Tag Archives: control

On female domination

I love it when guys I’m with give me commands.

“Pull down your pants.”
“Bend over this.”
“Open your fucking mouth.”

Being told to do something gets me much much hotter than when they drop subtle hints: a command is delicious because it’s a shortcut, a cheat mode to instant gratification for both of us. I know exactly what he wants from me, and I don’t need to mess around experimenting – I can just obey and guarantee instant hotness.

But there’s one command that makes my blood run cold:

“Be mean to me.”
“Hurt me.”
“Dominate me.”

Running out of ideas

The first time I ever dominated a guy I was ham-fisted and incompetent. His request that I ‘be mean’ to him was disconcertingly vague. Do you want me to verbally abuse you? Beat you? Tease you? Make you wear my knickers and crawl around on the floor like a dog? I had no idea.

I tested, of course, with gentle slaps and nervous ‘tell me you love it’s and ropes that never seemed to make the right knots when they were in my hands. But ultimately I felt like a fraud: I don’t want to hurt you – I want to be hurt by you. I can’t tie you spreadeagled to the bed and watch your twitching erection without wanting to sit on it. I can’t tease you with lube and toys and stinging licks of pain because all I want to do is see you – feel you – come.

Anything other than those specific things feels contrived and – when done by me – like a poorly-scripted comedy. I couldn’t bring myself to give any orders or try many new techniques because they seemed so unnatural that I was certain he’d see through me instantly, and have to stifle giggles rather than moans of pained lust.

So the first time I tried to dominate a guy it went a little something like this.

Guy meets girl.
Guy asks girl to hurt him.
Girl laughs nervously and tells him to take off his clothes.
Girl slaps his arse a few times, flips him over, pins his wrists to the bed, calls him a filthy boy and then runs out of ideas.
Girl sits on guy’s dick and rides him until she comes.
Guy ejaculates, with a palpable sense of disappointment.

One command to rule them all

I’m better now. Not because I have gone on a course, or because I’ve developed a natural skill for sultry dominance, but because I have repeatedly fucked up. Times I’ve slapped guy’s faces and had them say “no no, not that. I don’t like that” or tied their wrists to the back of a chair with knots so weak that a strong draft could set them free.

The fuck-ups have paved the way for more experimentation – I’m not just going to sit on someone’s cock because that’s the only thing that springs to mind. Now that I’ve had time to test what I can and can’t do, and how to find out what a guy actually means when he says ‘dominate me’, I can do more – go further.

Despite not being comfortable wielding a bullwhip, I can use a flogger to make someone tingle all over, and usually make sure the strokes land roughly where I’m aiming them. I’ve realised that although saying ‘get on your fucking knees’ doesn’t come naturally to me, putting a guy in a pair of silky knickers and squeezing his aching cock through the smooth fabric has a certain charm that I appreciate. I can sit a guy down on a lubed up buttplug and grab his dick, stroking then stopping then stroking then stopping until he makes choked whimpering noises in the back of his throat.

I’m still not a great domme, but I enjoy it more now I know that if I fuck up it’s not the end of the world. Because although I like being ordered around, I’ve learned that giving the orders can be pretty fun too. As long as the number one command is: “When I’m on top, thou shalt not laugh.”

Sorry I haven’t written much recently. I’m a bit on holiday. Normal service will resume this week, but as ever do subscribe for updates in the top right-hand corner to save you having to keep coming back and being met with a brick wall of disappointment if I haven’t updated.

On stroppy submissives

Oh master, let me worship at your feet. Let me lick them and beg for your sexual favour and look up at you with adoring eyes and unquestioning obedience.

Or, more realistically, let me do the opposite. Let me call you a dickhead when we’re in the pub and you make a stupid joke. Let me eat all your Fruit Pastilles and tell you your iPhone is rubbish and bollock you when you make us miss the trailers at the cinema.

I’m a crap submissive. Or rather, I used to think I was a crap submissive back when I thought submissives had to be a certain way.

When I first got involved with the kink scene by attending fetish parties and spanking sessions, I found it quite hard to keep my mouth shut in the appropriate places. This isn’t because I didn’t want to be spanked – I bloody well did. But it’s not even because I was deliberately being a brat so that I’d achieve more spankings – telling a fifty-something dom guy that by voting Tory he’s contributing to the demise of the NHS is more likely to lead to a cold shoulder than a hot beating.

No, the reason I couldn’t keep my mouth shut is because I was – still am, and always fucking will be – a gobby twat.

