Getting my Domme On

People often ask me why I’m a sub and how I came to that realization. I find it hard to answer because, as with many people in alternate lifestyles, it’s just something I knew from a young age. I don’t want to go into nature/nurture debates or discussions about influences from my past affecting my desire to submit. Those things may or may not play a part, but for me submission is something I desire, need and love. It’s at the core of my being, an inherent part of who I am and I embrace it. Still, there were times when I use to wonder what it would be like on the other side of the spanking bench. I eventually got my answer and it confirmed one thing. Despite being able to look the part and act the part if I need to, getting my Domme on is not something I enjoy.

Around eight years ago a male submissive friend and I both went through a divorce at the same time. We spent many nights crying on each others shoulders, drinking, chatting and generally doing the things a jilted lover does when getting over a breakup…you know the sort of thing…bitching about our ex’s and plotting revenge.

After a little while it became clear that Lee (his name has been changed to protect the guilty), wasn’t handling not being disciplined on a regular basis. He’d tell me how bad he’d been, point out examples of his neglect to clean his apartment and numerous other tasks he’d been responsible for that, in the past, if neglected, saw him punished by his Mistress. In an attempt to help Lee out I eventually agreed to try and get in touch with my inner Domme.

I started out slow. Lee loved being berated, called names and generally being told he was a very, very, bad boy. So that seemed the easiest thing to do for him while he helped me learn how to use the cane and a few other impact toys he liked. I did things like demanding he clean his filthy bathroom before I use it. It wasn’t filthy but he didn’t seem to care that I told him it was. The first time I said it I watch his eyes light up with excitement, and I’ve never seen a man move so quickly to grab cleaning products, get on his knees and begin scrubbing a toilet. Come to think of it, I’d never seen a man clean a toilet until Lee did it. I’d also never heard anyone moan in ecstasy as they did housework and finish the job with an erection pushing at the front of their shorts before.

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My idea of this being the easiest thing to do for him turned out not to be true. I had to force myself to, in my mind, be nasty to him. To treat him like he was not up to par with the things he did. I wanted to say things like “let me help you,” and “I’m sorry I made a mistake, the bathroom’s not dirty, and you take care of the place wonderfully.” Of course that wasn’t going to help him. He wanted the demeaning criticism, so I did it, and felt like a bitch every time I did.

I reached a point where I knew I was as confident with the cane as I’d ever get and, as Lee kept telling me, there’s no better way to learn than practice on the real thing. So dressed in short black skirt, thigh high stockings, heels high enough to break my neck if I tripped over, a tight white shirt and fitted black blazer I walked down the drive to Lee’s apartment for our first ‘real’ play session. We both had catholic school backgrounds and Lee freely admitted that he liked being a naughty school boy, punished for his bad behavior by a domineering head mistress. We’d prearranged the session. One evening, on a night of my choosing I was to text him and say, ‘You’ve been a bad boy today. Stay in class until I get there.’ He would then set up the equipment and sit quietly waiting for me to arrive at his place.  I checked my hair, the bun was still firmly in place and I straightened my glasses as I opened the door. Lee sat near an old fashioned school desk, the cane and his much loved authentic catholic school spanking paddle lay across the front of the desk. There was a larger adult sized chair in front of the school desk which sat next to a large chalkboard on an easel. 

I took a deep breath. I could do this, Lee needed this, he was a friend and I was helping him. The fact I was so nervous that I trembled needed to be ignored. My mind raced and all I really wanted to do was sit next to him at the desk, dressed in my naughty school girl uniform and have someone else do the disciplining. It wasn’t going to happen because the disciplinarian for the night was me. Shit, where was my inner Domme.

