I don’t. I never have.
Do you have a commitment phobia? Or anything in your past that caused you to enjoy this lifestyle?
Weighing the question so I can answer truthfully, I finally type, Perhaps I do have a commitment issue. I wouldn’t call it a phobia. And nothing is in my past that’s messed up my mind, contrary to what a lot of people think about us.
How old are you? she asks.
35.
Again, some time goes by before she writes anything else. Then the words appear on the screen. I’d like to be clear on what type of Dom I’m talking to. Are you a heterosexual, Pierce?
I am. Are you?
Yes. I only ask as I want to write M/F romances and spending time talking to a man who likes men would do me no good. Do Doms only dole out punishments? And if not, have you received any?
One can play both ends of the spectrum if they want to. There are no rules stating that once a sub always a sub or once a Dom always a Dom. When I was in training, I was hit by my trainer. That way I would know what it felt like to be hit with the items I was taught to use. But no sub has ever hit me. Nor do I plan on that ever happening. I rule.
The pause she takes is so long, I begin to wonder if she’s decided to stop our interview. Then I see her next question.
Are you the type who wants to rule everything? And if so, why do you not have an exclusive sub?
Her question has me pondering it. Do I want to rule everything? I have no idea. I’ve never done that. The two live-in girlfriends I had certainly needed a firmer hand than I had back then. If I found a woman that I wanted to keep around, I think I’d like to make the rules.
With my answer, I type, Your question is a first for me. I looked deep inside myself and found I would like to rule if I ever found a sub I wanted to keep with me for any length of time. I prefer things certain ways and would train a sub to do things the way I like them done.
Do you feel women are inferior?
Her question nearly knocks the wind out of my sails.
Quickly, I reply, Not at all. You see, most of us in the BDSM world don’t think on those terms. Women and men have their roles to play in life. With the rise of women’s liberation, women have lost more than they’ve gained. Once upon a time, women were the esteemed nurturers of the family, the keepers of the children, the homes, and their husbands. They made sure all things on the home front were taken care of well and were proud of their job. Men went to work and provided money and security, not only in the financial form but also in the protection department. They made and upheld the rules and used different forms of discipline to enforce them.
I give pause to allow my words to sink into her head. With the way things have changed in the last fifty or so years, most women balk at this way of thinking, calling it ancient and useless. I wait to see how Jade will respond.
I’ve never thought about it like that.
A smile moves over my lips. “Good girl.”
Jade
Only a few questions in, and already he has me thinking differently. What he says is true. Women had it much easier before we decided we wanted to be equals in all ways. Not so long ago, women stayed home with the kids. They didn’t have to worry about work or paying bills. That was the man’s job.
Nowadays, mothers and wives go off to work and some have to actually leave their homes for days at a time. That’s left a generation of children who’ve been raised by strangers. People who work at the many daycare facilities that have sprung up all over the industrialized world now are responsible for the caring and nurturing of most babies and children that mothers once took care of all on their own.
Women now depend on their husbands to step up and take care of the children too. All chores are shared, and while that seems fair, I’ve seen a good number of frazzled parents in my time. Both are sleep deprived. Both have the weight of making sure the bills are paid on their backs. And both have the responsibility of finding great jobs and keeping them, no matter how much pressure comes with that.
Men’s minds have also been changed. Most men, back in the day, wouldn’t have their wives working. They’d have been considered deadbeats or losers if they sent their wives to work outside the home. Nowadays, it’s expected. And in a few words, Pierce has brought this home to me. How odd that I never thought of it before.
I can see Pierce’s side. Then again, as a woman with a brain that begs for knowledge and gentle pressure to expand and learn more all the time, I can see why women fought to be let out of the house. I have also seen stay-at-home mothers who resemble zombies and have difficulty putting a sentence together, much less being able to have conversations with other adults.
There are pros and cons either way you decide to live. That’s just a simple fact of life.
My next question is a bit hairy, and I hope I don’t offend the man again as I type, I now understand how you think about the sexes. What I don’t understand is where the domination comes into play. Nor the physical punishments that come along with BDSM. Can you explain this to me?
The physical punishments are accepted or rejected by each submissive. It is she who helps shape the agreements that are made between a Dom and his sub. Another thing you must not be aware of is that submissives hold all the cards. One simple word is all it takes to stop anything. It’s not quite the torturous world people make it out to be. And nothing happens to a sub that they’re against. That would be illegal, wouldn’t it?
I suppose it would. So these agreements are the contracts that bind the sub to the Dom? I ask.
They are, he answers me quickly. But you must keep in mind that even a signed contract that’s been painstakingly worked out between the two parties still doesn’t give the Dom the right to proceed with any punishment or action if the sub doesn’t want it. No matter if she agreed to it in the first place or not. And a good Dom doesn’t want to inflict any pain, or pleasure, for that matter, that his submissive doesn’t want.
I find it hard to believe the man. I mean, he could tell me whatever he wants to. Because what woman wants to be ruled over and beaten? So, I ask, Pierce, what types of women want to be treated this way?
