A Dom in the MakingbykcRollins©
I met Maddie at a 4th of July barbecue given by a co-worker. She was an attractive blonde with long hair that covered one eye and fell in a cascade of waves to her plump breasts. When she moved, her rounded hips swayed enticingly. She reminded me of those pin-up girls in the 50s.
The party was boring and I was about to leave until she approached me and introduced herself. She was an excellent conversationalist and she had a great sense of humor. As her mouth moved I couldn't take my eyes off her cherry-colored lips. At times it was hard to focus on the conversation, because my mind wandered to her mouth wrapped around my dick.
At one point in our friendly chat she began to fidget as if she was uncomfortable. Concerned I asked, "Are you okay?"
She chuckled and nodded. "It's just this damn butt plug is beginning to irritate me."
My brow furled indicating that I had no idea what she was talking about. Again she chuckled and I felt the blood rush to my face.
She leaned into me and whispered, "Do you know what D/s is?"
They were nothing more than letters of the alphabet to me so I replied, "I guess not."
She smiled and said, "Would you like to know?"
What I'd like to know is why she had a plug in her butt. "Sure."
"It stands for Dominance and submission."
"Okay." I knew what the words meant, but I still had no clue as to what she was talking about.
"Are you familiar with BDSM?"
Good god more letters of the alphabet. "I don't think so."
She stood up and all I could think was there goes my BJ. Then, she handed me a card and told me if interested to give her a call. Hell yeah I'm interested. My vivid imagination could already feel my cock plunging deep into her throat. As she walked away I thought, with a wicked grin planted on my face, sticking it in her ass wouldn't be bad either.
I read the card, "Maddie Madson, Attorney at Law." Wonder if she'd like to get into my briefs.
That night I went to bed with a terrific aching in my nuts and I couldn't stop thinking about her lips and ass ... oh and her great mind, of course.
The next day I wanted desperately to call her, but I didn't want to seem too anxious. How long should I...could I wait? It was the weekend so, I spent all day Sunday online Googling BDSM. I read blogs offered by submissives and Dominants. I saw pictures that both aroused and horrified me. I searched butt plug and found all kinds of shapes and sizes. Hmmm, wonder what kind Maddie wore.
Monday, after work, I decided to give her a call. "Hey Maddie, it's Mike." Did I really think she'd remember me? "From Gordie's party, remember?"
After a brief pause she said, "Oh yeah. How you doing Mike?"
Well I'm horny as hell and want to know if you'd like to wrap those luscious lips around my cock. "I'm fine. You do remember me, right?"
She chuckled, "Of course I do. You're the short, dark, and totally handsome dude, with the piercing eyes."
Now it was I who chuckled. "I... umm ... I saw some pictures." Good god man. "I mean I read up on BDSM and there were some pictures and...ummm...I saw pictures of that thing you were wearing."
Again she chuckled and I couldn't blame her. I sounded like a complete idiot. "Relax, Mike."
I cleared my throat to speak but all that came out was "Yeah. Cool." The urge to hang up before I continued to make a fool of myself was paramount. "Look, I still don't know what BDSM is or the D/s you talked about, but the thought of it aroused me."
"What is it you want, Mike?"
I want a fucking blow job. "I don't know. I just think you're really attractive and I enjoyed our conversation and ... well ... I'd like to get to know you better."
"Would you like to get to know D/s better?"
If it means getting my dick sucked, yeah. "Sure."
"You don't sound too convincing." The pause on the other end of the line gave me the opportunity to assure her that I wanted to learn all about D/s, but I couldn't find the words. "Mike, listen, Domination is an art, it's not some sport fucking game."
I started to say something, but realized she had disconnected me. Frankly, I didn't blame her. I put my cell down, looked at my hand and said, "Well, buddy, it's you and me again."
For the next few months I studied D/s with a passion and the more I studied it, the more interested I became. I found a place where people in the lifestyle hang and one night I got the courage to go in.
The club wasn't at all what I expected. Although the distinct smell of leather infused the air, it was neither dark, nor dingy, but akin to a comfortable lounge. There was a curved bar on one side and candle-lit tables with comfortable chairs scattered in an organized fashion sat across from the bar. People mingled and laughed as people do in a festive atmosphere. Others showed off their talents on a small dance floor.
