Lying Down, Guest Post by Kathleen Delaney-Adams (excerpt from Dirty Dates)

Excerpt from Dirty Dates edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, published by Cleis Press. Reprinted with permission

She presents her back to me, unadorned and shivering in the early morning air. I know she loathes to being naked, the humility and vulnerability of it, so the fact that she’s offered it to me has moved me greatly, made me rock hard. She is spectacular, standing in the middle of the living room, her eyes blinking sleepily, her body already melting in anticipation.

I have surprised her with this, barely allowing her to finish her first cup of coffee before ordering her to take off her clothes and give me her flesh. Although this is our ritual, a Sunday morning play-date we rarely, if ever, miss, I am usually gentle with her. I allow her to wake slowly and warm up to the day, serve her coffee in bed, warm up to the day. The ways in which we arouse each other during these weekly assignations are myriad indeed, sometimes kinky, always juicy. This morning I want kink, demanded it of her. Although this is unexpected, she has scurried to please me, collecting my whips, the lube, the condoms, arranging them within easy reach on the coffee table before she stands before me and offered herself up. She is eager for my instructions, always. I run my hand down the skin of her creamy back and murmur, “That’s a good girl.”

She quivers in response and raises her eyes to mine.

“I didn’t say you could look at me, girl,” I hiss, and we are on.

She knows the drill, eyes now downcast as she slips into her submission. There is a smirk of pleasure and excitement playing about her lips. I should punish her for her sass, but her morning face is so pretty that I decide to allow it. For now.

The first licks of my galley whip are a tease, a flirt of leather on her skin. Kisses promise more to come and render her shaking with desire and a bit of fear.

I like the fear. I let it build slowly, increasing the intensity of the lashes she is receiving until she moves her body in expectation of them, a slight shifting toward the whip. I laugh and hit her pussy, not gently. She moans and spreads her legs open for me, for more.

“Ooh, you liked that, didn’t you, you whore?”

“Yes. Yes, Daddy.” Her voice is breathy.

I hit her pussy again, harder, first with the tails then the handle of the whip. She is moaning louder now, gasping. She blinks back the first sign of real tears—tears of pain or need, I’m not sure—but I give her more nonetheless.

When I stop abruptly her body jerks in response, stiffening, then softening and leaning back toward me. She sniffles, and I flick the whip gently through her hair, letting it caress her long red curls as if it were my fingers touching her.

She has told me it makes her feel cherished, when I beat and whip her flesh, when I fuck her hard and without lube, when I make demands of her. But I want to remind her she is also cherished now, in between the pain—that my whip can be both a brutal weapon and a tender one.

I reach around with my hands and squeeze her tits, rubbing my thumbs over her nipples, tugging them. I slide slowly down her belly, my fingers finding her slick wet pussy. She cries out and stumbles, losing her balance, when I shove three fingers inside her.

“Mmm, nice and wet for me, just the way I like you.”

Just as quickly I pull my hand away. My cock grows even stiffer when she cries out again and there is no mistaking her hunger.

I begin to whip her in earnest now, letting it build, slicing the whip into her skin with enough force to leave marks. That tender spot just under her ass is my favorite, the blood rising to the surface almost immediately in a sweet red welt.

She is fighting to stand still, moaning and sobbing, her entire body quaking. I land a series of intense blows on her back, and she sobs harder, in pain.

“Turn around,” I growl, and she obeys immediately.

Her teary eyes meet mine, her mouth swollen and quivering, and I want to tear into it, bite it, draw blood. I can see juice on her thighs, her pussy glistening. Her eyes are pleading. I know she wants more. She doesn’t have to beg—I’m not done yet—but I decide to make her anyway.

“Have you had enough, girl?” I ask. She starts to shake her head, than catches herself; she knows I prefer she answer me when I ask a question.

“N-no. No.”

“Do you want more then? Tell me you want more.”

“Yes. Yes, please. Please.” Her begging is not part of our play. I know she means it, and I am so stiff for her I might explode.

“Lift your arms for me.”

I demand full access to that delicate flesh. I want to devour her. Instead, I settle for my whip’s access, the ferocity of my own need barely restrained as I slice the tender skin of her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Her nipples are hard, her breath rasping, her lips trembling. She bites her lower lip to keep from crying but she can’t stop the flow of tears, the sobs. When I lash out at her pussy, she again opens her legs for me, rocking her hips forward so I can better reach her clit, moving back and forth in time with the leather. This is a dance we have perfected over time, a dance not just of desire but of devotion.

I can’t wait a moment longer to enter that tight pussy, and I lay down the whip and grab her, pressing her against me. She collapses in my arms, simply melting, and I feel her wet cheeks buried in my neck.

