Probation Officer #43: How submissive?

two 1In my dream Sa’afia held Ana’s arms while Ana knelt, ass up, on my bed. She watched with interest while I took my belt to Ana’s arse, and leaned forward to be kissed while I positioned my cock against Ana’s little asshole. Ana’s strapped skin burned to the touch as I closed contact with her, though the sheets in which I dreamed were cool.

So were Sa’afia’s imagined breasts as she drew me into a tight hug while I pushed forward into Ana’s ass. The dream couldn’t sustain that level of detail. I drifted forward into a female world, a sequence of visual and tactile moments, of Ana’s softnesses and Sa’afia’s. When it all became too improbable, and too much mental work to sustain, I woke up.

It was morning. I  was back in a world in which I couldn’t have sex with Ana, and I shouldn’t really have a threesome with two cousins. They’d probably find it quite awkward, in practice. I didn’t let that worry me overmuch until, eyes closed to keep the images, and with spit and my cock in my hand, I came. Decorously, into tissues. 

In the shower I remembered the certainty I’d felt, while Sa’afia and I were fucking, that if I hurt and subdued her once she was excited she’d find a whole set of sexual pleasures that she probably didn’t know about, let alone know that they were in her. She’d seemed ready to let go of her own control, and to go under, to submit. That, or I’d imagined the whole thing. 

But there was an ethical issue. One that was more relevant to the real world, or my real world, anyway, than whether to involve cousins in a threesome. If I was right about Sa’afia I could easily get her consent.

two ladiesI could smack her ass just before she came, something a lot of vanilla lovers do to their vanilla lovers. It doesn’t need a separate consent. But I could smack her, and if it went well, do it again. If she became really excited, I could ask her consent to smack her harder.

Under those conditions, if the fuck is good, just the word “harder” can trigger a woman’s first submission-flavoured orgasm. 

Submissive women are all different. There’s no “key”. That approach will never work with someone who doesn’t like, desire and trust the person who smacks them. But it had worked for me, though I only did it when I already had some reason to believe that some small, self-revealing, steps into bdsm territory would be welcome. I wasn’t entirely comfortable about knowing things like that. It felt manipulative. Because it was. But it was also true that I’d done it accidentally, and then done it deliberately, and I’d been lavishly rewarded by the responses I’d gained. Submissive women had shown me something that some of them liked, and I’d paid attention.

But if I was right about Sa’afia, should I make any move to reach into her and show her her submissiveness? What about all the changes that bdsm would be likely to bring to her life? How long was I likely to be in her life? Maybe I should avoid changing her. Maybe I’d imagined that feeling between us anyway. Or maybe I hadn’t imagined it. What the hell did I know?

I got out of the shower and got dressed. I decided to go looking for Rodriguez before I went to the office, so I could catch him before he went to work. I called the office to tell them to expect me later. I didn’t call Rodriguez. I should be  a surprise.

Probation officer #41: Submission and self-knowledge

A few minutes later, I was looking down into Sa’afia’s eyes. Her knees almost touched her breasts, and she made a little “hooo” noise each time we closed and took each other deep.

She kept her eyes open and on mine while we fucked. There was a kind of anguish, perhaps pleading, in her brows and mouth.

Because of the conversation we’d had, in which she’d urged me to spank Ana, helped along by wishful thinking, I had the sudden conviction that if I reached down and smacked her buttocks and the backs of her thighs while we fucked, firmly enough to resound in the room, to mark her and hurt, I’d get an astonishingly strong, ferociously excited response. If I growled at her and held her down, she would come, hard, from somewhere deep in her gut. I imagined her a little embarrassed by her response, but responding just the same.

This might have been completely misreading her, and it might have been a true intuition. Anyway, I didn’t act on it. Consent can be complicated but that wasn’t: I didn’t have consent. But the thought had excited me and I fucked her hard until Sa’afia came, noisily enough. She still looked earnestly up at me as though I was torturing her. I was sure I wasn’t.

showerAfterwards I followed her into the shower, soaping under her arms as an excuse for holding her slippery breasts, and we cuddled while the water pelted down. We agreed, getting dressed, that we’d see each other again soon. 

Then I drove her home, so she could get changed and attend the day’s second round of church. I stopped my ludicrous old van a couple of houses from her home, so her mother didn’t see her climbing out of a vehicle that couldn’t possibly be passed off as something a woman might own.  

At home, alone on a Sunday afternoon, I made myself a cup of tea.

I put on Strauss’s Electra, and listened to Chrysothemis’s song. Chrysothemis, Electra’s sister, sings about how she doesn’t want to be in the middle of a lot of events, or do any fighting, or kill her ghastly mother, or do anything strong or dramatic. She just wanted to make babies and make a nice, safe home.

Ana and Sa’afia were both, in their different ways, dramatic women. Just then, I identified with Chrysothemis: I wanted a quiet life, and I knew I wasn’t going to get one.