I switch, I cry, I dominate.

Switch spinning.

In my quest for inner peace and ultimate fulfillment I first must go to the dark places. Those catacombs of pain and confusion that have thus far navigated my decisions, reactions, and emotions. If I don’t excavate those, then they remain lodged under the skin for all eternity, fossilizing into something permanent rather than falling to ashes in my hand.

My need to feel good enough is one of those dark, ugly wounds buried under years’ worth of scarring.

It’s why when a lover whispers, “Hy, you’re a good girl,” in my ear my heart leaps and my very core responds with thundering applause.

It’s why when I’m rejected I feel right and centered.

It’s why I seek to continuously recreate the scenario wherein I am left with no power and must rely on the good sense and grace of one in front of me and never on myself.

And lastly, it’s why I inherently choose one to stand before me who is predisposed to turn away from me.

My foray into the lifestyle with The Neighbor is my newest attempt to ram my squeamish self into the fray of emotional mayhem so I may pick out a new path, a new light, and a new understanding.

We have been dancing and touching noses for days. Kissing for days, cuddling, talking, laughing. My aftercare from the foursome with Jack and Emma Sunday has lasted for days and he has risen to the challenge with aplomb, whether by sheer accident or deliberately, I’m not sure.

Monday afternoon I was lusty and angsty — that strange combination wherein I feel lost and believe that only a cock buried deep inside of me will re-anchor me to Me. Two years ago, I would have texted any number of men in my Rolodex and arranged for a nooner, a quickie, or a nightcap. Today, I have one man in my life and by design.

TN and I had plans to see each other and I was struggling with what role I was to play: Domme? sub? Nothing at all? I was on the fence and couldn’t determine my next step. My direction to send me a bulge-shot from his office was met with virtual silence. Was this my bottom telling me No? Was I not to be in charge today??

I drove to my old house to borrow a book from my exhusband. The giant tree out front was wrapped in bright lights and twinkling snowflakes hung from the eaves. A deep sadness washed over me. This used to be my life, I thought. I pulled in next to his car and knocked on the door. My old door.

He opened it with a look of apathy. “I’m here to get the book,” I answered his unspoken question. He reached to the nearby table to hand it to me. It was awkward and sad. Neither one of us seemed to know what to do next.

I walked in past the entryway and we settled on small talk. And throughout I got the sense he’d rather have me gone. His look, his energy, his everything bespoke an underlying discomfort with me. It’s always been there. This is nothing new.

I said my goodbyes and cried the entire way home.

As I pulled into the parking lot I saw TN walk to the stairs. He didn’t seem to notice me. I parked, wiped my cheeks clean and grabbed my things and slowly plodded up the stairs. When I turned to climb the last set of steps I was startled to see him standing there waiting for me.

“I knew you’d do that,” he chuckled at me clutching my bosom with my free hand.

I took a deep breath and hoped I wasn’t tear-streaked.

He walked me to my door. “Do you want to come in?” I asked.


He followed me in and I opened a bottle of wine. We chatted while I poured and sipped and he soon had closed the distance and pressed his muscular form against mine. “I’m upset with you, TN,” I said quietly.

He pulled back.


“Because you never responded to me telling you to send me a bulge-shot today. It’s ok if you don’t want to, but you can’t ignore me. It’s like you’re telling me NO, and when you do that, you shake the foundation of my dominance. I wonder if I’m doing it right and I lose my confidence.”

I turned around and looked at him closely.

“I love doing this with you, I’m really responding to it, but I feel more vulnerable than ever now. If you don’t want to do something, I want you to tell me, ‘I’d really like to, but I can’t right now,’ but don’t ignore me.”

He looked at me intently, processing my words. “Ok. I’m sorry. I was just really busy –”

“TN, I’m not asking you to jeopardize your job. I would never do that. You need to trust me. If telling you to do things at work is off limits, tell me now and I’ll never do it again.”

“It’s not that, it’s just –” his indecision made my decision.

“Ok. I won’t do that to you at work, unless you ask me to.”

He moved back into me and folded his arms around my hips and pulled my bottom into the cradle of his pelvis. I could feel his hardon. He slipped his fingers under my skirt and felt my wetness. He pushed me down until I had to grab the counter-top for support and hit my ass.

“You didn’t ask if you could do that,” I said smartly.

“May I hit you?” he added immediately.