Read the rest of the story in the anthology Dirty Dates edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, published by Cleis Press. Get more information about the Dirty Dates anthology here. Thanks for letting me reprint part of it!

7 Tips For Flirting As A Submissive

One of the most common questions I get asked from submissives is, “How do I flirt with dominants!?” And while learning some basic flirting tips (like: be curious and ask questions, give compliments, be honest) can be helpful, when you add D/s into the equation sometimes the rules are a little bit different.

Part of the confusion is that we associate flirtation with assertion—someone comes along, declares interest, and asks for what they want. Those can be seen as dominant traits. But it is absolutely possible for a submissive to do them, and to still come across as submissive and respect the dominant’s authority as a dom.

So, assuming that you’ve already established that you are submissive and the person you’re flirting with is a dominant, here’s some tips. (These are some of the things that would work for me.)

1. Establish whether or not they want to be flirted with.

This might seem obvious, but it’s multi-faceted. You gotta figure out if they are available or not—if their relationship allow for flirtation with other people. It might be as simple as figuring out whether or not they are single, but being partnered doesn’t necessarily mean that they can’t flirt—it just depends on whether their relationship allows for flirtation or not. And you might also see whether their relationship only allows flirting, and not going any farther than that—which may change your opinion on whether or not you want to flirt, depending on what the goal of your flirting is.

Secondly, you have to figure out if they are available or not right now, meaning if the timing is right. If I’m about to teach a workshop, for example, I am way less likely to respond well to flirtation than if I’ve just ended a workshop. How do you know if the timing is okay? Well, you can always ask—”So, is this a good time to flirt with you?” “Got a minute to flirt with me?” “Hey, if this isn’t a good time, could we set aside some time later and flirt maybe?”

2. If they have a submissive already, befriend them.

While you’re asking around about whether they’re available, also ask whether or not they already have a submissive—then, make friends with the sub. Ask if there’s any service you can do, if there’s some interesting talent or skill you can offer, or what other expression of interest would be welcome. If you establish yourself as aware of the hierarchy in the relationship that already exists, you’ll be a lot less threatening to the submissive, and they are way more likely to hook you up with tips and tricks to get the dominant’s attention.

3. Offer to be of service.

“May I ____ for you?”
As a friend of mine put it, “May I ____ for you?” This is where your keen observational skills can give you big points: if you notice some of the things they always do and offer to do it for them, you put yourself in the position of being very helpful. If being observational isn’t your strong point, offer some of your own impressive skills or talents: May I black your boots, may I gift you some peanut butter cookies that I made.

4. Use their title.

Using words that remind you both of the hierarchies that you like to play with can be a big turn-on, which is always a bonus when you’re trying to be flirtatious. Do some observation, and ask around, and see what kind of titles this person likes to use.

But, don’t use their relational titles. Some people have titles that they only use with a particular person, and those can be way too personal and intimate to use with a new person. Then again, some folks have “Daddy” or “Mistress” right there on their name tag or in their Fetlife user name, and everybody refers to them as such.

There’s no hard and clear rule about which titles are relational and which are respectful, so you kind of have to feel it out for yourself. In general, I’d say “Sir” and “Ma’am” are the most widely acceptable, but those are not universally liked by everyone. You can always slip it into a sentence and then ask permission: “I’d love to get your drink, ma’am—may I call you ma’am?” Hopefully, they’ll respond with the thing they would like to be called, if you guess incorrectly.

5. Be willing to be wrong.

Be willing to hear no. Be willing to be corrected if you make assumptions or mistakes. You might call them by a title and they might correct you—that’s okay. Say, “Sorry about that; thank you for the permission to call you sir.” Being corrected means you are worthy of correction, and it’s a good sign.

Putting yourself out there means taking risks, and when you’re the person who is initiating the flirtatious interaction, it’s kind of up to you to put yourself in a vulnerable position first.

6. Ask for what you want.

And be honest! Don’t ask to black their boots if that’s not your thing, don’t ask for them to beat you if you’re not into receiving sensation. Ask for what you actually want.

It’s always okay to ask for something, but it’s important that you are willing to hear any possible answer to your ask.
The context of your ask is important. If you can do that thing right there and then and it’s appropriate, it’s appropriate to offer it or to ask for it. So if you’re at a kink retreat, it is probably appropriate to offer a blow job or request to receive a spanking, but it wouldn’t be appropriate to ask for those things if you’re out at a bar (unless, you know, being crass and direct is one of your tactics—in which case, it could work! But know that it’s higher risk.)

It’s always okay to ask for something, but it’s important that you are willing to hear any possible answer to your ask. Of course, we want the answer to be an emphatic “yes,” but it isn’t always. If you’re going to get a little crushed if they say no, perhaps pre-plan the ask to have a friend around after who is willing to comfort you or perk you up.

