madame

i’ve always attracted very masochistic subs. people who wanted to be pushed. who wanted it rough and mean and relentless. and because i cared about them. because i genuinely wanted to give them what they needed. i’d lean into it. i’d be more sadistic than felt true to me. i’d say the things they wanted to hear. call them what they wanted to be called.

and sometimes it worked. sometimes i could get there. but a lot of the time i’d feel awful after. like i’d done something that looked right from the outside but felt wrong from the inside.

the way i naturally dominate is affectionate. attentive. deeply invested in the person in front of me. i want to take you apart slowly. i want to learn every small response. i want my hands in your hair and my voice in your ear telling you how well you’re doing while i do something that completely wrecks you. i want to be the reason you fall apart and the arms you fall into after. i want to ruin you gently. i want to make you feel so safe and so taken apart at the same time that you don’t know how to hold both things at once.

and yes. i can be harder. i can slap you. spank you. choke you. i can use your desperation against you in ways that make you sob. i can hold you right on the edge and watch you beg and feel absolutely nothing except satisfaction about it. i can call you pathetic. call you dumb. coo at you in that way that’s sweet and tender on the surface with something sharp underneath that you don’t fully clock until you’re already too far gone to care. that all lives in me naturally. i’m not performing any of that.

but there’s a line.

and i want to be clear about something before i talk about that line. i understand the appeal of harder degradation. i really do. i’ve read it. i’ve written adjacent to it. i know why it works for people. there’s something about being completely stripped down. having someone say the most filthy humiliating thing directly to you and feeling it land somewhere that nothing else reaches. i get that that’s fantasy. i get that it’s not literal. i get that the sub who wants to be called worthless doesn’t actually believe they’re worthless and the dom saying it doesn’t actually mean it that way either. i understand the mechanics of it. i understand why it hits.

i’m not judging anyone who lives there. some doms are genuinely built for that space and they’re incredible at it and the subs who need that deserve to find them.

i’m just not consistently one of those doms.

i can visit. i can push myself there occasionally if the connection is right and the context is right and something in the moment makes it feel true rather than performed. but i can’t live there. i can’t make it my default. i’ve tried. it doesn’t sit right in my chest after. something in me keeps an account of it and i don’t like what that account says about me even when i know rationally that it was consensual. that it was wanted. that it was play.

the thing i’ve had to make peace with is that i used to see all of this as a limitation. like i was somehow less capable. less versatile. like a real dom should be able to go anywhere their sub needs them to go regardless of how it felt to get there. i’d stretch myself. i’d push past what felt natural. i’d do things that felt wrong and call it flexibility. call it service. call it being a good partner.

i’m not the right dom for everyone. i’ve made full peace with that. some people need something i’m not built to give consistently and that’s not a failure on either side. it’s just fit. it’s just honesty about who you are and what you can actually offer without losing yourself in the process.

but for the right person.

of course you come almost right away. this position does it for you every time and they know it. they know once the vibrator reaches your clit it’s too much. so they fuck you through it and they slap your ass because they like how it bounces with the vibrations and it’s all so much. they keep going and they’re saying sweet things. that’s right baby, just like that. give that to me. a little more. you can take a little more. good girl. i know you’re not done.

their weight shifts and now they’re leaning on top of you, their weight pinning you to the mattress. you couldn’t pull the vibrator away anymore if you tried. they don’t want you to. they kiss your shoulders tenderly. they run their arm around your throat and now you’re in a chokehold but it feels so loving.

you are shivering and pulsing and shaking from aftershocks. you can’t really tell how many times you came, it might’ve been a few or it might’ve been one orgasm that was drawn out and took everything you had. but now you’re pinned underneath them and it feels so good and so tender and you’re overstimulated but you can’t pull the vibrator away. wouldn’t if you could because they’re not done with you.

their lips on your neck and their breath in your ear. their tone has turned from worshipful to a growl. you have to feed their hunger.

don’t stop, they say. you feel so fucking good. your pussy is perfect. give me more. your pleasure is mine. give.

okay. yes. you can drop back into pleasure. you can handle the stimulation. you close your eyes again and — they moan and — you’re shaking again. fuck. a sound comes from your throat. you’re trying to say their name but can’t make it past the first syllable.

that’s what does it for them — hearing you, hearing their name in your voice, hearing the pleasure. they push deep into you, pinning you just a little harder, grinding their hips into yours and you know they’re grinding their clit to the vibrations still moving through you. they come inside you, and you hear it and you feel the pulse of their pussy through the strap. it’s yours.

they don’t stop right away, of course — they slow down, they keep almost being done but then needing just a little more. you will let them take everything and they do.

Once I’m done, they’re pulling me down, pressing their face into my neck or my chest to just breathe me in, feel my heartbeat. My hands squeeze their sides and shoulders, palming their skin beneath my touch.

Call them my handsome boy (or my pretty girl), the one that makes the smile the widest, feel the happiest.

I wanna whine about being so horny it hurts until you order me to get down on my knees.

I want you to make me sit there and watch with my big brown eyes while you palm yourself through your jeans.

I want you to slowly undo your belt and unzip your pants and watch the way my pupils blow out in an instant.

I want you to slowly glide your fingers through my hair before fisting the roots and pulling my head forward into your bulge.

I wanna mouth at your bulge pathetically, whining as I slowly begin to wet the fabric.

I want you to yank my head back suddenly just to see the saliva coating my chin.

I want you to coo at me once you realize how my eyes are glazed over.