Learning from Stacy Ch. 02

Ch. 02

First dominance and submission, and public sex.

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Ch. 1 Two work friends become kinky lovers.

Ch. 2 First dominance and submission, and public sex.

Ch. 3 Three days of rough sex at a rented beach house.

Ch. 4 The Spanish Inquisition and dark art.

Ch. 5 Opera and sex in Amsterdam.

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This is a true story. It is as true as my memory and story craft can tell it. It is the story of how an ordinary divorced guy who works in an office enjoyed two years of dominating two very submissive beautiful women along with some adventure sex travel. Of course, some of the details are disguised. Some events have been consolidated. The first series is about Stacy and how it all began.

Instead of one long story, I have broken it into five parts published together. Please favorite, score, and offer constructive comments to guide me on the companion series yet to be written.

*

The old claw hammer on the floor where I dropped it was meant to frighten Stacy; to make her wonder what I was going to do to her. Stacy was naked, handcuffed, folded up on her knees, head down like a child's pose. This wasn't yoga; this was dominance and submission. Her hands were cuffed together in front of her. The hammer was well-used, its talons sharp, the rubber grip just right for whatever I was going to do with it. I dropped it in front of her head. She flinched when it hit the floor with a thud. I hissed into her ear.

"Imagine all the things I could do with that; all your holes are mine," I said. "Everything is mine. I might decide to hurt you. Think about it. I will be back when I am ready."

*

That is part of a scene I created for Stacy later in our journey. We are not ready for scenes yet. We are at the beginning, learning what to do and how to do it. The hammer will drop later.

I was a diligent student of the craft. I read books. Some were useful. I read on-line, especially Literotica, which was helpful when you could find the right authors and stories. I watched porn. Porn was not useful. Porn is about unlikely physiques and instant capitulation on sight. Stacy and I exchanged stories, and ideas, as we explored the outlines what we wanted and expected. We wanted bondage, especially rope art. We wanted taboo sex. Stacy wanted public sex; I was willing. Stacy wanted to be dominated; I wanted to learn. We both wanted lots of things. Stacy wanted more from me, and she knew what it was.

Most vanilla people think dominance and submission, muddled with various painful activities, are perpetrated by a bully, usually a man, on a helpless victim, usually a woman. They think the bully uses and abuses the victim for whatever sick amusement and inadequacies may be driving him.

Bad shit does happen in the world; it takes on many appearances. Sometimes, it looks like law enforcement. Sometimes it looks like a tough marriage. It can look like many things, but it is not the craft.

In the craft, it is the submissive whose interests are explored, whose limits are breached. It is the submissive who sets those limits, and empowers the dominant, the dom, to facilitate and guide the journey of exploration the submissive, the sub, wishes to make. The sub has the power and acquires more of it as she becomes more experienced in testing her limits.

The difference between violence or porn, and the craft, is consent. Informed consent is outwardly about the physical, sexually stimulating activities that are of interest and approved. In this, doms and subs have an advantage over vanilla couples; they talk openly about sex, set limits, take precautions, and encourage kinky fun. But, it can be the inward journey that matters to many participants. It mattered more to Stacy. I didn't know yet what it would mean to me.

"It's about the exchange of power," Stacy said. "Without that, it is just fucking and sucking in costumes with props. I want, I need, the emotional and psychic peace I get from giving up all choice and responsibility for what we do, in how I get fucked or displayed or used, to an experienced dom whom I trust to push my limits and keep me safe."

Stacy thought about it some more. We were having the negotiations that would lead to our agreement. "My friends who know I do this but have never tried it ask me why," she said. "I tell them I want and need the strength I know when I come out of sub-space. I know I can do more than I was ever allowed to think possible."

Sub-space, at least that's what Stacy and I called it, is that envelop wherein our relationship was that of dom and his sub. The dom directs and commands; the sub complies and obeys. It was complicated for us because we had a long friendship that we wanted to keep. For other dom-sub pairs, they only know each other as dom and sub. So, again a strength of the craft, we talked about our concerns and how we would keep things afloat. We set our first date for a scene. We were going to one of the most popular parks and tourist destinations in the city.

