The big book of dominati.., p.12
The Big Book of Domination, page 12
That night, soon after graduating and securing her first real job, reveling in finally escaping her college town for the big city, she was heady with excitement. She’d attended a few munches and mixers back in school, but everyone had been too timid to do more than issue a few stray smacks. Timidity isn’t becoming on anyone, especially the kinky, she’d decided, making do with a rotating cast of well-hung vanilla boys who she could occasionally get to hold her down and fuck her hard, but that was as far as it went.
On that fateful night, she’d figured she’d just watch, and gave herself permission to leave the moment anything or anyone become uncomfortable or off- putting. No sooner had she stepped through the base- ment door, though, and taken off her coat, than she felt herself let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. These were indeed her people—people who loved pain, people who loved power, people who wanted to crawl around on all fours, be bitten, beaten, humiliated, slapped and tormented, people who loved to hear their loud cries echo through the room, their mouths occasionally saying “no” but their bodies saying extremely loud yeses as they writhed against all manner of exquisite tortures. Gemma spent the first hour watching, sipping a tepid soda in a plastic cup as her heart raced, her lower lips bursting with arousal at the ever-wilder scenes before her.
Eventually, her curiosity had gotten the best of her and she’d volunteered to get flogged on her back, which had led to the whip striking her ass, then her upper thighs, each lash making her wetter and wetter. She hadn’t even known that the guy about her age had handed the flogger over to one at least double her age, but when she’d turned around, she found out. She wouldn’t have pegged Sam, the older guy, as her type, but that didn’t stop her from wanting more from him. She’d let him lead her with a strong hand around her neck into a far corner of the party, where he sat on a chair while she straddled him, her bare pussy against his pant leg as they kissed, only pausing when he grabbed her by the hair and bent her head back to lick or bite or kiss her neck.
“Now you’re ready for your spanking,” he’d said after she’d been “forced” to come from grinding against him. His words contained no question, just as there was no question that Gemma wanted that spanking more than she’d wanted anything else in her young life. When she told him she’d just turned twenty-two, he gave her that many smacks, all of them hard, powerful, on the edge of mean. She didn’t know that first night exactly what he was doing, only that she loved every second of it and had to get off again in the bathroom before she left. She’d exchanged contact info with Sam, and gone home with a sore ass and a newfound pride in herself. Subse- quent dates in the privacy of his home had shown her exactly how kinky she could be, as bare-handed spank- ings turned into paddlings, whippings and, a few times, caning. Sam would photograph her ass and threaten to show his friends, order her over at odd hours to suck him off, give a beating and then push her out the door, gener- ally driving her mad with desire. They saw each other for a year before each of them moved on to new partners.
Over the years, though, Gemma had found that she was actually more of a top than a bottom. It was an awareness that had gradually caught up with her the more she played at parties, trying her hand at delivering a spanking, teasing a naked man with a feather duster as his wife looked on, attaching nipple clamps to a very eager sub who looked like Justin Bieber and begged to lick her pussy (a request she denied simply because she could). She moved on to full-fledged domination, ordering whatever man she was seeing to crawl around for her, wear butt plugs for her, hold off on orgasming for her (when she did finally let them come, it was like watching a fountain explode, a sight she’d never get tired of).
The power alone made her pussy wet, but it was more than that—it was the look on a true submissive’s face when she captured him in her gaze, in her command. As a sub, she’d gotten off on the pain and obedience, but she’d never glowed from within the way, say, the guy she’d made lick his come off her breasts did. How could she resist someone grateful and boyish and beautiful like the Bieber lookalike, whose name was Paul and who was, in fact, twenty-nine? He was the type who would probably look boyish and get carded into his fifties, and when he let her bind his hands behind his back and put a cock ring on him, she just wanted to smother him in kisses, before smothering him with her pussy. She took turns doing both.
