What It’s Like to Fuck Dommie Darko

by Cathy, The Journalist.

I noticed that when he gave me an order and I complied, he would close his eyes a bit and breathe in sharply, like someone else would respond to an especially adept lick of his cock. When he asked whether certain acts were acceptable to me, there was none of the timidity or uncertainty I’m used to. It was straightforward and emotionless.

He told me to take my dress off. He told me to keep my boots on. He told me to stand there naked so he could look at me and told me he liked my ass. I felt nervous having him look at me, but not judged. Evaluated, but appreciated. His strikes to my ass with his open hand were gentle at first, he told me to tell him when they go to be too much. That was quickly true, and I know I disappointed him. He likes to administer pain.

Finally, what he’d come up for. He told me to put a pillow down for my knees. He’s a planner, and thoughtful. Blowing him was fine. He has a nice cock and it got very hard for me.

But when he fucked my mouth. For too-brief (but transcendent) moments everything got quiet. There was nothing in the world or in my mind. There was only his hand at the back of my head, fingers bound up in my hair, and cock rhythmically pounding my throat.

He is a good Dom because he is having a good time. He’s not looking for validation or confirmation from me so I don’t have to validate or confirm him. I don’t have to do anything at all, except be honest about what I don’t like and comply with everything I do.

He stood behind me, pants around his boots, my boots still on, my hands on my dresser in front of my full-length mirror, and used my pussy to come. I felt so sexy.

But the best part was later, after we cuddled, and decided to fuck again. I climbed on his cock, pants still on, gathered around his boots again. I don’t have another way to put this. I’m not used to writing about my own sex acts. It felt like love. Looking at him with him inside me, his face expressionless. It doesn’t make sense to me, except everything around that moment. The conversation over sushi, the pillow talk. The being genuinely fascinated by him. I wanted to fuck him for hours, and I never want that. And I wanted him to stick around afterward too.

But, I had a deadline looming and software isn’t going to write about itself (yet).


Cathy is a writer, a pundit-turned-essayist.  Her blog is Sex and the State. Her newsletter is called Sex, Tech, and Pop Culture Daily. It goes out every weekday at noon.

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