About eight weeks ago I decided it was time to look for another live-in submissive. I’d had two before. I can also tell you I’m probably not what you are envisioning. I more than likely look like you, I don’t wear latex, and I’m certainly not your vision of a Dominatrix or whatever you’re thinking. I don’t even have a playroom and that talk of contracts was just to mess with Ms. Cutler. I don’t do contracts—my subs and I are consenting adults. We work out the details and negotiate as we go along. And yes, technically I ask my subs not to masturbate, but since they are grown men with a private bedroom I’m sure it happens. They’d drive me crazy if they didn’t, the demand that they don’t is part of the game.
I’m sure you’re ready to hear more about Thomas. He is, after all, far more exciting than I am. The matchmaker working with me recommended him based on what we were both looking for. We exchanged photos and emailed back and forth a bit and seemed like a fit. After background checks and medical test results were exchanged, our first meeting was for drinks in the library area of the Marquee nightclub at the Cosmopolitan. Thomas became a submissive because his mother was a crack whore and he frequently watched her being beaten by her pimp… No, I’m kidding again—that’s that other story you’ve probably read. Thomas is a regular local Vegas boy, raised by two loving parents in a happy middle-class home. If you asked him why he’s sexually submissive he’d probably shrug and tell you he just gets off on being cared for and likes having a woman take over.
I found out he’d only had one other long-term Domme, he referred to her as Ms. Smith. She was in her early 40s, and he lived with her for about two years while he completed his master’s degree at the University of Nevada Las Vegas. He recently left her because she was getting more into the punishment and pain aspect and less into the hot sex part. He let me know he’s all about some pleasurable pain and the occasional punishment when rules are broken, but getting the shit whipped out of him every few days was not his thing. The final straw, he told me, was when she started getting into canes. I assured him that hardcore pain wasn’t my idea of a good time either. I explained to him that for me it was truly about control. I crave control, but am not a sadist—I don’t get off on inflicting pain. After leaving his Domme, he’d tried the normal dating scene but, like me, hadn’t found much sexual satisfaction that way. He wanted to live-in because he craved that “kept” feeling—being protected and cared for. Plus, he told me with a crooked smile, he was currently living in a shit-hole and wouldn’t mind an upgrade. Canes and sharing were off-limits for him, and I readily agreed.
Although Thomas doesn’t have a past that led to his desire for sexual submission, I won’t lie and say that my upbringing didn’t lead to my need for dominance. My father is a prominent lobbyist in Washington, D.C. I grew up in Vegas, where my father was active in local politics. When I was a freshman in college he took a job with a top lobbying firm in D.C. Dad controlled the family with an iron fist, and my mother has always been kept on an even tighter rein than my sister, Eleanor, and me. I don’t think he is physically abusive toward my mother, but he dictates every aspect of her life. Mom has never worked outside the home; dad won’t allow it despite her having an economics degree from UNLV. She did volunteer work for a while, but dad couldn’t stand her having friends and a life outside of his. He determines what she wears, how her hair looks, what she reads, even what she orders at a restaurant. Not only does he make her decisions, he’s always tried to make mine, too. My sister and I have always rebelled under that level of dominance. Eleanor, a music teacher in Berkeley, is very much the modern day hippie type. I went into law, specifically family law, after majoring in accounting in college. While not the complete disappointment to him that Eleanor is, my father doesn’t find the area of law that I practice ambitious enough.
As a teenager and in college I’d dated, but was always guarded in those relationships. I couldn’t bear to let a man control me, inside or outside of the bedroom. I found myself dating the docile, sensitive types but they never really held an attraction for me. My senior year in college I dated Andy. He was a true alpha male, but loved for me to take charge during sex. He wanted me to tell him what to do, when to do it, and in graphic detail. I got off on being the one to make the decisions, progressively getting more controlling toward Andy. He was still all man when we went out, but behind closed doors he loved being my plaything. I stopped seeing him when he left for grad school in another state, but my desire for submissive sex partners continued to evolve.
