Switching

I’ve always had a thing for topping dominant men. There’s just something so delicious about taking someone who’s caused you so much pain and pleasure and making them squirm.

Even nicer, though, is topping other switches. Switches are some of my favorite people to play with, actually, and I’m lucky to be in a scene where not a ton of value is placed on identifying as “pure top” or “true submissive.” While I know a few people who would never think of picking up a paddle, and a few others who would laugh in my face if I asked to tie them down, most of the folks I know either truly enjoy both roles, or at least occasionally dabble in the role that isn’t usual for them.

The neatest thing about it, I think, is that switches who can fully engage in both roles already know what both roles feel like. It makes them more sensitive to the difficulties and insecurities each role can bring up, and allows them both to help the other party along if he or she is inexperienced, and to fully surrender or take control in the role they’ve chosen.

Submission is always a gift, but it feels like an extra-special gift to me when I’m given it by the one who spends most of his time domming me.

There can be few better ways to spend an afternoon then sliding gloved fingers in and out of my usual dominant, gently guiding his hands away from his cock to keep him from distracting himself, watching him shudder and sigh and build, burying myself inside his body, nearly blind with the chemical rush of control and pleasure, hand becoming cock pouring love into him and out again into me, then, instead of letting him fuck my mouth, sucking him off actively while I press on his prostate for all I’m worth, forcing him to explode in my mouth.

As I curled up on his chest, my cunt soaking from the waves of power and his pleasure, so closely linked to mine now, I told him, “That was a completely satisfying sexual experience.” I hadn’t actually physically had an orgasm. But I spend a lot of time with him worshipping his body and letting him manhandle mine. The opportunity to invade the body I worship is an opportunity for even greater sacredness.

Tomorrow he’ll be ordering me to my knees again. But now and then I can revel in the precious gift of his submission.

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The one time I did – Part 2

[Part 1 is here.]

I’ve taken the cuffs off of him and for a moment we’re equals, dropped lightly out of the scene and into a few seconds of friendly conversation, laced with compassion and care.

“I haven’t been to that place in a long time,” he tells me again. “I so needed it.”

“I’m not done with you yet,” I remind him with a smirk. “Are you ready to go on?”

The flogging wasn’t even that severe; it was something about the thuddy pressure, the rhythmic nature of it, his surrender, that made him break. His back is reddened but not welted, and I can tell that he can take a lot more. I take the four-foot singletail out of my bag and order him onto his hands and knees on the bed.

In an instant he is down again, dropped into that swimming pool I know so well, the place of buzzy-headed wordlessness. I start swinging the whip back and forth across his ass, leaving little red trails in perfect horizontal formation. He breathes, managing the pain, arching his back, rolling his hips, letting it flow up his spine. I start throwing the whip and leaving fiery vertical cuts to cross the stripes I’ve already made, throwing it harder, harder, harder, not playing at the speed of sound but getting little low-pitched thaps out of the cracker and sweet whimpers, at a higher and higher pitch, out of him.

I see him start to shiver again, the muscles tense, the breathing quicken. This is the place where I always hedge: do I keep going? I back off a little, slow down, give him more time to process each strike, but then I feel what his body wants, feel that need again from him, and I ramp back up until he breaks a second time, falling face-down on the bed.

I put the whip down and slowly approach. His back is hot, his ass scorching, under my cool hand. I succumb to an impulse I rarely have with clients: to lay my body on top of his, to hold and comfort him. Finally I turn him over, and there’s a moment when I see his cock, hard and short and thick, and think of what it would be like to suck it, to let him fuck me. It comes to mind only because he doesn’t look at me with challenge in his eyes, because his submission is so complete. From the moment we met he has been respectful, classy, considerate, and now he is opened, vulnerable, and more beautiful than I dared to notice.

The moment passes, and again we find ourselves in gentle cameraderie, sitting on the bed together and talking. I ask him if he wants to stop here, or go on with something else; we have perhaps a half hour remaining.

