I’m pretty bad at dominance. I enjoy being domme occasionally, and there’s certainly an incredibly satisfying something about making a guy angrily horny and desperate to come, then saying ‘nope’, and walking away while he lies whimpering in a sexy heap. Usually I prefer to be the one doing the whimpering – it’s more fun to tremble in excited anticipation of what might be done to you than to tremble in terror that your “who’s a naughty boy then?” will be met with a snort of derisive laughter. So I was delighted when someone sent me this guest post, in which she provides what I can only very rarely attempt: some super-hot sexy writing with the girl very much on top. From our anonymous Africa correspondent, here’s some female dominance, a hate fuck, and a massive dollop of rage…

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I love it when guys I’m with give me commands.

“Pull down your pants.”
“Bend over this.”
“Open your fucking mouth.”

Being told to do something gets me much much hotter than when they drop subtle hints: a command is delicious because it’s a shortcut, a cheat mode to instant gratification for both of us. I know exactly what he wants from me, and I don’t need to mess around experimenting – I can just obey and guarantee instant hotness.

But there’s one command that makes my blood run cold:

“Be mean to me.”
“Hurt me.”
“Dominate me.”

Running out of ideas

The first time I ever dominated a guy I was ham-fisted and incompetent. His request that I ‘be mean’ to him was disconcertingly vague. Do you want me to verbally abuse you? Beat you? Tease you? Make you wear my knickers and crawl around on the floor like a dog? I had no idea.

I tested, of course, with gentle slaps and nervous ‘tell me you love it’s and ropes that never seemed to make the right knots when they were in my hands. But ultimately I felt like a fraud: I don’t want to hurt you – I want to be hurt by you. I can’t tie you spreadeagled to the bed and watch your twitching erection without wanting to sit on it. I can’t tease you with lube and toys and stinging licks of pain because all I want to do is see you – feel you – come.

Anything other than those specific things feels contrived and – when done by me – like a poorly-scripted comedy. I couldn’t bring myself to give any orders or try many new techniques because they seemed so unnatural that I was certain he’d see through me instantly, and have to stifle giggles rather than moans of pained lust.

So the first time I tried to dominate a guy it went a little something like this.

Guy meets girl.
Guy asks girl to hurt him.
Girl laughs nervously and tells him to take off his clothes.
Girl slaps his arse a few times, flips him over, pins his wrists to the bed, calls him a filthy boy and then runs out of ideas.
Girl sits on guy’s dick and rides him until she comes.
Guy ejaculates, with a palpable sense of disappointment.

One command to rule them all

I’m better now. Not because I have gone on a course, or because I’ve developed a natural skill for sultry dominance, but because I have repeatedly fucked up. Times I’ve slapped guy’s faces and had them say “no no, not that. I don’t like that” or tied their wrists to the back of a chair with knots so weak that a strong draft could set them free.

The fuck-ups have paved the way for more experimentation – I’m not just going to sit on someone’s cock because that’s the only thing that springs to mind. Now that I’ve had time to test what I can and can’t do, and how to find out what a guy actually means when he says ‘dominate me’, I can do more – go further.

Despite not being comfortable wielding a bullwhip, I can use a flogger to make someone tingle all over, and usually make sure the strokes land roughly where I’m aiming them. I’ve realised that although saying ‘get on your fucking knees’ doesn’t come naturally to me, putting a guy in a pair of silky knickers and squeezing his aching cock through the smooth fabric has a certain charm that I appreciate. I can sit a guy down on a lubed up buttplug and grab his dick, stroking then stopping then stroking then stopping until he makes choked whimpering noises in the back of his throat.

I’m still not a great domme, but I enjoy it more now I know that if I fuck up it’s not the end of the world. Because although I like being ordered around, I’ve learned that giving the orders can be pretty fun too. As long as the number one command is: “When I’m on top, thou shalt not laugh.”

Sorry I haven’t written much recently. I’m a bit on holiday. Normal service will resume this week, but as ever do subscribe for updates in the top right-hand corner to save you having to keep coming back and being met with a brick wall of disappointment if I haven’t updated.

Oh master, let me worship at your feet. Let me lick them and beg for your sexual favour and look up at you with adoring eyes and unquestioning obedience.

Or, more realistically, let me do the opposite. Let me call you a dickhead when we’re in the pub and you make a stupid joke. Let me eat all your Fruit Pastilles and tell you your iPhone is rubbish and bollock you when you make us miss the trailers at the cinema.

I’m a crap submissive. Or rather, I used to think I was a crap submissive back when I thought submissives had to be a certain way.

When I first got involved with the kink scene by attending fetish parties and spanking sessions, I found it quite hard to keep my mouth shut in the appropriate places. This isn’t because I didn’t want to be spanked – I bloody well did. But it’s not even because I was deliberately being a brat so that I’d achieve more spankings – telling a fifty-something dom guy that by voting Tory he’s contributing to the demise of the NHS is more likely to lead to a cold shoulder than a hot beating.

No, the reason I couldn’t keep my mouth shut is because I was – still am, and always fucking will be – a gobby twat.

It’s all about the challenge

I read a rather excellent blog about this the other day from a domme’s point of view. Not Just Bitchy explained how submissives who kick ass and take names are fucking hot. I like this point of view very much, because not only am I one of the aforementioned ass-kicking subs, but naturally most of the men I have submitted to have pretty similar attitudes. In short: they didn’t see the fun in controlling me if I was too easy to control.

Perhaps they were just being nice. There is, after all, something fairly unsexy about a girl who is willing to swallow your cock one minute then steal your chips the next. But I don’t think I could have any kind of long-term play relationship with someone who insisted on compliance (or even fake compliance) at all times.