When she’d met Kevin, all those instincts had kicked in, and, due to his natural servitude, his eagerness to do everything from rub her feet to bend over and get spanked, his intuition and sensitivity that still managed to surprise her, given his size and height and looks—all muscles and tattoos and fierceness—they’d joined forces to become a kinky power couple. Unlike the others, who’d been fun and hot but with whom the spark dimmed a bit outside the bedroom, she and Kevin were perfect complements. He didn’t mind cooking the bulk of their meals, booking their travel and generally taking care of business, nor was he put off if she simply wanted him to run her a bath and give her an evening of solo fun. Ironically, he spent his days in his tattoo shop, delivering a different kind of pain, but that was the only pain he was interested in administering, and in fact, he’d had to get over his fears of hurting others when his passion for art had taken a turn for the human canvas.
She loved the fact that Kevin could protect her as a chivalrous gentleman should, that he was a strong, beefy man, given to his own macho proclivities like watching—not to mention playing—football, but at play parties and in their bedroom, he wanted to cater to her. He loved it when she tied him to the headboard and straddled his face, and she loved settling her petite form over him, controlling him not with her heft but with her need, equal to his. There were nights when she simply had him suck and bite her nipples while she pressed her favorite vibrator against her pussy, directing him to use his teeth, or twist her nubs with his fingers. Even when she was getting some form of pain, she was always controlling him, and he knew it.
In public they made quite a pair, him topping out at just over six feet and weighing almost three hundred pounds, while she was five foot three, with most of her weight in her very large natural breasts. That she could get this beast of a man to whimper and blubber and sometimes even cry for her, to open himself up in every way, still amazed her after almost five years together. She called him her “big bottom,” its dual meaning one she cherished. The longer they were together, the deeper their dominance and submission took them. They played at parties, but what she could never convey in those scenes was how devoted Kevin proved himself to be at all hours of the day and night. He sought to please her sexually and otherwise, beaming when she praised him, verging on tears when she scolded him. Sure, he had his own career, but every part of him was ultimately hers to control.
So when she saw the metal talons in the store, she knew they’d be the perfect anniversary gift. One for each finger, five for each year of their partnership, five sharp pieces of silver to attach to her digits and dig into his skin. Slipping them on made her feel taller, bigger, stronger. She’d waited until the party to debut them. “Are you ready for your anniversary present?” she whispered the not-really-a-question. By nature of the formal agreement they’d signed, Kevin’s “answer” was a foregone conclu- sion. Technically, yes, he could balk at the prospect of the talons, or anything else, but in all their years together, even when she’d seen fear or nervousness on his face, he’d never denied her. He wanted her to choose, trusted her to know what lines were okay to cross.
When the blonde crossed their path again and locked eyes with Gemma, she beckoned her over. “Like what you see, honey?” Gemma asked, running her hands up and down Kevin’s burly body. The blonde was taller than Gemma, her gleaming bright hair glinting with the room’s light.
“Yes, Ma’am,” she said, which earned her a smile from Gemma. She couldn’t stand the losers who assumed that Gemma bottomed to Kevin simply because she was smaller, and didn’t bother wasting time with them. “Then why don’t you do me the favor of undressing him? No gratuitous touching, though, just do what you need to take his clothes off.”
Gemma rarely let other women get near Kevin, and she knew the blonde’s nearness would practically have him coming in his pants. He didn’t always go for the prototypical “hot blonde” but he was a heterosexual man, after all, and the woman was barely clothed. Gemma smiled as she watched the blonde strip her husband down, proud that he was the object of such blatant lust—Gemma couldn’t have missed the blonde’s intake of breath when his jeans eased down to reveal a very hard cock, one that his heft couldn’t hide. When he was completely naked, Gemma surveyed the pair, taking pity on the woman. “Can you take his weight on top of you?” she asked the blonde, teasing a pointy red nail along the gold ring adorning her right nipple.
“Definitely, Ma’am.”
