I wanted it. I wanted so bad to have a man totally helpless at my feet, to see begging eyes and wrists struggling in bonds. I wanted to hear his shaking breath in my ear, to hear the simple word, "Please--", whispered over and over and over again.
Subs have it easy….
Monday night I was standing at the club, in the strangest rotten difficult mood.
I wanted it. I wanted so bad to have a man totally helpless at my feet, to see begging eyes and wrists struggling in bonds. I wanted to hear his shaking breath in my ear, to hear the simple word, “Please–“, whispered over and over and over again.
So hungry. It hit me hard, and suddenly that was all I wanted.
Yet, as I looked around, wandering at some point feeling so disjointed, no one would do. No one mattered. There was no sparkling gem in the darkness to capture my passion.
There was no one worth the stalking — worth the effort of locating, identifying, seducing, and eventually torturing.
I sat drinking, bitter and impatient, looking. Looking, and looking, until finally I was lowering my standards. So, maybe, he doesn’t have to look that passionate. Maybe he can be that guy over there standing in the corner.
Oh, but he’s too tall. So what. So the fuck what, he probably struggles, and whimpers, and breathes just like the others.
I found myself trying to imagine him in an erotic situation. To spark my interest.
I shook my head and walked away, away to pine at the bar with a drink, and to curse myself for this whole femdom thing.
****
I realized Monday that subs have it easy.
I mean, after all, if I were a sub that night, I could at least…at *least* go home and offer myself some satisfaction. Even in the way of fantasy. Self fulfilling fantasy.
We dommes — we are limited to what we can come up with in our head. A large black chest sitting in my closet does nothing for a femdom with an unsated hunger.
But to a sub — yes — it is still a box of opportunities.
How many subs can go home, light a few candles, and enjoy an evening in the comfort (!) of tight bondage, of course with a way out..but the illusion is still there. The *sensations* are still there.
For a hungry femdom, there are no sensations to be enjoyed alone.
None.
****
Laying in my bed, a pair of handcuffs in my hands. Cool silver. The awesome clicking as I slide the cuff through the chamber again and again. Click, click click.
Imagining his wrist right there. The slight turn of his head as it snaps into place.
Click. Click. Click.
Nothing. There is no pleasure for a femdom alone. None.
*****
Damn those subs.
They have it easy. A sub can feel the sensations of helplessness, and then imagine their persecutor there. Any persecutor they want.
Standing, pacing in my room, handcuffs dangling from one finger, I had to think, what can I do? I can’t handcuff an inanimate object and just *pretend* he is a struggling, sweating, panting man.
No, it all relies on his participation. His desperate, pleading eyes. The way his hair hangs in his face. His breathing, so labored and tense. The way his body looks against the bonds.
Laying naked in my bed, the cool handcuffs resting on my naked flesh. There is nothing.
At 3:15am, laying in my bed, staring at the clock. Like a hungry, neglected beast — I can feel that side of me ranting.
There is no self bondage for the dominant. There is no little fix until next time. There is no fantasy with the addition of toys, because the toys mean nothing without the man.
I fall asleep, finally, with the handcuffs tucked under my pillow.
Cursing myself.
You should have lowered your standards.
Just this once.
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