Ultimately, submission for me is about sex: I do what you tell me to do because it makes me wet when you give me orders. I like being bossed around, punished and manipulated in bed because it makes me weak at the knees. But these things only really seem relevant in the bedroom. If you tried to order me to do something in the pub, I’d either slick my knickers and demand that you took me immediately home to fuck, or I’d laugh at your assumption that I’d abandon my pint just a couple of sips in.

Submissives are like boxes of chocolates

Some people – magical, rare people – have enough self-control that they can do the D/S thing all day every day (or something pretty close to it). Others don’t need to put any effort in, because their natural state is one of demure submissiveness. But the vast majority of us are incapable of doing that for longer than is necessary for us to have a twitching orgasm.

I like playing like this – pretending to be sweet and compliant and ever-so-slightly terrified of your massive cock, and what you’re going to do to me with it. I like acting as if my stroppy comments are genuinely unacceptable and warrant a spanking for misbehaviour.

But that’s all it is – play. Occasionally I get emails from guys saying they wish they could meet a girl like me or that they wish their girlfriend was this submissive. My immediate response to both of these things is to consider reporting myself to the Advertising Standards Agency. You have no idea – no idea – how much of a slovenly, disobedient, swearing cock I am. All you know is that I like some specific somethings, and when those specific, submissive somethings are good enough – they provoke the right hot feelings or desperate moans – then I’ll write about them on the internet.

Submission, for me, isn’t about being controlled and dominated – it’s about getting fucked. I’ll bend over for you, suck your dick, and squirm with pleasure when you call me a ‘good girl’, but at the end of the day we have to pack away the toys and get back to real life. And by ‘real life’ I mean me, in my pants on the sofa, shouting obscenities at the telly while you make me a fucking sandwich.

Role play, like having a threesome, is incredibly tricky to do in a way that keeps everyone happy. Whether you’re a fireman, sex slave or naughty schoolgirl you’ll always have a certain idea in your head of how the scene will play out, and your partner(s) will have their own ideas. Very rarely does everything combine perfectly, meaning that there are often surprises.

Usually I rage against surprises – I have very specific fantasies, and the best sex is usually that which comes closest to the things I imagine when I’m alone at home with my knickers halfway down my thighs, scratching an itch I’ve been thinking about since a very specific scene popped into my head. But sometimes surprises can be good – things I’d never have considered doing or imagined could be hot. The right kind of person can show me things I’d never have wanted to do in a way that makes me achingly desperate to do them.

Surprises

It started exactly as I’d imagined it would. They came to the bedroom – a boy and a girl – and accosted me, berated me, called me a bad girl. They bent me over the side of the bed – she beat me with a leather strap, while he held me down, pushing my face into the bedclothes so I wouldn’t scream too loudly.

They took me downstairs into the lounge, where they had an array of equipment laid out – straps, whips, floggers, and (shudder) canes. They took it in turns to punish me – one lifting my skirt and pulling my knickers down while the other held my head in their arms and crooned words of comfort.

Slap

You’re a good girl. You like this, don’t you?

Slap

Don’t you?

Yes.

Slap

They stripped me and examined me, touching me all over, and hitting the parts that were softest.

Slap

And I loved it. I felt her hands all over me, and I saw his cock throbbing and pushing against the tightness of his trousers. I was wet and burning with pain, and desperate for him to fuck me. For her to fuck me – for someone, anyone, to push something solid into me and let me clench my cunt around it as I came.

They dragged me back upstairs to the bedroom, and I thought I’d get what I wanted.

‘Please. Please fuck me.’

He slapped me in the face and told me no. And she giggled with laughter that genuinely scared me. She was dominant and cruel, but did everything with a twinkle in her eye. She did things not because she was playing a game, but because she liked doing them. She liked scaring me with stinging cane-strokes that were just a bit too hard. She liked to show me that being submissive wasn’t just about taking pain that felt good. She’d beat me into a trembling pile of arousal and fear. She was, in short, spectacular.

‘Please fuck me?’

‘No.’ Said with conviction and more than a hint of cruel delight.

‘We’re not going to fuck you. Lie face down on the bed and pull your knickers down.

‘I’m going to give you an enema.’

I didn’t believe her. I didn’t really even know why an enema was supposed to be hot. I was horrified and humiliated and horny and confused, but that didn’t prevent me from being desperately curious. So I did as I was told. I lay face down on the bed, pulled down my knickers, and she gave me an enema.

I’ve never been so disgusted with myself and so aroused at the same time. When she’d filled my ass with water, she told me to stand in the corner of the room with my hands on my head. My legs shook and my stomach turned over and I counted down the agonising minutes while the two of them chatted. They discussed me, they dissected me, they contemplated beating me again. They appraised my tits, my arse, my thighs, the fresh, stinging whip marks across my buttocks and my back.

And I waited, and waited, and waited until I thought I was going to faint.

When they finally gave me permission to go I could barely walk. The stress of keeping everything in, holding myself straight and tight and still for what can’t have been more than five minutes, made it hard for me to move and gave me an agonising throb deep in my stomach that told me I needed to come.

When I finally made it to the bathroom, I sat in shame and miserable unsated lust, listening to her giggling outside the door.

I’m an impatient person. I don’t want you to try to fuck me – to tease me gently and have me panting and gasping. I want you to put your dick inside me. I want you to push it into my cunt before you’ve barely got my knickers down. To a certain extent, I want you to act like you don’t care how I want it. That’s one of the reasons I love being tied up… (more…)