My Perverted Palace

“Yes, Sir.”  

His words tore through her body, igniting a spark through her.  He always knew how to go from a casual evening into their dynamic so effortlessly.  The way his voice lowered, the way his eyes shone differently as he gazed into hers, the way his hand would brush against her neck so gently.  He knew exactly what he was doing and how to elicit every reaction out of her.

She took her clothes off in the bedroom, her mind relaying the words in her head.  She imagined his hands in her hair, his voice in her ear, the paddle against her soft, firm bottom.  She fasted the wrist cuffs to each wrist and retrieved the paddle.  She knelt down, her head bowed, awaiting his arrival.  She could feel the intensity of her arousal already, the ache between her thighs growing rapidly.  She hadn’t been in position for more than a minute and she could already feel herself getting impatient.  

After what seemed an eternity, she heard his footsteps in the room, his silence only enhancing her slick sex.  

She could feel his presence right in front of her, her head remaining bowed as he walked behind her, slowly and deliberately taking his time.  He squatted down as she continued to stay still for him, waiting for anything, a command, his hands, anything.  Finally, she felt his fingers gently touching her sex, her arousal easily spilling onto his fingers.  She heard a chuckle from his lips as he massaged her pussy slowly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at her eagerness, only stimulating her more.  

“Such a good girl”, he said softly, as a smile crept across her face.  His finger pushed inside her as she gasped quietly, so eager for his touch.  

It does suck, because they are fundamentally misunderstanding what a submissive is. They think a submissive is someone who is so desperate for cock that they will bow down and worship anything with a “Y” chromosome.

The truth that they will never understand is this: most submissives are selective as hell. See, they look for strength. Not just average strength, but the kind of strength that is so above and beyond most people that they, the submissive, can put their lives in the hands of that strength and feel confident. The kind of strength that is capable of being responsible for not only their own life, but the life of their submissive as well.

I love hearing belovedsangi’s stories of people who tried to dom her in the years that we were apart. She just laughed in their faces when they tried to take control. She giggled when they tried to give her a Dom stare. Sangi is stronger than anyone else I have ever met, without exception. The idea that she is some weak-willed cock-starving bimbo simply because she is submissive is laughable.

And @danipup, meanwhile… the idea that she’s “desperate for cock” or whatever else is hilarious. It took two solid years of friendship and trust before we both realized that we had sexual and romantic feelings for one another. Two years of getting to know one another as human beings. Two years of late night talks, of long in-person visits, of developing an understanding of one another before there was more than a quick hug between us. And you talk about strong? This woman endured things most of us cannot imagine and heartache on a scale that I hope I never experience. And she came back. She rescued herself. She found a way to love life despite everything she had been through. She climbed her way, little by little, out of a pit of misery, and she smiled. It doesn’t get much more badass than that.

That’s just it. Submissives are crazy strong. The amount of strength and willpower required to fully trust your well-being to someone else is more than most people can fathom. So of course, someone with that kind of strength is going to be selective.

I owned her orgasms.

“Who owns your orgasms?”

“You do, sir,” Dina responded.

On Saturday, I told her she needed to earn every orgasm from now on. Each week she had the chance to earn an orgasm ticket by completing a list of tasks. I made a red ticket with the words “one orgasm” printed on it in gold. Her eyes fixed on the ticket as I waved it around and slipped it into a drawer.

“This weeks task list is short. Wake me with a blow job twice, edge yourself once a day and send me two naked photos of yourself from a public location.”

She was more than eager. I had a very nice alarm clock and two new pictures taken in a department store change room.

When the next Saturday came, she vibrated with excitement, or perhaps she was just extremely horny after a week without an orgasm.I could see she was waiting for me to say something and trying not to ask.

“OK, go get the ticket from the drawer.”

She quickly ran off and returned with the ticket in her hand. Dancing back and forth on her her tip toes, she asked, “How do I use it?”

My face darkened. As she turned to me, the smile dropped from her face

“Who owns your orgasms?”

“You do, sir,”

She knelt at my feet and presented the ticket.

“I earned this for you.”

I retrieved a large vase from cupboard and placed it on the mantel.