Dance With The Devil

I met her one evening in a room full of beautiful women, but she eclipsed them all. As the rest of them flicked their hair and pouted, she was almost gliding across the floor with the serenity of a swan. She looked nothing less than spectacular, but there was far more to it than that. Her tone revealed mischief and cruel intentions but her eyes were in contradiction, a kaleidoscope of colours spiralling away into infinity and there, hidden in the corners, where no one else had noticed it, was kindness and warmth.

I was my typical idiotic self. A little too confident and trying my best not to let on, that I had decided in the first 20 seconds that I needed to have this girl, no matter what it was going to take. She saw straight through me though. Before I’d even had the chance to think of an angle, she explained that she was a professional Domme and knew more about Dominance and Submission than I ever would. She told me that she finds dominant men even more annoying than the pathetic submissive’s that suffer in her dungeon.

“Shit this isn’t gonna fly.” I thought as I left that night. What a shame.

I spent a couple of days trying to forget about it. I understand the difference between the people that play at this like it’s a game, and the people that are born to their role. I feel like I am one, and because I’ve always strived to understand the submissive mind completely, I’ve even experienced and tried to enjoy submission myself in the past. It’s never worked though; I hated every minute of it, and I could tell from our short encounter that she was the same.

All I knew about her was her work name. I googled it and found her website and spent a slightly creepy amount of time staring at her pictures. I had no choice, the only way I’d see her again was to book a session.

I arrived at her dungeon with an open mind. I’d been going over and over in my head how I was going to deal with this. The idea of being subservient, compliant and humiliated sounded truly repulsive, but I had also considered that perhaps I’d just tried this with the wrong people in the past. A lot of people get a hell of a kick out of this and perhaps I just wasn’t looking at it in the right way.

She opened the door, and I forgot about all of that crap in a heartbeat. Leather clung to her tiny waist and rode up over her ribcage and across her breasts. Her black hair shone in the dim light, and those eyes, sparkling delicately, sent chills down my spine. Was the kindness still there? I couldn’t see it.

Tied to a cross, I tried to take my mind somewhere else. I’d put about 7 minutes of effort into trying to enjoy it, but now I’d completely given up and had switched over into survival mode. The flogger hit my skin time after time, and I shut my eyes and worked on my plan of turning this nightmare into a way of getting to know her.

Like any good Domme, she saw what I was doing and ripped me out of that trance and back into her evil clutches. She stood in front of me, forcing me to look at her in all her magnificence and grabbing my cock roughly she demanded it stood to her attention. I simply can’t describe the terror I felt... At the moment her demand was met, she took up a meter long bamboo cane and brought it down on it.

“Just get through this you stupid fuck!” I repeated to myself over and over again as the pain tore through me.

When it was over, and I was trying to gather my composure, she smiled at me. Again she could see through me and knew I hadn’t enjoyed a moment of it.

“This isn’t for you, is it?” She asked, and I think the kindness had returned.

“No, it really isn’t,” I said with a grin. “But I think I can forgive you if you let me buy you dinner?” I said. I pretty much always know what a girl is going to say when I ask something like that, but I must admit that this time, I really wasn’t sure.

I had taken her by surprise for once though. “Wow, ok… Well yeah, I suppose so,” she said with a grin.

“I don’t fuck on first dates though,” I said as the door closed behind me. I didn’t need to see her face to know that I’d surprised her again, and I was starting to feel a bit more like myself.

A week or so later I sat opposite her in a restaurant and listened to her incredible stories. I was right, and there was far more to her than I’m sure most people see. Maybe they don’t look, or maybe she doesn’t show them. Maybe it was our mutual disdain for the human race or maybe we both just felt like there was something new to be learnt here.

Another week on and I received the message I’d been waiting for “Would you like to come over and play tonight?” I’d been thinking about her flawless skin, her delicate slender neck and the curve of her lower back all week, but I knew that if that message arrived I’d have no idea what it meant. What does play look like for two dominant people?

As I climbed the stairs that night, I don’t mind admitting that I was genuinely nervous. I knew what I wanted to do to her. I was practically drowning in lust and visions of myself tearing off her clothes and clawing at her ass. They swirled relentlessly around my head. How was I going to control myself now when I haven’t been able to for the past 20 years?

Without words, I had hold of her, one hand on her waist and the other cradling her face. I pressed her against the wall, and a swift breath passed her lips, mine only inches from them. I was shaking and wondered if she noticed. It wasn’t nerves now; it was pure unadulterated sexual energy. As gently as I possibly could, which looking back really wasn’t very gently at all I undressed her and explored that masterpiece of a body. Each touch was a battle against myself, and I noticed that what I was feeling was almost comparable to rage or anger. I had hold of my own leash so tight that it was killing me while delivering me a new level of excitement the like I’d never experienced before.

For hours, we walked a line that neither of us really knew existed. Holding back the beast just made him more and more apparent and at times I simply sat back and stared at her lines trying desperately to calm myself and understand how to be this person.

Once inside her my grip often slipped. I felt like my whole body was fighting against me, and the unusual sensations were like a drug that I just needed more and more. In the moments that I’d usually let go and allow all the rage and anger to explode, now I clung on to restraint by my fingernails. I didn’t know what to expect from her but what I got was something I’ve never quite experienced before. She demanded respect, not through words but demeanour. She urged me on while holding me back; she found a new understanding of what sex is about as she too was in a completely new territory. Together we explored this brave new world with ever increasing enthusiasm.

As I left, I thought to myself “If you really wanna dance, you need to dance with the devil.”

The End