I’ve had two long term live-in submissives as well as several shorter-term arrangements. The first live-in, Kent, and I met at that cheesy S&M dungeon off the strip. We were together for about four months, but he developed a drug problem and we parted ways. After that, I had a very happy arrangement with James. He was older than me, and had been playing the submissive role for years. He taught me far more than I taught him. Eventually he started to feel more and told me he wanted us to be together long term, maybe marry one day. I didn’t feel a romantic attraction to James, so I ended the relationship. The truth is I’d never been in love, and although the emotional connection to a sub can be strong, I never imagined dating or marrying one of them. James was heartbroken, but we remained friends and I still see him about once a month for dinner. In between submissives I’ve tried normal vanilla dating and sex, but found that isn’t my thing. Even with the more kinky men, the level of submission they might playfully provide is never enough. I don’t want a romantic relationship; I want an arrangement that safely gives me the sexual gratification and emotional feeling of dominance that I need.
After my meeting at the Marquee with Thomas and a few other email exchanges, we decided we were a good fit and decided on a trial session that weekend to get acquainted. We went over what we would do that first time, and I gauged his comfort level with various activities. We established a safeword that would stop all activity the second he said it. Talking beforehand is important, but if we didn’t have sexual chemistry, the arrangement wouldn’t work. So, on a warm Saturday evening, Thomas knelt by the door of my bedroom for the first time. He was completely naked, eyes down, in a perfect submissive pose; his hands resting on his rock hard thighs, leaning back on his heels. He was hard in anticipation, his erection thick and long enough to make me wet and very excited. I always begin a play session dressed and the sub naked—it establishes the balance of power. That night, I decided to wear an ivory silk blouse, tight pencil skirt, and black boots. As I ran my hands through his soft blonde hair, I asked him if he was nervous. “Yes, Mistress,” came the whispered reply. “Don’t worry, my pet, this is our first time together and I’ll be gentle,” I reassured him.
“Stand up, Thomas,” I commanded. Although he was at least a foot taller than me, I felt in complete control. Being a petite woman and having command over a man his size is part of the thrill for me. I stood in front of him, admiring him, and savoring the rush of power I felt. I ran my fingers down his chest, stopping at his nipples. “These are very sensitive, aren’t they?” I asked as I gently pinched at the stiffening left one. “Yes, Ma'am,” he answered, almost in a gasp. “They are lovely but certainly need training,” I told him as I continued to pull at them gently. “Did Ms. Smith ever clamp them?” I asked while continuing to test their sensitivity. “No, Mistress.” I could almost taste how excited he was. As I licked and sucked at his perfect pink oval-shaped nipples, I could feel his breathing become quicker. I could already tell his virgin nipples would become one of my favorite playthings. Given training, I guessed he could someday come just from nipple stimulation. I wondered what else his former Domme had failed to teach him, getting wetter at the thought of how much he had to learn.
As I took his cock in my hands for the first time, I instructed him to look at me. I wanted to see his face, read in his eyes how my actions were effecting him. “This is a very nice piece of equipment, my pet,” I teased as he blushed. Just seeing him blush was enough to soak my panties, but I was determined to
unwrap him slowly this first time. Moving down to cup his deliciously heavy balls, he began to sweat a bit. His nervousness turned me on. I couldn’t wait to have every inch of him. Leaning in a bit I could smell him, a heady mix of nervous perspiration, soap, and probably some sort of cheap drugstore Axe-type deodorant. Soon enough I’d have him bathing in the good stuff, but he smelled perfectly edible as he was. Running my thumb along the edge of his strained, tense cock I asked him, “Who does this belong to?” “You, Ma'am,” he quietly replied. “And these?” I asked, gently lifting his balls, rubbing my thumb along the taut skin along the side. “Yours, Mistress.” The feeling of possessing him was intoxicating and there was so much more to explore.