“AGAIN.” My voice was strong and clear and each sting sent tendrils of clarity to my foggy, sad brain.

“That’s it,” he said. “Come on.”

He dragged me roughly by the collar into my room and threw me down on the bed. He stripped naked and growled as he climbed on top of me. He refused to let me remove any clothing and I whimpered and begged as he quickly entered me. I immediately began to cry and writhe.

He pulled me to the edge of the bed and I worried the buckles from my boots were hurting his ears. He assured me they weren’t.

His phone chimed then — a work email — and he swore under his breath. Abruptly he pulled out and began to redress. I sat up and sat knock-kneed on the edge of the bed, righting my clothes. Switch, switch, switch. Head spinning, heart pounding.

“I’ll be back around 10,” he said.

“Sounds perfect,” I responded.

I took a long, hot bath and started the 13th book in the Wheel of Time series. I closely shaved my pussy making sure the undercarriage was baby-smooth and painstakingly moisturized every reachable part of my body. I didn’t put on a lick of makeup.

I re-dressed in white knee-high socks and boots and a skirt and top, no under garments, and puttered around my apartment. I had a speech prepared. “Do you want to be in control tonight or do you want me to be? Because I can’t do both. I don’t have it in me. Or, we can just cuddle.”

The emotions of the day seemed to have steeped into me while soaking in the bathtub like so much Sleepytime tea. Rejection — no! Reject rejection! Be strong! Be you! Be soft! Be sad!

At 9:45 I sauntered into my room and lit a candle and laid down. I felt relaxed with my speech in my back pocket and eager to see what the night would hold. I reached my hand down between my legs and my freshly shaved pussy was warm and wet. I lifted my fingers to my mouth and tasted. It was sweet and light.

I pressed my fingers deeper inside and clenched around my digits, exploring and trying to imagine what I feel like to him. There was a knock at the door.

I stood up, my left hand’s fingers soaked in my juices and went to open the door. He was already past my entryway when I met him. He was in black basketball shorts only.

“Hi,” I said and wrapped my right arm around his neck and lifted the fingers on my left hand to his lips and parted them. He sucked them gently while locking his icy blue eyes onto mine.

His eyebrows raised in question at me. “I’ve been touching myself,” I answered. He crushed his lips down to mine and squeezed the rounds of my ass, spun me around, took me by the hand and led me to my room. My speech forgotten and completely unnecessary.

He plowed into me and I watched his face watching my own in the candlelight. He let me peel of my clothes and laughed as I tossed the pillows away, too. “It’s all torture to be on my skin,” I explained. “It’s offensive!” He laughed, too. Then started to stroke me with his cock and his lips and his hips.

I rocked back on him and strained with all my might to feel him in my throat with every thrust. I whispered and moaned how good he felt, he asked me if I liked this or that. And then he reached for my Hitachi and slipped a discarded sock onto it knowing I’m too sensitive for it to touch me directly.

He stayed inside of me for a time, but soon switched out his hands for his cock and laid down to my right. He began a slow strum of the chords within me and I began to rock and sob and keen. The orgasm so bright and enormous, slow to come, but ever-present.

Even before the crash and blossom I was crying hot, fat tears. Every fiber of my being called out to him. “Be a good girl and cum for me, Hy. Cum,” he begged — no, demanded. He bent his head to my breast and sucked and I cried out in ecstasy as the orgasm broke over me like a molten egg.

I convulsed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Quickly he moved to my left to the center of the bed and pulled me into his arms. “You’re ok, you’re ok. It’s going to be fine,” he crooned rubbing my arms.

I didn’t care about anything except this moment of wonderment and pain and loss and beauty. “I am good enough, but never enough” seemed to be the notes interwoven into this desperate launch into passion and desire. I had never experienced something so forcefully pleasurable in all my life.

When I had calmed down eventually, we spoke of the sex-party in a couple of weeks. I spoke more of my fears and he had more questions for me. Namely, why I wanted to do it. He was also worried about doing something wrong and was feeling a lot of pressure.

I assured him my quest was personal and that I trusted him. I laid myself bare and made sure he knew the exposure was a treat, not a burden. He listened raptly and when he finally left I felt even more confident about our burgeoning roles with each other.

