Ryan St. Germain

Tag Archive: bondage

Dominance & Submission

I’m in a mood today and only rope will do. I curated a playlist for that purpose: songs to tie to, songs for the wanting, songs for the getting. Some songs for her, some songs for me. Songs for the pain, songs for the release. Music that will bring us together as I wind the rope around her and cinch it tight. The music played loudly in the background as I ran through the things I want to do to her in my mind.

I’ve spent the last few months really looking at who I am and the things that I want and I’ve only become more certain in my resolve that there are some needs that I have that will never go away. The need to dominate, the need to tie, the need to feel that connection between a submissive and myself as we both take and we both give; these are things that I cannot do without.

The sort of dominant that I am is evolving, changing and is influenced by the submissive that I am with, but as I closed my eyes and listened to the music I felt a certainty that there isn’t a life for me without dominance and submission.

Good Girl

I spotted her coming down the escalator as I approached the bottom of it. I recognized her legs, her posture, even the dress she was wearing and I knew it was her before I even saw her face. She looked up at me and smiled, recognizing me too. This was the first time that we met, though we’d spent a few months getting to know each other by way of the internet after crossing paths online thanks to a mutual friend. It seemed a little crazy that she should travel over a thousand miles to visit me but at the same time it made perfect sense. We knew before ever touching that when we did it would be addictive and that meeting was a dangerous idea, but we did it anyway.

She came down the last steps dragging her suitcase behind her and we wrapped our arms around each other. She rested her head on my shoulder and we held each other tight. We’d been waiting for this moment for a few weeks, suffering because of the way time dragged on in the last few days leading up to it. She trembled in my arms or maybe it was me that was shaking. I took her suitcase and as we walked away she clutched my arm so tightly and pulled us close together. I looked at her, taking in every little detail as we exited the airport on the way to my apartment.

Emily is exactly what I’ve always imagined when using the word ‘lithe’. Her delicate collar bones peeked out from under a pale pink shirt and the smooth skin of slender arms led down to hands that felt needed to be held. I’d seen her shapely legs in pictures and I loved them even more seeing them in person. Her eyes swirl with blue and green and grey and even flecks of gold; her lashes are delicate and her eyebrows add a hint of seriousness to an otherwise soft, sweet face. Her hair was swept back out of her face and it fell over one shoulder; it’s a cool brown blond, with hints of honey and sunflower. Her bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top and when she smiles, it kills me.

We dropped her things of at my apartment and while walking through the French Quarter together, she reached out and ran her fingers through leaves that poured through a wrought iron fence . She did it again in the park, touching the flowers and leaves as we passed through Jackson Square. She beamed at the crepe myrtles and marvelled at the way the branches of the old oak trees crookedly plunged and rose, touching one of them as we passed beneath. I can’t see those trees or flowers without thinking of the way she ran her fingers over them.

When we returned to the apartment I followed her throughout the long hallway, watching the way she moves, studying her gait, appreciating everything about her. Light poured in through the courtyard, through the windows and on to the brick and plaster of the old walls. We climbed the stairs to my second floor apartment and as her dress moved, I slide a hand beneath the flowing fabric. She laughed a little in disbelief, but she slowed her pace and met my eyes for an instant in the reflection in the mirror that stood against the wall at the top of the steps. Her hips moved ever so slightly as my hand continued on.

We spent three days together when she visited me the first time and it wasn’t enough.

(more…)

Ava

“Grand Central, by the information booth in the center of the station at 6pm.”

“See you there” she responded.

I arrived at Central Station early, finding a post on the balcony that gave me the best view of the grand hall. I looked for her, knowing I’d be able to spot her even from a distance. I sent one short message telling her which side of the information booth to wait for me at and then I watched. So many people flowed through the terminal that it made me think of the water of a shallow, rocky river, but when I saw I knew without hesitation that it was her. She looked down at her phone at my incoming message and I made my way to where she was standing.

We hadn’t met yet; we’d only exchanged messages and emails after she’d written to me with a very blunt introduction:

I’m attracted to experience, so I’m attracted to you. I’m still really new to this world, but learning from someone as honest and mature as you seem is something I would definitely appreciate. I’d love to get to know you more.

