One of the first times I realized that I had some understanding of the dynamics of the dominant side of d/s was when I was with a man who wanted me to hurt his cock, but in his words, "not too much."
So, intending to spend some pre-session time talking with him to try to get some idea of where "not too much" was located for him, I asked him, "what do you want me to do to your cock?"
He spent the next 15 minutes detailing for me, in one of the most mesmerizing, carefully constructed, self-involved monologues I’ve ever witnessed, exactly how he wanted to be hurt, but not too much.
He yammered on about which types of hurts would produce pleasure for him and which would produce pain. He talked about pleasurable pain versus pain that bordered on bearable versus pain that would send him through the roof.
He detailed all the acts that, if I were to do them, would worry him about the safety of his cock. Then he listed all the acts that would immediately send him into orgasm, but of course, not all the time, only in certain circumstances… on and on and on.
The man knew his cock, and he knew exactly what he wanted done to it. He was very articulate. But he never once looked me in the eye while he spoke .
Once he had exhausted his words, I proceeded to get him naked and tied - as he had asked for - standing, with his ankles and wrists in cuffs fixed to bars bolted into the wall.
We both expected that his expectations would be met; that I would do all the things to his cock that he asked me to do and none of those he mentioned that he didn’t want to experience under any circumstances.
He was paying me, basically, to first listen to him and then give him what he said he wanted. But, that night, I decided to take an intuitive gamble based on the fact that, when in comes to sex, especially sex that is paid for, what is articulated in the head is almost never the story hidden in the body.
I stood in front of him, placed myself totally into his space, nose to nose, and looked directly into his eyes. I ordered him to look at me and to look me in the eye the whole time I was hurting him. I warned him that if he looked away I would walk away and leave the room; leave him cuffed there by himself until he was either ready to look at me or his time was up, whichever came first.
It took him a few long moments before he was finally able to look me in the eye. When he was able to hold my gaze, I slowly pressed my tits into his chest and began crooning to him, "Do you want me to hurt your cock, baby?"
He nodded and began breathing heavily.
Still looking into his eyes, I ran my hands down his body, and rubbed myself against him, but never touched his cock, and never broke my gaze.
"Tell me how much," I said. "Tell me how much you want me to hurt your cock. Say it. Say all those words you just said… say them again to me."
His eyes began fluttering with tears. He struggled with trying to speak while looking in my eyes. His struggle went on for a long, holy moment.
Then just before it seemed he was going to finally speak, I reared back fast and slapped his face very hard.
When his head snapped back toward me, the look on his face went from stunned to hurt… betrayal… anger… in a matter of seconds. I backed up and stood barely a foot away from him to watch while he strained and arched in his bonds toward me, away from me, totally at the mercy of all the emotions and sensations firing at light speed through his being.
Eventually, as I suspected would happen, a great rage rose up in him; a rage that made me thankful he was bolted to the wall. And, as I suspected, it was the rage that finally did it (along with, perhaps, my uncompromising, uncommenting witnessing of it).
And as that lifetime of rage silently burned it’s white hot way from the center of his body outward, he never broke my gaze - and never said a word - until his knees gave way and his cock spurted in wild grunting whole-body thrusts into the electrified air between us.
When his orgasm subsided and his body went limp in his bonds, he hung his head forward between his shoulders and muttered an exhausted, gasping, "thank you." I waited with him in the aftermath with my hand on the top of his head until he was done crying, silently uttering my own thank you that my gamble was the right one on the right night.
Over the course of the next six months, he saw me regularly, and we came to respect each other a great deal in that odd way of two people involved in sexual/spiritual commerce.
And during that time, he began to understand the story in his body in a way that no longer required words. And I began to understand that the act of sexually dominating another person is, like even the most well-articulated of expectations, never what you think it’s going to be.
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Image Credit: Morguefile