He had told me that strap-on play was very important to him, and I had told him that I don’t do it, but he hired me anyway. On some strange hunch I brought my equipment along, and at the beginning I laid everything out on the bed – “just in case.”

“Please,” he asks me now, not quite back in that submissive headspace but not looking me in the eyes either, “could we play with your strap-on?”

I’m still conflicted about it, knowing the boundaries I generally set for myself and feeling them pushed, but knowing, too, that I deliberately brought it and flaunted it, perhaps in the hopes that I’d get to use it with someone I found attractive. I agree to let him suck it, but don’t make any promises about fucking him.

But having my cock sucked is my downfall.

I strap on the leather harness, with my purple cock through it, and set it in place, feeling the way it connects with my body and becomes an extension of me. At these moments I never feel dominant: I feel exposed, naked and rampant. Powerful, perhaps, but flayed: unveiled in the kind of power that terrifies. With my cock on I feel like a predator in the heat of the kill, and at the same time I fear the foolishness of it, the ridiculous spectacle of a woman wearing a rubber dick. This is another of my secrets about this act, my reluctance in sharing it with strangers: what if they see that I’m like a tiger wearing a baby bonnet – or worse, like a sheep wearing a wolf suit?

But with the object of desire in place he falls into role again as easily as breathing. I put my hand back in his curls and help/force him to his knees in front of me, and he takes the purple cock – my cock – into his mouth and sucks.

Sucking my cock is a sure way to plug it even more deeply into my body: watching someone suck it, suck it earnestly and treat it like it’s real, makes it real. Some part of me extends outward, fills the space the cock occupies, ennervates it and animates it, and all at once I’m not just shoving a silicone cock I have strapped to my body with leather down your throat. I’m fucking your mouth.

I fuck his mouth a little and watch his eyes tear as he looks up at me. I feel the abandon start to rise in me, the wetness and the growling and the fear, the fear of how I’ll let go, coming and snarling and shooting my energy into this person I don’t know, scaring him maybe, giving away my life force, and I pull him back by the hair. He looks at me with that pleading in his eyes that I can’t refuse. “Please fuck me,” he whispers, “just a little. Please.”

I pull him onto the bed and order him back onto his hands and knees. “Back up,” I say, and he backs his muscular ass toward the end of the bed so I can stand while I fuck. I grab a glove and the thick lube I’ve brought and my black-gloved finger finds his hole and pushes, swirls around the opening, finds him warm and ready and yearning.

I slide into him and he makes that sound, that sound that is only made by men who are being fucked in the ass because they want it. That half-whimper, half-moan, that fucking beautiful sound of abandon and pleasure and fear and yearning and taboos busted all over the floor.

He fucks back into me and I hold his hips with one gloved hand and one bare one, guiding him onto my curved purple cock, filling his guts. I start to feel it building in me again, the unreal reality of my cock squeezed by his tight little asshole, the fucking miracle of my cock disappearing inside him, the sounds he’s making – and then he’s asking me if he can touch himself and yes, of course, play with your cock but don’t come until I tell you, and I feel dizzy and tunnel-visioned and I don’t want to come, I can’t come, not here, not with him, and why not, but I want to, but I hold back and keep control, letting him find his abandon without taking my own.

“Please may I come?” he gasps, and what can I say but yes, fucking come for me, and he does, crying out, his sounds like someone dying of sex, and I fear the tears again but there’s nothing, only silence and softness and I pull out of him, humbled, a little embarrassed, happy that I had him that way and not face-up, where he couldn’t see my face, the struggle, the loss of composure.

Immediately I take the harness off and begin to bring the scene down; somehow I can’t cuddle him now, it’s too intimate, but I speak gently and let him recover in his own time. He thanks me and I thank him again, and we slowly recover our roles – or recover from them.

It’s awkward, saying goodbye. I’d like to see him again and I know that that can’t happen except at his instigation. Even if we do, it won’t be me he sees. Not the me who would like to fuck him again, without money exchanging hands, without the need to hold back, to wear a corset while I do it, to play, as I sometimes have to, at loving less.