She was traveling the week before and had just returned to New York that morning; I was leaving the next day. We had one day to meet because she would be in Paris when I returned and we’d agreed that we didn’t want to wait for over a month; we needed to at least say hello face to face. In the few hours between her coming and my going, we made time for one another.

I descended the stairs into the grand hall, studying her body language as I drew nearer. She was eyeing the terminal nervously and checked her phone for further instructions, not noticing me as I approached. The crowd closed and opened and with each parting, I took in another detail about her.

Ava is small and fair-skinned, with a bright smile, expressive eyes and Venetian blond hair (I liked the way that it framed her face). She wore a purple dress printed with flowers and it had small buttons that ran almost the length of it. Her shoulders were bare and the moment I saw them, I wanted to place my lips on them. She seemed both resilient and fragile at the same time and I felt from the moment that we met that she wanted me to leave a mark on her so that she could prove that she could take it. She didn’t seem inherently submissive, but rather; like someone who wanted to be dominated.

I came to stop behind her, waiting for her to turn toward me, but she didn’t right away. When she finally faced me, I said hello, startling her and she gave a nervous little laugh. We left the station together, less concerned about where we were going than we were about being able to talk openly regarding the things we’d corresponded about before agreeing to meet. Where does one take a pretty young woman in the middle of the day to publicly discuss the things you want to do to each other in private?

Choosing a general direction we headed away from Central Station, walking close together. We didn’t have any particular destination but we both needed to move so we let the moment carry us, untouched by the chaos swirling around us. Plumes of smoke billowed from food trucks and people leaving their nine-to-fives scurried across intersections as tourists halted and stared up at buildings that can touch low-hanging clouds. Her hand brushed mine once, twice and then I took it.

Coming to the library and it’s vast open lawn, it felt like the place to stop, sit, talk. We picked a spot and sat down in the grass, looking up at the sky; it looked like it might rain. The clouds were thick and heavy and grey, but they didn’t dampen our mood at all. She kicked off her sandals and we spoke as she let blades of green grass poke up between her toes. I pulled a piece of it out of the ground and rubbed it between my two fingers as I glanced at her, taking in everything about her as we talked. We laid back in the thick grass and looked up past the trees and skyscrapers while we talked about who and what and when until they closed the lawn of the library and asked us twice to leave.

I took her hand and we left the library, joking about how having just graduated college one of her goals had been to have sex in the stacks. She said it out loud and blushed when she did, giving the impression that she’d thought about it before and was picturing the two of us behind the rows of books in that very moment.

I let her lead me in the direction of Central Park and we talked along the way. The handful of conversations that we’d had online prior to that left lots to discuss. We held hands almost the entire time and walked quickly, coming to the center entrance to the park as the sun was fading. I studied her face, which made her nervous and I liked the fact that it did.

“You are looking at me!” Ava said.

“I like to look at you” I responded, refusing to look away until I was satisfied.

We stopped and let a family pass us and it was then that I pulled her close and kissed her for the first time. Her lips were full and I’d been thinking about kissing them from the moment I’d seen them in photo. She made me promise to at least kiss her if we were to meet and it’d been easy to give my word. My hand slipped around her waist and she trembled but pressed herself against me as though to steady herself. She felt like trepidation that was plated with resolve.

I took her hand again and we continued to walk through the winding paths of the park. We passed beneath one of it’s bridges and just then a man started to play the saxophone. We smiled at each other and rolled our eyes just a little because it seemed so cliché but I think that it made us both secretly a little bit happy . We found a bench that was as as alone as you can hope to be in Central Park and sat down closely next to one another. Just as we did a cool breeze came along, picking up the may buds, sending them swirling across the paved path. People ran, pushed strollers, skated past us; when we were alone, I kissed her again.

She laid her head on my shoulder and we toyed with the idea of where we’d go next, but it seemed like we both already knew and were just waiting to say it. We alluded to where we’d hoped the night would take us but had attempted to curb expectations. It was obvious though that parting ways wasn’t something that either of us was seriously considering.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

“Where do you want to take me?” she answered.

(more…)