Two tales, two cities, two switchy Doms…
Oooooh my fucking god.
I’ve recently started on dating apps. I’ve avoided them for years because I ABHOR “talking stages” or “situationships” or whatever the fuck it’s called.
I try if you try, if it works it keeps going and if it doesn’t work that is mutually and respectfully communicated and understood. I’ve had a few dates end that way, appreciative of each other regardless.
For context, I [21F] don’t drink or use any substances (sober, not naïve!) nor do I have any urge to go rock climbing or world traveling or whatever. I have been in therapy for 5-6 years and worked through avoidance to understand who I am and what I want; Uncommon by most hot, fun twenty-something standards.
Eventually I decided to move to a kink oriented app. I’ve explored enough fantasy on here to gather that I have a very distinct style of Domme. I have, apparently, mastered the art of mindfucking. Hot men reveal all kinds of secrets with enough positive, vaguely condescending reinforcement—which never occurred to me might translate IRL. Boy, does it! Hundreds of likes on this app, I have found my niche.
I connected with a few people locally, but the conversations fizzle out when they realize that talking constant boundaries/consent/rules, ESPECIALLY when taboo or uncomfortable, is the point;
Power > control. Sluts are nice, but a slut with functional, autonomous braincells is absolutely non-negotiable. Playing like this with ANY potential for uninformed consent is coercion, and therefore sexual assault. Full stop. Apparently me being scary is hot until we get there. I’m a sadist, not a monster damn!!
Last night I decided to set the location to anywhere. Fuck it, why not? I match with an incredibly attractive Londoner [M29]. He likes me first, I like him back because his bio says something like “one joke away from getting kicked out of the friend group. please be silly” so I say
“I’m silly I swear. The only reason I figured out I was good at this shit is because I posted collarbones on Reddit as a joke.”
He initiates as a sub. I ask if there’s anything in particular he wants to explore, he says it’s fine if we just toss anything out and see where it goes. Turns out we’re both switchy, hedonistic, pleasure dom sluts. Whooooores, even. He’s 5 hours ahead so my morning started in the middle of his workday.
We banter, back and forth, we tease, we jab.
He tells me that he’s hiding in the bathroom at work to look at the teases I sent him, he’d forgotten that texts show up on his work laptop. I ask him how that makes him feel.
He says the picture of my shoulders makes him want to fuck me from behind in a headlock.
I praise him, tell him that audacity turns me on. I tell him to fucking behave, I suggest FaceTime as a reward incentive.
He’s eager, desperate, willing to do anything to get there, be good. He makes it through his meeting and heads home. My day still has a few hours to go.
He’s home, we text still, we learn that we are very similar in Dominant roles. We are also very similar alone.
He takes a shower and starts edging. My day is almost over. I send him a video of me overstimming myself after a separate encounter; stop edging while I go shower. It’s 93° F (\~34 C), I can’t be hot and bothered squared.
He is desperate, needy. He wants to watch the video again, I tell him I never said he couldn’t watch it, just no playing along. Fucking behave.
I promise him soapy pics, he doesn’t know that soap is my last step. He’s antsy, demanding. Desperate. I tell him that good sluts are patient. He calls me a good girl, for knowing my place. I tell him there’s no way his insolent, on-the-clock slut ass gives a fuck about that NOW.
He compliments me. I thank him for his manners and send photos. I tell him that he’s been good enough to watch me lotion up after the shower.
FaceTime. Fuck. He’s hot. Hotter than the photos, they don’t properly show his glasses and beard. They’re nice glasses, structured and intentional. Very similar to mine. I always pay close attention to my glasses, because it’s obvious when someone misses the opportunity to use them as an accessory. Fuck. He has a brain. He’s in a band, a fact revealed earlier. It’s a good band, not a “some guy in some band” band. It’s a band that I would LOVE if I stumbled upon it by my own accord—I’m always on the hunt for obscure bands. I tell him what the sound reminds me of: two bands that someone would only know if they knew the genre well. He’s excited, the second is a major inspo. I’ve seen the second band live twice, by accident each time. Fuck.
I ask him where to start. He says top to bottom, asking me about the oil. I comply, making regular conversation. He’s trying to act normal. I laugh and I jokingly ask him how’s the weather. He’s so distracted he answers the question truthfully. I play along. I tell him that I usually have these conversations anonymously. Sometimes I don’t remember that there are real life hot people at the end of the phone. He has an upper hand, the sluts on the internet don’t get my face. Hell, they don’t get my name. HE has my phone number! I am doing this, as myself entirely, because he is so unabashedly hot. I lotion bottom to top. I am rubbing myself, just barely lifting my shirt. He is using all of his energy to hold back.
I finally lay down. He’s still. I tell him this is what he wanted. He blushes.
You gonna give it to me? He says.
You gonna come and get it, slut?
Game fucking on.
He’s home alone, I am not. Fucking behave. I put on my headphones but he can’t hear the important parts. I disconnect them, tell him to shut up. I connect them again, tell him talk me through it and I’ll shut up.
He’s loud, desperate, aggressive. He tells me to make noise. I tell him that one of us must behave. He keeps going, matching my pace. I egg him on. He tells me to go deeper. That’s it. I tell him I want to see what I did to him, that he deserves to let go. He tells me to keep being a good fucking slut. I plead that he cum for me. He’s moaning, swearing, telling me to keep going as I shake. He barks: I stop when he stops. We’re both going bloody fucking insane. Fuck. We’re good. That was so good.
Arsenal just won the Premier League. He asks if I can hear outside his window, fireworks. His headphones are in. He knows the answer.
Outside he goes to see the ruckus.
He’s back quickly, within the hour. He asks again how I feel, I tell him that I can’t stop fucking thinking about him. He tells me that he’s certain I have one more orgasm in me tonight. I tell him that I have a quick moment alone, call me back and this time I’ll make noise. His flatmates just returned. Oh how the turn tables. He tells me to get a toy, something, anything to put inside me. I find my insertable vibrator. I could have sworn this shit was dead.
Lucky day.
Fuck. It’s inside of me and I’m going crazy. I don’t usually get a chance to be loud. I don’t care. He whispers under his breath, harder, faster, good fucking girl. There you go.
I move my phone closer. Is this it? What you wanted? Seeing me be as desperate as you are for me? Fuck you.
What was that? Say it again.
This is what you wanted, isn’t it slut? Be good and show me what you want. Fuck. You.
I’d certainly fuck that mouth of yours if you think it’s okay to talk to me like that.
I’m sure you’d fuck a lot of things. I can hear the rhythm under his breath, soft, shaky. I match his pace and I don’t fucking stop. He stares in disbelief. I scream, I shake, I moan, I swear. I am dripping everywhere. Everything still pulsing inside of me. I lose control, I don’t care. Over and over again. He flips his camera, praising me under his breath, stroking faster, trying not to yell. Until we were yet again: two sluts desperate, feral, for the other.
The internet cuts out because of course it does. Call drops. It’s late, he texts me. A job well done. I joked early on when I told him I was a switch, that I’ve always wondered if there was some asshole crazy enough to dominate me the way I would do it myself. He kept that. Fuck. Hot and smart. There’s only one response I can think of:
“There’s been plenty of instances where someone has tried to out-me me, and as valiant efforts they are they’ve never quite followed through.
Congratulations, you just beat me at my own slutty little subconscious;
I’m in the business of mindfucking, but whatever in the world is wrong with you just fucked my soul.”