/Mindspace

I'm in his hotel room. He's in the bedroom, waiting for me - I'm standing in the sitting area. I walk around the room and see his briefcase. His work is piled up on the desk, next to a laptop. I pour myself a glass of water and then I approach the bedroom, open the door and find him sitting on the ottoman by the chair, next to the bed. He's fully dressed in his suit, though he's removed his tie. From what I understand, he's a lawyer, so this is probably what he wore to work. I close the door behind me and dim the lights. He's waiting for me to do something. I take a sip of water and then place the glass down in the bedside table. He's hired me to be dominant and I have no idea how.
I think about how a dominant looks - I picture a kitten with a whip, maybe a pair of thigh high boots. I'm wearing a short black dress, stockings clipped to a garter, and a pair of black stiletto heels. I wonder if I should be wearing boots. I wonder if I should be wearing more makeup. And then I wonder what he wants me to do. He's still looking at me.

I know I can't mimic a dominatrix because my experience is limited to the occasional Maria Beatty film, and the image that come to mind, of a screaming, angry hellcat, doesn't fit me. I'm not sure what he wants, and I'm worried because I want to be paid. I stop thinking about how I should look or act - it's not getting me anywhere - so I turn inward.

Growing up, I was taught to be restrained and polite. I was taught that women aren't supposed to be aggressive, that women are supposed to receive male attention, not control it. I was taught that it's unsexy to be domineering, so I've been the opposite of this. Easy-going. Amenable. Receptive. And it's my nature to be easy-going, amenable, and receptive. Each time I pull up a quality that I think this man needs, I sense a warning: be forceful, and you'll scare him off. Be controlling, and he'll lose interest. The dissonance is dizzying, so I pause and search for another approach.

I stop thinking about him and start thinking about myself. I sense another warning: thinking about yourself is selfish and one-sided. But I think about myself, what turns me on, what I love, what I want. I love cock and penetration and being held down and fucked. But that's passive. I love cock and penetration and fucking men like they're objects. That's closer.

I think back to those moments when I spontaneously took control in bed, when I put a boyfriend in a schoolgirl pin, my shins pinning his arms overhead while I spread my pussy over his face. It was a fleeting moment, driven strictly by the urgent need to come, and then I reverted back to my receptive, amenable self once I came. I focus on that memory and that moment, I pare away the details down to that feeling, of needing to come, of needing to fuck, of needing it so badly that it drowned out those nagging warnings that keep my behavior in check.

I look at him - he's still sitting on the ottoman, waiting for me to do something - and I start to objectify him. I think about his mouth and his cock and his hands, and I think about the fact that I've got this submissive, compliant man entirely at my disposal. My cunt throbs. I think again about his cock and picture him naked, fully erect, tied to a bed. My cunt throbs again.