Sunday, October 30, 2011

The deliciousness of being a scary bitch

The first time I met bon-bon, we lingered for a couple of hours over cocktails before I put him in my rope cuffs and had him kneel for me. He trembled as he knelt. And it was delicious.

The first time we really played, I tied him spread eagle to his bed. I knew he was a novice with rope so I didn't stretch him taunt across his bed. I left a little play in the rope so he didn't feel so restricted. He was visibly anxious. His looked at each wrist with concern until I blindfolded him but his breath remained rapid. And it was delicious.

We've played nearly every week since and even now, four months later, he still gets nervous around me.

And it is still delicious.

But it is surprising to me.

I'm not a scary bitch. I'm really not. I'm often told I'm "way too nice to be a Domme" by those who have never played with me. Well, by those who haven't played with me or read my blog.

I don't scream or yell when I play. My sadism is usually wrapped in such sensuality, you don't see it coming. I'm usually dressed in something rather classic, never in scary Domme attire.

Still, I'm a Domme and I suppose if you didn't know me well, you'd assume I'm scary.

The thing is, bon-bon DOES know me well. He's had four months to get to know me. And he's still a little scared of me.

Two weeks ago I had bon-bon come over to hook up some electronics. He was all business in deciding what needed to be done and concluded I needed some additional hardware. Yippee! A trip to hardware store!

On our way, we stopped at the liquor store for wine. We made a selection and then as I was browsing, I heard him asking for the small bottle of Patron.

Back in the car even before I had my seat belt buckled, bon-bon had opened the Patron. I laughed. I made a comment about him not even being able to wait until we got back to my house.

"You make me nervous."

"What?? Really??"

"Yes," he said taking a shot. "You always make me anxious."

And though I was astounded I have the power to make him nervous four months later, I'm pretty sure this scary bitch was instantly wet.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

In honor of International Fisting Day

Friday, October 21 is International Fisting Day. And in honor of this occasion, I thought I'd blog about fisting.

I'm a big fan of fisting. That probably comes as no surprise to you, I'm sure. Fisting has long been seen as a Dominant action. And now you're picturing me gloved and lubed with my hand up some guy's ass, right? In some hot girl's vagina?

As lovely as that visual is, it's not what gets my juices flowing when I hear the word "fist."

I enjoy being fisted.

Yep, I said it. I admit it. I love that feeling of being full beyond belief. Feeling stretched. Love it. Love love love it!

I've always had a thing for guys with sexy hands. Nice, well shaped, strong hands. It's one of the first things I check out when I meet a guy. And sometimes, when he has really nice hands, it's enough to dampen my panties.

Well, if I wore panties, that is.

I'm not sure at what point the distraction of a man's hands turned into fantasizing about how they'd feel in my vagina, but it did. And it continues to happen more than I'd like admit.

My first experience with fisting was with an ex-girlfriend. We were fooling around and at some point amongst the OH MY GODs she told me she had her hand inside me. Later, she proudly showed me how she was wet up past her wrist. We hadn't used any lube.

She was amazed at how hot it was. I was amazed she'd gotten her whole hand inside me. She wanted to get a tattoo of auburn curls (like my own hair) encircling her wrist to commemorate the occasion. I wanted more.

But I'd have to wait. My first fisting was literally days before I took on my first sub. After that, the vanilla guys I dated were few and far between and I never trusted them enough to try it with them. And I surely wasn't about to let a submissive fist me.

Once upon a time I cared about things like that. I refused to engage in some activities I enjoyed for fear that someone might find them, and my interest in them, submissive. I cared more about my perceived dominance that my own enjoyment.

And then I realize that's ridiculous. So what if I like being fisted? Guess what. Even when a guy has his hand in my vagina, I'm still calling the shots. I'm still very much in charge.

I'd let a couple of Dom boyfriends fist me since my first time. Not as part of any D/s scene, of course. Just two equals in bed having fun. But I hadn't let a submissive fist me until a few months ago.

As with any type of fisting, trust is always a factor. I wouldn't dare engage in fisting with someone I didn't know with 100% certainty was going to follow my instructions to the letter.

So I let my sub fist me. And it was great. I let him do it a few times.

One time I even wrote about it. Only I didn't. I wrote AROUND it. I said he ate my pussy and he did. I just omitted the part where he stuck his whole hand inside me.

"Oh yeah, I read your blog."

"Yeah? Did you like it?"

"You're a liar."


"You didn't mention the part where I fisted you."

It's true. I didn't. Creative license? No, that's not why I omitted it. Quite frankly, it wasn't relevant to the post.

But because this Friday is International Fisting Day, it's relevant. And so now I'm sharing.

He fisted me on the patio table as I lay naked under the stars. And it was hot.

He says that when he tries to insert his hand, when he TRIES to fist me, it never works. But if I relax and push onto his hand, I can take it every time. And enjoy it. Immensely.

Call fisting a Dominant thing if you want. Go ahead and think being the recipient means you're submitting. If it's something I enjoy and want to do, I'm going to do it and I don't give a shit what you think about it.

Fisting is about trust. Fisting is about control. It's just not always about domination in the way you might think.

Happy Fisting Day!