The shame of being a dom 4

Maureen said nothing, but made a little heap of pillows and draped herself over them. Face down. Arms outspread. Waiting.

Lots of things that followed from that are interesting. One of them is why she’d been so confident that I wanted to spank her, though at the time I was taking a lot of care to hide my bdsm desires. It’s also interesting, to me at least, that what she offered me with her question and her posture was almost perfect, pure sexual happiness, and it’s good to write about that.

But for now I’m only going to talk about the “almost” in “almost perfect”.

Even naked, Maureen looked like a girl brought up in comfort and privilege. She looked like a girl sculpted out of cream, white and long. I knew her parents had never raised a hand to her, and no lover had ever hit her. I approved of her parents for not hitting their children, and I’d have despised any man who’d hit her. So I thought it was good that she’d never been hit or hurt.

waitingBut, with my attention very much focussed on her delicious ass, which was also where my cock was pointing, I wanted to change that. Maureen was going to be a girl whose lover hit her. Hmmm, I thought. Am I sure that that’s   a good thing?

I knew that spanking her wouldn’t do her any physical harm, and I knew that she wanted it. But I hated men who hit women. Did it make it ok if I was doing it for sex? And if I doubted myself for wanting to hurt her, how did I know her permission wasn’t wrong too? Was she, er, of sound mind? 

Sex won, as it should. 

There’s a rush that doms and subs ride when we get to one of those moments of truth, where we assume our places and we rule or are ruled.  We both needed Maureen to feel pain, heat and submission, and that overrode everything else. So we rode the rush, and we must have deafened the neighbours. It was a good ride. It was oceanic.   

Afterwards, though, there was time to think.

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