It’s all about the challenge

I read a rather excellent blog about this the other day from a domme’s point of view. Not Just Bitchy explained how submissives who kick ass and take names are fucking hot. I like this point of view very much, because not only am I one of the aforementioned ass-kicking subs, but naturally most of the men I have submitted to have pretty similar attitudes. In short: they didn’t see the fun in controlling me if I was too easy to control.

Perhaps they were just being nice. There is, after all, something fairly unsexy about a girl who is willing to swallow your cock one minute then steal your chips the next. But I don’t think I could have any kind of long-term play relationship with someone who insisted on compliance (or even fake compliance) at all times.

Ultimately, submission for me is about sex: I do what you tell me to do because it makes me wet when you give me orders. I like being bossed around, punished and manipulated in bed because it makes me weak at the knees. But these things only really seem relevant in the bedroom. If you tried to order me to do something in the pub, I’d either slick my knickers and demand that you took me immediately home to fuck, or I’d laugh at your assumption that I’d abandon my pint just a couple of sips in.

Submissives are like boxes of chocolates

Some people – magical, rare people – have enough self-control that they can do the D/S thing all day every day (or something pretty close to it). Others don’t need to put any effort in, because their natural state is one of demure submissiveness. But the vast majority of us are incapable of doing that for longer than is necessary for us to have a twitching orgasm.

I like playing like this – pretending to be sweet and compliant and ever-so-slightly terrified of your massive cock, and what you’re going to do to me with it. I like acting as if my stroppy comments are genuinely unacceptable and warrant a spanking for misbehaviour.

But that’s all it is – play. Occasionally I get emails from guys saying they wish they could meet a girl like me or that they wish their girlfriend was this submissive. My immediate response to both of these things is to consider reporting myself to the Advertising Standards Agency. You have no idea – no idea – how much of a slovenly, disobedient, swearing cock I am. All you know is that I like some specific somethings, and when those specific, submissive somethings are good enough – they provoke the right hot feelings or desperate moans – then I’ll write about them on the internet.

Submission, for me, isn’t about being controlled and dominated – it’s about getting fucked. I’ll bend over for you, suck your dick, and squirm with pleasure when you call me a ‘good girl’, but at the end of the day we have to pack away the toys and get back to real life. And by ‘real life’ I mean me, in my pants on the sofa, shouting obscenities at the telly while you make me a fucking sandwich.

On being restrained: what’s hot about being tied up

I’m an impatient person. I don’t want you to try to fuck me – to tease me gently and have me panting and gasping. I want you to put your dick inside me. I want you to push it into my cunt before you’ve barely got my knickers down. To a certain extent, I want you to act like you don’t care how I want it. That’s one of the reasons I love being tied up… (more…)

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On getting what you want

What’s the best way to get what you want? Anybody?

Well, there are tips and strategies to persuade and entice someone into doing something hot, but I’m surprised at how many people miss the crucial first stage in the process – asking for it.

I love a guy who takes control, but so many of the guys I’ve met are reluctant to take control verbally. They prefer hinting, or gentle persuasion, or gradual escalation from a gentle slap on the arse to a full-blown, knickers down, bent over the knee beating.

So tonight I want to persuade you to ditch the shyness, scrap the uncertainty, open your mouth and tell me exactly what you’d like.

Giving instructions is desperately sexy

Oh God please tell me what to do. When you’re horny and hopeful and desperate for something specific. Tell me what to do.

Kneel down.

Suck it.

Touch me here.

Hold this.

Sit on me, pull your shirt up, look at me, swallow it, roll over and pull down your fucking knickers.

What’s hot isn’t just what we’re doing – it’s that you so dearly want to do it. And what’s even hotter is that you like it – it makes you make little moaning noises and suck your breath in through your teeth and grip the bed and tense up and push your cock out further so I can keep doing what I’m doing.

So don’t just tell me what, tell me how. You want me to suck your cock? How? Do you want me to take the full length to the back of my throat until I make strangled choking sounds? Do you want me to suck gently on the tip until your head’s swimming and you can’t wait to force it more roughly inside me? Do you want long, slow strokes with my hand while I tongue the head, hoping for a gushing release that sprays into my semi-parted mouth?

Tell me.

There’s something stunningly good about someone who tells you to do things.

Help me help you

It doesn’t even have to be dominant – you can say ‘please’, and you can do it even if your partner has no submissive tendencies – the point is that I want to know that what I’m doing is getting you off. I can give you a semi-decent handjob that’ll give you a pretty buzz, but if you tell me what you like I can bring you off almost as well as you can do yourself.