I led him to the bench at the end of the bed and told him to kneel on it. His back was smooth and strong, with no scars or marks from his prior over-eager Domme. Running my finger down his spine, I toyed with the soft brown patch of hair at the base of it. “This is a very nice ass indeed. Ever been fucked here?” I inquired as I moved my finger lower down his crack. “No, Mistress,” he responded nervously. Tension radiated from him at the slightest touch of my finger there. I’d need to build up to that level of trust between us before going any further, but yearned to eventually be the one to teach him the amount of pleasure he’d discover there.
The electric charge between us was overwhelming. He was beautiful, and my desire for him was growing every second. Leaving him kneeling, I leaned across his back and reached my hand around his waist, resting my fingers across his flat, hard stomach. He remained still and quiet, but we both rose and fell with his deep breaths. I knew the anticipation of what I might do, where I might touch next, was driving him wild. I ran the tips of my fingers through the light patch of pubic hair. “Would you let this be waxed?” I softly asked. “If it pleases you, Ma'am,” was his lovely reply. “Hmm, maybe I’ll just shave you myself. That would please me, Thomas, to shave you smooth and lick every delicious inch of you.” Still so young and inexperienced, there were so many things I longed to teach him.
I told him to undress me. As he knelt down to unlace my boots, he kissed the toe of each one before he slowly removed them. As he slowly stripped off my clothes, carefully folding and then laying each item on the bench, I sensed his reverence for the female form, for my body. I thought he would nervously rush through the process, but it excited me that he didn’t. Instead, he relished in removing each item, discovering me with as much control as I’d discovered him. When he was finished and I stood completely naked in front of him, I told him to stand up. His control was impressive, but the look in his eyes told me he wanted to devour me like I was his last meal. When he bit his lower lip, I thought I’d come before he even touched me. The intensity of the spark between us frightened me a little. I think even then I sensed that he would be the man to devastate me, to turn my carefully controlled world upside down.
“I think it’s time I discovered how well that beautiful skin responds to being spanked for my pleasure,” I said, laying across the bed. I instructed him to get on all fours over me in a 69 position. “I need you to try to be still, my pet. I want to hear how this makes you feel, but keep your lips sealed or I’ll punish you,” I told him in my softest voice. After a minute of caressing each firm cheek to get the blood flowing, I smacked a couple of times, quickly and hard. He didn’t move or make a noise, but I could tell from the moisture leaking from his pulsing cock that these bare-handed smacks were giving both of us pleasure. The excitement of seeing my small handprints on his creamy skin was beyond sublime. I continued the spanking, moving to a different area, catching that sensitive spot at the top of his well-muscled thigh, until he began to clench a bit. I wasn’t spanking him very hard, but the sound of my palm striking his flesh was heavenly. I knew I’d have sore, red palms in the morning but I didn’t care. I was sure I’d bear more marks from the spanking the next day than he would. After another minute of massage, I smacked a bit more, harder still, as my palms began to numb. Now he was having a more difficult time staying still, and there were the quietest grunts coming from behind his closed lips. I gave the red marks I’d left a few fairly hard pinches, and then spanked a few more times as hard as I could.
“Hard enough for now?” I asked in almost a whisper. “Yes, Ma'am,” he replied in a strained, tense voice that made my center spasm. His butt cheeks were a nice starter shade of pink with a few darker marks from my pinches. I told him I was going to spank him again, but this time he could open his lips and show his appreciation to my very eager pussy. As I unleashed my final round of spanks, his hot tongue began to tease at my soaking wet entrance. Despite my aching palms, I slapped him even harder—I could tell he was teasing me on purpose, denying me the contact I was yearning for. He certainly had spirit, I could see that already. “The clit!” I said far too forcefully, in staccato with my smacks. After a slight pause in which he seemed to breathe me in, he began to lick and suck the throbbing, desperate bundle of nerves. Raising my hips off the bed, losing my much sought after control, I pushed myself into his mouth in a desperate attempt to get the friction I needed. I was still; too far gone to concentrate on spanking him. My whole being was on fire as he licked me up and down with flair, showing no eagerness to finish. He definitely knew how to lick me artfully and I could tell he loved every second of it. With the sight of him hanging over me, his iron cock leaking and throbbing, his balls heavy and dark, I knew I couldn’t last much longer. He backed off a bit to tease me, he wanted me to plead. Reaching up, his pendulous balls hanging over me, I gave them a firm squeeze—hard enough for him to protest with an “Ow!” I loosened the squeeze, but held on as a reminder that I’m in charge. My message clear, he began to finally flick his tongue rapidly over my engorged, desperate clit. Incoherent, I came in giant waves, my entire body shaking from the power of it. He didn’t stop until he’d licked every drop from me that he could as if it were his favorite delicacy.
