Of Doms and Dommes

We’re all writers in this group and I’m sure we all have our different ways of portraying our men and women in our stories yet also I’m sure we’d all have answered the following question in a similar way. The question I was asked (paraphrased) was this -- are Doms in erotic romance stories formulaic or should they be suited to fit the different individuals you've created?

Now to me this is a no-brainer. People are different and in stories we should strive to make our characters be as real as possible within the setting we have created, so how could each Dom/me be anything but different? In a way this seemed to be postulating that Doms aren’t real. Yet Dominance and submission underlies many of the sexual games men and women play.

When I say ‘games’ I use the term loosely. BDSM is such a wide-ranging concept and to some the D/s thing becomes a complete 24/7 way of life, thus overlying everything that they do. This doesn’t mean it’s not fun at times of course but game seems a little wrong used there. Is it a game when the BDSM only happens in the bedroom? I suppose that depends on you. I think if you go as far as applying the Dom and sub terminology you’re going a bit deeper into the psyche than a game. But words are only words and I’m sure some will say it’s ALL a game. Others will say the opposite. In the end we’re humans and way too slippery and complex to pin down with itsy bitsy words. Though that pinning down and slippery part sounds enticing.

Moving on to writing, one of us authors suggested we introduce some of the Dom/mes from our stories.

From the decelerating whine of gyrocopter blades, Theo Kevonis has just landed on the roof. We don’t have a lot of furniture in the Playroom yet so let’s hope it suits him. He’s a little too rich to really… Oops, footsteps on the spiral stairs. I drum my fingers on my knee as I wait, sitting here on the way-too-hard leather couch. Why leather? Who ordered this uncomfy thing? I’ll bet it’s because fluids wipe off easily.

Sedate, seemingly unflustered by our modern decor, Theo Kevonis and his consort, Claire, take the last few steps down the carpeted stairs. His winter gray frock coat and white cravat are immaculate, and Claire…I blink as I take in her outfit, and the leash Theo holds that leads to her gleaming black collar.

A black satin catsuit covers her down to her elbows and her ankles yet reveals her breasts and pubic mound and as she turns to kneel by Theo’s side, the bare cheeks of her bottom show where the suit is cut away there also. A heavy silver chain runs down between her legs and more chains splay out across her breasts. The little black cat mask is adorable. No doubt the sparkly bits on the ears are real diamonds. I can’t help getting a little hot myself as I imagine how those chains must feel.

As they come closer, my stomach churns like it’s been invaded by a school of worms. To my relief a noise distracts Theo and he stops before he reaches the couch. Phew. The gods have smiled. I get up and slink over to the wall and hide behind a row of fake palm trees.

James, our current doorman is arguing with someone. Sten. He’s arrived early. But where is Kaysana?

Despite all the ruckus, most of the noise is from James. Uh-huh. The revolving shotgun is the problem. Sten’s shoulders rise and fall as if he’s sighed bigtime. Then he reaches up and draws the shotgun, places it on the counter.

“Sorry, sir, you’ll have to give up the rest of your arsenal too before I can allow you in.” James goes as if to fold his arms, then stops and lets them fall to his sides, hands curling, uncurling. Nervous? I would be too.

Sten slowly unbuckles and takes off his sword belt, his dagger…a small stiletto from an ankle sheath. By the time he’s done removing the weaponry James has thawed.

“Wow, and this one? This looks like gold inlay.”

“Yep. Got it on a job a few months ago. The sultan liked my work.” Sten points out some detail on the curved dagger.

I shake my head, lean back against the wall. Have to give James a lecture later. Still, looking good, maybe I won’t have to talk to any Doms after all.

“Evening.” A hand parts the screen of palms. “Lost something?”

Darnit. Sprung. I swallow and stare back at the man. Thick black hair shaven ruler straight across the top, a deep brown shirt, black trousers and a pair of black shoes polished so shiny you could use them for a mirror.

Oh, hell. Dankyo. What is he doing here? “Were you invited?” My voice has a little squeak in it that wasn’t planned.

“No, were you? I think you need to be questioned.” His big hand closes over my wrist.

“What?” Frantically I shake my head. “I’m…frick, I’m an owner! You can’t question me…” The palm tree looks solid so I take hold of the trunk and hang on. “Hey, besides, aren’t you a product of my imagination? So it won’t matter if I do this.” Then I kick him in the shins, real hard, and…

Damn, he looks cross.

Recording of conversation ends here. If anyone sees Cari, please let the front desk know. Theo is waiting.