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New Domme

The paperwork was in his hands. He didn’t know if he could hold them without the paper rustling, considering how much he shook, but it was done. Everything she requested, he did, which included divulging some of the most personal, scary, intense things he’d done, wanted to do, or was utterly terrified might happen to him. They were on the papers in front of him, and he was about to deliver them to the woman that probably would use every single last word against him.  It was her way that she gave him a test, so that he didn’t hide anything from her. She said that he was going to be hers, but he had to make sure he had no reservations, and that meant he had to give up everything to her, at least, everything that occupied his brain whenever he crossed the threshold to her dungeon.

If entering the community was hard for him, finding someone that actually wanted him, wanted to dominate and control him was even harder. He knew he wasn’t all that attractive, ‘non-descript’ probably fit him the best. At a touch less than 6 feet, packing probably a dozen or so pounds extra on his frame, and with rather ordinary features, there was nothing striking about him, nothing that screamed out for attention. For the most part, when he first started getting involved with the local community he spent his time at the outskirts. He tried being inconspicuous, and he made sure he was polite, friendly, and above all not creepy. Even then, it took quite a long while before he was accepted, and made friends among the others that went to the various events and parties. He still missed something though; and it took a while before he got any clue what it was.

It started with a demonstration, more of a class really. They taught proper and safe ways to use different kinds of impact toys on a partner. When they asked for volunteers, he actually found his hand in the air, though he didn’t know why. He went up front; when they instructed him that he had to take off his shirt he actually trembled somewhat. He was not proud of his body, and even that amount of exposure made him nervous. He braced himself against the cross; when they fastened the cuffs around his wrists, the trembling lessened. They clamped the cuffs to the rings, which locked him in place, and the shaking nearly vanished. The kiss of the leather landed across his back, and he knew what he missed. The pain burned across his back, and ached in his muscles, but all he felt inside was relief. He barely even registered the rest of the lesson. All he knew was the impacts across the back, and the way his mind soared, drifted, and finally came back to Earth as they brought him from the cross, and sat him to one side, with water, and a blanket. He never considered being a bottom before…but it was a foregone conclusion that he needed someone to take him.

It was not that simple for him though, he didn’t realize all the ways that he could serve, submit, or bottom to another. Even with all his watching from the sides, all the terminology confused him, and he couldn’t place his finger on whether it was the pain, or the control that sent him away. He watched others, and approached others, but again, he was not exceptional, he ended up refused, rejected, sent away more often than not, but sometimes he would have the chance to experience something new. He learned about submission, control, and pain. He spent his birthday on his knees licking the boots of a woman who thought it was cute to take submissive men and push them to see how far she could humiliate them.  She was cruel to be cruel, within a month, the community saw her for what she was, and she did not show up any longer.

He drifted as he developed a stronger craving, the need to serve. The community accepted him in time, and he learned the pleasure from the lines of fire drawn by single tails, and the flush of pride from serving a mistress that needed some help for the evening serving drinks, food or when he offered personal services. He even learned that humiliation is not the end of the world, a blush would not kill, even when it seemed like the worst thing in the world.  In some ways it was not enough, he did not want the scenes to end. They were fun, but random, and almost never the same twice, and again the dissatisfaction built, and he felt something missing.

She had been a member of the community much  longer then he, and of course he noticed her, but what he didn’t know is that she noticed him as well. She saw him develop, and saw him offer service and his pain to any that he thought might want it. He didn’t even dream of approaching her though, she seemed unknowable and untouchable. She was a beauty, she stayed perfectly groomed, and anyone would have died for her nearly painted-on outfits of leather, lace, and silk. It didn’t matter what she truly looked like, because her presence alone commanded the room, not to mention there was the slave she always kept by her side when she was at a dungeon.

He had no idea she watched him, no idea she viewed him as a fruit that waited to ripen. He had no clue until one evening when he was cleaning one of the crosses between scenes, to help a couple that went off to recover. That’s when she glided up behind him and he heard in his ear,

“You spend so much time caring for that cross; perhaps you would be interested in spending more time on it?”

He did not remember much after that. Just her touch, the touch of toys he could barely imagine, and being stretched to his endurance limits. She pushed him, destroyed his body, worked him to the ground and then brought him up again until he no longer rose…and then she just kept right on going. When he was on the ground, and could not do more than groan in pain she leant in and whispered in his ear,

“If you wish to serve me, bring me your secrets, all of them, every detail you hide about your cravings for service. Then you will be ready for me.”

She left him then, but her slave cared for him and made sure he recovered from the aftereffects of the scene. He finished that night his body aching and worn, but his brain and heart fought inside him.

So now; the paper rattled, he stood in front of a doorstep that he was not sure he could enter, and he debated one last time. Was this his relief, was this his need…

He stepped up to the door.


This entry was posted on February 4, 2012. It was filed under Femdom, Submission and was tagged with male submissive.

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