My Burbank Dom

In my fantasies, a rich and ripped older daddy-dom would whisk me off to his dungeon in the Hollywood Hills like a scene in a movie. In reality, James was very young and somewhat square-looking—an average white male. He was an undercover normie kinkster who no one would suspect was also a secret sadist. At only 30 years old, I was almost 15 years older than him. I worried I wouldn't find his dominance believable, that he wouldn't be able to put me in my place. After all, I had so much more life experience than him. 

But as my wisdom grew with age, my self-esteem waned more each year. I found myself grasping at the part of me that once felt young and fuckable. I was increasingly scared I was becoming more ‘domesticated mom’ and less like my hot and free former self. My therapist asked me if there were any hobbies I could take up instead of casual encounters that involved submission, degradation, and humiliation. I told her I didn't think I'd find a book club as fulfilling. 

The kink list in James’ profile led me to consult Google for a few explanations. He self-described as both sadistic and chivalrous and listed his ‘interests’ as BDSM, rough sex, paddles, Wartenberg wheels, and vampire gloves. I had to look up the Wartenberg wheel. It looked like something an orthopedic doctor used to test nerve sensitivity on my feet after my back surgery. His profile listed a Fetlife account, and my curiosity was piqued—so I browsed. I saw some very luscious young asses bruised all the way down the thighs with Rothko-worthy degradé of purple, red, blue, and green. One girl had his name etched into her stomach along with a set of swollen scratches as if an animal had mauled her. Gulp. I had 3 days left in LA before I returned home to my domesticated life in suburbia. I was intrigued and up for an adventure.

I arrived before him at the bar and seated myself in a black leather booth facing the door. I busied myself on my phone, looking back and forth in a rotation between Telegram, Instagram, and the door, until he suddenly appeared. He slid into the seat and grabbed me by the back of my neck, pressing his firm tongue in my mouth with a deep kiss. I throbbed and felt my body's response, both pulling away and giving in. My berry-colored lipstick spread all over both of our lips and his chin. I was stunned, not expecting a hello kiss. 

"My lipstick is all over you, I'm sorry." I sputtered.
"How does it look on me?" He smirked and asked with amusement.

I wiped it off his lips and face and took a moment to absorb him. The sunlight behind him peeked through his light brown hair, which was almost gingery, a dust of orange shimmering through it. I was pleased, he was tall and thin, with a strong nose and cleft chin. A huge smirk covered his face from ear to ear, like he was laughing at a joke no one else knew. He was cocky, and his confidence started to unravel my composure. I sunk small in my seat in the booth and felt like the indecisive young girl I was in my 20s seeking the approval of an older man. I liked this helplessness.

We sat and chatted over drinks, and he asked me what type of experience I had with BDSM, what my boundaries were, and what type of experience I wanted to have with him. My face blushed as I tried to maintain eye contact while intimately describing my wants and desires. I was no stranger to discussing my kinks with confidence and conviction and didn't normally feel nervous on Feeld dates or with men in general. Now, I found myself flushed and sweating, discussing my relationship with pain.

I asked how he ‘got into this line of work’ and what he liked about it. He paused, controlled and thoughtful in his response. “I like taking someone to the end of their pain tolerance and then pushing it a little more. I can have complete control and turn you into putty,” he said. “Knowing I can control someone is the biggest turn-on for me.” 