Use your keen powers of observation and assess what kind of person this dominant is: Do they have public scenes at parties, or are they mostly private? Do they flirt and socialize a lot, or do they tend to keep to themself and their close people? Tailoring your asks to what you notice about the dominant makes it more likely for them to say yes.

7. Offer your contact information.

Assuming you are flirting now with the intention of following up for even more later, offer your info: Your Fetlife account, your cell number, your email address—however you want them to get in touch with you. Giving them your contact information gives them the power to follow up or not. Plus, it puts your vulnerability into a sexy framework: the potential to continue the flirtation, and possibly even more.


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Featured image from Crash Pad Series Episode #188, Valentine & Ember.

Handling Her (Asher & Jesse #1)

Wait for me after class?

Jesse’s heart pounds. That’s all the note says, but she knows it’s from Asher. Asher, who is deliberately not paying any attention to Jesse, even though Jesse positioned herself on the end of the second row in the lecture hall, on the side closest to where Asher usually passes around the handouts. Asher, whose dress is just a little shorter than is probably appropriate for college, especially for a Teaching Assistant, but whose tight grey pencil-skirt dress, long dark hair pulled up in a bun, red lipstick, and cat-eye glasses are fueling a variety of teacher-student fantasies in the room right now. Asher, who has been biting the insides of her lips thinking about Jesse’s hands, the smoothness of the palms, the skin on her fingers kind of rough, the way they’ll feel in her mouth.

Trying not to squirm, Jesse tries to slide the note into her skinny jeans with nonchalance.

No big deal. I’ll just wait. For Asher. After class.

She tries to focus on the psychology handout that Asher dropped on her desk with the note. Her fingernails were painted a soft shade of pink, the same as the accents on the grey dress. Asher didn’t look at her. The note was a stealth move. Ash’s handwriting is tight and fine cursive—the t and the f are loopy but compact. Her fingers are deft and precise, dropping the note with the handout and moving on to the next desk without another glance.

Jesse barely hears the rest of Ms. Bell’s lecture. She watches the slides and takes notes, but all she can think about is Asher. Asher’s lips when they kissed yesterday. The way she tasted like oranges and cream. Probably that was her lip gloss, otherwise how would her lips have been shimmering? Asher’s hair spread out in the grass under the cherry blossom trees in the quad. How Asher kept smiling and laughing at Jesse’s stupid jokes.

All the students start rustling their books and notebooks and backpacks when the clock gets around to 1:20pm, and Ms. Bell raises her voice over the noise to remind them to read chapter 6 by Thursday. Jesse delays packing up her things—the thick hardback course textbook, her blue spiral notebook with PSYCH 201 written in big sharpie letters on the cover, her Slingshot day planner, a pack of Post-Its of various sizes and colors to use to make notes in the textbook, and her pencil case, which actually only has one pencil in it, for when the professors insist on marking up a text. She slides them one at a time, deliberately, into the brown canvas shoulder bag, shifting around the granola bars (which had fallen to the bottom) so they wouldn’t get smashed. She leaves a pen in the groove on the desk, one of her non-important ones, a blue Bic with a chewed up end.

Asher’s note, she tucks into her Slingshot, where all the important things go.

Jesse goes into the girl’s bathroom across the hall and waits with a few of the other Psych 201 students. They are prattling on about lacrosse and don’t stop talking to each other even when they go into the stalls. Jesse pulls the strap on her bag tight, hangs it on the back of the door when it’s her turn, washes her hands, dries them on her jeans, and goes back out into the hall. A few classmates are left at the end of the hall, but mostly they’re clearing out. Jesse peeks in the door of the classroom. Asher and the other two TAs, including Bryan, who is the TA of Jesse’s section C, are still in there talking to Ms. Bell and gathering the paperwork. The last two students leave the room. Jesse takes a deep breath, and walks in.

“Forgot my pen,” mumbles Jesse when Ms. Bell turns to look at who has entered. Bryan is saying something about grading tests. Jesse returns to the desk she was sitting in and looks around, setting her bag in the chair next to her. She doesn’t look at Asher. She pulls up her jeans and crouches down to look more carefully on the floor.

“I like a girl on her knees,” Asher says suddenly, loudly. Jesse nearly falls over. She stands, and Asher has the blue Bic in her hand, standing right next to the desk. The rest of the room is empty. Jesse is sweating and blushing and maybe has to pee all at once.

Asher laughs. “I’m going to get a snack at By George. Come with.”

“Okay. I, uh, I’d like that.” Jesse stands and shoulders her bag. Asher hands her the pen, leaving her fingers on it so they touch Jesse’s when she reaches out to take it, and leans in to touch her lips to Jesse’s cheek. Jesse puts her sweaty palm on the desk to keep her knees from giving out.

