Over the past several months I encountered submissives who believe that the dominant/submissive role is a one-way street, that is, I am to provide a service to them but they do not provide anything in return. This could not be further from the truth or my expectations.

Yes, I understand that you pay for a session or two, however, what you pay for is the privilege of serving me. So in essence, what you are doing, is providing me with pleasure that is more important than your own.

I have several submissive’s who make the claim that their sole desire in our relationship is to make my life as carefree and luxurious as possible, however, when pressed to do so, they take it as a personal affront and usually back off or shy away. When confronted about their stated desires versus their actions, they provide a myriad of excuses why they can’t, but not a single reason why they can.   I would rather have a submissive be honest and say that he is not in a position to make my life as comfortable as I would like. I can handle that. But to make the continual promises with no follow through means that the submissive is only doing this for his pleasure and not for mine.

The value and beauty of submission in this relationship is that the submissive puts me first and derives his pleasure from that dynamic. If he chooses not to do that, then he is not truly a submissive but merely someone who wishes to have an hour or two for his pleasure, with no regard for mine.  In that case, is he truly a submissive? I do not think so.

Submissive’s continually come to me with ulterior motive’s and no desire to share what those motives are. I would much rather have one say, “I seek humiliation purely for my own pleasure” than to say, “I will do anything to please you and make your life better” and not do so.

I will admit there’s a fine line between the dynamic of a paying submissive and a paying submissive who wishes to indulge my pleasure.  But as I continue to develop and evolve as a dominatrix, I find that the only submissives I’m truly interested in are those who have a genuine interest in my pleasure first.

“Why do you like the feeling of ownership” I asked my girlfriend.  Her response was spot on.

“That’s a great question.  For me, it’s just relief.  I feel like I’m forced into positions of responsibility all day long, so it’s this great relief to have someone else in control.  Someone whom I trust to be as intelligent as myself (which isn’t often).  My exporation into this is feminist in itself though, the fact I did this independently.  Also, I think you can philosophically argue that the most powerful person in any dynamic is the sub.  The sub consents and can stop things at any time.  The dominant is beholden to the sub in that sense.”

As much as the 50 Shades of Grey series cheapens the dominant/submissive dynamic, one of the central themes of the series was that the submissive actually holds the control and power in this dynamic.

“I think that’s what is interesting about the sub/Dom relationship”, she said.  “The complexity, nuances and yes, 50 Shades.  It’s a mirror of every other relationship, except it’s so literal so it’s easier to analyze.”

I think this summarizes so succinctly and beautifully the relationship between dominant and submissive.  It distills the thoughts of so many who have more than just a passing curiosity in this lifestyle.

Missing Our Partner

I write extensively about our relationship and the details of our sexuality. 

This post is about missing her. 

We miss her. Immensely. We’ve connected. We’re happy.  We crave her company and the intellectual stimulation that comes with it. We find our passion grows deeper with each day. She is away for the next week and for the first time in our triad we are all scattered across the United States. It’s makes the anticipation for our next time together even more unbearable but simultaneously more exciting. We communicate as a triad through texts during the day but also have our individual communication with one another. It makes the passing of time between our long weekends bearable but less than enjoyable. How can two women have serious feelings for one man and yet not feel the jealousy that most people would feel? This is what makes this so erotic and stimulating. Part of it are the looks we receive at parties and dinner and brunch. But so much of this is about the continual transition from sexual partners to lovers to friends. We do count the days between our time with her and know she does the same. Sometimes our texts are raunchy and well beyond suggestive. Other times they’re deep and pensive and insightful. Regardless, we ache between our days with N. 

Naughty Details, part III

I’ve been remiss about updating details about our relationship. Do not take that as a lessening of excitement or passion. 

Our relationship is confined to weekends in person and a constant stream of one on one and group texts. The upside is that separation builds the tension in a good way. It makes the dirty talk during sex, raunchy. It makes the anticipation nearly unbearable. And it makes the inevitable sex even more exciting. 

We spent a long Labor Day weekend together. N came to our place for the first time and we had slight apprehension our suburban vanilla  lifestyle, so different from her urban sophistication, may stifle her interest. It didn’t. We found our interest is independent of where we were. It is fully dependent on the dynamic of pleasing a common person, of pushing our sexual limits. It’s also about the intellectual enjoyment of someone bright and articulate and curious. 

N migrated south towards Washington, DC the Friday before Labor Day. East coast weather is typically bipolar this time of year, alternating between warm days and cool nights to sweltering days and humid nights. This weekend was mostly the former.  We decided to go out that evening to a local spot for dinner only so we could climb into bed together quicker.  I need to fully admit something. We love sex and we love it more with her. I would rather order in and have hours of orgasms than go to a 3 star Michelin restaurant.  Our sex is that spectacular.  And all along I keep wondering if it’s possible for this to subside. There are no dull moments, no uncomfortable silences. It’s always stimulating.