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Strap-ons: Yet Another Alternate View

So it may come as a surprise to no one that now that I’ve quit the pro-domming business, I’ve been having wicked fantasies about doing terrible, terrible things to lovely boys and men. I mean, it’s like the old joke about the gynecologist, right?

Well, sort of. See, I’ve had a thing about Not Doing Strap-On Sex At Work for the entirety of my tenure as a pro. It was just something I didn’t do. Now, part of the reason I didn’t do it was because it crosses the line into sex: in the state of Massachusetts, if you penetrate an orifice with anything, it’s defined as sex. Good law, for a lot of reasons: it was developed in order to make rape cases where some Neanderthal fucks stuck a shot glass into a woman prosecutable. But problematic law for people doing domination, where one of the most popular items on the menu is being fucked in the ass with a dildo.

For the most part, though, the legal thing was more of an excuse for me not to have to address the real issue, which was that doing strap-on sex was too intimate for me. It was one of the boundaries I set for myself early on, because I didn’t want to be having sex with my clients. I was aware that the other things I was doing were sexual, but I didn’t realize until later the subtle effects that it would have on me. I was prescient enough to know, however, that having strap-on sex with clients would be too much for me.

Why, you might ask? Well, here’s where I break from the crowd completely. I fully appreciate Bitchy’s complaint that strap-ons are not only weird because they imply that power and sexual dominance = having a cock (which I agree is a crock of shit), but that they don’t provide any pleasure to the wielder. I also am pleased with Eileen’s reply wherein she sings the praises of strap-ons as separate from gender identity and recommends them as a tool of dominance comparable to a singletail, a needle, or a fist. But nobody I’ve yet stumbled across (except for, perhaps, Sinclair, but the butch perspective there isn’t one that gets a lot of play in BDSM circles) has gone into anything resembling my own experience of the act.

That is, I fucking love it and it makes me come, in a way that nothing else can.

Because get this: I have a cock. I always have a cock, whether I’m strapping one on or not. It’s non-corporeal, of course, but it’s part of, if you will, my energetic anatomy. Without getting too deeply into spiritual experience, it is a simple fact that at times, I can feel myself penetrating another human being, even when I am not physically doing so. And yes, they feel it too – the force of my will and intention pressing into their bodies, invading them.

For me, the energetics of topping someone will sometimes bring out the hidden masculine in me. I suppose if I wanted to be all Jungian about it, I’d call it my animus. I become more aggressive, my voice deepens, and the desire to possess rips through me. When I strap on a cock, it becomes a very real extension of my body, and when I fuck with it, I don’t want a vibrator inside the harness or anything penetrating me – I just want to fuck. It’s usually not too long into the action that I start to come and come, in a way that even feels distinctly masculine: unlike the internally focused waves that thrash through me when, say, I’m being fisted, I feel energy shooting out from me, into the other person, as white lightning shoots up my spine.

Now. I’ve been reluctant to talk about this, in part because it seems a bit woo-woo, but also in part because I don’t want to give the impression that I think dominance is essentially male, or that penetration is essentially dominant, or any of those bugaboos that come up when we talk about female dominance and try to separate it from gender.

But I do want to record my experience here, because I don’t see a lot of women out there talking about how intensely pleasurable strap-on sex can be for the woman wielding. I also know that my experience is not every woman’s experience – far from it.

But I am out here, feeling this, experiencing this genuinely as part of my rather complex sexuality. For the record, I also often come sympathetically when fisting someone. But this experience is entirely different, separate. It is, at least in part, about awakening my masculine self, my butch self, which is buried deep in a seriously femme facade.

And this is why I didn’t do it at work. I couldn’t fuck men I didn’t know any more than I could let them fuck me. And there weren’t many men (not any, by my last count) that wanted me to fuck them while I wore jeans and a leather vest and boots.

But incidentally…if you are such a man, comment here. I’ve been having the most remarkable fantasies lately…

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Tuesday Advice – Because Monday Came too Soon This Week

Apologies for missing the usual Monday advice column; I hope I can make it up to you by posting it late today. Remember – send me questions at delilah@dommedelilah.com, or comment here on the blog!

