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I never thought I could top. Not anyone, not ever, not from the bottom, not in any role, not because someone ordered me to... Not At All. I was convinced that I was pure, 100% bottom material. And Trenton, well, he never tried to talk me out of it... although we had talked ABOUT it before.
Besides the fact that I just love being a slutty, dirty, degraded, well cared for and bruised delightfully, greedy, eager-to-please bottomy kid, I think topping scares me because I'm afraid of feeling out of place. I don't want to compromise my identity for the most part, although in certain situations, experimentation with identity is hot. I don't like feeling masculine, and even though I know power does not equal masculinity, I never feel more feminine then when I'm kneeling or prone or under a flogger. I like pain... I don't usually think I'd like giving it. I like offering up my pain to please my partner, but I haven't much considered asking a partner for theirs to make me hot.
Anyway, the story I'm really trying to tell took place on Friday afternoon. Trenton had just purchased a flogger and Leather Masters II and was nervous/eager/dying to use it. I was lying face down on the bed, getting the soundest beating of my life. The new flogger was falling harder and harder on my upper back, and the riding crop we bought when I was in Missouri was biting into my ass and inner thighs (Ouch!). Trenton would give me his hand to squeeze from time to time and made sure I was always okay. I wasn't okay, I was Fantastic!
After my skin was red and battered, I cuddled up to Trenton as he toyed with the crop. He handed it to me and said, "You should hold it." Thinking that I'd giggle, play with it, and hand it back, I took it. I put my hand through the loop on the end and held it tightly. Tiger smiled at me and suggested that I try smacking him with it. Playfully, I slapped his jean-covered thighs a few times. Giggled a little more and swung a little more, too. I looked at his face and realized that he liked what I was doing.
Feeling surprisingly comfortable with the crop changing hands, I kind of cooed and rubbed the business part of the instrument against his cock, hard in his pants. This turned ME on. I slapped the outsides of his thighs, the insides, the tops. I didn't attempt to muck up the seamlessness of the transfer of power with any silly dialogue or creation of fitting roles. Really, it was just me, hitting the Tiger, while he assured me he liked it and while I realized I was liking it, too.
"Do you like that?" I needed to know I was doing okay.
"I LIKE getting beaten. Are YOU okay?" I smiled, because I was definitely fine, if a little nervous.
Blushing, I suggested that he lay face-down on the bed. I brought the crop down on his ass. He couldn't much feel it, so I pushed his jeans down and binder up so they rested just below and just above his ass. He was wearing a jock strap, and that totally framed my target in a way that I swooned over, despite myself. My own mounting excitement totally took me by surprise. I jumped into some jeans and gripped the crop tighter.
Terrified I'd mess up, but determined not to, I brought the crop down on the roundest curve of his ass. And then I just kind of lit into him. From time to time, I'd anxiously inquire as to whether I was doing a good job or not. In the headspace he was floating around in, I don't think Trenton was much able to tell me... but the expletives and squirming and moaning I heard and saw and heard told me I wasn't at all a failure.
And then... we had to go. Yes, really really had to go, because it was time to go to the airport. We processed in the car the whole way there, and I realized I loved doing what I did and would like to do it, and more, again in the future. And I realized that it doesn't mean I'm a domme, or a Top (in the capitalized sense), or any different than the person I was before.
I'm glad to find out I still have the capacity to amazing myself. Trenton amazes me on a regular basis. I love us.
Besides the fact that I just love being a slutty, dirty, degraded, well cared for and bruised delightfully, greedy, eager-to-please bottomy kid, I think topping scares me because I'm afraid of feeling out of place. I don't want to compromise my identity for the most part, although in certain situations, experimentation with identity is hot. I don't like feeling masculine, and even though I know power does not equal masculinity, I never feel more feminine then when I'm kneeling or prone or under a flogger. I like pain... I don't usually think I'd like giving it. I like offering up my pain to please my partner, but I haven't much considered asking a partner for theirs to make me hot.
Anyway, the story I'm really trying to tell took place on Friday afternoon. Trenton had just purchased a flogger and Leather Masters II and was nervous/eager/dying to use it. I was lying face down on the bed, getting the soundest beating of my life. The new flogger was falling harder and harder on my upper back, and the riding crop we bought when I was in Missouri was biting into my ass and inner thighs (Ouch!). Trenton would give me his hand to squeeze from time to time and made sure I was always okay. I wasn't okay, I was Fantastic!
After my skin was red and battered, I cuddled up to Trenton as he toyed with the crop. He handed it to me and said, "You should hold it." Thinking that I'd giggle, play with it, and hand it back, I took it. I put my hand through the loop on the end and held it tightly. Tiger smiled at me and suggested that I try smacking him with it. Playfully, I slapped his jean-covered thighs a few times. Giggled a little more and swung a little more, too. I looked at his face and realized that he liked what I was doing.
Feeling surprisingly comfortable with the crop changing hands, I kind of cooed and rubbed the business part of the instrument against his cock, hard in his pants. This turned ME on. I slapped the outsides of his thighs, the insides, the tops. I didn't attempt to muck up the seamlessness of the transfer of power with any silly dialogue or creation of fitting roles. Really, it was just me, hitting the Tiger, while he assured me he liked it and while I realized I was liking it, too.
"Do you like that?" I needed to know I was doing okay.
"I LIKE getting beaten. Are YOU okay?" I smiled, because I was definitely fine, if a little nervous.
Blushing, I suggested that he lay face-down on the bed. I brought the crop down on his ass. He couldn't much feel it, so I pushed his jeans down and binder up so they rested just below and just above his ass. He was wearing a jock strap, and that totally framed my target in a way that I swooned over, despite myself. My own mounting excitement totally took me by surprise. I jumped into some jeans and gripped the crop tighter.
Terrified I'd mess up, but determined not to, I brought the crop down on the roundest curve of his ass. And then I just kind of lit into him. From time to time, I'd anxiously inquire as to whether I was doing a good job or not. In the headspace he was floating around in, I don't think Trenton was much able to tell me... but the expletives and squirming and moaning I heard and saw and heard told me I wasn't at all a failure.
And then... we had to go. Yes, really really had to go, because it was time to go to the airport. We processed in the car the whole way there, and I realized I loved doing what I did and would like to do it, and more, again in the future. And I realized that it doesn't mean I'm a domme, or a Top (in the capitalized sense), or any different than the person I was before.
I'm glad to find out I still have the capacity to amazing myself. Trenton amazes me on a regular basis. I love us.