My husband is the dominant in this relationship however that does not mean there are moments our pleasure is not first and foremost. Hardly. His desire to please is as strong as ours and this desire makes him no less a dominant. It’s that level of confidence and self assuredness that makes him the dominant figure in this triad. 

The evening was a bit of a blur and it’s impossible to remember the order in which things happened. I remember him taking N at some point, pushing his erection into her prior to her becoming fully wet and forcing it in. She loved it and the friction between her legs drove her wild. She fucks hard. She’s learned how to find the orgasms through internal stimulation and the discovery of her cervix, the length of his erection and ability to penetrate deep into her, making her hurt in that wonderful, aching way as his cock touches that little spot in her no others have touched. I’ve mentioned before that watching them have sex is like having my own personal porn show. I’m a voyeur at heart and being able to watch two people I care deeply for have intense sex and orgasms is an immense turn on for me. It gets me excited and wet. It makes the air thick with the smell of sex and I love that smell. I would turn on my little pink vibrator and just watch, sometimes becoming so engrossed in their sexuality that I’d literally forget to place the vibrator on my clit. 

What I also love is his voracious appetite for sex and the ability to make one of us cum and then take the other and make her cum. I love being on top, riding his erection facing away from him as N lowers herself onto his mouth for oral pleasure. I love that look and feel of my dominant under me striving for my pleasure and allowing us to take as much as we want. This is not sex. It’s nirvana. 

The sex is beyond intense and what makes it so wonderful is the length and intensity of the orgasms continues to grow. Even when it’s just my master and me, I’ve now had orgasms that made me weep with joy. How can I say that it’s not due to what’s happened the past two months? 

The rest of Friday evening, until we fell asleep, was better than we ever had with N. I knew that sometime in the early morning hours N would get fucked again. I looked forward to hearing the soft rustling of sheets, the whispers, the gentle rocking of the bed as N and my master would fuck. I mentioned that this was like having my own personal sex show but it was more than that. Porn is contrived. Sex between us is not. I do not care about watching girls falsely moan and act for a cameraman. I want to see the real thing. I want to see a man look into a woman’s eyes as he cums, I want to see the sensual exhaustion as she falls onto his chest, completely spent. 

As we drifted off that Friday I once again felt contentment and satisfaction about what just happened.  There is an easiness and comfort about being in a relationship where all parties strive for the happiness of the other two. 

Later that night I vaguely remember hearing N waking up for another round of sex. There’s a distinct pleasure in sharing someone with another. It makes the bond stronger between us all. It didn’t last as long as previous encounters but it was equally as sensual and I was turned on. When they finished I remember the scent of sex and I snuggled up to him as she lay her head on his chest. 

Our Saturday was a relaxing day with plans to go into the city to smoke a cigar. It’s not the phallic representation that turns me on but rather the represention of a dominant man in charge, a mob boss or politician or executive at the top. A man of confidence and control, knowing what he wants with his life and his woman. Or women. It gives me a sense of power and control. I’m the gatekeeper and you don’t get to him without going through me. Maybe it is phallic. I think so.  Sitting on that couch in the cigar bar, sharing that with my master and N makes me feel like a chess master. I’m playing this to perfection for all of us. 

It’s also our chance to dress for him. I don’t care what other women think. I care what he thinks. Part of the beauty of this relationship is the collaborative nature. I now have another woman to share ideas with, plan with, be intimate with and ultimately, please a man with. Most do not grasp the beauty of this arrangement nor will they ever. 

To be continued…

Naughty Details, continued. 

This is how she approached.