I had a question long ago that went simply like this:

I would love to hear your recommendations on the best dildos to use in a harness – double-ended or one-sided, either way.

First of all, definitely see my previous advice on getting the right harness. Much of your success in using a dildo in a harness is going to be about the harness itself.

But picking out the dildoes is the fun part, right?

The thing is, though, different dildoes are going to work differently for different people, depending on what you’re trying to achieve. What size cock do you want to have? Are you identifying with that cock as your own, or are you just using it as a toy? Are you able to come or at least get a good amount of stimulation just by wielding the strap-on, or do you need the double-ended action to keep things interesting for yourself?

I happen to be one of those lucky ladies who has enough guy in her that when I strap one on, it becomes part of my body, and I have incredible, outward-reaching, masculine-feeling orgasms when I use one on someone. Much of this has to do with how I am able to use my mind and my energy bodies during sex, I think, and little to do with physiological factors. If you’re like me, though, you might find using a double-ended dildo to be too much, or even to be distracting from the sort of masculine nature of the act.

If you’re not like me, you may or may not want to use a double-ended dildo.

As I don’t use them myself, I will pass along reviews I’ve heard from others. The favorites seem to be the Feeldoe and the Share, but how well either of these is going to work for you is largely dependent on your body shape and what kind of angle you like during penetration. Some folks I know love a dildo that you can only get custom made by Whipspider Rubberworks:

This one looks great in the sense that it has a long piece that separates the penetrating end from the penetrative end, allowing for good positioning for thrusting even when the other end is inside.

Some of these say they can be used without a harness, but I can only imagine that controlling the dildo during serious fucking would be problematic without it. If you like double-ended dildos, make sure that you get a harness whose hole goes all the way through, rather than a ring attached to a closed front panel.

For myself, I love single-ended dildos. My main criterion is that it be made of silicone (which is fully sterilizable and has a good level of hardness while still being somewhat yielding), and that it look at least somewhat realistic. That is, I’m fine with a dick-shaped dildo that’s purple with sparkly swirls, but I’m not going for the dolphins and diving Virgin Marys.

My favorite go-to dildo is Vixen’s Woody, which is a goodly size without being huge, has an upward curve, and a nicely ridged head. I also own a Mistress – not for the name, of course, but because it’s a nice slender one for folks who need a little working up. Vixen’s a great company in general, and makes toys of many shapes and sizes for any taste. (They’re not paying me to say this.)

So, the short answer? Get something in silicone, that you can sterilize. Make sure the insertable end is the right size for your partner, and if you’re getting a double, make sure the end that’s inside you is a good shape and angle, and at the right distance from the thrusting end for you to be able to thrust well. Because, I mean, yikes:

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And once again, Dan Savage FTW

One of my astute readers pointed out, in response to my post yesterday about SexinChrist.com, that Dan Savage ran a contest just a couple of months ago to find a meaning for the word ‘saddlebacking.’ His purpose was to protest Rick Warren’s (pastor of Saddleback Church) inclusion in Obama’s inauguration; the man is apparently a right-wing homophobic freak.

The winner “by a gaping margin,” as Dan had it? “The phenomenon of Christian teens engaging in unprotected anal sex in order to preserve their virginities.”

Dan’s explication is awesome, too, so I thought I’d share it here so you don’t even have to clicky linky if you don’t want to:

Here’s why this definition is perfect: Saddlebacking, like barebacking, involves one person riding up on another’s backside. But in this case, it’s not the bare-naked cock-in-ass that’s the most important feature of the ride, but the fact that the person being ridden has been saddled—thanks to the efforts of the Rick Warrens of this world—with religious hang-ups and serious misconceptions about sex. Like the barebacker who casually tosses away his health—or his partner’s health—because he believes, quite erroneously, that “risky = sexy,” the saddlebacker offers up her ass because she believes, quite erroneously, that she can get fucked in the ass—vigorously, religiously—and still be considered a virgin on her wedding night.

