The Domme Cherry - Anon

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The Domme Cherry


It's undeniable the sensations that course through a Domme's body the first time she successfully and sturdily ties (or handcuffs) her sub down, watching the nervous trust in his eyes as she lets the future events of the evening play through her head in perfect quality, better than any DVD could capture. My partner was a boyfriend, quite open-minded and willing to try something different, very brave as well seeing as I had no real idea what I was doing. I borrowed the "essential" aides for a friend who was also a Domme: a whip, riding crop, ball gag, all of which had been almost ritualistically cleaned. My gaze on him was shaky and I wasn't sure if I was capable of willingly initiating pain upon him, but I could see his confidence in me within his eyes, his longing and I suppose even a silent craving for it. He adjusted his bound body once more and my supposition was proved correct as I let my eyes roam over his body, so unabashedly excited and his chest shining lightly from sweat in the dark, humid southern evening. I let my fingers play slowly along the whip, smirking at him deviously, curving glossy lips coyly as the energy built up deep inside. I could feel who I was becoming , understanding that -I- had the power and he could do not but stare at my leather corset, mashing my breasts together shamelessly and down to my ungodly high heels, with which my ankles were quite weak, and that night it was made quite clear to me I could never make it as a stripper.

I began to twirl the whip, smacking it on the ground until I decently understood how I needed to snap my wrist and these were the moments were I envisioned myself as a goddess of pain, one who would make the oh-so-naughty boy on my bed cringe and plunge in an ecstatic realm between pleasure and pain. My dainty fingers wrapped around the handle of the whip, winding up as I began to bring it down to his body, breathless in the moments before and expecting a grandiose explosion, sort of like a superhero's transformation from normal daytime worker to Superman. My eyes widened in anticipation right before the leather whip met skin, listening for the crack........only to hear a nearly inaudible pat. I sighed, feeling a little defeat, there went my dreams of being "Lady Sadist" in my own erotic comic book. I thought for a second and looked back into the tempting, non-descript duffle book of naughty borrowings and brandished something I knew I could actually control: the riding crop. Something about it felt much more natural than the whip, perhaps the fact it wouldn't go completely wonky if my wrist was turned 5 degrees to the right.

Between turning around, looking into his eyes and then noticing his toes curl, I knew I had made the right decision. Something about me changed that very second, my legs were stronger to walk on, my hips flowed side to side effortlessly and a controlled fire lit inside me as I teased the crop along my lips, leaving a sticky film of sparkly peach gloss. I let the riding crop tease up his leg, glistening spots harshly kissed along his inner thigh, small red spots that glittered sweetly. I rolled him onto his left side, thankful I used bungee cords with just enough give for just such a rolling occasion. I tested his cute, toned bottom with the crop, softly touching it to the unabused skin, the skin I knew was about to get quite red and swollen. My aim was true this time as the crop smacked loudly against his clenching bottom, sending him into bucking frenzy but my own feelings barely made me aware of his. A distinct, quite memorable, shiver raced up my back, catching my breath securely within my throat and giving me a momentary pleasure that felt similar to edging. Throughout that night, I explored with him new ways to make him cry out and gasp, as well as delving into the delicate art of bringing a man to fruition by administering some tough love. It was that night I knew my Domme cherry had been popped and I absolutely loved it.