Be Advised

To those who have already become return readers: Be advised that it may be a few days between posts due to real-life issues. An impending death in our immediate family, actually. Don't worry, we'll be around. Just less prolific for a week or two.

Reflections on Cum Eating and TPE

A lot of people have said that the Mistress/slave relationship is about me getting what I want. This confuses me.

In case you haven’t read before, I’ll mention that I’m a pretty novice Mistress and that I might not be a Domme if my husband weren’t so very submissive. In other words, I’m a Mistress because my husband wants to be a slave. Do you see the contradiction yet?

As we reach the end of our first full month of continuous Mistress/slave living, I’ve tried to establish boundaries in my own mind. My slave repeated to me something he found in a blog (I unfortunately don’t know which one, or I’d give credit): That safewords aren’t necessary between a married, committed, loving Domme and sub because they know each other well enough, communicate well enough, and trust enough to know when enough is enough. Thinking back to a conversation we’d had in the shower that morning, I completely agreed. 

My husband, like most submissives, tends to respond to an orgasm by retracting all of his previously stated fantasies. Before an orgasm, he says he wants to be locked in chastity for a year straight; afterward he’s certain he isn’t quite ready for anything more than a week. Before an orgasm, he’s aroused by the idea of being forced to eat his own cum; afterward he’s disgusted by it and has no interest. On this particular day, that was the matter at hand. He could tell that I was becoming more accustomed to the idea of making him eat cum, though I’d been somewhat repelled by it when he first mentioned it and had no intention of doing it. (I don’t even let him cum in my mouth. I can’t help it; I find it disgusting. I wish I didn’t.) 

As he watched me getting used to the idea, he became nervous. “I know I don’t have a safeword,” he said that day in the shower. (I “took away” his safeword, at his own instigation, during a bondage scene years ago, before I really understood this lifestyle completely.) “But how will you know if I really don’t want to do something, instead of just being stubborn or embarrassed?” 

“I think I’ll just know,” I said without having to think about it at all. “You’re my husband. I’ll know the difference between ‘That’s gross but it still really arouses me,’ and ‘That does arouse me, but I really find it disgusting and I don’t think I want to do it again.’”

“True,” he agreed, and that was the end of that. 

Lo and behold: the next night, after reaching a blinding, exhausting climax using only my slave’s mouth and fingers, I decided he deserved a reward. He had done a lot for me that day, sexually, emotionally, and domestically. I was too sated to want to bother taking him inside me, though, so I decided that he could jerk off. To balance this overly generous gift (it was his second orgasm in one day), the caveat was that he would have to taste his cum afterward.

The face he made when I put my cum-filled finger in his mouth was comical. It was perfectly clear that this aroused neither of us. We determined that I might do this again, but only in a highly dominant scene of control and bondage. If he was tied spread-eagle, blindfolded, plugged in the ass, and gagged, then it might be arousing to force cum into his mouth through the gag. The atmosphere would be the deciding factor, though.

I don’t really get off on control. I just enjoy the perks of this female-led relationship. I enjoy having great orgasms without worrying about his. I enjoy having help with the housework. I enjoy getting back massages and brownies without having to ask. But I don’t derive any real pleasure from controlling him simply because I can. (My husband might disagree. And he might be right. That’s a debate for another day, though.)

This seems very contrary to some of the opinions I’ve seen expressed in various blogs and forums. I’ve noticed quite a few people—both dominant and submissive—stating that the slave should never be able to say no to anything, and that the complete power of forcing unwanted actions like eating cum is essential to the D/s relationship. Forcing J to do something for the sake of exercising my power, when he genuinely finds disgusting and not very arousing, just doesn’t seem fun to me. Maybe that makes me less of a Mistress.

I guess I am not much interested in definitions for now. I’m interested in enjoying an unusual and special relationship with my husband.

Mistress K

Games

Why expend effort to torment my slave when I can force him to torment himself, instead?

A few nights ago my slave asked very nicely if there was any chance he might cum in the morning when he arrived home from work.

My slave knows that I’m not a morning person. At 7 am I want bacon, tea, and a hot shower. I do not want to pay attention to my slave’s puny cock. Nor do I want him just cumming without me, gaining pleasure without thoughts of me at the front of his mind.

Still, I was feeling benevolent, and I wanted to try out some ideas inspired by the internet. As you may have deduced from “Choices,” I’m a fan of letting my slave cum but tormenting him in the process.

“Yes, you may cum tomorrow,” I said, “Here are your rules: You may not cum until leave for work. If you start jerking before then, you must keep going, non-stop, until I’m gone. If you cum too soon, or if you stop jerking once you’ve started, you will not cum for at least one week.

“Finally, you must cum in your pink panties, and you will put them on as soon as you get home.”

I knew that sissy wouldn’t be able to resist stroking himself as soon as those satiny panties went on. I knew he would get home a good hour before I left for work. In other words, I knew I would go about my morning routine undisturbed while my slave lay on the bed whimpering and gingerly stroking my property, trying not to explode until I was gone.