Asher doesn’t carry a bag, just the plain file folder stuffed with paper and the course’s textbook in a pile. She’s tucked a pen and a pencil into the bun on the back of her head. She has a purse slung around one shoulder, but it probably holds little more than a paperback book.

“I’m glad you waited,” Asher knocks Jesse with her hip when they get out of the grassy quad and to the slick bricks of red square. It was raining this morning and the ground still isn’t dry.

“I’m glad you asked me to,” Jesse knocks Asher back. She had the urge to wrap her arms around Asher and kiss her, hard; to push her against the side of the building and hold her arms above her head.

Asher talks a little on the short walk to the cafe; Jesse mostly listens, swallowing down a few words here and there, unsure if they sounded smart enough. Jesse picks out a Sprite when they go through the cafe line, and Asher gets a paper basket of french fries and a root beer. They find a table over by the window, away from the groups of students who have pushed tables together, being rowdy.

Asher puts her tan tray down on the table and before she’s even sat down, she says, “I have to tell you something.”

Jesse’s knee is folded under her on the chair and she’s lowering herself down to sit, but she slows, looking up at Asher, still standing. “Okay?”

“I just …” Asher sucks in a breath, and sits down, then fingers two fries and pops them in her mouth, chewing. Jesse tentatively reaches into her bag for the peanut butter granola bar, still watching Asher, who is staring out the window. Asher fingers the straw in her root beer, taking a few sips, leaving a ring of red lipstick on the straw.

“I like you,” Asher starts, leaving the last word hanging.

Jesse thinks that isn’t the thing she’s trying to say, and waits for Asher to finish. She realizes she’s holding her breath. After a few too many moments of silence, Jesse says quietly, “I like you, too.”

With a quick glance at Jesse, Asher hurries on like she was interrupted. “But I want you to know. I am … I’m pretty kinky. I just have to—. Tell you.”

Jesse gulps. Kinky? Oh. That’s what she was trying to say? … Isn’t everybody kind of kinky?

Asher keeps staring at her fries. “My last girlfriend, we didn’t work out because I wanted things that she, she didn’t. I don’t really want that to happen again,” she says quietly, the pain of that loss still evident. Who knows how long ago that was, or how long they were together. Years? Were they married? What did Asher want to do that the ex didn’t? Could Jesse be that for Asher?

But that’s it. Asher lets out the breath she’s been holding and munches a few more fries. Jesse ponders what Asher has revealed. “That doesn’t … that doesn’t bother me. I mean, okay. I like some of that stuff too, I think. I haven’t … I don’t really know what to do, all the time, but I like to try things.”

Asher gazes a little sideways at Jesse across the table. “Are you … I’m not sure you could handle it. Me.”

Something about how Asher said it made Jesse think she was sad about that, or vulnerable. Like she wanted someone to handle it. Her. And that little glimpse of softness gave Jesse a thrill. She leaned forward just a little, whispered, “Maybe you should try me before you decide,” and snapped open her can of Sprite, which fizzed in response.

Jesse took a swig and Asher’s face relaxed, breathing out hard like a half-laugh and smiling. She regarded Jesse again, in that way of hers that made Jesse feel like Ash’s hazel-gold eyes had x-ray vision. “Alright,” she says, considering. “Maybe I should.”

But maybe I’m wrong! Jesse’s mind suddenly screamed. Maybe she wants to throw me down, and, you know, ravage me? Take me? Maybe she wants to do things to me, hit me with, I don’t know, a wooden kitchen spoon, or handcuff me? I could do that. Could I do that? … I think I could do that.


Featured image from Crash Pad Series Episode 89: Hilt & Rusty Nails.

Ask Me Anything: My Favorite Spanking

A.A. asked:

Can you tell us about your most favorite spanking you have ever given?

Hm. I’m not sure I have a favorite spanking that I’ve ever given. That’d be like choosing the best time I had sex or something. Some of the spankings that come to mind were early on in my kink life, when I started figuring out how to be kinky with women (after spending much of my teens being kinky with men. Or rather, boys). I went to a spanking workshop at Babeland once, probably in 1999 or 2000, which was very memorable and awesome, and I very strongly remember the Power & Surrender workshop (much like the recent one) that taught me how to flog. That was probably 2002.

Recently, though … well, I did some flogging at the recent Power & Surrender retreat, which was lovely. I like to spend a long, slow time on warm-up, then use my whole body to whomp for a while. I noticed I was even doing a little bit of a jump to get more of my body weight behind the flogger. I still want more practice flogging—every time I see Lolita flog I want to take classes from her.

Also, Kristen’s birthday was last weekend.

So of course there were spankings. I even got my heavy wooden paddle out. But there could perhaps be more spankings. I’d like to figure out how to leave big heavy bruises on her ass, I don’t tend to do that, but I think it’s time to try.