I took a deep breath and walked over to the bar for a desperately needed drink. Despite the innocuous atmosphere, I felt ill at ease. I sat down and had a look around. There were groups of submissives, both male and female, gathered in different corners giggling like school girls as they spoke. There were Dommes and Dominants drinking and talking about work or sports or politics. It all appeared normal.
Minutes later, a voluptuous dark-haired beauty, who wore a collar approached me. "What may I serve you, Sir?"
I smiled. I liked the sound of the word Sir coming from her. "Gimme a Jack and coke."
"Yes Sir, coming right up."
As she walked away, again I smiled, thinking how good my cock would feel in that nice ass.
When she returned with my drink she said, "You're new here."
I simply nodded.
"You can take your drink to the dungeon and have a look-see, Sir."
She pointed to the back of the club. I looked in that direction and there were two massive doors. To the right of the doors stood a formidable man clad in black leather guarding the entryway. A mask covered his face and his muscular arms were folded across his naked, hairy chest.
"There?" I asked, pointing."
She smiled and nodded, "Yes, Sir, there." Then, she walked away.
My eyes were fixed intently on the door until I heard a woman cry out. I looked in the direction of the sound and saw her naked ass over the knee of some dude who spanked her fiercely. I looked around and only I, and some woman seated at the same table as they, paid any attention. He continued to reprimand her and she cried out her apologies. Then, she slithered to her knees and begged profusely for his forgiveness.
"It is not I you should beg forgiveness, girl," he said, loud enough for all to hear. He lifted her by her hair and pulled her on all fours to the woman who watched the scene as I did. "Beg her forgiveness and beg it properly."
Whatever she said I couldn't hear through her sobs, but it wasn't long after she groveled at this woman's feet that the woman cupped the girl's face in her hands and kissed her forehead. Then I realized that I was the only one staring and quickly turned back to the bar.
After another drink I decided to make my way to the dungeon. I passed the table where the scene had taken place and the woman smiled at me. The girl knelt next to her and didn't look up.
When I approached the dungeon doors the guard asked in a husky voice, "Spectator or player?"
Although sure he was not one for levity that never stopped me before. "Just touring," I quipped in an attempt to conceal my nervousness. My witticism was not well-received.
"Allow me to rephrase my question," he said unamused. "Player or spectator?"
Clearing my throat, I replied, "Spectator." He handed me a booklet of rules that included, among other things, a house safe word. When I thanked him, he opened the door that led down to the dungeon and I made my descent to hell.
Surprisingly, the dungeon's ambience stimulated the senses. It was tastefully decorated and, in a dark way, it induced a feeling of romance, with indirect lighting and soft-playing music. Although implements of torture hung decoratively on the walls, amongst elaborate paintings depicting medieval torture, the place didn't seem at all sinister. Except for pictures in history books, I had never seen such instruments. The sight alone was enough to cause psychological terror. In my deepest imagination, I could not fathom an interrogator of yore actually subjecting someone to these horrors. It made my blood curdle.
As I eyed one of the paintings, a girl dressed in a see-through Grecian-type outfit approached me. She knelt beside me and, with her eyes cast down, she introduced herself.
"Greetings, Sir, I am called Geela." Her voice was silky soft and her olive skin glistened. Around her neck she wore a collar and attached to the collar was a leash that she held out in the palms of her hands. "If it pleases you, Sir, I will show you around."
"Oh, do you work here?"
She nodded, "I am here to serve you, Sir, if it is your wish."
Wow, I like this place a lot. "Serve me, how?"
"This girl is a guide, Sir. I can show you around and answer any questions you might have."
"I see," I said, lifting her chin. Her features were delicate and her lashes dark and thick "Look at me." When her eyes rose to meet mine I expected to see dark brown, but they weren't. They were navy and could very well be mistaken for a midnight sky. "I'd like that, Geela."
"Yes Sir," it will be my pleasure." She rose like a flower in bloom and handed me her leash. "If I may take the lead, Sir?"
"Ummm...yeah, sure," I answered, seeing as I didn't know my way around. She was adept at leading while making it appear that she followed.
"Do you have any questions, Sir, about anything in the lobby?"
I shook my head and she escorted me to a room equipped with the most bizarre furnishings I had ever seen. "Who owns this place?"
