because it’s easier to work on yourself than change others.

First, you:

You deserve to take care of yourself emotionally and feel good.

It sucks not to love your body. That part has to come from inside. As much as I can try to point you in the right direction, you will probably find a good therapist can better give you the tools to help build a self image that helps you recognize how beautiful you actually are. I’m going to come out and say that you can be morbidly obese and be captivating.

Look, you’re probably like most of the people living in the top and middle bits of North America. That means, by clinical terms, a little “overweight”. No biggie. Your ancestors for the last thousand years busted themselves to make that possible for you. Only a minority of heterosexual men are specifically wired to their preferences enough to find this anything close to a draw back. If it makes you unhappy or causes you health problems, by all means discuss it with a doctor, but don’t let your body ever stop you from being a femdom.

Some of the most beautiful women in history have had your general configurations- we immortalize them in art. Still other women are erroneously remembered for a beauty they never official had- Cleopatra, for example, was written in her era as not being particularly physically compelling. Her charm was in being an educated, confident polymath and her power was in her self assurance. The aftermath is that we remember her as pretty because guess what- power is beauty more so than the other way around. Getting back off the tangent, take the time to surround yourself with role models who look like you, to remind yourself that a soft body is not a bad body.

The other thing I noticed is that your question is laced with things you think he needs. I feel like his needs are overshadowing yours in your decision making process and this may be causing part of his impression that you are just doing this for him. Maybe he’s a black hole who takes without giving any input, but I don’t see you talking about your specific fetishes and desires, just his lack out output.
One of the hardest, most vulnerable things about femdom is it asks women to be selfish after a lifetime of being told our strength and power in in how we understand and control the needs of others. Being dominant often means putting ourselves out there- we have to deal with the expectation we should be assertive, mean, but even more frighteningly, suddenly we don’t just have needs but also wants and whims.
He’s not getting that your main want right now is reassurance you are desired. But, you are also leaving yourself out of your own sex life when you only look for what he wants.

Now, him:

With your partner, there are some things he needs to stop. One of them is the “you are just doing this for meeeee”. He probably thinks he’s helping, but it’s is seriously undermining since he’s essentially telling you that your sexuality doesn’t exist. Since you already have problems with self abrogation, this is creating a negative feedback loop, you are looking to get your dominance appreciated and he is trying to spare you doing him a favour. He needs to start pushing himself out there and surrendering his needs, just as much as you do.

As a part of that, he needs to understand that sexuality is a back and forth. It is not one person’s job to bring the entertainment for the night and react and he can’t use his submission as permission to be a lump on a bump. That being said, a lot of people being communicative really challenging, and his base state may be what he’s presenting. Only going by your description, he may just count himself lucky he gets sex on whatever terms you decide it happens.

I hope that helps you have something to talk about together. Wildcard and I use a weekly brunch at a cafe (my treat) as a nice space out of the house where we can discuss these things and that check in time outside the bedroom is very important to us.

Now, BOTH:

Right, so now you’re prepared to talk about it together, I recognize it’s still a little daunting to get your sub to open up. Now before you get out the hammer and chisel, there are a few tools you can use as conversational aides.

First of all, avoid accusations. It always goes one of two ways. Either the conversation gets derailed by mea culpas and you reassuring him, or if he’s a defensive soul, it gets fighty. Acknowledge the problem is a mutual challenge that you need his help with. Neither of you are going to get anywhere until you both put your kink cards on the table.

To do that, there’s a wealth of resources like mojo upgrade or fetish checklists that you can share with each other. You may even find this makes things easier as sometimes face to face conversations can be overwhelming for even the best of us. Communicating your needs shouldn’t be a bridge too far- between the pair of you, there’s bound to be some material to work with. However, it has to come from both of you.

Sincerely,
Miss Pearl