I don’t often use the terms dominance and submission (or BDSM for that matter) in my writing. Mostly because they’re not words I use for myself when I’m playing (or fucking.)
And while story isn’t really an exception to that, it does describe something that most often fits well within that category. It was strange writing it, and I struggled with the words to use. But I think it offers a little peek into a particular way of play that differs from the scenes I usually write.
I hope you enjoy!
Her collar was never a sign of ownership. It wasn’t an indication of who she was or her relationship to me. And it definitely wasn’t a reminder that she was anything less than human.
But it was a marker all the same. It marked transition, and for a while, that was everything.
The moment she heard it jingle, her demeanor changed, her voice shifted, and her entire body transformed into something smaller. Her knees found the ground instantly, and when she looked up at me, it was with a nod that indicated her willingness.
The transformation in me was no smaller.
The choice to take her collar out pushed me towards another version of myself, and once it was around her neck, my head swam with possibility. Whatever animal lies beneath my conscious mind was released, and holding back became a detriment rather than a moral obligation.
I’d undress her instantly. The collar was the only thing she needed to wear, and her naked body felt vulnerable in a way it never otherwise did. I’d trace my hands over her skin, feeling it rise to my touch. Her nipples hardened, her muscles clenched, and she was a soaking mess by the time I reached her cunt.
On a slow day, I might have her choke on my cock while I read or sipped my drink to soft music. I’d watch her gag and drool as I forced her mouth around me, and if the spirit moved me, a quick photo always added to her embarrassment. The sound of the camera made her squeal as she gasped for breath.
Most often, I’d have her lie across my knees, and I’d slap her ass with my open palm until red blossomed on her skin. I’d finger her in between spanks, making sure she didn’t come, and her moans were sweet and feral. If I yanked on her leash, bending her backward as far as her body would go, she’d whine and sigh while I hit her again and again.
I didn’t fuck her without a hand on her throat. Not once.
As she lay beneath me, her legs spread wide and her cunt empty and aching, I’d slap her pretty face until she was dizzy with desire. I’d tease her clit with the head of my cock, wrap my hand around her strong neck, and only release her when I wanted her to speak.
The sound of her begging, despite my slaps and my abuse, was a sweet one. The desperation in her voice was deep and needy, and I’d wait as long as I could, cutting off her air or slapping her breasts or cheek while teasing her below.
When I fucked her, it was with my entire body. I’d choke her tighter as I pounded into her, and if I was moved, I might spit or slap her again. On occasion, I’d turn her over and either take her from behind until I couldn’t hold back, or I’d fuck her ass while she cried.
Either way, I’d bend her forward, beating her harder as we fucked, and by the time I came, she would have done so a half dozen times over. Sometimes I’d look into her eyes or I’d force her to watch herself get fucked in the mirror. On occasion, I’d cover her skin with come, painting her body as she lay writhing on the bed.
When I wrapped the leash tighter around my hand, pulling her head to me, our kiss was more teeth than lips. Any tenderness in my touch was supposed to wait until the collar was off.
But gentleness did find its way in on occasion, and I blame something silly like love for the interruption.
Either way, as she lay on the bed, her body red and marked, my come on her or inside her, and both of us too exhausted to speak, a choice had to be made.
On an energetic afternoon, I’d pull her up again, and I’d tease and play with her willing body until I was hard and she was begging once more. And we’d fuck and fight and tear and tease until I found myself missing the other version of her too much to bear.
But when I finally asked her to kneel, she knew it was coming. I’d search her face for emotion, often finding a mixture of relief and regret.
But the second it was off, she’d wrap her arms around me, and we’d fall to the bed laughing and smiling. I’d put her collar away, she’d make a round of drinks, and we’d run through our time together, making notes for the next time it came out.
Her collar was never a sign of ownership or even submission.
But each time I felt it beneath my fingers and heard it ring as I pulled it from its place, the world changed.
And we changed with it.
I absolutely loved this. Hot and real. Thank you.