My initial thought was, “this is a guy pretending to be a woman”. After all, no woman I know, except for me, is into the naughty details.
As I persisted, I realized she actually was a woman and really was into the naughty details and that’s what attracted us to her. She had no preconceived notion about what a relationship with a couple would be, she was very open to our ideas and relationship. She laid everything out in front of us and told us what she wanted, what she liked and what she expected. But there was still much unsaid.
We conducted several weeks of back-and-forth texting as well as several phone calls. Yes, indeed she was a woman and she was everything that she said she was. That’s what struck us as so very intriguing. The challenge is to find someone in this lifestyle who carries the level of attractiveness both physically and mentally as well as the necessary intellect to hold our interest. But that’s exactly what she did.
Our first meeting with her was at a hotel across the river from Manhattan. She dressed in a cute black top and shorts with a pair of high-heels and looked every bit as beautiful as she did in the pictures she sent. A welcome relief from the non-stop catfishing that persists on these sites. We ordered drinks, chatted and observed some of the stares we received from other patrons. It’s interesting how people pick up on the dynamic of a threesome even when nothing overtly happens.
I think what impacted us most was the level of intelligence and ability to articulate a wide variety of subjects. I’ve met other women in similar situations and all I receive are blank stares. “N”, as I’ll refer to her, is not that. She’s well read, traveled and spoken.
But reagardless the mental attraction, the next challenge became how to engage physically. Alcohol loosens things up. But the first move is hard. Who makes it? Who initiates sex? And let there be no doubt, our initial meeting was purely a hedonistic pursuit. Upon arriving in our room, she asked if she could smoke to relieve a bit of the anxiety. That presents its own challenge because you’re never sure what person you get afterwards. Is it someone loose and carefree or manic and crazy? It’s a risk. You take risks. It was worth taking.
N’s body is fabulous. Unblemished from the stress of child birth, her body is toned, firm, soft and most arousing. The next thing I saw was clothes coming off, full nudity and this beautiful woman going down on my man. And I loved it. Yes, my female readers, I loved it. I was finally in that voyeuristic state that allowed me to bask in the scene without harboring any guilt or jealousy. It didn’t hurt that we have such similar physical characteristics. I know I’m hot. And I know she is too. But what would cause most to be jealous only aroused me. I didn’t think I’d lose my man to this incredibly driven, smart, intellectual woman. I knew it would make him want me more.
It worked.
The sex was intensely mind blowing. From behind, all fours, tied up, missionary, oral and vaginal simultaneously, receiving and giving strap on, multiple orgasms. I’ve never had sex like that. But what was most arousing is seeing this powerful and strong woman become compliant and submissive. I loved watching my husband take her from behind and fuck her. Hard. I loved seeing him take a fistful of her hair, putting her on her knees and having her pleasure him while she looked up into his eyes. I loved seeing the man who dominates me dominate her. I truly wanted her to feel the thrill of what my mind and body craves each day.
To be continued…
The continuation
There comes the point that the sex ends and then you’re left with the inevitable psychological crash that accompanies this. Equate it to a runner’s high. You finish the race and now there’s nowhere to go. I didn’t know much about “N” so understanding her needs after sex was a variable I hadn’t contemplated until the moment of truth. Does she want to be held, does she want to be left alone, will it be an escape with a possible text the next day saying, “thank you”? There were moments of anxiety, not really knowing what to do next but secretly hoping she would agree to stay the night. From our standpoint, that’s a near emotional and psychological equivalent to the actual act of sex. It implies a level of commitment and trust that may not be apparent during the moments of hedonistic pleasure. Laying next to someone says something that even sex may not imply. And waking up together then brings about another possible discomfort in the relationship process that nobody wishes to go through. The most wonderful surprise was the fact that a relationship was struck, not one full of commitments and expectations, but of pleasure and enjoyment and respect. Eating a late breakfast, it was apparent our intellect and interests more than intersected and the comfort and relief of this developed an even deeper passion and desire.
Physical looks matter. Intelligence matters. The combination of these makes desire run much hotter than if it was only one or the other. We agreed to meet again that night, wondering how we could ever top the night before but we found the intensity to be even greater because now we settled into a level of comfort and understanding that we didn’t have the night before. And the fact she wanted to be with us a second night made the evening that much more exciting and stimulating. We finally found someone able to keep up with us sexually. And the sex was hot and nasty and raunchy.
