Tag Archive: submission
Aurora came to visit over the long holiday weekend. It’d only been a few weeks before that we’d reconnected in New Orleans and she took the first opportunity that she could to come and see me.
She arrived late on a Thursday night and I took Friday off, making my three-day weekend into four so that we could spend time together. Storms were delaying flights the night she arrived and she landed late in the evening after a long day of travel. She sent me a message from the cab line to tell me that she’d be seeing me soon.
September always brings the notion that summer is over, but standing outside waiting for her cab to arrive, it felt like it hadn’t gone anywhere. Clouds hung low in the night sky, illuminated by the lights of the city and the few minutes that I waited stretched on because of the anticipation. My street was all but empty and I spotted the cab from a few blocks away when it turned the corner and headed slowly towards me. I caught a glimpse of her in the backseat through the front windshield as the car pulled over to the curb and let her out.
I took her bags for her and hugged her tightly before we headed upstairs to my apartment. She told me about her day and I told her about mine. She showered when we were upstairs and climbed into bed with me, falling asleep on my chest even though she was fighting to stay awake just a little bit longer.
Her visit was full of interesting, vibrant moments but there was one in particular that we were both waiting for, both wanted, both needed…
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.
S. came over yesterday afternoon for a shoot; we’d been talking about it for some time and I’d missed being behind that camera so I called her earlier in the week and was happy when she said yes. We agreed to a brief bondage shoot and I was happy to hear that it was something that she enjoys in her personal life and was looking forward to in the shoot.
The conversation as the rope came out lead to a discussion about the type of dominant that she enjoys and the evolution of the dominant that I am. S. tells me she likes to be able to take what anyone gives her and not be broken. For her, it’s about the strength of her will and I appreciate that about her. She told me that she enjoys being chocked, but only a certain type of man and I appreciated that too. She painted a picture of someone who would hold her after being rough with her.
She asked me what sort of woman I liked to dominate and my answer for as long as I can remember has always been to say that I want a women who wants to be dominated, but doesn’t need to be. One who is strong and is giving her submission as a way of letting go. I’ve realized though that the nurturing dominant in me is growing into a bigger role in that dynamic and when she told me that I was gentle with the rope, she asked me in so many words if I was a ‘daddy dom’ type and for the first time I realized that I can at least relate to that role now, even if I don’t see myself quite that way.
We all grow, we all evolve and sometimes it just takes someone lending a different perspective for us to see it ourselves.
The doors to the balcony stood open, inviting the night air inside. I sat in the chair in I’d placed in front of them and Emily was on my lap. The street below us was quiet; no horses or cars or people could be heard. I looked out at the single street light and slid a hand between her legs, feeling the warmth of her bare back against my chest. It was still summer in New Orleans, but late enough in the season that the night brought some reprieve from the heat.
I pressed my lips to her neck and glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching. We were just inside the doorway so people from below wouldn’t see us but there were many windows that might have given a clear view of what was happening. A light breeze blew through the tree that hung over the tiny street and it shook the leaves, which rustled gently providing the only sound I could hear other than Emily breathing.
She sank back against me and asked me if she could come; I didn’t answer her right away. I felt her body tense and her leg tremble as she pressed her toes into the old, worn wood floors. I whispered into her ear and she shook, crumpling in to me.
The clouds that crept slowly in front of the moon were a vibrant white against the dark blue of the midnight sky; I looked at them as I took measure again of the feeling of her body against mine. I held her in my arms and she rested against me, breathing heavily, trying to find herself again. I kissed her cheek when she turned it toward me and I wanted that moment to stretch on forever.
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.