I was hoping he’d hold out, but I admit I did not make it easy. I paraded my dripping body in front of him after my shower. Whenever I passed by the bed I trailed my fingers along the panties, listening to him gasp and groan as I tweaked his nipples.

Finally, when his whole body was shaking and he was barely moving his hand for fear of cumming, I was ready to go. “You may cum now, sissy,” I said as I strolled from the room. I paused and glanced back, deciding I rather wanted to watch him cum in his panties for the first time.

Noticing that I was still there, he gasped, “Now?!” his eyes widening in panic.

“Yes, now. You won’t be penalized for cumming before I go.”

“Ahhhhhh!” I watched as he finally let himself go, moaning as hot cum spurted into his panties. Being a spur-of-the-moment kind of gal, I snatched up his phone and snapped a close-up picture.

“Do what you want with that,” I said, tossing the phone back on the bed. “Have a nice day, love.”

Mistress K

While the Iron's Hot

Our first anal experience was completely unplanned.

For months my slave had been hinting—sometimes not at all subtly—that he wanted it. First the vibrator appeared, intended for use on him although it ended up equally useful for me. Next came the instinctive flinching whenever he was tied up, as if I were about to conduct a sneak attack on his anus while he couldn’t see or move. Then he described his fantasies of being tied spread-eagle and forced to beg me to fuck him in the ass. Of course we would find a strap-on that stimulated me, too, he promised.

I was not too sure about all this. First of all, anal meant being careful. What if I hurt him? I could shove the thing in too fast, or in the wrong direction, or without quite enough lube, and bam, problems! (At least, it seemed so to me.) And the other thing was…well, it was gross. Surely my hands, the sheets, and everything else would end up slick with bacteria-laden lube, and that simply wasn’t appealing.

Fortunately, I have a time-tested method of forcing myself to try scary new things: I surprise myself by just doing it, without forethought, completely out of the blue.

“It’s just so gross,” I said, for the first time fully explaining my reasons for delaying this. J was tied hand and foot to the bed, lying on his back, chatting with me as I idly teased us both. “And I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. I don’t know.”

“You won’t hurt me as long as you use lots of lube, and as long as I’m not gagged and can talk to you. As for the mess, well, we’ll put a towel under my butt, and I have nice Nitrile gloves in my bag so you don’t have to feel latex against your skin.” My slave knows I hate the feel of latex. (Unfortunate for a Domme, but so it goes.)

I pondered him quietly for a moment while the wheels turned in the back of my head. Suddenly, without consciously making a decision, I sprang up from the bed. “Where are the gloves?” I asked.

“What…what are you doing?” he asked tremulously.

“Striking while the iron’s hot,” I said. “Where are they?”

Soon the towel was spread beneath him, my hair was pulled back, and I was ominously snapping a pair of purple medical gloves between my hands.

“Well. Let’s do this.” His legs trembled as I lubed my palms and liberally spread the slippery liquid over the vibrator. A whimper escaped him as my fingers gently slid into his crack, slicking moisture all around, sliding ever-so-slightly inside.

“You’re really doing this?” His high-pitched whine rang with disbelief that part of his fantasy was actually being enacted. I merely slid the tip of the vibrator into him in response.

As I watched his hips rise and grind toward my hand, his fists clenching against the headboard, his face contorted…I knew that once again he’d been right. After seeing how much he enjoyed this, I was going to want to do it again…and again…and again….

Mistress K

Topping from the Bottom

Being a dominatrix does not mean I should miss out on the pleasures of handcuffs and blindfolds.

Although I’m growing into my role as Mistress, I have no objections to ceding control once in a while…to an extent. I find that sensory deprivation heightens my arousal just as much as it does my slave’s. With my eyes covered it is even easier to focus on the sensations in my body and casually neglect the living toy between my legs. There is no obligation to touch him or acknowledge him—I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Part of the motivation for orgasm control is the intensification of the long-awaited orgasm (among many other more complex motivations, I know). Why should only my slave experience that intensity? I want to be teased, licked and toyed with for hours, brought to the edge over and over until I’m panting and trembling and my muscles ache with the tension. I deserve to be denied until I cannot stand anymore and I’m begging for the perfect, blinding release.

I find there is an interesting mixture of powerlessness and command when the Mistress allows herself to be tied up. Though it may seem she is at the mercy of her slave, the opposite is true. When I order my slave to tease and deny me and not to enter me until I am begging for it—or better yet, when I lock his cock in a cage and hide the key until I can’t restrain myself from telling him where to find it—I am manipulating my own climax. I am ensuring my own pleasure. Slave might be torturously aroused after days of denial and an hour spent between his Mistress’s thighs, but he does not choose the moment. With my resolution not to plead until the need forces the words from my throat with my whimpers, I choose the moment.

It’s simply who we are. I might be tied down on my back, but we all know who comes—and cums—first.

Mistress K