ON BEING DOMINIQUE: ORIGINS (II)
In the second installment of ON BEING DOMINIQUE, I recount my road to becoming a Dominatrix.The origins of my story, the root of it. How submission scarred me and turned me into an indomitable Domme.
I wasn’t always like this. I used to be happy to play the part. I loved being a sub and I found freedom and power in it. I didn’t have to be the one holding the power to still find it empowering. Just the act of enjoying it was subversive. Admitting and reveling in the fact that I loved to be used, spanked, fucked like a toy - that used to be just what I needed.
Something shifted when I began considering my reasons for submitting. Did I actually enjoy it? I swore to myself that I did. I did, I did, I did. But then there were the times that being a sub meant doing something I didn’t really want to do, but I assured myself that I did want to do it because my Dom wanted me to do it. I was a perfect little pleasure sub, ready to serve and be at his disposal. Even if it didn’t exactly feel good, I was able to convince myself that it felt good because it made him feel good. The pride that I got from pleasing him outweighed the pain that I felt while being used.
I was already on the brink of this realization when I met the Last of His Kind. The last man to dominate me exposed me to a position of such powerlessness that he influenced my complete conversion. As if the palm of his hand across my cheek was so forceful that I turned 180 degrees into the total opposite place. I gave my all to him, this Last of His Kind. I felt the change coming, I knew my submission was on its way out, but I wanted to go out with a bang. I let him control me completely and I luxuriated in it. I admired the bruises he marked me with after each of our sordid trysts and I looked forward to the next time he would inflict his wrath on me.
The trouble was, he controlled me outside of the bedroom too. His issues, his bad moods were problems that I thought I had to solve. Whenever he displayed dissatisfaction with me, I corrected myself to fit his wishes. The relationship came to an end when he grew tired of my “complaining” (to him, anything such as bringing his attention to the fact that I was in pain during sex or asking him to get tested in between partners would be deemed a “complaint”).
When he ended our arrangement, he let me know that he had found new partners with larger breasts than me. He was bored with me, he said; after I had done everything in my control to keep him entertained and intrigued. “Always looking for bigger boobs” is a real text that he sent me before breaking up with me on my birthday.
What was worse than the way I subjected myself to his every whim in bed (eating his very hairy asshole constantly, for very long and draining periods of time; preparing my asshole for him to fuck on a weekly basis and taking his dick for hours in any hole he wanted), was that I catered to his will everyday, even without him there. For instance, he informed me after a month of seeing each other that he would like me to find a woman to participate in a FFM threesome that he’d envisioned. He had already had many of them, but he was determined to bring a third into our relationship, otherwise we would risk our sex “getting boring”. Despite how terrible he was, I really tried to find someone for us. I don’t know how to explain it; he had this power over me. There was something about the way he dominated me, I wanted to fully give into it and be his toy. I guess I should mention that the sex was very, very good.
So, I searched high and low for this unicorn. She had to have big tits, she had to be skinny, she had to be pretty, she had to be submissive. For months, I matched with women all over dating apps, attempting to persuade them to be our third. It shouldn’t have been that hard, we are both very attractive, but it was impossible.
“Daddy is getting impatient” he complained over text. I hated him so deeply, but I still catered to him. Still, I kept searching for another woman to bring into this toxic dynamic. He wanted me searching the apps constantly, it became a constant point of contention. He wanted me to devote my entire life to his desires, although his would remain completely independent from me. It was a severely unbalanced relationship; it was never going to last. Yet, I was still crushed when it ended. He had set up this punishment and reward system that I was inextricably tied to and when he delivered the ultimate blow, the final punishment, the cut of our cord, I could not reckon with it. When I was his good girl, I was everything, I had meaning and purpose. When he was done with me, I was nothing. I spent my 30th birthday trying to quickly get over the heartbreak and reminding myself of my worth, my beauty, my intelligence.
Well, get over it I did. As if his dominance was some dessert I’d eaten too much of and gotten sick from, I developed a distaste for it, an aversion to it. Clearly, this case of a D/s dynamic was incredibly flawed and not reflective of proper BDSM practice. I didn’t set boundaries or create any agency for myself. It was like an experiment, an indulgence into the most toxically masculine domination, a way to prove to myself that it was no longer for me.
When I was at my wits end with being dominated by men, I began experimenting with switching places. Taking the role that they had played so poorly. They didn't understand the character the way that I do. You can’t be a great Dom/me if you’ve never been a sub. And when I felt that domination surge through me, when I saw my reflection in the mirror with a cock strapped to my waist and all of his power in my hands, I knew it was for me. It was where I belonged. This was the part I was always meant to play.
Want to hear more about it? Stay tuned, pt. III coming soon.
xxx Dom
