Unless you’re on the inside of the S&M community, it’s easy to assume that the dominant is always in control.
Beyond what Hollywood or certain horribly written books portray of our community, it’s true that we submissives are capable of putting on that good, uninhibited show of being completely overpowered. We would be remiss if we didn’t!
And yet, besides the “safe, sane, and consensual” part of any healthy BDSM affair, at the end of the day it’s the guy getting spanked, or the girl who gets tied up, or what have you — they are the ones who are controlling the fun. To surrender is to gain ultimate control, but I didn’t believe it, nor did I even begin to understand this concept until I properly lived it.
Once upon a time in college, I mistakenly equated submissiveness with being a doormat, and without anything remotely kinky ever happening, all the guys I dated — and later on the girls as well — walked all over me. So desperate to please everyone, I went through one messy codependent situation after another before I took a hiatus from dating. With my family’s encouragement, I signed up for a graduate-level internship abroad with a large publishing company and moved to a large city in the UK.
As they say, when you aren’t looking is when you find what you need. Sure enough, it was during this time when I was busy focusing on myself and enjoying life in a new country that I ended up connecting with my current mistress, Dianna. She is in her mid-thirties and already highly regarded in our field. She is everything I aspire to become.
I can’t divulge specific details about our meeting, as that might put my mistress in professional jeopardy. Suffice it to say we met through my work. Of course, we had to be careful to keep our obvious chemistry and blossoming affair under wraps during the day.
However, one night when I was staying after hours on a big project, she called me and demanded that I drop everything and come into her office. I tried not appear giddy in front of my colleagues, who were concerned that maybe I was getting reprimanded.
I got up from my desk and smoothed down my short plaid jumper as I walked. I adore those sorts of retro-style dresses where you can count on just enough of an A-line skirt to flare out enticingly below your bottom. Dianna liked it, too.
My mistress is a voluptuous British brunette who towers over me physically, even when she isn’t wearing heels. She was waiting for me, arms folded, when I approached.
“Shut the door behind you,” Dianna said sternly.
I silently obeyed.
Dianna sighed. “You know I prefer to keep our private and professional activities separate, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Yes, mistress.”
Dianna began pacing and circling me. “Then I want you to think about how much it upsets me when you force my hand. Think on it long and hard.”
“I — I don’t understand what you mean?”
Dianna’s nostrils flared. She grabbed my arm and led me straight to her desk. “I cannot have you using company time to mess around — or whatever it is that you do when you need to be polishing manuscripts! Look at this rubbish!”
I saw my latest copyediting assignment covered in red ink. “I — I — ” All I could do was stammer and sputter.
Dianna rolled her eyes. “Obviously you want me to punish you. And you know I enjoy punishing you, so it’s really a shame that you think you need to stoop to these antics to have my attention. We can’t go home and play if you do not know how to work!”
“I am so sorry — I honestly don’t know how I managed to overlook these errors.” At that point I was trembling in earnest as I sank to my knees. “Forgive me, please?”
Dianna sighed and shook her head. “Get up.” There was a pause, and then she added: “Lift your skirt, then put both hands on the desk.”
My heart soared as I followed her orders. That day, I was wearing opaque black thigh-highs and cute lace tanga panties that accentuated my bottom. I have a petite figure and smaller breasts but somehow still was blessed with a heart-shaped ass. I could feel Dianna’s eyes roving up my thick thighs and fixating on my ass — which had been a focal point as of late in our play.
“Now, don’t think for a minute that I’m going to suffer or encourage your bad behavior.” Dianna lifted her dress to reveal she was wearing a small strap-on. “But,” she gestured to the botched manuscript, “I simply cannot let this go unaddressed.”
My pussy flooded with tingles — I loved it when Dianna took me with a strap-on. But I bowed my head to show obedience. “Yes, mistress. I understand.”
Dianna sighed again and went rummaging through her bag, pulling out a small pink butt plug. She presented it to me. “I trust I don’t have to do everything myself?”
I eagerly began licking the plug, knowing exactly what was coming next.
Dianna swatted my ass. “Faster! Come on, it shouldn’t take this long for you to get it soaked!”
I audibly sucked and slurped the toy, nodding my head at her.
“Good, that’s better.” Dianna took the plug away and pulled down my “knickers,” as she called them. “I hope you realize this is for your own good.”
I gasped as I felt the toy going in my ass, widening my tightest entrance. “Yes — yes, mistress. Thank you for helping me.”
Satisfied that the plug was in place, Dianna nodded and gave me a little swat on the bum. “All right then, turn around. You know what to do next — and I want no monkey business from you, young lady.”
Her stern British schoolmarm persona made me so horny when it came out during playtime! I eagerly got down on my knees and began fellating Dianna’s strap-on cock. As I gagged and deep-throated the dildo, Dianna ran her hands through my straight auburn hair — she had a way of showing tenderness at the most unexpected and carnal times.
“Deeper! I know you can take it all the way down now,” she coached me.
I took a deep breath and swallowed the entire shaft down my throat. Now, fair disclaimer to any newbies reading: This is a skill that takes practice. Don’t try this without proper guidance and/or training with a good domme. Always have a safe word for playtime, or, in the case of having one’s mouth full, establish a safe gesture in case you need to stop. (If I raise my left hand, Dianna knows it’s too much and we stop — oxygen deprivation and brain-cell death are never sexy!)
Dianna thrusted her hips forward and continued to face-fuck me for several minutes. With the plug still firmly inside my ass, my poor little pussy was tense with desire. Anticipation was everything, and Dianna knew how to make the most of mine.
After choking and spitting on Dianna’s toy to her satisfaction, my mistress gently guided me up to a standing position. “Sit on my desk and spread your knees.”
Once I assumed the position, my no-nonsense mistress plunged her strap-on cock inside of me to the hilt.
I cried out and bit my lip. After all, even with most everyone gone, this was still our office. But of course, the intense pleasure of being DP’ed with the dildo and the plug was nothing I could ever bury — nor did I want to.