“Then take off your panties, lie down and spread those pretty legs, darling—and keep your heels on,” Gemma said directly into her ear. Using her smarmiest tone made her wet, as did the view when the blonde followed the command, giving Gemma her tiny red thong before she offered up a view of her sex.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Gemma murmured to Kevin. “Not as beautiful as you,” he replied—they were
long past the point of formalities with each other.
“No kissing and no fucking—do you understand? You will take what I give you, no more, no less.” Gemma pressed her fingers into his cheeks and made sure Kevin was looking right at her.
“Of course.”
Gemma smiled. “Good. Now get on top of her.” She knew Kevin would have to be careful to make sure his cock didn’t slide into a forbidden zone. Outside this scene, she wouldn’t have minded—but this was about teasing him, taunting him, letting him get as close as he could be to another woman, but no farther. She’d let him fuck for her before, but this was about him taking his beating fully while holding back. The idea that their anonymous blonde’s body would also be almost ready to explode didn’t escape her.
Gemma smiled at the crowd that had formed to watch the three of them. Kevin nestled his head against the side of the blonde’s neck, while she beamed a beatific smile. Before she began, Gemma leaned down to whisper in their ears. “If either of you needs to stop, say ‘jagged.’” She liked the image that formed when she said the word—the jagged edge of a knife, something rough and uneven. She liked to get Kevin to a point where he was no longer sleek and smooth, but jagged in his own way, tumbling, tipping over, uncertain but clinging to that uncertainty because he always knew she’d take care of him. This was not their usual safeword, but a spon- taneous one she gifted to them, a souvenir mouthful to ponder as she took her place.
Gemma started with her hand, which she always treated like the most delicate of instruments. She made sure her hands were soft to the touch, covering them at night with a special moisturizer and gloves. She paid meticulous attention to her manicure, needing her sharp red nails to signal to Kevin and the world just what kind of woman she was. She knelt down and found the most comfortable position with which to deliver her first smack. When she found it, she waited, counting silently to ten. She knew too many tops who rushed their scenes, so intent on their own dominant desires they forgot that keeping a sub at their mercy is a torment in itself. Plus, making Kevin rest his hefty body on top of the blonde dreamboat gave her more time to admire the view. She could stare at his ass all day—forget bubble butts, give Gemma a solid, hairy and, best of all, eager bottom like Kevin’s any day. There was more to smack and stroke and squeeze and pinch, though she was well aware it would take some pretty firm smacks to jostle him against the blonde. She was up to the task.
When Gemma sensed that Kevin had started to relax an infinitesimal amount, she let loose with the first blow, digging her nails into his skin at the end for an added treat. “Thank you,” he murmured against the blonde’s neck, but the sound was drowned out by the next blow. Gemma heard whispers from the onlookers between smacks as she covered each cheek with successively harder blows.
When her hand started to sting, Gemma decided to give Kevin his anniversary present—or rather, give Kevin’s back the gift of her using his anniversary present on him. “Your ass is going to get a break now,” she said to him. “But there’s more in store for it soon. I have something else planned for you. Are you both ready?”
Of course it was an unfair question. How could they be ready for something when they didn’t know what to expect? But they were subs, and good subs are always ready for anything, as long as they trust the person they’ve let control their fate. After getting a chorus of confirmation, Gemma took out the talons and allowed an eager boi from the crowd to place them on her domi- nant hand, her right.
“This is your present, Kevin,” she announced loud enough for everyone to hear. “Even when my nails are at their longest and sharpest, you seem to want more, so here’s more.” She dragged her now-spiky digits along his back, from his shoulder down. That first pass was more about the sensation, getting him used to it. “You can tell your blonde friend what it feels like.”
Gemma couldn’t catch his exact words, but saw the ripple pass from the blonde to Kevin after he’d spoken. She dug in more sharply, smiling as he writhed in response. Soon Kevin’s wide, hairy back was scored with streaks of red and pink—and she’d only just begun. But they’d have plenty of opportunities to explore how much pressure of the claws Kevin could take. His ass was calling out to her once again. She allowed the same boi to help her remove the claws and place them back in their velvet pouch, in return granting him a kiss on top of his head that made him blush.