A guy recently asked my advice in how he should tell his girlfriend she gave shit head. “Should I just be rude and come out with it?”

No – Christ no – don’t tell her what she’s doing wrong – tell her how to do it right. With words, with noises. Say “Oh fuck that’s amazing” if she does something good – nudge her towards the decent bits and away from the bad. Tell her you want a sloppy one, a hard one, a nice long slow one. Tell her.

Because the alternative is to have a partner who is constantly guessing, constantly unsure, constantly giving you the moves that her ex used to like in the hope that you have the same tastes.

And putting your pleasure to one side for a moment, if you don’t pipe up and fucking say this stuff, you’re also depriving your partner of the absolute, unending, shivering joy that comes from doing something she knows you’ll like.

“How about you sit in the bath and let me soap you all over?”

“Please will you hit me with this belt while I bury my face in your cunt?”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God, just please God let me fuck you.”

You see? Getting one’s own way can be as easy as opening your mouth.

Now pull down my knickers and fuck me like I’ve been bad. Please.

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On boy snogs

I have a favourite pervy picture. It’s not as explicit as you might imagine – in fact to certain eyes it could look like an innocent snap of two teenagers in love. But it is not that.

During my first year of University I fell what can only be described as ‘idiotically in love’ with a guy who was generous enough to reciprocate that love with spectacular and quite disgusting sex. He was a brunette. He was straight.

At the same time, I had a good friend in halls who was exquisitely pretty in a lithe, posh-boy way. He was a blond. He was also straight.

These two boys, lovely though they were to me, utterly despised each other.

Can you see where I’m going with this? Maybe not – I’m going to a kebab house at 3 am, on the evening of my 19th birthday. We were waiting for food and I jokingly asked them to kiss. To my unending delight, they actually did. Forcefully, passionately, and with the kind of lustful instinct that you tend to only see in young ones. Luckily I was not completely paralysed with arousal and so, ever resourceful, I whipped out my camera faster than you can say ‘timeless wanking classic’ and took a snap.

If boys kiss in front of me I will probably perv on them

Watching two boys kiss is one of my absolute favourite things. I am frequently mesmerised in gay clubs at the sheer number of hot, lustful men eating at each other like it’s their final chance to do so.

But good though it is to watch any boys kissing, my personal favourite is seeing two otherwise straight guys pulling because they know it will turn me on.

Why? God knows. The kissing’s hot because boys are hot, and at that point it becomes a simple equation: if one thing is hot then if you double the number of hot things and attach them at the face you’ll increase the overall hotness output.

But I suspect there’s also something of a dictatorial streak in me. Despite being submissive when I’m fucking, as a general rule I love to see boys doing things that I’ve asked. Sometimes I can control boys purely by telling them it’ll make my cunt wet if they do stuff – I am God.

Part of the thrill with straight-boy kisses is definitely the fact that they’re usually a bit uncomfortable. In this situation the fact that the guys hated each other made it all the more arousing. I remembered the bitter rows they’d had, the way they snarked about each other to me to try and get me on side. I made these boys get over their mutual disdain just so they’d do dirty things to each other.

But mostly it’s hot because, even after initial reluctance, I’ve never seen guys snog timidly – gently – the way most try to kiss me for the first time. Boys snog more quickly, more passionately, almost angrily. Even reluctant straight ones.

And now if you could just take off your pants…

Of course sometimes, if I’m really lucky, it will develop into something else. I’ve been with a few guys who are willing to snog but no more – they’ll do it to make me happy then take me home and bang me with the force of someone trying to show how much they like girls.

But some of them are willing to go that bit further. Some will pull a boy and realise that perhaps boys aren’t so icky after all. Maybe this one will rub up against the other a bit. Perhaps he’ll start getting hard. Perhaps he’ll let me take off his trousers so the other guy can get a good, tight hold of his dick.

Even if that doesn’t happen, the promise of it is still there during their kiss. So whether I’m taking pictures on the sidelines or trying to crowbar myself in between them so they crush me with the force of their boylust, I’m grateful for every lip-locked minute.

I understand that not everyone’s into it. Not all straight guys are willing to get as stuck into another dude as they are into a woman. But honestly? If you are I’ll love you twice as much for it.

If you’ll pull a guy with the same force and passion as you’d pull me… If you’ll kneel down and suck on his cock like you want to draw all the spunk right out of him… If you’ll let him climb on top of you and bang you with quick, hard, grunting strokes while I lie underneath and feel the force pushing your cock deeper inside me… If you’ll do all of that then I will melt and drool and tremble and then fuck you until you have no fuck left.