"May I speak freely, Sir?"
"I am not allowed to give you a name, but the man who owns the club is very prominent in the community. As you can see, he's an avid collector and seeks the real thing in implements of torture, but more often than not he has to settle for a good reproduction. What he cannot find on the market, he hires craftsmen to duplicate."
"He must have lots of money."
She smiled, "Yes, Sir, he's quite wealthy."
The room, colored in shades of gray with touches of black and deep, opulent purples had candles scattered about to set an alluring mood. Then, I noticed a spiked chair that opened in the seat like a toilet. Geela must have sensed my curiosity for she said, "It's an inquisition chair, Sir. In order to extract the truth from an assumed criminal they were stripped naked and strapped in. Then, hot coals were burned under their bare bottoms."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "That's totally barbaric."
Geela snickered. "Yes, Sir, it was, but the person was kept there until the powers that be heard what they wanted to hear."
I just shook my head. "Truth or not?"
"I suppose so, Sir."
In addition to the collectables, there was numerous paraphernalia designed for the lifestyle. One that particularly fascinated me was the "horse." While I had seen many in pictures, I had not seen one as elaborate as this. Rather than a straight plank, its length was triangular. Although the upholstery was the finest of leathers it did not look as if it offered much comfort.
"This section of the dungeon is a museum, Sir," Geela said. "Nothing in here is used."
Happy to hear her say that, I chuckled.
She continued on with the tour showing me racks, pillories, breaking wheels and then she stopped in front of a horrific looking piece of equipment. "This is called the Judas Cradle, Sir."
"It looks lethal."
"In most cases it was," she said with a slight snicker. "A person was placed in this harness above the pyramid-shaped seat that was inserted into their anus or vagina and then lowered by the ropes." She cleared her throat and added, "They were either impaled or infected."
"Okay, this is way too gruesome for me."
"Sir, this is only a collection," she said with a smile. "It's part of history."
At the far end of the room sat what looked like an antique wardrobe. "What's in there, skulls?"
Geela looked at me and winked. As she moved slightly ahead of me the candle's glow shimmered on her diaphanous outfit and the crack of her ass shown through, causing my heart to skip a beat.
"This is a 17th century Louis XV armoire. Collectibles from throughout the ages are stored in here," she said as she opened the doors. "Nipple clamps, gags, assorted dildos and," she held up a torpedo like object that was in a box with three others of various sizes, "butt plugs."
"Mhmm," I muttered as Maddie came to mind.
"They were actually used in medicine, Sir."
"Really?" I couldn't help but laugh.
She nodded. "Yes, Sir. Rectal dilators."
"And just what did they cure?"
"Purportedly, a number of things, Sir," she said seriously. "Their main purpose was to correct constipation, if I'm not mistaken."
"I see." So, Maddie was constipated I thought with an inner chuckle.
When the tour of the museum was complete she took me to another room in the dungeon called "The Library." The walls from floor to ceiling were bookcases filled with erotic literature, the titles of which I was unfamiliar. Then, I spotted a name I recognized...De Sade. "Do people use this library?"
"Yes, Sir. It's a well-equipped library, housing books of both fiction and non-fiction. All BDSM related.
All I wanted was a BJ and here I am learning the history of a lifestyle. Still, the more I learned the more interested I became.
"May I ask you a question, Sir."
"Yes, you may," I replied, surprised that I didn't use my usual response of sure.
"Are you a Dominant?"
"I don't know what I am."
"While Domination is innate, it's a skill that must be learned ... an art, Sir."
"Yeah, so I've heard," I snickered.
"I don't want to sound disrespectful, Sir, but why are you here?"
All I wanted was a fucking blow job. "I dunno."
"Would you like to continue the tour?"
As she led me to a steel door, she said, "There's a discussion group every Monday night in the conference room that might interest you, Sir."
I simply nodded and then stiffened when she opened the door. "What the fuck?" There, I saw a long hallway that had doors on both sides. Some of the doors had small groups of people who stood looking through an opening.
"This is the S and M portion of the dungeon."
