Contemplative Doll

Tiny bit of personal context, I'm transfemme (early transition) and have a.. surprising number of girls wanting me to domme them.

(oh also, if I have any follow-up questions, do you mind my DMing you?)

DMs are fine!!!

my advice is to practice making decisions without agonizing over them. 90% of the decisions you make while domming (what do we do next, should it wear a collar or a harness, can it cum now or should it beg more etc) are arbitrary. Learn to just decide. The more you think about every choice you’re making the faster youll burn out and get decision fatigue. If you realize you made the wrong choice, you can change it as soon as you realize. The most tiring part of domming is the overthinking. The second guessing. The “was that hot or embarrassing”. I can maintain my domme persona the longest when I can just say “whatever. I already made my decision. Time to move on”.

also, develop a list with your partner of things you want to do. “Fuck, what do I do now” was the main thing on my mind when I started domming. If you have your own list of options for stuff thats on the table you can go down the list in your head and select from it instead of coming up with things to do on the spot. Also, don’t be scared to just grab your sub and stare at them while you think of what to do. There’s no time crunch and the pause will make them anticipate something. Especially if you’re not talking, just looking at them and sizing them up.

The chair under you is dreadfully uncomfortable. Heavy, wooden, high backed, no padding. You’ve been tied to it several times before, but tonight is different. There are no toys waiting to be used on your exposed body; just the rope binding you to your seat. Tonight I’ve taken far more time than usual securing your wrists and ankles. 

“Jewelry is another one people often jump for.  Wedding rings of course, but imagine instead a solid silver bracelet. Something engraved and hand crafted, fit to your wrist just perfectly. Thick enough you’d feel the weight with every movement of your arm. Think how often your hands and wrists are in your vision. You’d always see it, always remember that moment I first slipped it on. And even if it did manage to drift from your attention, someone’s bound to comment on its beauty and draw you back.”

“There are less considered options. You have things like perfumes, or clothing. Picking out how you dress out on the town, what you’ll wear to work, or what you’ll smell like. Each of them, large or small dictating how other people perceive you. I think that’s a fascinating degree of power to be given over a person.”

When I place the butane torch on my work table you begin to squirm.  You can’t help yourself, I understand. Anxiety and fear causes every animal to find the boundaries of its leash. You however have nowhere to go, bound as you are. I start the flame before I dial in the heat. You watch in open fascination.

“My favorites are the permanent kind, or at least the nearly permanent. Maybe a tattoo on your hip that every one of your future lovers will see when they kiss their way down your body? Or maybe I’d like it a little higher. Tucked up near your collar bone. You’d see it only when you look in the mirror but you’d have to change your entire wardrobe.  Either to hide it in shame or expose it to everyone you meet. Regardless I’m still dictating that control over you, forcing you to consider every future outfit choice. Even if you do decide to hide it you’ll have to show it off to some future partner. You’ll have to either explain the truth to them and watch the emotions play across their face, or lie to them. Break a vow of trust between you both because you couldn’t handle the alternative.”

“Where all those fail is their impermanence. Collars are made to be removed. Perfume can be washed off.  Jewellery gets taken off before every scene. Even tattoos can be covered up, or naturally fade with time.”

I’ve put my back to you, my body blocking your view of the flame and whatever I was doing. Heavy boxes are opened, the sounds of metal hitting metal mixing with the roar of the torch. Smells you can’t place start to reach your nose as the torch warms something.

“Scars though? There’s one of my favorite ways to mark someone. This part of you, maybe even the whole of you, was unblemished before you met me. Now it’s imperfect. Changed. You’re just a little less whole, a little different than you were before and you’ll never escape that knowledge body or mind.”

“The impact of my intrusion on your life should leave physical consequences, don’t you think?”

In one hand you can see me holding the softly glowing length of a cattle brand, the air around the tip shimmering from the heat. Faintly you can make out the first initial of my name woven into the design of the metal.

“Just like I taught you, breathe through the pain baby.”

(If you would like to support my writing and help me relocate to a safer place I've included my cash app below or you can DM for my paypal)

You've kind of stopped worrying about the fact that at the very beginning of all of this, you were not a Cat or a Bug, but a girl.

As it gets worse and worse, and those sentences get too complex to manage, you just repeat exactly as trained: "Break me. Break me. Break me." Egging me on with the mantra, the fear and horror and pain in your voice meaningless next to the actual words.

[   ] Heavy, thinking, worried about tomorrow.

or

[ X ] Glassy eyes. Brain turning to warm gloss. A voice telling you that you don’t need those thoughts anymore. The sweet weight of knowing someone else is doing all the thinking now.