I’m 95 percent sure that if you asked Sir how he self-identifies/labels himself in the context of BDSM he would not say Dominant/Top/Master. He would (nearly) undoubtedly say: Sadist. I’m not his first foray into the lifestyle, so I am not vain enough to say his Dominance is a reactionary consequence of my Submission, more like it is something natural about him… an aura he wears, so to speak. I laugh a lot at people who claim to be naturally Dominant or Submissive, but mainly internet Doms who are “looking for a natural Submissive.” I don’t know why, it just makes me giggle.
But I think Sir has a “natural Dominant aura” about him. Though most people associate being a Sadist with being a “Top” and being a Masochist with being a “Bottom” that is not always true. There are plenty of tops–D-types, who enjoy having pain inflicted upon them, and likewise, there are bottoms–S-types, who enjoy inflicting pain. So he isn’t Dominant because he is a Sadist.
It might shock you to know that he’s pretty chill “in real life,” and he tends to roll with the punches. When we’re not actively engaging in sex or a scene, even though we’re not in a 24/7 dynamic… the dynamic is always there, sort of bubbling beneath the surface. But, he’s a very level-headed guy. We talk a lot–debates, philosophy, politics, comics, video games… sometimes just “shoot the shit”–so to speak. But he’s not afraid to defer to me, to ask me a question about something I am an expert in and he is not necessarily well-versed in. We debate without him pulling the D-type card.
Though we do have moments where he reminds me who wears the pants.
“You can’t just *insert action here*.”
“Sure I can.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I’m the Dom.”
This is more of a joke than anything, but when he accompanies it with a serious look, a deeper tone… something stirs inside of me. The S-type in me answering to the D-type in him. My body reacting.
It is rare for him to exert his Dominance over me, rather it is something that I feel… ever-present in our interactions. It is in his tone, his body language, his eyes. Sometimes it is simply in the things he says.
“You’re mine,” he murmured today.
And something in my gut pulled and tensed and melted inside of me, and I knew the words were true. Without emphasis, without threat, without any pretense. And the power the words held over me made me dizzy.
He’s a Dominant… and a good one. He cares about my well-being, he knows how to stroke my submission from me. He knows how to push me. He’s conditioned and trained me without ever actively going through the process of”training” me–it was all very natural (there’s that word again). He mind fucks me better than anyone I’ve ever known. He gives good aftercare and he gives good dirty talk. He enjoys and treasures my obedience. He cares about my pleasure and he accepts me and all my weird quirks and fetishes. But at the end of the day, he’s definitely (in my eyes) more of a Sadist.
And that’s more than okay with me. A lot of our D/s play involves an element of s/m. And I am thankful for that. A lot of my “weird” fetishes are because of my masochism and he not only indulges me (we are, we have decided, pretty evenly matched on the level of pain we like/fantasize about), but he is strong enough (for both of us) to know when to stop, to know when to curb my appetites, to keep me safe from my self and from him. My respect for him for that (and many other reasons) knows no bounds.
As for me? Submissive masochist. Everyone knows that. Selectively submissive though. It’s an integral part of my sexuality, but if I’m not with a partner who can inspire my submission, and we still have great chemistry? I can live without the submission. Though, I generally still like my partners to take charge in the bedroom. I like rough sex, regardless. And, I think Sir has ruined me a little bit for other D-types, if we’re honest.
I thought for a while that I had something of a Little or a Babygirl in me, but I’ve since realized, that’s not it at all. Rather, when I am feeling deeply, deeply submissive… I get all cute and shy and feign being innocent and what I thought before was maybe “little.” You know what it is though? It’s more of an acting out. It’s more of me trying Sir because I want him to be in that “Daddy” role, where he gets really Dominant and talks dirty to me and makes me feel dirty while being kind and sweet to me. I can’t explain that specific part of our dynamic very well because it’s still kind of strange to me. BUT physically? I get fidgety and limber and I show off a bit. I wiggle my feet and shake my legs and roll around and arch my back and crawl on all fours and I get cuddly and snuggly and needy for affection. I nuzzle and give kisses and nibbles. My voice gets softer, quieter, higher in pitch, sweeter, cuter. It’s a baby voice that would probably annoy most men, but I’ve recently learned that when I’m in this mood and acting like this, it drives Sir fucking crazy–in the best of ways, of course.
It’s not something I use to my advantage, but rather it comes over me unexpectedly. I’ll admit when it did come over me today I was allowing it to frustrate him. I was laying it on a little thick. I’m sure he knows. I’m sure of it because quicker than I realized he had turned the tables on me. His command of words and language and of me, really, the way he knows how to make me ache and want and need with the bare minimum of effort… it still astounds me.
I’ve been in that mood a lot lately. And I think it’s because of the desires I’ve been having lately… the experiences I’ve been rutting after. I’ve been feeling my masochism more lately. I’ve had hungry dreams about dark, dark things, about cuts and bruises and blood and beatings and brandings and bites and blades. I’ve been in the mood for rough sex, for consensual non-consent–let me call it what it is, rape play. I’ve had nothing but ravishment fantasies lately, and that “little girl” mentality that I get really lends itself to that. Not in that I like to pretend I am a child, but in that, I like to play coy and shy and innocent. I like to be Little Red Riding Hood, and I’m sure you can guess what I want from the wolf.
If you still don’t get it, let me put it in perspective for you, and this is going to be a little raw and might give you a better idea of the kind of sick mind that lives in this body, but I’ve been falling asleep masturbating to David Cronenberg’s Crash like every other night this week. Sigh.