Good grief more letters of the alphabet. "Sadism and Masochism," I said, finally recognizing letters of the alphabet as words. The sounds that came from the rooms were deafening. My knees buckled when we approached the first viewing window of this medieval place. There, a submissive, hung helplessly from the rafters. The masked Dominant cracked a whip upon the cement floor several times before lifting it back and snapping it sharply upon her nakedness. Her agonized howl mingled with the screams of others. Those viewing commented on his expertise and the artful design he left on her body without breaking the flesh. Beads of perspiration erupted on my brow and I felt an unmistakable sickness in the pit of my stomach. "I want to leave," I whispered.
She looked at me knowingly. "It's consensual, Sir," she said, as though that would bring me comfort.
I closed my eyes and shaking my head stammered, "I don't understand it."
The cries grew louder and the walls seemed to close in as the whirring of whips whisked through the air to find their mark. My heart pounded and I could barely catch my breath. I, literally, had a panic attack.
Geela quickly led me to a near-by empty room, shut the door and pulled the curtain. Immediately I made my way to a bench and sat down. Hunched over, I buried my face in my hands. "It's not in my nature," I said repeatedly. When I felt Geela's hands on my thighs as she knelt between my legs, I looked down at her. "It's not in my nature."
"And that's all right, Sir. It's only one aspect of BDSM; a part which some people are drawn to, while others, like yourself, are not. There's nothing wrong with that. But you should know that Dominants and submissives have different needs, different wants and different limits. You both have to be on the same page. In order to establish a mutual desire, you must first know your own needs and wants and limits.
I thanked Geela for the tour and pulled out my wallet.
"I don't accept gratuities, Sir," she said sharply.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you...I...I just..."
"It's okay, my apologies Sir," she said softening her tone. "The discussion groups are posted on our website. If you're at all interested, I think you might find them informative."
I had learned a valuable lesson about myself that night and left with no regrets.
A few weeks passed and in those weeks I was obsessed with the D/s aspect of BDSM. Because I still had so many questions, I finally acquiesced to attending one of the discussion groups at the club. The same dark-haired beauty was behind the bar. She smiled sweetly and welcomed me.
"Greetings, again, Sir. Jack and coke?"
I returned her smile and nodded.
When she placed the drink in front of me I asked her where the group met and she looked at the clock behind her and then told me where the conference room was, "But they won't be meeting for another 15 minutes, Sir."
"Yeah, I'm early."
"You can still go in. I think there are others in the room." She extended her hand, "My name is Cinnamon."
I reached out for her hand and chuckled, "Come on now, your parents didn't really give you that name."
She blushed, "No Sir, but it's the name I go by here."
"Yes, Sir, like Geela."
"So we're not supposed to use our real names here?"
"Oh no, Sir, you can use your real name if you wish, the owner just prefers to name us."
"I see," I said, wondering what caused him to name her Cinnamon."Well, I'm Mike.
"Nice to meet you Sir," she said, leaving me wondering why I gave her my name if she wasn't going to use it.
After another drink, I made my way to the conference room. When I entered, the people who were there conversing looked up briefly and then continued their chat. The chairs were in a circle with one missing chair. Feeling ill at ease I quickly took a seat and tried to not look around. But it was difficult to not noticed the scantily clad girls, some topless, others completely naked, all collared and leashed, kneeling at the feet of their Masters or Mistresses. There was one topless male sub and for some reason I felt embarrassed for him. His Mistress petted his head as he looked up at her adoringly.
The room began to fill up and shortly after I heard a whirring sound of a motor. I looked toward the sound and spotted a man in a wheel chair. He moved to the space left open by the missing chair and introduced himself as facilitator of the group. His powerful voice did not seem effected by his disability, nor was his demeanor curtailed in any way. He, if standing, would be a formidable figure with his large, broad chest and hands. His ebony-colored eyes were piercingly hypnotic. His long, dark hair was neatly pulled back in a pony tail. He, or someone, meticulously attended to his appearance.
"Welcome one and all," he said. "If you are new to the discussion group, kindly introduce yourself."
My heart raced and my mouth was dry as cotton. I looked around waiting for someone to make their introduction, but no one did and everyone there stared at me. I cleared my throat and attempted to produce some saliva. "I'm Mike."
"Hi Mike," the group said in unison.
It sounded like an AA greeting and I felt like I should add "And I'm an alcoholic," but refrained from humor that others might deem inappropriate.