There are women from various walks of life who seek this lifestyle, maybe not all the time, but some of the time. You see, when you get into this world, you find that anything is okay. If you want to live this way all the time, then you can. If you want to dabble, you can do that too. There are no set rules, except those that govern our society. SSC—safe, sane, consensual—was put into use to make sure all who are involved in this type of lifestyle have a level of protection. Clubs keep the members in line too. That’s why it’s always a good idea to join one and only get involved with people who are part of one. There are enforcers who make sure no one is hurt beyond the point they’ve asked to be. If you’re interested in being an onlooker, you can join a local club in your area and let them know what you want. We have voyeurs too. But I must warn you, it’s not easy to watch if you have no idea about what the people truly feel. It looks brutal, after all.
That it does, Pierce. And about that. You said you were hit when you were training to be a Dom. Can you explain why anyone would want that?
While I never got to the state of euphoria, I’ve heard it described as flying. It’s a high that one gets when endorphins swarm the brain. At that point, when you add in sexual stimulation, it’s mind blowing. Some have described it as an out-of-body experience that took them to new levels in their minds and souls. You can see how one would enjoy that and seek it over and over again.
Yet you’ve never done that? I ask, as I have no idea why he’d want to only inflict pain and get nothing out of it.
I’m more of a giver than a taker. Always have been.
You make it sound noble, what you do, I type.
In a way, it is. Can you imagine if you had this itch in the middle of your back and you tried everything to scratch it yourself—rubbing your back on the door frame, trying to find a stick long enough to get to the e
xact spot you needed it to, but you couldn’t reach it, no matter what you did? Then along came some person who could easily scratch that itch for you, but he didn’t want to inflict any type of pain on you. If you think about it, running one’s sharp fingernails across another person’s flesh sounds painful. Yet it eases the itch, relieving the person of their problem.
“Wow!” I say to myself. “This guy’s kind of deep. I didn’t expect this.”
He goes on, adding, A doctor also causes his patient pain on many occasions in order to treat an ailment. Does anyone consider him immoral?
My mind is swarming with more questions, yet I feel as if he’s winning me over to his way of thinking. So, I ask, When you’re hitting your subs, do you get sexually stimulated? I ask this because a doctor doesn’t get turned on by giving his patient pain. Nor does anyone get turned on by helping someone scratch an itch they can’t reach.
Time goes by, and I think he might be trying to figure out how to word his answer. Finally, the screen lights up.
Jade, you ask exemplary questions. The fact is that I do get turned on by what I do. Feminine screams and moans make my cock hard. But if you’d like to know the truth, your questions have stirred an erection too. You see, the libido is an odd thing. When you’re young, the slightest breeze across your dick can make it go hard. As we get older, other things cause sexual excitement. A soft whisper uttered into an ear, a touch from a beautiful woman, a stimulating conversation between strangers. I bet you’re a remarkable young woman.
He seems to be flirting, which has me nervous for some reason. It’s stupid. The man is thousands of miles away from me. He can’t do a thing to me and here I am, fidgeting in my seat, my nipples beginning to pebble, and heat filling my crotch.
I type, How are you able to seduce me so quickly?
Are you wet for me, Jade?
My heart pounds as I type back, I seem to be.
Run your hand into your panties, Jade.
His simple command has my hand moving without me thinking about it. I feel the heat radiating from my vagina. Then I use my right hand to type, Perhaps you could take your enlarged cock into your hand, Pierce.
It’s already there, he lets me know. Run a finger into that virgin hole of yours. Pump it a few times and say my name as you do that.
My cheeks heat as my pussy goes wet and I do as he’s told me to. This is not me! This isn’t a thing I’ve ever done!
But no one can see me, and no one will ever know I did such a thing. So I pump my finger and say his name out loud, “Pierce, Pierce, Pierce!”
His name rolls off my tongue as my eyes close and I keep going until the sound of another message comes in. I open my eyes to find he’s written, Now use your other hand and pinch the shit out of your nipple and hold it there even though it hurts.
I look at his words and wonder why I’d do such a thing. The fingering feels nice; the pinching won’t. But for some odd reason, I push my shirt up and pull my bra up too, then pinch my nipple with my right hand while I finger myself with the other and let out a shriek. Not of pain, but of something else. Pure bliss. Pure and unadulterated pleasure.
My God. How has he corrupted me already?
Pierce
Ugly duckling or not, this young female has my cock aching for her. And she’s a virgin, to boot! I wonder if there’s a chance in hell that I could get her to let me see her face. Or more of her, for that matter!
I type in, Jade, it’d be nice to watch one another as we do this. I’m going to end this message and video call you. Answer when I do.
No, don’t do that. It’s not that I don’t want to see you or you to see me. It’s that the camera on my laptop is broken. And this is getting out of hand anyway. I never meant to start a dual masturbation thing with you. I need to go. I’m suddenly very ashamed of myself.
“Shit!”
I type in, No, don’t go. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You said yourself that you’ve masturbated before. So what if you happen to be doing it while I am and thinking about me as you touch yourself? It’d sure be nice to add a face to what I’m fantasizing about. I’m picturing your ruby red lips wrapped around my cock. Are your lips ruby red, Jade?
I rub myself as I wait for her to respond.