Rest well, all you freaks. Have an excellent Friday night – and wear your condoms!

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How deep in Christ do you want me to go?

Somebody please tell me that this is a joke.

While searching for links to the anal sex books I like for the other day’s post, I stumbled across (and barked my metaphysical shins against, and broke my brain upon) a site called Sex In Christ. Among the many things I experienced while looking at its various articles was a profound wish that I had studied the Bible more thoroughly so that I, too, could take Scripture out of context and use it to justify buttsex.

Among the many, many gems: “For a young woman who has never engaged in sexual intercourse, having anal sex allows her to preserve her virginity (i.e., maintain an intact hymen) until marriage. There is no greater gift that a bride can give than to offer her pure, unsullied maidenhead to her husband on their wedding night.”

Ah yes, my darling husband: having only allowed you to relentlessly plow my asshole and mouth with your huge yet still-virginal Christian member (except for the santorum that now sleeks its wood-like shaft, so reminiscent of the Cross on which Our Lord died for our sins), now, at last, on our wedding night, I can offer you my pure, unsullied maidenhead!

Are these people for serious? I mean, really, for reals? I thought the hypocrisy of fundamentalist Christianity knew limits, but apparently not. (Visit the previous link only if you’re curious about the awesome power of God’s “fist of might.”

No, really.)

My favorite, of course, is Bondage in Christ – BDSM in a Christian Marriage. Put your minds to rest, ye Christian soldiers who feel the weight of sin when you take your pleasure from beating your wife’s rear end raw with an incense censer. Before you suffer one more moment’s guilt at shoving the consecrated host up her ass, remember: “Just as we trust in the Lord in our submission to Him and willingly offer it, a wife who is submissive to her husband is offering a great spiritual gift and doing a great service for both herself and her husband.”

More importantly, “a man can adopt a submissive and servile role and allow his wife to dominate him sexually, if it is absolutely clear that outside of the bedroom, the husband is the spiritual head of the marriage.” Lest we forget that dominance in women is unnatural.

Oh, and unsurprisingly, threesomes are okay so long as there aren’t two guys involved, and so long as everyone maintains ‘natural sex roles.’ Just remember that those fags and bulldykes are still going to hell.

I’ve got a better idea. How about I make a movie called Bend Over Jeebus and see how that plays with the fundie crowd? Or, for a more discreet enjoyment of holiness, I propose the installation of The Baby Jesus Buttplug on every pew!

I think I need to go lie down. Maybe in a nun’s outfit.

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Monday Advice Time

Well, this weekend was a blast – I’ll certainly be writing about it later, and posting links here when the videos go up. Suffice it to say for now that I worked hard and I’m still not fully recovered, but I think we got some great material.

But now, to your questions! This week, I’ll be answering only one: it’s a big question about which I could go on at novel-length, but instead I’ll try and keep it around a thousand words.

Dear Delilah,

My partner and I have recently started experimenting with some new flavors of kink. Among these, we’re playing around with me fucking him in the ass with my silicone cock. This is something we both want to do, a lot. But we have a hard time talking about it, and also a hard time doing it in a way that won’t hurt my sweetie. I’d like to get better at both breaking out the toys and segueing into this kind of scene, and at being a gentle, competent top in the scene. Any suggestions?

Yours,
Aroused, Sensitive, Sweet – Frustrated, Underprepared, Cautious, Kinkster

First of all, ASSFUCK, you win for the best acronymic nom-de-plume yet. So right there you’re ahead.

But your question, right! For those of you playing along at home, our gentle reader is referring to “pegging,” a term coined in a Dan Savage column in 2001. A pretty good wiki article about it is here. Specifically, pegging refers to the act of a woman fucking a man in the ass with a strap-on. It may be done in a sweet, loving way or in a brutal way, in a dominant/submissive context or not. And it has a lot of baggage attached to it: heterosexual men often associate being fucked in the ass with being gay. So it’s little wonder that it’s difficult to talk about. In my experience, even men who really love it either find it hard to talk about wanting it, or feel the need to couch it in a “sissifying” context, where their desire to be penetrated is a ritualized removal of their manhood.