I downed my drink. I was ready to give myself over to him.

~~~

We arrived quickly at his building and parked underground. Once I exited the car, he was waiting by my door and gave me a deep kiss again, sticking his hand up my dress and his fingers straight into my pussy. I melted into him, legs shaking. "You are already so wet—I love it.” I couldn't believe my body's response to the most vanilla car ride. My clit and labia tingled, aching for his hand to return.

He led me up the dank cement cave of his apartment building's stairwell with a light grip on the back of my neck like a collar. My hand navigated the metal railing while I walked in pace with him, wetting my panties more with each step to the door.

“We take our shoes off. You can leave yours here and tuck them neatly under the bench,” he said at the door. I obeyed, my eyes taking in the space in silence. He warned me he had a roommate but said he would play music loudly to drown out the noise. I glanced down the hallway of his carpeted Burbank apartment and saw a shadowy figure of said roommate cooking in the kitchen while watching Seinfeld. 

We walked down the hall to his room, and I saw a Hitachi Magic Wand lying across his bed, charging, along with a bench of black leather and metal implements. His room was small, with a red light dimmed from the ceiling under a cloth and a string of red Christmas lights along the edge of the wall. There was very little space between his bed and the wall. A room centered around a bed and what he would do to me on it. The paddles, floggers, and other devices were neatly set out in a row on the bench. I paid them little attention but swallowed a frozen rock of spit in my throat. He asked if I needed to use the bathroom, and I snuck across the hall, hiding my face behind my hair in case his roommate came by. I got back to the room, and he told me he would use the bathroom and get me some water with electrolytes in it. I was to take my clothes off, then put my butt plug in and get on all fours and wait for him. I did as instructed and remained on my hands and knees, waiting with my ass towards the door like a present. A chill passed over me from the air conditioning on my skin, and he came back and brushed a hand over the goosebumps on my ass and said, “I keep it at 68 in here, you will warm up." He said nothing about my body or the lingerie that I wore for him. I wanted and waited for a compliment to feast on. To devour and savor its delight through my body and brain. Had I forgotten to tell him I loved praise at the bar? Or did I tell him, and he was withholding it from me to make me work harder for my reward? 

I heard the rustling of clothing, a belt unlatching, and then his zipper opening as he undressed behind me. I tried to catch a glimpse of him naked while blood flow pulsed through my body to my genitals. I was exposed and open. 

He told me exactly how our session would go, and it reminded me of the intro conversation with a massage therapist. “First, we will start with your feet and legs, then work on the lower back, up to your neck and shoulders. If you have any injuries or areas of sensitivity, please let your practitioner know.”  

He explained he was going to turn on the Hitachi while he fucked my ass, and I was going to be a good obedient slut for him. The spanking and beating would be separate from the sex, and he would make sure I was comfortable and within my limits. He gave me the safe words yellow if I needed a break and red if I needed to stop completely. He would check in on me verbally, but mostly, he would be watching my body for cues. He asked if I was ready to have fun, and of course, I said yes.

The Rules:

I must address him as Sir. 

I must tell him when I am going to cum. 

I must maintain eye contact during an orgasm. 

I must thank him for my orgasms. 

Round 1: Rough Sex

After what seemed like an hour of waiting on my knees as a human table, he told me to turn over to my back. Delivering a long, wet kiss with a firm, penetrative tongue, he folded my legs over my head, crossed my ankles, and placed the Hitachi in my hands. He continued to kiss me deeply and passionately. Slowly. Controlled. I got wetter. Yearned more for touch. He put on a condom and pulled out the butt plug, and tried to enter me dry. I clamped up. I asked for my bigger butt plug and said I needed to open more. He seemed frustrated, and I felt silently apologetic that my body didn't cooperate with his demands, but he started to fuck my pussy instead. A worthy consolation. I was overcome with the intensity of penetration and the vibrator on my clit and closed my eyes to let the waves of my pulsing blood swallow me. He turned the vibrator up. “Siri, play music,” he shouted into the air, and some terrible wordless elevator jazz came on at an insanely high decibel. I moaned louder, decidedly not caring about the roommate, while he fucked me harder. I started to cum with my eyes still closed, forgetting his rules, and he gripped my cheeks with his hand pushing my mouth open like a puffer fish, and asked, “Are you cumming?” surprisingly angry. “Open your eyes. What did I tell you? You are not listening to me. You have to tell me before you are going to cum.” He kept a grip on my jaw and cheeks until I started to drool, and I worried he might shove a bar of soap in my mouth for disobedience. "Are you going to tell me next time?” 