He wants to be restrained and told what to do. I want him to trust me and explore my dominance. The idea of him obeying me thrills me and wraps around me a sense of comfort and longing I never knew could be achieved; I want to be dominated. He wants to hurt me and I want him to; I want to bring him pleasure and show him a new world. He wants the freedom to explore, but understands I am human. He responds to my warnings and apologies with comforting words and strong assurances.

“I’m not a robot, TN. And I’m not you. Though I wish I were both.”

“Gee, Hy,” he said, his voice laced with humor, “You’re goddamned human! What a drag!”

And so yesterday, I delved into the deepening pools of our experience together and texted him this when I arrived at a White Elephant party:

Let me know if you’re feeling up for this tonight: whenever you get home, I want you to masturbate, but not cum, then text me a pic of your hard cock to let me know you followed instructions. If you’re not up for it, just say something like, “that sounds great, but not tonight.”

He immediately responded with, “I’ll do it :-)”

Such a good boy. I thrilled at the honor of topping him and throughout my night with my girlfriends I twitched and squirmed. I sent another text saying,

Then I’ll send you another set of instructions

Two hours after my first text I got a beautiful cock shot and a note that he was waiting for me.

I’ll text you when I leave this party and I want you to edge one more time. When I park at home, I’ll text again and I want you to unlock your door, blindfold yourself and wait for me on your couch. I’m not going to fuck you. I’ll be leaving very soon.

He said I had his blindfold and I told him to figure it out. Then I added:

And you’re welcome to say, Yes Ma’am :)

“Yes ma’am,” he texted.

I fingered myself on the way home and wiped my juices on my lips in anticipation. The difference in my feelings from the day before so wildly different I felt like a different woman altogether. I wasn’t sad, I felt empowered and beautiful and — above everything else — honored. Honored that he is sharing this with me, honored that he trusts me, honored that he believes I can do this well enough to bring him pleasure.

I pulled into the parking lot and texted him then started the long climb up. I smiled when I put my hand on his doorknob. I walked in and he lay on the couch resplendently nude with a blue patterned tie across his eyes. His erection huge and gorgeous.

Wordlessly I walked by and put my things down on the kitchen table and went into the bathroom for a quick French toilette. I walked back out and anticipation rose off of him like steam. “I like your solution,” I said as I began to take off my clothes.

“Oh, the blindfold?”

“Yes. You have a key to my apartment, you know.” My boots thudded to the floor and the lighter thuds of my clothing followed.

“I know. I like this, too, though.”

“Mmm, me, too,” I purred as I crawled up over him and pressed my soft belly into his hardness. I left my lacy pink and red bra on and let them cradle his face like big, round balls of dough.

I sucked him and laved his body with my tongue. I took pictures of him with his hardness gripped in my black-tipped hand and his cock nestled between my lace-encased breasts. He begged to fuck me. I said no.

Beautiful boy.

“Please, Hy. Come on. Think of how good it will feel. That first push, so deep. Your sweet, pink pussy parting for me.” I whimpered and moaned around his cock, but shook my head no. “Please…”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” I said to his beautiful, sightless face. “If you cum, you can fuck me.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. His cumming is a 3 out of 5 odds game at best. “Ok, I can do that.”

I sucked and loved and stroked him some more before I led him to his darkened room. The pine 4x4s he’d used to reinforce his broken bed wafted their light scent into the dark space above. I gently laid him down and fell back down onto his cock. I bade him tell me exactly how to suck him and I dutifully followed his instructions, but he felt defeated and at a loss.

I assured him that fucking was not our goal, nor was cumming. I told him not to cum. I gave him breaks and kissed his chest and jaw and sweet, bow lips. Finally, my heart broke for him, he felt too responsible and so I climbed up on top of him, his eyes still barred from sight, and slid him deep inside of me.

Climaxes washed over me sweetly and then I switched us around and let him pound me from behind. I knew he was exhausted and drained and I felt somehow that it was time to stop. I pulled away from him and he whimpered, but I only laid down and pulled him with me.

“C’mere,” I said sweetly and wrapped my arms around him. “We’re done. You gotta know when not to overwork the Thoroughbreds.”

“Ok,” he conceded.

“Don’t worry, I got this. You did great.”

“No, I didn’t,” he said sadly.

“Stop it, you did great. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You stayed hard for over an hour.”

“More like three hours. Ever since you told me what to do.”

“Well, there you go.” I untied his blindfold and kissed his eyes. “We’ll figure this orgasm thing out. I promise.”

