Sexamples #002: Adventures in Domination

“Leave the room, close the door, wait a minute, and then come back in.”

He scrunched up his eyebrows and looked at me funny. “What?” he said, laughing a little.

“You heard me, bitch,” I asserted. “Go out in the hall, shut the door, wait a bit, and then come back in.”

He wanted me to dominate him; I had been aware of this fact for several weeks but hadn’t yet acted on it, partially because I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to be a domme. But tonight was the night. Only, now, I had to get him to leave the room and come back in, to sort of “refresh” our dynamic – start over without the context of boyfriend/girlfriend looming over our heads.

Finally, he left. I rushed around the room fluffing pillows and taking off my top. I waited several seconds, then cleared my throat and awkwardly announced, “Come in now.” He opened the door and entered.

I made him go get a makeshift blindfold from my extensive scarf collection. I tied it firmly around his head so he couldn’t see a damn thing, and then I forced him into a kneeling position on the floor. Figuring I’d start by turning myself on so I could be a better dom, I offered him one of my nipples. He licked and sucked it eagerly, and I started to melt a little into this delicious role I’d put myself in.

He reached around to my back, trying to pull my breast further into his mouth, but I snapped, “Don’t touch me.” He dropped his hands obediently, and I felt a wicked surge of pride for my little slave-boy.

I told him to lie down on the bed on his back, and spent some time biting the various sensitive spots on his chest and abdomen, just hard enough to communicate my control over him. I noted his enormous hard-on just before climbing onto him and straddling his face.

Ever the tease, I held his hair down with one hand, stopping him from licking me, and used the other hand to dip into my pussy and give him a taste on my fingers. He moaned from just the flavor of me, clearly wanting more. I laughed at his desire, and then finally lowered myself down onto his tongue.

If there’s one thing my slave-boy is extremely skilled at, it’s cunnilingus. He can do it for hours and it’s always brilliant, because he’s learned all the tricks I like best. This time was no exception – he licked and sucked as though his life depended on it.

Looking behind me and again noticing his immense erection, I told him, “I’m not going to touch you at all until you make me come.” That certainly motivated him; he sped up his motions and went at my pussy with even more enthusiasm and fervor. I held onto the bed tight to keep from shaking uncontrollably as his tongue circled and flicked my clit over and over.

Finally, I arrived at a shuddering orgasm. He stayed with me the whole way through, sucking, pressing, gently stroking me with his cute little tongue.

I told him, “Good boy,” smiling, and fetched a condom from the bedside table. He put it on while still wearing the blindfold – impressive! Then I slinked down his quivering body and lowered myself onto his cock of granite. “I’m going to ride you until you come,” I whispered, and I did.

Sexamples #001: New Mattress

I’m in the midst of upgrading to a new bed. Today the mattress was delivered, but due to some mistakes made by the bed company, I don’t have a bedframe or a box-spring yet… just a bare mattress, hanging out awkwardly on my bedroom floor.

The boyfriend and I, naturally, decided we needed to immediately christen this new piece of furniture. We sprawled across the mattress, which was still wrapped in plastic. And exchanged sexual favors. And then lay together smiling, having adequately welcomed the newcomer to my room.

Getting Over Penis Terror: A Triumphant Tale

Once upon a time, I was a little queer girl who had never touched a penis.

Admittedly, I had never touched anyone else’s pussy either. But I’d previously been in a sexual relationship with another girl for a year and a half, and I’d been skilfully managing my own pussy for almost two decades, so there was no intimidation there.

Single but desperately ready to mingle, it dawned on me that a huge part of my issue was my fear of penises. It dominated the shadowy back room of my brain, threatening to burst through and cause major anxiety. I’d think about a cute guy, fantasize about kissing him, maybe contemplate his tongue on my clit, but as soon as his dick became part of my visualization, I felt sick and confused.

Not to get all hippie-dippy on you, but I am certain that the universe sensed my penile apprehension, and that that’s why my romantic life was such a disaster during that time. I longed for my (safe, reliable, non-terrifying) female ex, and wrote her pathetic love songs, which freaked her the fuck out. I dated a guy who was entirely wrong for me and ended up dumping me so he could fuck four other girls at a party. I spent all my time wishing for a boyfriend while unconvincingly sidestepping what I knew was the real issue.

Men wrote to me on OkCupid, men of two different varieties: those who propositioned me for casual sex, and those who seemed genuinely sweet and interested in dating me. The former, I ignored, or occasionally wrote rude replies to; the latter category of men, however, were more difficult. I strung them along, convincing both them and myself that we would eventually meet, even just for coffee, but as soon as that possibility became real, I panicked and ended all contact. All because of that looming, impending penis that gnawed at my composure.

That didn’t change when I first started going out with Jeremy*, but I did like him more than I’d liked anyone in a long while. We went on cute dates to tea shops and bookstores, and while I giggled and gallivanted with him, I secretly dreaded the moment his pants would inevitably come off.

I let him touch me – over the shirt, under the bra, over the skirt, under the panties. I let him do all sorts of nice things to me, all of which he (thank god) loved doing. Sometimes I would be overcome with guilt that I hadn’t reciprocated his sensual touch yet, and I would burst into tears while lying with my head on his chest. He’d hold me and tell me it was okay, I could go as slow as I wanted, and he’d be willing to wait forever for me. But I didn’t want him to have to wait forever.

It was a combination of attraction, mild cajoling, and plain courage that finally got me to touch his penis for the first time. He said, “You don’t even have to do anything to it. You can just put your hand on it.” So I did.

It wasn’t so bad. Soft and sensitive, just like my girly bits. Lightning didn’t strike me dead; I didn’t faint from terror. It was just… fine.

After a couple minutes of gentle, idle touching, I withdrew my hand and he let me watch him jerk off. I snuggled up to him and cast my gaze on the way his hand worked his foreskin up and over the head of his cock, again and again, alternately concealing and revealing that moist, pink surface. That night, I wrote in my journal, It was actually kind of gorgeous.

*Name changed to protect the cocks and egos of the innocent.