“Yes,” I said sheepishly. 

“Yes, what? YES, SIR,” he corrected. “And what else are you forgetting?” 

“Thank you for letting me cum.” I said clearly and with the utmost respect. 

My face flushed when he released his hand, and my forehead was moist with sweat. He pulled the larger buttplug out, then slid right in me with no resistance and began to fuck me slow but hard. I was interrogated with questions I could barely answer with more than a guttural exhale or nod, but he demanded my Yes's audibly. 

"Do you like my cock in your ass? Do you think you deserve it? Do you love being my little slut to use and abuse?” 

“Yes" was my answer to all, and - Yes, what? “Yes, Sir,” I knew this time. “Thank you for my orgasm, Sir.”

I came again, this time making sure I could get my eyes open right at the top of the pleasure peak of my orgasm. His eyes met mine, and he choked me while I came. “You are supposed to let me know before you cum, not during, not after. Before. Do you understand me?” He smacked my face a few times. 

“Yes, Sir.” I would try for him. He must have known I was trying.

He spat on my face, then grilled me with more questions. "Are you my slutty little hot wife? Are you a little whore that needed to come get punished by me? Do you feel bad that you need this?" I moaned deeply each time he smashed his spit across my cheeks while I accepted my punishment for being a slut. I didn’t feel bad I needed this. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting it. More men, more dick, more filthy experiences that helped me escape reality. 

One eye could barely open, spackled with his spit, and I momentarily worried about the $200 eyelash lift I got earlier that day, likely ruined. I was covered in his fluids now and decidedly didn’t care. I tried to remain in the moment. He pried my mouth open, drooled inside it, and made me swallow it down. I closed my eyes again, drifting into my pleasure, getting close to orgasm again until he smacked me alert.

“Are you trying to cum without telling me?” I nodded yes, no longer able to speak. “Keep looking at me the whole time,” he demanded with his eyes extra wide and angry. “Siri, play music and turn up the volume now.” He screeched angrily at his digital bitch as if she were being punished for my eyes not being open too. 

“Open your eyes. You need to open your eyes. I told you this. I am going to punish you next time if you can’t listen to simple instructions.”

I wondered if I was even able to have an orgasm from beginning to end with my eyes open. I popped them open as much as I could, at times just a glimmer of light through my lashes, and all I could see were red lights from the ceiling. In other moments, I could fully open them and ingest his wide-eyed stare right on top of my face. By now, I had cum 4, 5, maybe 6 times. He still never complimented me about my looks, and I never needed one so badly. To be told I was sexy, beautiful, the most incredible fuck he's ever had. To be told I was as hot as the young girls I saw on his Fetlife. That he would think about me for months after our encounter. But he would never give me this satisfaction. The more this went unfulfilled, the more I wanted him. My desire existed in the yearning.

He stopped fucking me and removed the condom, standing there with an erection sipping water while I unfurled and panted on his bed. “You should drink your water before we get started,” he said, and he pointed to my glass of murky water on the desk, which I declined. 

Round 2: The Beating

“You were so good for me,” he said, tenderly touching my hair and kissing my head. My first praise. I devoured it with a smile. “Now I want you to lay face down on the bed with your head on my pillow. Get comfortable and relax. I’m going to get set up.” I sprawled across the bed, parched and exhausted, dissolving into my skin. 

“Do you remember your safe words?” he asked. I acknowledged I did. Yellow is to slow down in intensity, red is to stop completely. I repeated them to myself. Yellow, red. I breathed deeply and tried to relax my body. I was already half exhausted from the orgasms and penetration and could have gone to sleep right then.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye—the one not smashed into the pillow—under the dim reflection of the red light. He selected some toys and placed them on a black towel. A paddle, a cane, a stick with a ball & spikes, and other devices. I grew nervous. He put on black spiked rubber gloves, the vampire gloves, I presumed, and I tried not to tense and continue to melt into my exhaustion and post-orgasmic endorphins. He began pawing his mitted spiked hands across my body, but it felt surprisingly gentle and soothed me. He ran them through my hair and across my entire body, and my skin tingled after. He pressed down harder, and they felt like cat scratches. Then the scratches deepened and started to hurt, and I wondered if he was opening my skin with the spikes. I breathed deeply and rhythmically like I had learned in birthing class almost 10 years prior and tried to exhale as long as the inhale counting to 10 with each breath. He sensed my spike in blood pressure and stopped right before I was about to tense. Oh good. It’s over, I thought and relaxed. 