After a severe verbal chastising, while Lee wrote on the chalk board twenty five times ‘I must not play with my penis unless commanded to do so by my Mistress’, the corporal punishment began. Lee bared his ass and lay across my lap for his paddling, then received his caning while bent over the school desk and finally received four strikes of the cane to his hands for messy writing on the chalk board. I was tentative at first, I kept checking in to make sure he was ok, his request to go harder with the corporal punishment made me more nervous than I already was. As the welts and marks began to appear on his flamed red ass, I had to force myself to continue with the scene. Once we finished Lee was all praise and appeared genuinely surprised when I burst into tears.

The whole thing had been a huge learning experience. I loved the scene set up but, in the role of Mistress, I knew I was on the wrong side of the desk. The sound of the cane and paddle against flesh made me tingle, but I wanted to feel the sting, not just hear the whoosh and smack. I loved the look of the marks on his ass but I wanted them on mine. I understood the euphoric release Lee so clearly experienced but I hated inflicting pain on my friend in order for him to experience that.

Throughout the scene I kept trying to get in touch with my inner Domme, sure that she was there somewhere and just needed the right set of circumstances to step up to the plate. That wasn’t the case because, as a result of helping Lee out, I realized a very important thing. I don’t have an inner Domme.

I am a submissive, and I’m proud to admit it.   

Excerpt from Playing Jax – An example of why subs not trained in using impact toys should be wary of offering to help a friend.

 “Damn it, Angel, just cane me so I can see if I like it.” Rhia thrust a cane into Angel’s hand and bent over the large vault where Meg was once again sitting. “Here, hold my hands in case it hurts.”

“I expect it will hurt. Not that you’ll feel it properly through those jeans. The denim will dull the blow. You need to take your jeans off,” Meg instructed.
“She’s right, but it’s better to leave them on, so I don’t mark you,” Angel advised.
Rhia stared between the two women as they discussed the pros and cons of denim or no denim. She made the decision for herself and for them.
“We’ll compromise. Jeans off, panties on.” Rhia lowered her jeans so they rested at her thighs and once again positioned herself holding onto her sister’s hand.
Angel moved behind her. Rhia braced herself only to feel a few light taps of the cane against her bottom. “Don’t just pat me, Angel. Let me have it, don’t hold back.”
She braced herself for the hit.
“Daniel always does this tapping before he canes me. It builds my anticipation and gets me all horny,” Angel stated.
“Well, the only thing it’s building in me is annoyance. Now cane me, darn it.”
Rhia fell to her knees, pulling Meg forward on the bench and nearly toppling her off. It was lucky that the rooms were soundproof because the scream that exploded from Rhia’s mouth was so loud Meg and Angel reached to cover their ears. Tears ran down Rhia’s face and she gasped for breath. How did a scream that loud come out of her when she had no air left in her lungs?
“Oh God, I’m so sorry, but you said don’t hold back.” Angel was next to her. Rhia had seen her drop the cane on the ground as she’d crumbled to the floor. “Let me see if there’s a mark.”
Rhia rolled over and eased her panties down so the two women could inspect her cheek. Their combined gasps told her she had a mark. Her sister’s actions confirmed it was a bad one.
“Shit, I’ll go get ice.” Meg ran from the room.
“What’s it look like?” She nearly didn’t want to ask, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. “Well, there’s a welt about an inch wide, no wait…it’s getting wider. It’s bright red, and it’s darkening around the edges, so you’ll have a bruise. No, wait…you have a bruise, and it will probably get a lot darker.” Angel gently touched the mark on Rhia’s ass, causing Rhia to flinch. Who knew Angel could hit so hard?
To make matters worse, Meg came bursting back into the room, followed by the Incredible Hulk. He insisted on inspecting the injury. The embarrassment of having a stranger look at her bare bottom was almost too much to bear. He didn’t touch her, thank goodness but when the flash went off, she almost wanted to cry. The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation she experienced. She had to leave her name and other details, as did Angel in case there were repercussions for the club.
She lay on the floor pressing the bag of ice onto her left cheek. If Angel could hit that hard, imagine what Steve would do. It wasn’t the least bit arousing, not like when Steve pinched her nipples. Maybe Angel hadn’t done it correctly.

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