In your case, though, it sounds like you both know that you want it, and so perhaps the more difficult project is not talking about it but getting the party started. You used the word “top” in your letter, and I’m not sure whether you mean it just as in you being the “active,” penetrative partner, or in a D/s kind of context. Either way, though, one of the difficult things for some women is that you are probably the one who needs to initiate this kind of scene – and this can be difficult, as women are not socialized to initiate sex. What with this type of act being such a delicate subject for many, it’s even more difficult. You need to accept that you might bring it up at the wrong time, when he’s not in the mood for it or ready to try it. But it’s still likely that you do have to bring it up, and you may have to do it more than once.

I do have some suggestions, and would be happy to share. First, there are the ways to work up to the actual pegging part. Then, there’s how to initiate a scene.

If you’re worried about hurting your partner – and it’s good that you are – then you should work up to the actual silicone cock part. Besides the fear and pain that can accompany anal penetration, there’s the problem that your cock is, well, synthetic, and it doesn’t have nerve endings that connect to you and help you know what’s going on with your partner. Start with fingers. Or rather, start with one finger. Slip on a latex (or polyurethane, if he or you are allergic) glove, get plenty of lube, and gently work it around just the outside of the anus to start. Little by little, you should be able to work it in, though there’s no need to rush. Words of encouragement are good here. Eye contact is great, too. I recommend starting with him lying on his back, knees up. You’ll feel when the sphincters relax and allow you to move in a little more.

When you’ve comfortably got a finger inside (which may take more than one session!), try a small toy. This could be a wearable toy, but it should be narrow, and you should start by holding it in your hand. You’re probably a lot better at using your hands to feel your way places than you are at using your pelvis. Lube the toy well, and ease it in with the same care you used with your hands. Make sure at all stages that you give him the option to make it stop or slow down.

When you’ve done this a few times with good success, and are at a stage where you can move the toy in and out and have that be a good thing, you’re ready to strap on. I’ve found that a great way to work with a strap-on cock is to have whomever I’m planning on fucking suck my cock first. The visual component of that, plus the receptive partner’s acknowledging of the cock as a cock and not an inert piece of silicone, helps me connect with the toy and feel it as more a part of me. Once you feel “plugged in” to the cock, find a comfortable position (again, I recommend having him on his back at first), and guide yourself in. Don’t move at first; just give him a chance to relax and adjust to the feeling of fullness. After enough practice, you should be able to go to town. And remember: there is no such thing as too much lube.

You might also try working with a buttplug, especially if you do want to add a D/s component. Once you’ve reached the point where you can comfortably get a finger inside him, having him wear a buttplug for a while before he comes to see you can be a great way to get him both revved up and relaxed for further action. (Incidentally, my favorite source for these types of toys is Blowfish.)

Now the second part of this is: how to initiate all of this? Well the good news is, if you start with just a finger, all it takes is grabbing a glove from the bedside table, dousing it with lube, and beginning. If the project progresses well over several dates, then eventually the rigamarole of strapping on won’t seem quite so difficult to transition into.

What I recommend is this: when you’re planning on going from fingers to toys, have the toy on the bedside table, out and ready, before you start playing around. Giving the toys that you’re going to use a presence in the room is a simple way of raising the subject.

When you get to the part where you’re going to strap on for the first time, have everything you need laid out on the bed. Lee Harrington once wrote brilliantly about strap-on sex being a very deliberate act of love, more intimate than almost any other kind of sex or play. Playing up the deliberateness, rather than trying to escape its inherent awkwardness and interruption of action, ritualizes the experience and adds to its sexiness.

There is much, much more information available about this, in books like Anal Pleasure and Health and countless other titles: if you’re a bookish sort, do your research beforehand and enjoy!

Also, I’m a horrible voyeur, so please do write back and let me know how it goes!

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