“Do you remember your safe words?” he asked again. I nodded into the pillow. He placed the Hitachi under me and turned it back on a low setting. My clit was swollen and numb, but the vibration was warmly comforting.  

His palm started striking the meat of my ass. Quickly, like a spattering, he was building up heat. The pace remained the same, but he built the smacks up stronger. I felt warmth and radiating glow on my ass cheeks. It felt good and then numb as well. Yellow, I said only to myself towards the end, but not out loud. He stopped. Relief.

“You are handling this well,” he said, bringing his hand close to my face and patting my head. Then he turned the Hitachi up. 

Next came the paddle. The spattering was slowly building heat again. This time, the light blows were absent, and stronger ones were audible with a crisp smack. Patter, patter, patter, patter, patter, whap, whap, whap, whap, whap, whap, whap, smack, smack, smack, smack, SMACK, SMACK, SMACK. Towards the end of the series, my body started to tense, and I told it not to. I breathed deeply, and a surge of energy traveled from my heart through each artery, ventricle, and vein, through each limb to my fingertips and toes, and then back up to my head. My skin became hot on my ass, my back, my forehead, and my entire body started to sweat. “Yellow,” I said smoothly. The series ended, and he turned the Hitachi up. 

He went back for a few more rounds, and right at the peak of pain as yellow was at the top of my lips—he stopped. Multiple more cycles and yellow was there in my thoughts and on my tongue, but I didn't speak it. 

He started again with a tool that felt different. I was so numb and tingly that I couldn't tell which implement it was. The warmth turned to fire, then searing. My skin felt hot and raw. I melted. My brain, my face, my skin. Melted into the mattress as I succumbed to the blows with ease. 

“We are almost done, you are doing so well,” he said. “I want you to cum for me now.” 

“Okay,” was all I could utter, hoping I didn’t get in trouble for not obeying his rules. My face was still buried in the pillow, and my eyes shut. 

He began to strike me again, this time, it was sharp, vengeful, and biting. I heard yellow in my head many times over but pressed myself on the head of the Hitachi, bracing and trembling into orgasm. He said something to me while shining a light into my face. I disappeared into pain and pleasure, my entire body sweating and releasing. My body became light and tingly as my eyes shut gently, and I drifted into the depths of my consciousness. I soaked his bed beneath me in my sweat and cum. He was done, and I was human lava. He kissed my head and then stood me up and told me, "It's time for you to drink water," directing my body to my cup on the nightstand. I grabbed the glass of hazy fluid and gulped it down with fiendish desperation in my stupor.

Round 3: The Finale

“If you have had enough water, come lay down so we can finish,” he requested. I floated to the bed and don’t recall how we got started again. 

“Show me what a good slut you can be, and give me your best,” he demanded. I was exhausted, but I went straight to his cock and began to deep-throat him. I was all the way down to his shaft, gagging and jerking him off furiously when he pulled me off of him. I was numb and delirious. Oxytocin surged through my body. His putty. 

“I’m going to fuck your ass again until I cum. I need you to cum again, too. Don’t forget to look at me when you cum and thank me after.” 

I came for him again as he demanded, my mind and body fully manipulated into cue. He never touched my clit with as much as a hand, tongue, or kiss. It ached for his touch. He denied me. I brought myself to orgasm each time. My only control over my physical body. I was amazed at how he could learn my body so quickly. When I was going to cum, my pain limit, how deeply I desired to be used and please, and then be punished for it. There is no sweeter escape than this complete unraveling of myself into a sweaty puddle of endorphins under someone's control. It is the most intense intimacy I can experience, and I have begun to crave and need it. 

He came as promised, cuddled me with tender kisses on my head, and drove me back to my hotel with his hand gently on my leg. The chivalry bookend to his sadism.

Photo by Irina Bekhtereva