Kinktober Day 10: Dom Space (kbnz)

(More of a musing on what being a dom means than an actual erotica piece, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless)

Raihan felt his breath whistle in and out of his lungs. The sensation was grounding, focusing, and he wanted this moment to be nothing but pure focus.

People often thought about bondage from the submissive’s perspective; it was only natural, as they were the subject. The one to whom things were done, who needed care and attention. And when they slipped into their blissful, peaceful space, where they could expand and let go with complete trust, that was a sort of pinnacle for these acts. He understood that. But there was another side to it, the reverse of it, and even now, he felt the roots of it growing from the core of his body outwards.

If the submissive was the one who let go, then the dominant had to be the one who held on. If the submissive was the subject, then the dom was the one who acted upon them. Pain, pleasure, the space between. It was up to the dom to control and measure these things, weighing them carefully and finding out what their sub needed most. Guiding the scene, even though in the most ironic way, they weren’t the one in control. Yet they were still giving, still acting, still a key part of this. The yin to the yang, so to speak. Every bit as important as their submissive, and with the near-sacred role of holding their submissive’s trust, safety, and security in their hands.

It wasn’t about one person conquering the other, domineering them and crushing them down. That might be the facade, the game, but ultimately, it was still a partnership. A waltz, not a war. It was his job to know where was too far, and also, where was not far enough.

Piers hadn’t given him that trust from day one. It would have been ludicrous if he had, and Raihan wouldn’t have been willing to give his trust then, either. They needed to work together, to build up their relationship moment by moment and scene by scene. So much communication had gone into it, hours and hours on end of just talking. Sometimes, they hadn’t even done anything but talk, or kiss. Sometimes an intense scene devolved into the sweetest lovemaking, and sometimes they just violently fucked each other like the world was ending and this was their last chance to touch. They were playful with each other, and they were serious with each other, and both just so happened to often involve ropes and handcuffs and leather paddles.

Perhaps they needed the pain to get over the stumbling blocks that lay in the path of all the things they wanted to say. Or, perhaps, it was merely a fun way to foster their intimacy.

Which leads them here. To Piers, handcuffed in place—and how lovingly Raihan had applied those straps! How he’d checked each one with a finger, to make sure they weren’t too tight, how the click of the buckle had felt like a wordless adoration!—waiting for the sting of the paddle Raihan holds in his left hand. Saying you want to feel pain as part of sex is one thing, and will cause plenty of titters and consternation. Saying you want to give that pain is something completely different. How do you disclaim that?

I don’t want to really hurt him. I just want to tie him down and spank him until he’s on the edge of tears and begging me for more and to stop at the same time. I want to see the beautiful scarlet flush under his skin. I want to be in control. I want him to trust me. I want him to give me everything. But I don’t want to hurt him.

Not an easy thing to explain to someone who doesn’t already understand.

Fortunately for him, they’re long past that basic level of understanding. He raises the paddle, and brings it across in a clean swing. The arc of his arm is perfect, and he savours the reverberation up through the handle when it strikes the exposed flesh of the back of Piers’ thighs. Piers squirms, but Raihan is already drawing the paddle back again. Another slap, ringing in his ears, sending blood blossoming into a gorgeous flush that feels warm when he strokes a finger across it. One and two…then three, four, five, six. Steady, but not slow. Hard enough that Piers’ muscles tense, tugging at his bonds in resistance, until—right there—the tipping point—

He watches Piers fall apart, one piece at a time. Those bony shoulders go slack, a shuddering breath exits his lungs, and the tremors give way to acceptance and moans. Satisfaction wells in his chest at the way Piers obeys, his body acquiescing and giving up any semblance of resistance.

“Check,” he hears himself say, voice calm and steady. “Give me a colour.”

Piers twists until he can look back over his shoulder, face nearly as red as his thighs. “Green. Fuck, really green.”

There’s a pause, both of them breathing heavily, and then Piers asks, “What about you?”

What about him? He feels good. Calm. Like all of the world is only here, only in this moment. Like Piers’ trust is the most important thing, and everything else is a little fuzzy.

Oh.

“Yellow,” he murmurs, and sets the paddle aside for a moment, taking a breath. Not that he couldn’t continue, but…he wants to explore this. Breathe into it. Feel Piers’ flesh under his hands as he gropes him, massaging every last inch. Every second seems to last an hour, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“This feels amazing, y’know,” Piers reassures him, and he feels the side of his mouth hitch up into a slight smile. “You’re just…so goddamn good at making me feel good. Even when you’re being a right bastard with that paddle. Don’t ever think for a moment I’m not enjoyin’ this. Especially if I haven’t tapped out.”

Raihan can’t help but chuckle at that, and then lifts the paddle again. After this session, he thinks he might need a moment to sit down and just be held, but that can come later. Right now, he’s got a punk to punish.