Dressed To Dominate #BDSM

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Article By Venus O’Hara writing for Marquis Magazine

High heels, corsets and lubed up skin-tight latex couture caressing my curves. Then, there’s the coiffed hair, layers of makeup and lots of attitude. That’s how a lot of people imagine a female dominant should look like. I include myself in that assumption.

There I was chilling on the sofa in my hoodie when a male submissive called me. It was a Friday night and he wanted to meet me, seeing as he was close by and it would be convenient. My instinct was to refuse. The truth is that I was particularly tired and lazy after a long week at work. Moreover, I was kind of enjoying the brain-numbing trash that happened to be on the TV.

We had already met a couple of times previously, exchanged hundreds of emails and shared fantasies. After such a long and intense build up, I had rehearsed the perfect domination scenario in my head thousands of times. Naturally, because I wasn’t at my best, I didn’t want to let him or myself down.

When I declined again, he just grovelled even more. It got to the point that I actually started to feel sorry for him, especially when he explained that his next opportunity to be spontaneous wouldn’t be until the following month. He lived out of town and he would be going away for a while.

I dragged myself from the sofa and went over to a mirror. I analysed myself: no makeup, a sleepy face and long, red, out-of-control, curly hair. I was wearing an old mismatching tracksuit. I closed my eyes and asked myself what I really wanted to do. I took a deep breath and, oblivious to the fact that there was someone on the phone waiting for my response, and I just let my mind wander. Deep down, all I wanted to do was be a lazy bitch and lie back on the sofa while someone worshipped me.

I knew full well that I didn’t need any of that classic fetish paraphernalia to dominate him fully. In fact, there was no need for me to dress up at all. I just needed to be bossy and capricious in all the right ways. As I imagined his committed worship, I felt a persistent throb between my thighs that turned out to be the deciding factor.

‘OK’ I instructed ‘Give me half an hour. I’m not ready yet.’

Read the full article HERE!

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