And so it was, the domme and her little sub laid in each other’s arms and talked more about their sex party and their expectations, never really admitting to the elephant that is her love for him dominating the room. The new domme learned more about her young sub’s motivations and psyche and promised herself to imitate him in more ways than one.

“Don’t come back at me a week from now mad at me, Hy, saying that I don’t care about you.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry. I get it.”

“I just don’t give a fuck. But, I’m not saying I don’t give a fuck about you. I’m just emotionally detached, I guess.”

“I know. And thank you. I’m done talking about all of this now. I’m exhausted and I just feel like I’m boring you. I’m getting self conscious.”

“You’re totally not boring me.”

“Thanks, but all the same. I’m done. I reserve the right to pull the plug on this at any time.” He tensed next to me and I heard his breath catch.

“What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

“This whole sex party thing. If I don’t like it or change my mind, I’m out.” His entire body relaxed and I heard the soft exhale of the breath he’d been holding.

“Of course,” he answered. I knew he’d thought I’d meant pulling the plug on us, even though he’d just gotten done explaining to me in no uncertain terms that it would never bother him to see me with other men because, he “just doesn’t give a fuck.” But then again, I know he really and truly doesn’t give a fuck and he’s not just saying that.

Now, if only I can remind myself that as I watch him pump furiously into another woman. This sex party will either make or break me, but I’m not going to shy away from it. Let it burn me till I’m nothing but a pitiful mess of ashes. With any luck, I’ll rise from the pile of shit more powerful than ever.

I told him I was tired and it was time for me to go and asked him to gather up my clothes. He jumped up to do my bidding and I lay under the marshmallow clouds of his comforter thinking my life. I’m flapping new wings as a fledgling domme, I am in the process of slashing all hope away from my bones for a real future with this man I can’t stop loving, I am hunting down the real me — the one who doesn’t need anyone else to tell her she’s good enough, and I’m going to go to a fucking sex party in two weeks to watch my love potentially fuck another woman in order to burn the pain out of the marrow of my bones.

I dressed slowly and crawled back over the bed to give him a final kiss. “You did good tonight,” I said against his lips.

“You did, too.”

photo 2(2)
I never stop wishing he were next to me when I wake.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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24 thoughts on “I switch, I cry, I dominate.
  1. good enough but will never be enough–strong words to ponder HY, pretty pic’s also, loved the colors on the bra pic!!

  2. And it closes with him telling you that you are good, wow….fantastic as usual. I just love it.

    Your expectations and his abilities to express himself have met in the middle it seems. So you have to go and test him and those expectations at this sex party? It will be there next year too, and the sex you two have seems no less than mind-blowing. I just sense trepidation on both your parts (as much as I can sense something he feels through your words). I would hate if something changed this current wave you two are riding together.

    1. I know (what’s the pseudonym we should all be calling you, btw??), but I really want to do this party. I can’t explain it, it’s like it’s calling to me. I’m going to get a lot out of this one way or the other. If I can detach myself from jealousy, etc., then I will be one step closer to letting him go. Does that make sense? I’ve already lost him so many times and it’s almost like a zombie relationship right now…

      It’s fucked up. I just hope my readers stick around to see what happens. :) xx Hy

      1. I get it, to the depths of my soul I get it. It’s an exercise in how far your love or your pain can take you. Throwing yourself into the volcano…

        I don’t know, I’m still G. But I liked fnf too :)

  3. You’re a great woman. Physically, emotionally and intellectually. But I think this game will end breaking you…

    However, I have the feeling you know that and you’re playing it exactly that way: you want that link to be cut on your own choice rather than in one week, month or year because he leaves you for someone else… It makes sense because you’re probably right, and he will at some point turn himself to someone younger, his age or even less…

    I admire your courage. I admire you. You’ll go over it when it happens. Because you’re much stronger than you think ;-)

    Yet, you can always take what you have and enjoy it while you have it. Why hurry things? I’d advise not going to that party, you don’t need it and he doesn’t either… ;-)

  4. Pshhhhh. It’s not that big. You just have a really small hand. And I bet you’re pushing down on it some, and holding tight to blow it up nice and hard as can be, and you’re catching a good angle, that’s all. Not that I know anything about cock photography. And I’m certainly not jealous. Not in the least. No sir.

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