*

When Stacy answered her door, I said, "When I say 'thumbs' immediately put your thumbs together like this." I held my hands out with the thumbs aligned. "Only do it behind your back. I can't have you in handcuffs everywhere we might go. But gripping your thumbs gives me a way to control you and to steer you." Stacy put her hands behind her, and I gripped her thumbs. I said, "Good girl. Now, lose the panties."

After we parked the car, I said, "Thumbs." Stacy immediately positioned her hands behind her. I held her thumbs and steered her through the crowd to the ticket gate. It was a warm summer day. Stacy was wearing a loose, simple summer dress. There were lots of cars and people at the park. It was going to be more crowded than usual.

Once inside, we meandered along the pathways, admiring the peaceful landscaping and beautiful plantings. Sometimes I steered her by her thumbs. Sometimes we held hands like any other couple on a date. Stacy knew a lot about everything we saw. She was like that. Stacy always did more research and prep than anyone I ever knew. She knew how to season her conversation with a few facts, and could extemporize on how various circumstances and personalities had made innovation and investment possible. We liked our conversations.

We spotted a little nook in the trees near the path. We kissed, and I let my hands roam her body over and under her dress. I turned Stacy around, so she faced the path. I cupped her breasts from behind and then lifted her dress to reveal her bare pussy. She was already wet. I rubbed her clit and inserted my fingers. Anyone walking the path that turned to look would see her, yet she was not visible to others.

"I love this," Stacy said. "Thank you."

"There's more," I replied. "Let's walk some more."

We came to an overlook of the city filled with raked pebbles -- a zen garden. A couple was leaving as we arrived. There were more people in the sections above. There was a hedge, about chest high, separating us from them. After enjoying the view, I turned Stacy to face the people above us. I lifted the back of her dress.

"I'm going to spank you now," I said. I whispered the count into her ear as I slowly gave her 15 hard swats. She was dripping by the end.

I stepped in front of her and opened my pants. "Suck my cock," I demanded. Stacy knelt in the pebbles and worshipped my cock. I could look over my shoulders to make sure we didn't get caught. But I didn't tell Stacy we were safe. "There is another group in the section above," I said. "They're walking this way."

Later, we held each other close on the arched, wooden bridge. We talked about what we had done, the thrill of possible exposure. We kissed. There were clusters of people on the bridge, admiring the brook. The bridge was one of the main attractions in the park. More people strolled by.

"I'm going to fuck you now," I told Stacy. "Right here." I opened my fly and pulled out my hard cock. I leaned back on the bridge to get us better aligned and pulled Stacy with me. I pushed into her.

We stood like that for probably ten minutes, though it seemed longer as time slowed. I stroked into and out of her. Our goal was not orgasm. We coupled, in public, in plain view, with other people close. Some gave us a look like they suspected but were not quite sure what we were doing. Or they were sure, but couldn't believe it. It was delicious; Stacy was happy.

*

The old claw hammer on the floor where I dropped it was meant to frighten Stacy; to make her wonder what I was going to do to her. Stacy was naked, handcuffed, folded up on her knees, head down like a child's pose. This wasn't yoga; this was dominance and submission. Her hands were cuffed together in front of her. The hammer was well-used, its talons sharp, the rubber grip just right for whatever I was going to do with it. I dropped it just in front of her head. She flinched when it hit the floor with a thud. I hissed into her ear.

"Imagine all the things I could do with that; all your holes are mine," I said. "Everything is mine. I might decide to hurt you. Think about it. I will be back when I am ready."

I returned with a large nail. I picked up the hammer. I grabbed the handcuff chain and pulled Stacy up. I pushed her toward my door; I raised her hands above the frame. I nailed her to the wall, so she was fixed in place, naked and exposed.

"Now the fun can begin," I said.

*

Next up, Ch 3 is three days of rough sex at a rented beach house.