Dominatrixin’

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I want you to remember, when you read this, that I am not very attractive.

Jack said I was ‘not uncute, you know‘ but I think he was just trying to head off a whine-tasting-session before it started.

Look, I have short hair, so fuzzy and brittle that I can make stick straight up in the air without product. I have big thick spectacles. Freckles. I am fat. Over 200lbs. My BMI is 33.5. My arse is big. My tits are less so.

I am not an unearthly creature. There is no entrancing. If you saw me you would not be hypnotised. I am not even that kind of fat-girl-dom in a corset and stilettos and too much make up. I wear combat trousers a lot. I like pockets. And trainers. My top usually has something split down it. I don’t wear make up so much because I am lazy. I get mistaken for a dyke a lot.

So this is not the story of a woman so beautiful men are dazzled by her dazzleosity. This is not the story of a woman skilled at ropes and whips and electrification of penises. This is not the story of a woman who dresses in the dresses or struts the struts or fetish models (whatever that even *is*) or does it for money or goes to play parties or has ten trizilion kinky friends. This is not the average femdom fairy story. This is just a plain woman, with a too-high voice for serious commanding, often shy and with a sexuality that is at best *awkward*, making a space that works and getting it right this one time.

This a story about an ugly duckling getting to be a swan.

So maybe it is a kind of fairy story – but I wouldn’t hold out for the Disney adaptation.

First, Monday was Pan’s birthday. We had a fight. After, we were too drunk to fuck.

On Tuesday I was hung over. I wrote about Pan’s birthday the day before on my blog. Pan bought a white lab coat from army surplus.

On Wednesday Jack came to tea. Pan was in London visiting his sister.

Just before Jack was due to arrive one of my next door neighbours came and told me they had seen my cat limping in the street. I went out to look for cat but there was no sign. I called Pan in a panic. I told him to turn around and come home so he could care for cat. It started to rain. I was standing in the street looking for the cat when Jack arrived.

Jack was all, ‘Hey are you standing in the street waiting for me?‘ And also all, ‘Hey, here I am. I have arrived for perverted sex.‘

And I was all, ‘No. Perverted sex is cancelled. We must find lost injured cat ZOMGZ!’

We found the cat. (Sorry if that stressed you – I probably should have warned at the top for mild cat peril.) I called Pan and told him I thought the cat would be okay until morning and that he should not come home after all.

Then Jack cooked. I kissed him quite a lot – endangering cooking. We did some painful things too. (Painful for him.) Some naked things. (Naked for him.) Some kneeling things. (Kneeling… (oh, get with it.))

I don’t know if his tongue stud felt so very different on my cunt – but on my nipples it was incredible. Bliss of death.

Jack fucked me. Jack has a big cock. He likes me saying he has a big cock. Obviously, he has not read the submissive man’s handbook and does not know that this is entirely the wrong way around. (Another good thing about him.)

Jack also has a big bent nose. Earlier I told him that I love big noses. All women do. (Stop that naughty, naughty generalising right now, BJ.) I told him that it made women think he had a big cock. It is extra good when those expectations aren’t disappointed. Before he fucked me, Jack had not been allowed to come for four days. Inside me, he came on command. Hit the mark perfectly. He thought he wouldn’t be able to.

That was nice.

After first times, I often end up wishing I had done more. We still had an hour before the last train back to London. Jack made me dessert and while I ate it we talked about all the things we hadn’t done.

Jack said he wanted me to make him cry with shame.

That was nice.

I didn’t. Not at that point. I was eating dessert.

On Thursday Pan had a date. Except maybe not really a date. He took one of the most beautiful women I know out for a drink. And he asked her if she would have sex with him. I know I mostly write about Pan as if he is Mr Super-Sexy-Smart-Smooth and, you know, he is, except sometimes he is puppy-dog/nervous/bounce-bounce/shy.

He was so cute with his condoms and his fumbling and his blushing.

When he got home at 2am, he woke me up, fit to burst with pride.

He also took the cat to the vet. I say that for people (i.e. Gwen) who are only reading this for the cat-health-update. Cat is fine.

On Friday I took Jack’s orgasms away again via text message.

And later, me and Pan wanted to have sex but we didn’t have any condoms. We had a hilarious faux-fight about who had used up all the condoms dogging around.

God, we’re funny. There ought to be a play.

Then – ’cause we had no condoms so he couldn’t use his cock-cock – he fucked me with the strap on cock, kind of for the hell of it. And then I gave his strap on cock a blow job kind of for the fucking hell of it.

And he said that was the hottest thing he had ever seen and masturbated while I did it and then said he was going to have to update his book of off-beat sexual experiences.

Pervert.

On Saturday I watched TV (What? Are you trying to kill me?)

On Sunday I met Jack by Tower Bridge because we are just too cute not to try and kiss next to every London landmark we can think of. This is where I had the enormous cock conversation with him (Just a note for the BJ timeliners).

A lot of the time I was with him I was thinking about slapping him in the face. But I am not a character from your pornos and I do not slap people in public. I was also not wearing a fur coat – in case you are still confusing me with the stuff you pay to have exist.

Jack had been denied orgasm for 2 days at this point. (shut up – he’s new.) Orgasm denial is so best on people who don’t really expect it to be anything. Who go from, ‘oh, sure’ to ‘what the fuck have you done to me?‘

In about 12 hours.

At the moment, that’s the house that Jack built.

(Okay, I built it. He lives in it. I just wanted the line.)

Jack has to wear a suit without underwear and be at least 24 hours from his last shave. We were having lunch and when the bill came I paid ’cause I have ten million money kinks and Jack never pays ever. After that I went a little money-kink crazy whispering to Jack that I wanted to pay him for sex or some such dumb-dom talk. ‘I want to pay you,’ I think I said. All urgent-hitch-in-voice-crackly whisper. I wasn’t up to paragraphs. He was very gallant about it.

He said it was hot to think about that, but still told me no

Because Jack knows the difference between don’t come and don’t shave and don’t wear underwear and I want to pay you for sex.

And no is the difference. It’s not about limits. It’s about a line. Jack knows where my line is. Even when I don’t.

When I got home Pan dressed up in a white lab coat and a pair of safety goggles and a pair of latex gloves for sex.

I wonder where his line is.

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Filed under Jack, beauty, findom, kinky lifestyle of my dreams, pan, paying men for sex