We brought her to climax several times and the strap on play was unbelievable. She was the first to ever use one on me and I came. Hard. It was toe curling excitement and I loved feeling this woman exert her dominance, even for a short time, over me. My husband took her numerous times and I loved being able to sit back and once again enjoy watching the show, as though it was a true out of body experience. He put her face down on the bed, pulled her ass up in the air and fucked her, all the while, her facial features telegraphed the pleasure and excitement she was feeling. From a voyeurs standpoint, it was unlike watching porn. This is pure, unadulterated hedonistic sex, the kind porn stars wish they had. There were no outtakes or miscues. Her mouth would form in a small circle, her eyes rolling back into her head and each thrust of my husband’s cock into her made me feel like the most powerful woman on earth. I orchestrated this and now I enjoyed the fruits of my labor. I wanted a third. I wanted a smart, talented, intelligent woman to challenge me, to give me some competition and to make me better at who I was. And I wanted her to be a dirty girl just like me. I showed her new positions and taught her a few things about her body and her orgasmic expectations that she never knew. But even during the moments of kink, there was a desire to please her. We wanted her to experience all the wonderful things that we experience on a daily and weekly basis with one another. It wasn’t selfish exploitation that drove this relationship but a true sense that if she experienced orgasms and pleasure like she’d never felt before, she’d find new things inside herself that could guide her into and through future relationships. We wanted to show her that striving for her pleasure was not a bad thing. But down deep inside, I did want to see her used. I wanted to see my husbands cock plunge into her over and over, hear her squeal with pleasure and watch his explosion happen inside of her, taking what he wanted and, for a short time, not worrying about her pleasure but about his own. I love being the vessel that gets him off. I feel a true sense of accomplishment when I make him reach climax, even when I don’t. I want him served first and I wanted her, for a time, to serve him first. And she did, magnificently.
To be continued…
The continuation
Our second night of carnal pleasure went for hours. A large round loveseat in the hotel room had a spectacular view of Manhattan and that’s where we brought “N” to the climax she needed. That soul draining, physically exhausting climax that caused her to fall into my husband’s arms in complete bliss and satisfaction. I don’t know if I could possibly recall the number of orgasms we had. What “N” learned was that riding a cock backwards allowed for greater penetration and simultaneous self stimulation, producing orgasms that last, explode, permeate and penetrate right down to the soles of your feet. What aroused me most is knowing that the deeper he penetrated her the more she begged for it and the more intense the sex became. I felt like the consummate bad girl, creating an atmosphere and scenario that by even today’s standards and acceptance is still slightly taboo.
We ended our first weekend together by laying in bed and talking about what transpired the past two evenings. This was the level of sophistication and sensuality that we couldn’t even imagine. As we drifted off to sleep I remember craving the feel of my husbands cock inside me, if just for a short period of time, to bring me to the point of exhaustion so I could sleep. During the night I felt the arousal of my husband and I knew I would be in for an early morning. Sex can be so wonderfully tiring at times.
Around 6:15 the light from the sun began permeating the room and I could feel my husband’s arousal and his partially awake body moving against mine. It frequently starts like this and I crave that in the morning, especially if he’s going to be traveling. I love the smell of sex, the feel of his cum inside me and the knowledge I’ve been used purely for pleasure. His pleasure. I felt his leg push my legs apart and saw “N” looking at us as he pushed the head of his cock into me ever so slightly and caused my wetness to escalate. I heard her whisper, “that is so hot”. He only penetrated me ever so slightly to the point I began begging him to fully enter me. In one swift, strong, penetrating thrust he entered me fully and an intense craving to be used swept over me. I want to be the dirty whore for him. I want other women to know and value this feeling. It’s my purpose.
This is the way sex is supposed to be. Dirty. Carnal. Nasty. Raunchy. I don’t ever want to go back to the good girl. I enjoyed fucking her, I loved fingering her, I wanted her to use that strap on again and I wanted my husband to use us both until he was fully satisfied. Which is never. I could never get enough of watching his erection moving in and out of her.
The afternoon prior, “N” went home to do some work and my husband and I lay on the lawn in the shade during a sweltering but breezy Saturday afternoon. We relived each individual moment. We basked in delight about how easy and comfortable this was the night before. We discussed the other women we approached in the past who were neither mature or sophisticated enough to handle this type of relationship. We revealed our cautious optimism but agreed that if that one night were the only night with “N”, it was more than worth it. As the sun started to lower behind the buildings and the temperature cooled, we sat at a table outside the hotel where some families gathered and heard the annoying laughter and profanity of several slightly drunk ladies who migrated from the streets above the hotel to drink cheap alcohol. I gently reminded them of the children around and one lady came over, cutely drunk, and began talking. Alcohol merely exposes the true feelings of the soul and she bared hers to us. My husband was visibly annoyed at the intrusion but I was curious to hear her inebriated thoughts. She had an 11 month old child at home and she immediately noticed the obvious happiness generated by our first night with “N”. Slightly slurring her words she unleashed her frustration of her own marriage and that child birth meant the death of pleasure and the summary execution of passion that she once had when she was courting. My husband’s demeanor changed slightly as we both saw a woman who wanted to be that dirty girl for her husband. “I just want him to throw me up against the wall and fuck me like a whore”, she said. A familiar and not uncommon feeling amongst many women. Dominant, submissive, switch. All of us want, at some point, to just be that dirty whore.
To be continued…

