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PREVIOUSLY… ON CAVASUPERNOVA… (ie, Part #1)

Following a humiliating bout of enforced karaoke and then being ordered to wear my knickers, Starfish, a 22-year-old submissive I’d “just met up with for a quick drink” had emerged from the pub toilets, where he’d gamely struggled into my undies.

Starfish’s expression was a mixture of disbelief and devilry.

“Tell me what it was like, then, putting on a pair of women’s knickers.”

“Difficult, I had a hard-on. Plus I’m a lot broader than you are. I’m worried I might have stretched them.”

Awww, bless.

“Comfortable?”

“Actually, not too bad. They’re pretty snug; they contain everything pretty well.”

“It’d be nice if you could fit into my dress too, but that’s not gonna happen.”

“Actually, it’s your shoes I was looking at, I like the studs on them, but there’s no way my massive feet would fit into those.”

“I’d like to see you in both and then totally ruin you.”

He looked up, astonished.

“Really? You’d really do that?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Er, isn’t he supposed to feel humiliated or at least conflicted about this ‘women’s clothes’ thing? Aroused, but desperate to conceal it?

“Wow!”

Clearly not.

“So if you wanted to torture me properly how would we go about it?”

“Maybe we should find ourselves a room.”

And so to the room. The pretty room with the lemon and silver décor, an impressive Victorian chandelier hanging respectably overhead.

The minute we walked through the door, Starfish toed off his trainers, hoiked his T-shirt over his head, and unbuttoned his jeans.

He started pacing about, totally unselfconscious in my teeny pants.

“Your knickers hold my tackle in really well.”

He is so OK with this, it’s untrue.

I kept my clothes on. My shoes too.

“I like that, you being dressed, while I’m not. It makes it more kinky.”

Hello…?

“Excuse me, who’s the one in control here? Right, give me your phone. I want to take a photo of you in my underwear.

“I’m gonna take some on my phone too. Make sure that hard-on’s nice and big. That’s it. Turn around, nice and slowly; I want back and front views. Nice ones.”

That’ll show him.

“Great! Is this slowly enough?”

FFS. Stop being so damn happy about it.

My mind went blank.

OK, it was fun that he was cool with all this, but it was my role to maintain the tension and keep things nasty, and I was failing.

Ah! Handbag. Of course!

“Lie on your front, and stay still.”

I lunged for my bag and scrabbled for my hairbrush.

It was black and shiny; made of cheap, unyielding plastic. And it had a large, flat oblong head. A nice surface area.

Perfect for spanking.

“Pull up the legs of your knickers. Make sure your arse cheeks show.”

“Yes Mistress.”

Brilliant. We’re getting somewhere now.

I know jack about spanking. Absolutely nothing, apart from you have to vary the tempo and the hardness of the strokes to keep it interesting.

I tried a robust, stinging thwack-thwack!-thwack! adding a bit of whiplash to give the strikes some venom. Maybe a bit too much venom.

He tensed, and hissed with pain, the way you do when you’ve been stung by a wasp.

Ooooh! Nice!

Then I issued a few softer, more kindly strokes. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Is that nice? Do you like it?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Right then, inspiration struck…

“Well, how about you say ‘Thank you’ then? I haven’t heard a SINGLE WORD of thanks since we got in here. I thought you had good manners – is that the way you normally treat people?”

Did I just say all that? Was that me admonishing him like that? This is unreal.

Ever since finding out I might be a sadist via a dodgy, and highly unscientific, online quiz, I’ve toyed with the idea of dishing out a bit of pain, just to see if it was ‘really me’.

Being freaked out by the notion (and the fear of hurting someone in the wrong way) had deterred me so far, though.

Yet now I was battering this perfectly nice bloke and barking at him like an angry pitbull. And he was mad for it.

“Yes Mistress. Sorry Mistress. Thank you Mistress.”

Go on, admit it, it’s weird but you’re good with it.

Starfish was clearly good with it, too, despite my reservations.

So I got to work with a percussion of brisk thwacks, friendly little taps, and flailing, open-palm strikes that were so vehemently administered I bruised one of my fingers. Oops.

I finished with six of the best with the hairbrush, ordering him to say “Thank you” after each one. “Enunciate it nicely, or you’ll make me angry.”

He obliged without question. It was mad.

How are we going to top this?

I was all out of ideas now.

Starfish wasn’t, luckily. He manoeuvred himself up the bed, and lay back, supported by his elbows.

Smiling away, he looked chilled as anything.

“You can punish me as much as you want. Do what you want.”

“With what, though? I’ve only got a set of playing cards in my handbag. Oh, yeah, I could paper-cut you to death with the edges. Very S&M.”

“Look at your fingers, you’re wearing a lot of rings. Punish my cock wearing that bling and you could really hurt it.”