They happen to be pink at the moment. No lipstick on right now. Nor any makeup. Pierce, am I weird for doing this?
No. I let her know with one flat word.
People and their unending need to justify what they do to others is an annoyance to me. I’m sure the girl is alone, and no one has a clue what the hell she’s doing. And here she is wondering if she’s weird.
Weird would be her not doing it, in my opinion!
Do you have a dildo? I ask her, to get her out of her own head and back into what we’re doing here.
How personal!
Yes, it is. Much like you asking me if I get my rocks off when I give a woman the abuse she asks for. So, do you have one or not?
Maybe, she writes.
Jade, I’m not a man who takes a lot of crap from people. Answer the question forthrightly. Or I can end this correspondence with one finger.
I have one. What should I do with it, Pierce?
“That’s better,” I say with a sigh.
Get it and put it where you’d like my cock to be, my love.
Can you please refrain from saying words like love? I know you don’t love me. I don’t want this to get to that level. Ever!’
“Damn!” I groan at her mouthy reply.
I type in, How about baby, then?
I suppose that’ll be okay. I’ll be right back. I have to lube it all up. What color is your hair?
“Whatever color you want it to be, baby,” I say out loud as I type, Brown.
It takes her a while to get back to me, and I stop rubbing my cock as I wait for her. I’ve never done this shit before. This is new to me. It’s a little weird, and I wish like hell I could actually fuck her. I wonder if that will ever be a possibility.
Brown? How long is it? she writes back.
My hand begins to move on my cock again. Short on the sides, long on top. Long enough you can run your hands through it. Your hair color?
Black. Shoulder length. I just got it cut.
I like long hair, so I type, Let it grow. I want to braid it when you come to me. Now tell me what you long for, Jade. Long walks on the beach, or hot nights in the sheets? I laugh as I use the corny-ass line.
Come to you? she writes.
Fantasy play, baby. Just go with it. And do you have that dildo going?
I do,’ she sends me. And I think I’d like to see what it’d be like in your sheets, Pierce.
Really?
This is a fantasy, remember? she types back.
Mentally, I scold myself for being so quick to type that. What an amateur!
Just seeing if you were paying attention. Okay, I like to fuck hard. Push that cock into your sweet cunt. Is it vibrating?’
Oh yeah,’ she writes. And you want me to do it real hard, don’t’ you?
Real hard. Slam my cock into your hot pussy, baby. Slam me in there until you’re ready to pop, then stop.
I wait, stroking my cock as I think about my real cock going into her tight virgin canal. Man, I want her!
I’m on the edge. Now what? she sends me.
The grin that forms is something I’m sure looks sadistic as I type, Place that cock in your mouth and taste yourself, baby.
No fucking way!
DO IT! I wait and wait.
After about three minutes, she sends, Oh my God! I did it! And I kind of made out with the vibrator. Oh God! I’m sick, aren’t I? Oh, don’t bother answering that. I know I am. I need to go. You have me doing terrible things. Bye.
You’re not sick, Jade. Fuck, stop being such a prudish baby!
I am a prude, aren’t I? Her words echo in my head. I’ll never be an erotic or even a comedy romance writer. I’ll most likely write boring articles for the newspaper and live in
a house full of cats. Sorry to have bothered you.
Sitting up, I hurriedly type, Don’t end this! Please, don’t. Jade, I’d like to talk to you more. I really would. I’m the kind of man who likes to see dreams come to fruition, much like in the scenes I create with the subs. And damn it, I want to create something for you. How about a scene where you’re already a celebrated author of erotic romance? A cool, sultry vixen you are. At your first awards ceremony, I escort you to the podium to accept your award as the best writer in the universe.’
This is silly, she writes back, but I’m happy she’s still there.
No, it’s not. Help me create it. What are you wearing to this awards ceremony?
I like myself in black. Most of my clothes are black.
What color are your eyes? I ask her.
Brown, well, a kind of golden brown.
I see you in a yellow, flowing, nearly see-through dress. It billows out behind you as I hold you by the waist possessively. The world thinks you’re mine, and I’m proud to be at your side as you take the stage. Your creamy thighs make brief appearances through long slits in the dress as you glide over the tan marbled floor. And then a tall, elegant woman, wearing a short, tight, red dress, hands you a crystal trophy. Your name is etched in the crystal: Writer of the Year, Jade Thomas. And then you look into my eyes.
She asks, What color are they?
I’m glad to see she’s getting into it and type, Blueish brown. Hazel is what they’re called. When you look into them, I can see your depth. You have honesty and courage, and I’m lost in your gaze. The people are all cheering, and I turn you to look at them, then slap your ass, making them all cheer. You blush and drop your gorgeous head. I take your chin with two of my fingers and make you look up and tell you how perfect you are.
Then do we kiss? she asks, and I can almost feel her breathless question even though it’s only written words.
Our mouths make slow progress to the others. Our lips touch and heat builds inside of us both. Then my tongue eases through your lips, taking your tongue, making it submit to mine. I move my tongue around yours in a dance that sends it into a frenzy of lusty need as I cradle you in my strong arms.
Dirty Little Virgin: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel Page 3