I had my first date with the Dom last night.  We talked briefly about D/s at the bar; only inasmuch as to make fun of the women who would contact him to rail against him.  He liked to respond to them with, “Give it a year or two, then you’ll understand,” and then he’d block them so he didn’t have to hear more ranting.  I told him that some women may never “get it” because it simply isn’t their thing, but it’s not an evolutionary problem on their part.  He conceded that much.

I wondered if I was being sub-by by standing up to him.  He didn’t seem to mind and I figured I’d just keep being myself.

He talked a lot about himself.  Pretty much exclusively.  He also talked about how he didn’t reward bad behavior.  I asked him if he was the judge and jury on that because it suddenly occurred to me that he was arbitrary and selfish.  He said yes.  I asked him who judged him on his bad behavior.  He looked startled.

The whole point of this date for me was to satisfy my curiosity.  I wanted to discern whether or not I could let go more during sex, become more submissive, trust more, allow myself to be taken care of.  All the sub fantasy type things.  I didn’t want to hook up with a domineering man with power issues.  That wasn’t my goal.  But that’s what I got.

I saw through him the second he walked in 2 inches shorter than he claimed and a not at all good-looking (he claimed to be “very good-looking”).  The guy was average.  As average as average can get.  Some might even consider him unattractive.  He was pompous and self-absorbed.  I understood the bravado as his way of expressing Dominance, but I also felt he was missing an integral piece to the whole thing: care.

He didn’t exert any effort to enlist my trust, to make sure I felt safe, to stroke any kind of sub-ego I might have had.  He was demanding, punitive and weird.  He didn’t give anything to me and it’s my understanding that a good Dom gives much to a sub.  He gives her his trust and his words of praise.  I would think at the very least the first time a Dom meets a woman who claims to not be a sub, per se, but enjoys being submissive, that he’d take great care to paint himself as the benevolent, yet demanding, leader of the pair.  This guy snaked his hand up my skirt to check if I was wearing panties.

Then, a few minutes later he stood up and said, “Let’s go.  We’re going to my house.”

I wasn’t so sure.  I was tired and I really wasn’t feeling it with this guy.  But, I thought, the sub thing to do would be to acquiesce.   So, I drove us a couple of blocks to his house.

It was only sprinkling then, but it’d been raining off and on all night.  I hear him yell at something and see a large dark shadow running around inside his fenced front yard.  More yelling, more dark shadow.  It was his dog, a black giant Schnauzer.

Inside he hands me a cigarette.  There’s a log in the fireplace already lit.  It’s the only light in the room except for his 30″ computer screen with a screen saver.  He shouts another command at the dog and disappears in the bathroom.  I play with the dog and get my hands dirty.  He smells wet and canine.

I hear the water running and the toilet flush multiple times.  I have no idea what he’s up to in there, but I survey my surroundings carefully.  There are Tudor beams high above me, shelves neatly stocked with art and books, and a soft leather sofa, boxy and modern.  I continue to pet the dog whose name the Dom had refused to give me.

When he comes out he stalks over to where I’m sitting.  The fire is to my right.  He spreads his feet and jams his hand down my shirt.  I’m so shocked I don’t even know what to say.  I think, “Am I being assaulted right now?”  I quickly determine that I’m not – at least not yet.  I let him fondle my other breast.

I’m waiting to feel something.

He angrily unbuckles his pants, pulls out his chubby cock, and jams it in my mouth.  I try not to laugh.  This is all so absurd to me.  But, I love to suck cock and so I do my best.   My cigarette is hanging over the fire and I’m trying to not burn him.  He slaps me and says, “Fucking concentrate.”

I admit to myself that I kind of liked that, but I’m still feeling strong irritation.  I feel off-balance and like I’m being pushed.  I wish that there was more kindness, more support.  This is new for me, after all.

I suck on his cock for a minute more, trying to lose myself in this act I love so much when he roughly pushes me back and flips me over, hikes up my skirt, rips my panties down.  I rear up and say, “You’re not going to fuck me without a condom.”  He hits me on my shoulder roughly and pushes me down, “I didn’t say I was going to fuck you.  I may not.”

My brain is telling me this is utter bullshit.  You don’t take a woman like me and insert her into this situation.  You just don’t.  You’re a goddamned idiot if you do.  Then his hand found my pussy and he started to stroke it.  Nicely, gently.  I thought, “Maybe I can do this…” His cock begins to slide between my ass cheeks literally like they’re hot dog buns.  It’s a strange sensation. I’m not sure I like it, but his fingers are doing a good job.  I keep myself from squirting; I don’t want to reward his bad behavior.

My mind is reeling and I’ve made it up I’m not going to fuck this twat.  I’m just not.  I didn’t want to even before I met him and I sure as fuck didn’t want to now.  I didn’t care if I was sweater-less, bent over his couch with my panties around my knees.  It wasn’t going to happen.

He flopped down onto the couch and his small stature was revealed more now that he lay bare before me.  He grabbed my head again and stuffed my mouth.  I could smell my own ass on him.  I wondered if this was part of trying to humilate me.  The scent wasn’t awful and I knew I was clean, so I started in on him. He  barked orders at me to relax.  He didn’t like my style and implied I was horrible at giving head when I was actually trying to make him cum.

It was his insult to my blowjob skills and the aroma of my own ass crack that were the last straws.  I had been hoping to make him cum and then leave soon after, but that plan was bust.

I pushed against him and said, “Dom, I don’t think this is going to work.  Maybe I’m just not sub enough.  I’m not liking this.”

He grabbed me again and forced my head down.  I had a moment of panic.  Of wondering if he’d let me go, if I was going to be truly hurt.  “NO,” I said firmly and sat up again.  “Really.  This just isn’t working for me.”

“Fuck you,” he hissed, “Get back on my fucking cock.  NOW.”

“No,” I said again, “It’s really a shame, too.  You have a very pretty cock.”

“Fine.  Get the fuck out and shut your mouth.  You’re so goddamned annoying.”

“There’s no need to call me names, Dom.  Please lift your feet so I can get my sweater.”  I was calm, but near giggles.  I’m not sure whether it was from the energy in the room or my pleasure at leaving.

“You cunt.  I can’t believe you’re leaving mid-blowjob.”

“Yep, me either.  That’s a first.  Later.”

And I disappeared into the wet night with a smile on my face.  Shaken up, but so proud of myself.  In my 20s I had a long history of doing things with men when I didn’t really feel like it.  The Dom is the first man I’ve felt this way with since then and I just rewrote history. 

I just rewrote fucking history, y’all.

I also may have discovered I’m really not a submissive.  Go figure.