Our Second Meeting

At the conclusion of our first weekend with “N”, we walked her to the train and our melancholy was palpable, but not in the way two lovers feel at the conclusion of a love affair but when you wish you could extend a holiday or recalling old memories and wishing you could relive them.  I wished she could stay an extra few hours or that we didn’t live four hours away. I wanted to be able to hop on a train and see her mid week, even if it was for dinner or casual chat.  She is that enjoyable and seductive.  As I watched her depart and began that slow trek back to the hotel to pack up and leave, I began planning in my mind the second meeting with her.  I wanted it badly.

Several weeks later, we managed to find a less than reasonable reason to travel back to Manhattan.  We weren’t looking for a good reason.  Just any reason and the excitement in her texts between us was quite palpable.  We were confident she wanted to see us and thought several passionate nights between us was more than we could resist.

I don’t recall what she wore to meet us, it simply doesn’t matter.  She’s stylish.  Period.  After a brief time at the bar we migrated to a restaurant a few blocks away, a stylishly appointed dining room that was a mixture of mid century modern and art deco.  The meal was fabulous, the company stimulating and the anticipation very much at the forefront of everyone’s mind.  We had to eat but we’d much rather be fucking, simply put.  As “N” said early in our conversations, “how a person eats is a great indicator of how they have sex”.  Our taste in food is a reflection of our taste in sex.  Diverse, adventurous and curious.  We tried things at dinner that were outside our comfort zone but quite enjoyable.  Maybe subconsciously, this is what we wanted once we got back to our hotel.  It wasn’t subconscious.  It’s our reality.  Once back to our room, the sex started almost immediately, but this time, without the slightly awkward pause of not knowing how to start.  This time it was obvious.  She pressed up against the back of my husband, started to unbutton his shirt and made it apparent she wanted to be fucked.  That night was a blur.  But I distinctly remember that I used a strap on on her and then gave her the privilege and joy of using one on me.  It was literally toe curling sex with her and giving someone that power and letting them use it for your pleasure is truly intoxicating.  She rode me like she wanted to be on top.  She did want to be on top and I wanted to surrender control for just a brief moment in our brief relationship.  She quickly mastered the intricacies of an appendage that had no feeling but succumbed to the power of having an erection between her legs.  A truly juxtaposed experience for both of us.  Me, the professional dominatrix.  Her, the experienced woman with no experience with a instrument of authority and power between her legs.  She brought me to intense climax within minutes of entering me.  Even momentary surrender, for a dominant person, can bring intense pleasure. 2016-08-21 09.52.11

We blurred the lines that first evening of our second meeting.  Sometimes on top, sometimes on bottom, demanding, submitting, controlling, craving, indulging in selfing pleasure, doing everything to please the others.  From early in the evening until well after midnight, the sex was constant, like a flash flood through a west Texas town.  It carved out deep crevices through our relationships and truly changed everything I ever thought about the addition of another deeply sexual person to an already committed relationship.

As we fell asleep after the hours of pleasure, there was light banter and chat about the evening with a lingering diminuendo that eventually led to the slow rhythmic breathing of the two people to my left falling into sleep and eventually I joined them.  There was sex in the middle of the night and I loved hearing them as I drifted in and out of consciousness knowing that the next evening would be equally if not more intense than the previous.

“N” is a habitual early riser and the next morning, after about an hour of sex, we caught a taxi to Greenwich Village for breakfast.  I don’t recall the meal and vaguely remember the restaurant but I do remember the slow walk through the village, sitting at an outside table and enjoying some meal but the company even more.  This is our foreplay with “N”.  It’s about delving into whatever part of her life she chooses to expose us to.  It’s about conversing and learning what she loves and craves and likewise, telling her about us.  As we slowly wandered the streets our connection grew and I knew I wanted to see so much more of her and looked forward, immensely, to that evening.  As we parted ways for the afternoon so she could get a bit of work done and ponder the evening prior, we made our way back to the hotel, lay on the bed and talked about our plans for the evening.  A brief nap to recharge, dirty pillow talk about “N” and a blow job and I was ready to go again.  When “N” arrived, we discussed potential dinner spots and settled on one several blocks away.  In the end, it turned out to be one that we still talk about.  Not because of the food but because of the subtle stir we created by our mere presence.  Two women together and men may fantasize but realistically know that they’re probably just friends.  A man and a woman and people think it’s just a boring Saturday night date.  But two beautiful women and a man, that fires the imagination.  The table behind us selectively eavesdropped on our conversation which ranged from our lives in general to the specificity of the sex the night before.  Creating that picture for frustrated men’s imaginations heightened my arousal.  I want those men to think about what it would be like to be with me and “N”, knowing it will never happen.  As we walked up the street, I caught the glance of a frustrated, trapped man, burdened by the children in a stroller and the wife trying to satisfy the children and gain some semblance of order at their table.  The longing stare of that poor man will forever be burned in my mind.  His gaze said it all.  He wanted out and badly.

To be continued…