“Fuck me, hard and fast,” I growled at him. I had to have him inside me, I couldn’t wait another second. As he turned around to face me, I ran my aching palms through the patch of hair on his chest. Finally given permission, he thrust inside me all the way, pulling out to the tip and thrusting hard back in again. I screamed from the force of his thick cock stretching my tight sheath impossibly. I sank my teeth into his shoulder, overwhelmed at the sudden sensation of being filled and opened by him, the tip of his long cock grazing my cervix painfully. “FUCK! Yes, just like that…stretch me…ahhh…shit…like that, hard…” I begged in near desperation. Finding his rhythm, his own moans were now louder as he struggled to keep his lips sealed. I felt my own tension rising again, my pussy pulsing around his shaft as he thrust mercilessly into me. Deliriously, I dug my nails into his shoulders, desperate for more of him. I was close to another orgasm and I could tell he couldn’t wait much longer. Clenching tightly around him, I groaned, “…come with me, fill me…” as a second, more powerful orgasm ripped through me. His entire body shuddered as he exploded into me in several powerful bursts. Thoroughly worn out, he collapsed on top of me, breathless.
He rose up and looked at me as if he wanted permission to speak. “What is it, my pet?” I asked. “May I lick it up? If it would please you, Ma'am?” he asked. Now that was new to me. I do appreciate a bit of kinky initiative. Puzzled, I nodded yes as he crouched between my legs and eagerly drank both of our fluids from my sore, still-throbbing lips. After he collapsed next to me, exhausted, I ran my hands through his sweaty hair. “Are we compatible, Thomas?” I asked him in my most business-like voice. “Fuck, yes, god…” and catching himself, he corrected, “Yes, thank you, Mistress,” kissing me gently on the red palm I held in front of his lips.
Had I known that day how complicated it would get between us, would I have run away? I’m not sure. Probably not, as he'd already become my drug of choice by the end of the night.
Roulette: Love Is A Losing Game
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Bonus Sample from DEEP: A Captive Tale, a dark erotic novella by Sam J.D. Hunt
Part One.
The sea was calm that day - the water crystal clear and as smooth as a sheet of glass from the beige sandy beach to the deep sapphire blue on the horizon. The sun slowly heated St. Martin that summer day as the humid mist floated to the heavens in a salty haze. The raid happened so fast that Charlotte Smith never knew what hit her, or more appropriately, who had hit her. She’d been walking barefoot along the frothy surf, her content toes sinking into the cool sand, as she did most every morning since she’d arrived on the remote Caribbean island when she’d been suddenly knocked unconscious.
Later, with a painful jolt, she woke up in a windowless cave of a room, her head pounding like a drum. She moved to cover her face with her hands to block out the offensive smell of the place: a combination of sweat, spoiling food, and musty wood but her hands were tied behind her with a crude rope that cut into the soft, milky skin of her wrists. The same delicate toes that had been soaking in the morning surf were now grasping for freedom across a rough wooden floor. Charlotte rolled to her side and then forward in an attempt to stand up and escape the foul room. As she made it to the door, she was flung sideways, landing with a loud thud on her lean right thigh. “Help! Please, someone save me!” she begged, knowing that salvation wouldn’t come. Charlotte was a clever, attentive woman – she knew the rocking of the room meant she was in a boat at sea. Succumbing to the throbbing in her temples and the biting pain in her side from the fall, she closed her eyes as darkness overtook her.
The Hunt for Eros Page 18