It all began with this text:
“Just fuck me. Fuck me right now. Fuck me until I can’t breathe or think or mope or complain or do anything but be fucked by you. Fuck me until I cum. Until I’m drained and you are full. Just. Fuck. Me.”
The text may not seem out of the ordinary (OK, there’s a lot of fucking in it), but it was a message from M to me, right before we parted for the weekend. It was the first time he had ever begged me to take control. Between those three lines of text was a wish to be topped, to have someone else take control and create the scene, to be thoughtfully taken and used. I recognized the signs, because usually I’m the one sending them. There has been only one other time that I topped M in our relationship and that was virtually. In all the time of our M/s relationship, I never thought I would have another chance. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted one.
To aid in our role reversal, he called me Mistress. I gave him instructions for his visit and began plotting what to do with him once I had my greedy hands on him. I bought bondage tape to fashion makeshift cuffs and planned to bind his wrists as soon as I had the chance. He had lost a bet, so he knew a spanking was planned for his immediate future. However, M doesn’t enjoy pain the way that I do. I was going to go easy on him and only use my hand, and he was ordered not to speak until he asked permission to cum. We had a week of phone calls and texts where he spoke in respectful and subservient tones which I enjoyed fully. But DAMN was it tiring.
By the time his visit neared, I was exhausted. Anticipating a sub’s needs, reassuring them, giving them tasks…dear Lord in heaven it’s time consuming! Although I was enjoying our interactions and the new perspective, I questioned whether this dominant role was something I could pull off with any hope of success. It wasn’t happening naturally for me. I had to specifically think, “what would a Domme do” and force myself to give instructions. More than once we dissolved into an argument, because he was waiting for my cues while I was waiting for his.
A perfect example of this happened the day before he arrived. We were having a conversation late in the afternoon, and I was only half-focused on the topic at hand. I had another article to write and my daughter to manage. Real life was sucking up my attention. M began needling me. His teasing turned belligerent, and I accused him of being a brat. M countered with a pouty tirade then returned to his taunts. I was frustrated and desperate, at my wits’ end of how to make him stop. I warned him to cut it out, hoping that he would recognize the tone of my voice and know that he was pushing too far. It didn’t even register, so like every other Domme under the sun, I punished him. I told him I wasn’t going to speak to him until the following morning. Twelve hours of phone silence. He could text or email me, but I told him no verbal communication. He promptly fell apart.
This breakdown summed up our fundamental problem. I was waiting for his submissive instincts to kick in, so that he’d genuinely love submitting and know when enough was enough. Because even in my brattiest moments, there is a boundary that I hit that keeps me from going over the edge. At my core I want to please. But M is no sub. He has the ego and control needs of a Dominant.
The big day arrived, and I picked M up from the airport. He didn’t speak as instructed, but five minutes into the car ride home I told him he could because I was uncomfortable with his silence. He stuck to the rules despite my leniency, and when we got to my house, I ordered him to bed. Don’t get me wrong, I teased and tortured him a bit and received several orgasms in return, but I wanted him to sleep so that he’d be rested for our first evening together as Mistress and little master.
Well…it didn’t happen. Or rather, it did and it didn’t. I started out all bossy and YOU WILL SERVE ME. I made him beg to fuck me, made him beg to make me come, but when the fucking started in earnest, it was me asking for an orgasm. When it came down to who was in control, for me to feel truly fulfilled, I had to be the one submitting. At the last possible moment, on the verge of orgasm, I called him Master and pleaded to be owned by him again. Mistress was gone, and I barely noticed her exit.
As I sit here in my collar and leash, writing this post wearing nothing but panties and a t-shirt, I feel peaceful about the outcome of our experiment. I didn’t a few hours before this. I felt ungrounded, as if I had failed at something important. The truth of this situation is that our needs will always be changing. In fact, with all my relationships, kinky or not, I will be changing as will my partners. All I can promise is to listen and respond, always speaking the truth of my heart. But holy Moses on a raft, I won’t be doing it as a Domme.