Next she called out to the assembled crowd for some audience participation. “Does anyone have a really good paddle I could use?” Immediately, an array of kinky tools were proffered—made of wood, PVC, leather and in a variety of colors. She smiled at the almost dizzying array of toys, but chose one, after a quick inspection and whispered assurance of its extreme usefulness, that was different from any paddle she’d ever held. It was a glass paddle, and featured a handle swirled with red that felt pleasing to the touch.
“I know—glass, right?” the tall, elegant olive-skinned woman who handed it to her whispered in her ear, giving Gemma a delicious chill. “But it works. Maybe too well. I only use it on my greediest subs, but he seems like he can take it.”
“Oh, he definitely can,” she replied with a wink, for a moment wondering just what it would be like to bend over herself and have this woman spank her. I’ll ponder that later, Gemma promised herself, before returning to Kevin.
“Get ready,” she said so fast he couldn’t possibly do the two words justice, before she made his lightly pink ass a much deeper, more beautiful shade of red. She smiled as he screamed—“Aahh!”—the sounds welcome because he was usually much more stoic in the face of a beating. The rush of being on display and the pain she was causing had to be a challenge. She didn’t make Kevin take too many strokes of the glass, just enough to ensure his bottom was on fire.
“Very good—both of you,” Gemma said to Kevin and the blonde after she’d handed the paddle back to its owner. “Roll over onto your back,” she instructed Kevin and then lifted the blonde by her hair. “How was that, honey?”
She stared at Gemma with a lustful glaze in her eyes. “Amazing.”
“I think you deserve a spanking too, sweetheart, but you’ll have to earn it. You jerk Kevin off and I’ll spank you. When you want me to stop, you make him come.” She had a feeling this would involve a prolonged hand job for her big bottom—and she was right. Gemma placed a large pillow beneath the blonde’s hips, raising her ass in the air so she could lean against one arm, while the other was free to touch and tease Gemma’s man. Kevin’s cock looked ready to explode, but the blonde knew what she was doing. Gemma sat on the floor next to the blonde so she could see each handprint blooming on her bottom while also taking in the view of her hand around Kevin’s dick. Both of them made ecstatic noises. Gemma wished she had a butt plug to stick between the blonde’s beautiful cheeks.
Seeing and sensing how eager the blonde was, Gemma smacked her harder than she’d smacked Kevin, almost at full capacity. She grunted, and Gemma couldn’t help but notice the twisting motion she was using on Kevin’s cock. In moments, just as her spanking escalated to its most vicious, Kevin was erupting all over her hand.
“That was beautiful,” Gemma praised them. “Now I want you to sit on his face and get what’s coming to you.” She curled a finger toward the glass paddle’s owner. “You take her left nipple, and I’ll take her right.” Together, Gemma, Kevin and her fellow domme got the blonde off—three times, no less. It was hard to say who was the bigger bottom—the blonde or Kevin—but it wasn’t a contest. At least, not tonight. Gemma could make them battle it out next time.
Sight Reading
Alison Winchester
By midafternoon, the hallways are thankfully cleared of the children and their parents who come in for the community education classes. The only sounds he hears as he makes his way down the last few stairs to the basement level are the hiss of the steam through the pipes and the muted sounds of students practicing: brass and strings blending in a dulled cacophony. The lone computer lab on this floor is near silent, with only the shuffling of papers and occasional clatter of typing to reveal its occupants.
He knows exactly where she’ll be. Her favored practice area is a cramped little space just before the wide hallway narrows into twists and turns that lead past offices assigned to unfortunate adjuncts and the untenured, and finally to the elevator up to the concert hall and the classrooms. How she stands it with the sweltering heat of the pipes is anyone’s guess, but she told him once she felt cozy in there: just her and her cello, and the bonus of no loud trumpets or wallowing French horns on both sides of her.
