“With the fingers of my dearest ally, passionate lover and forever King both wrapped snugly around my throat and thrust deep inside of me, I breathe in His Dominance.”
This morning, I was pinned against a wall in my bathroom with a hand to my throat. The strong fingers of his right hand were wrapped tightly around my neck, while the digits of his left hand were penetrating deeply into the plush flesh of my vagina. My nipples were aching, erect, and the beautifully metal bars that adorned through my flesh glistened in the bathroom light as I thrust them higher into the air. Weak at the knees, a slight bend caused the length of his fingers to breach me deeper. I relaxed into his hand’s embrace around my throat. I allowed my breath to grow shallow as I reveled in the sound of my lusty heartbeat in my temples. A steady, beautiful beat of surrender. A seductive paradox: a hard, cold wall pressed to my back; a temperate and utterly satisfied soul lies encapsulated within a sweltering and lascivious body. His asphyxiation is a warm blanket to my sexuality in which I find complete comfort. His restraint is my rapture.
I was once pressed against a wall with a forearm to my throat. I felt little fear in this instance, however, I was not safe. I looked into the shallow eyes of a man in which dominance was something feigned. The increasing pressure at my throat was an act of desperation intended to quell my protest. Yet, my protest persisted. Raising my chin higher, I looked down my nose to the spineless man and uttered in a hoarse voice, “You are an embarrassment to real men. You are nothing but a little pussy.” In this moment, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. Keep in mind, we were not operating within any type of BDSM dynamic. We were simply a toxic couple whereby his abusive behavior was his way of attempting to control me, and my antagonistic attitude was my method for establishing my inability to be controlled.
I have always had a thirst for dominance from the time I was young. Dominance was something enigmatic to me. A specter in the night whilst I traipsed in the shadows of insecure men’s souls. My quest for dominance was akin to a hunger pang where you can’t quite pin exactly what would satisfy your craving, but you know you must have that certain, “something”. I would later learn that a little “something” was actually a whole dynamic that I needed to center my sexuality around. I identify as closely with being a submissive to Him as one would identify as being gay, straight, bisexual etc. My sexuality is interwoven with my submissiveness; but, I had no idea I needed this dynamic until I met my King.
Prior to Him I was destroying men in their vain attempts to control me. A free spirit “firefly” whereby they would temporarily trap me within their glass jars until my spark would no longer ignite. A lioness in a mesh net. A pit viper in a shoebox. A siren to a slew of hopeless seamen. No man could possess me. No man could turn me to a kept pet. No man solidified my commitment. Until Him.
With the fingers of my ally, passionate lover and forever King both wrapped snugly around my throat and thrust deep inside of me, I breathe in His Dominance. I relax into the embrace that never harms me. I relinquish control to the Man who never forced my surrender. I give full ownership to the only man able to possess me. The only Alpha to trump my own. My King.
His warm breath exhaled against the lobe of my ear as he moans, “mine”. His kiss upon my lips. His body pressed against my skin. Hunger satiated.