“Punish? How?”

“Slap it. Hit it. Whatever you want.”

I was beyond surprise by now.

‘Normal’ me would have run a mile if requested to brutalise a guy’s cock.

Right here, in this room, more practical thoughts flew through my mind.

Ones like, “Are submissives allowed to tell you what to do? Is this what they call ‘topping from the bottom’? Have I got the mental energy to think of anything else?”

I decided to improvise on his idea, and make it more my own. I grabbed my phone charger, pulled one of the knicker legs to release his hard-on and tied the charger cable around the base of his cock.

I couldn’t even remember what it was supposed to do (Maintain a guy’s hard-on? Is that right?).

But that sort of image looks pretty badass when it crops up in my Tumblr feed (…ahem) and, more importantly, it made me feel more in control.

Then, absolutely terrified, I got to work on his cock.

I decided to try to think like a Mafia enforcer. First I tried repeated stinging slaps. It made me cringe to do it but I didn’t stop.

Then I switched to backhands; heavy backhands, with my bulky silver rings adding extra, knuckle-duster heft each time I struck him.

I can’t even begin to describe the noises he made. A cross between a gasp and a yelp, his body tensing, rigid with pain.

We’d agreed a safeword but he must’ve used it once or twice at the most. The more I hurt him, the harder he got. It was surreal.

Whenever I got tired, I grabbed his cock in both hands and squeezed it, gripping my hands together as I hard as I could, teeth gritted in concentration.

He groaned; a deep, dark groan, shuddering with relief.

“God. Oh, God, that’s awesome. I love it.”

I switched to his torso, sinking my nails in and scoring his skin with them, clamping my teeth round his nipples and biting down hard. He squirmed and winced. Hissed and yelped.

And he just got more excited.

“Thank you, Mistress. Thank you. ThankyouThankyouThankyou.”

This just isn’t real. I can’t be doing this. It’s wrong.

Or was it?

It was without a doubt the most abso-fucking-lutely demented thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.

It was insane. Totally insane.

But wrong…? I can’t answer that.

Finally, I couldn’t handle any more. He could, but I couldn’t.

I eased myself up and onto my knees, utterly spaced out.

Get on with it, you can’t stop now.

“You’ve been a very good boy, haven’t you? Done everything you’ve been told.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to let you have an orgasm.”

“Thank you Mistress.”

“A ruined orgasm. You bring yourself off, I’ll watch. You let go before it’s time or I’ll find a way to really punish you.”

If I can think of something…

But he did it. He really did it.

He was so turned on, yet he ruined his orgasm. Stopped it before it could start.

No massive, spectacular ejaculation. Just little rivulets of cum dribbling lazily down his cock.

This is too, too much. I don’t know what to do any more. I’ll lie down for a minute and have a little think.

I fell asleep in my clothes. He fell asleep in my pants.

Out like lights till watery sunshine teased us back to consciousness a couple of hours later.

He was up and gone that Sunday morning, before I was truly awake. He had to be off, there was a plane to catch.

He made me a cuppa before he went, and I told him he could keep my knickers.

He strolled out of the room wearing them under his jeans; frilly ladies’ undies, lurking like a not-so-guilty secret beneath his ‘typical bloke’ civvies.

“Watch the pink trim doesn’t show over the top of your jeans.”

“Thanks! Will do! See ya.”

It’s gonna take me forever to get my head around this.

So finally, just a few months after whingeing about the lack of submissives in my life (like I’d have known what to actually do with one…), this bad boy turned up.

Did he reinforce my lust for submissive guys?

Yes.

Did he look like a hottie in my underwear?

Hell yeah (but I’m biased – they were my knickers after all.)

Is it fun dishing out pain?

Fun? Hmmm. There’s something to be said for doing it to someone who wants it and clearly loves it. I can’t articulate what it is, but it’s a very hot ‘something’.

I’d also probably try it with someone who indicates it’s some sort of limit they want to explore.

To anyone else?

Not a chance.

That’s all hypothetical, obviously, until another submissive rocks up.

Maybe they’ll be like buses – you wait for ages and then a load of them turn up one after another.

A girl can hope.

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***   ***   ***

Read Part #1 here.

Want to try any of this?

Don’t improvise and think you can wing it. I was lucky because Starfish had had prior experience, and gave me some guidance.

I got it together enough to remember ideas from comments people have left on this site, and from blogs I’ve read, including the ones below. I claim ‘enforced karaoke’ as my own though ;) :P

Check out these links for ideas and advice.

Collar n Cuffs: Extensive beginner’s guide

Girl on the Net: How to Dominate a Man

Girl on the Net: On Female Domination

Cara Sutra: Fetish and BDSM

Dominant Guide