Sketches in Dominance & Submission

Sketches in Dominance and Submission

Remittance Girl recently sent me an essay by Angela Carter called Pornography in the Service of Women. I started reading and, as is the way with me, the opening paragraphs inspired the following. The opening Definition steals from Carter’s essay. My spell checker and I got into some knock-down drag-out fights with this latest effort. Seems I’m pushing the envelope. I have really spun off into my own world with these. I’m also pushing WordPress’s formatting abilities. For instance, there’s no way to easily reproduce a hanging indent.


White SpacerI am inquiry. I am curiosity. I am affirmation. I am the prick that points upward. I assert. I am the upright cock. You are the ‘O’. You are the inert space. You are the mouth waiting to be filled. You are the zero. I will give your cunt the shape by my cock. You are the negative. I am the male principle. You are the feminine submissive. I am the exclamation point. I thrust in you my muscle, rigidity, momentum and intention.



I collar you.
I collar you with words.
I whisper them in the morning.
They go with you. They do not choke but you breathe with difficulty. They pinch
·····your nipples like strings of heavy pearl.
They burl in your bowels and you cannot expel them. They jangle at your wrists
·····and your ankles. They dangle from your clit and moisten your thighs with the
·····savor of your womb.
My leash is one word.
You bring a precious gift in exchange. My words have made you heavy and
·····pregnant with its stickiness. Your tits are full. You lie on your back. You raise
·····your knees and open your legs widely.
You ask.
You tug with words that collar my cock and balls.
I say, yes. My balls are also weighty with syrup. Yes, I say. Yes.


others listen
to you without knowing – your words sticky with
···············my cock.


We were teenagers. We were in a darkroom.
·····The door was locked.
·····My heart drummed in my ears.
·····We’d stopped talking. I’d forgotten what I looked at. Your breathing
··········faltered like my own.
I’d read about the kinds of things men said to women.
·····I didn’t believe it was true.
·····I was told that the ways women were portrayed were lies.
·····I was told girls weren’t like that; but I liked the things men said to
··········women. I wanted to say them to you.
My cock and balls were heavy with the words.
·····Say them.
“Suck my cock,” I said. “Get on your knees. Suck me.”
I saw you in the red light. I saw what the words did
·····to you –
·····and what the word
·····did to you.
I saw how you didn’t turn, how your mouth opened, how your eyes
·····rose from the photos to look at nothing. I saw your hands flutter
·····for support at the countertop’s edge when your back cupped. I
·····saw how you turned and fell to your knees. I saw how you opened
·····my jeans with trembling hands and how quickly your lips and
·····tongue took my cock into your mouth. I saw how you met my eyes,
·····for the first time, as if to ask:
Like this?


Woman, after I’ve fucked you, don’t reach for a napkin. I’m prideful. Let my orgasm flow out of you. Let the proof of my fucking smear your thighs, your knees, calves and ankle. Be prideful. Let your thighs show that you’ve been fucked by a man. Let your cunt acknowledge what it means to be a woman. I want you to be in love with my spunk, the emollient of having been fucked, the fertile odor of a fucked pussy.



The first time. When you were under me. When I gripped your shoulders. The instant when my cock began to recoil. That instant when I became every man who came before me. That instant when their knowing became my own. That instant when I knew, beyond knowing, that I must press my cock deeply into you; that I claim you by doing so; that I am not deep enough until your fingernails parse the muscles of my back; that I must strain the tendons of your thighs, that your girlish flexibility signifies what every man must do to you; that I will not be denied; that I must press into you until the O of your lips describes the O my cock makes in you; that I must press until your eyes show me that your womb recognizes my cock, feels its width, it’s girth, its weight, its length, rightness and necessity. Only then, when your orgasm concedes the rightfulness of what I do to you, will I press myself deeply, hold myself, and pour myself unflinchingly into your womb.


When I see that you, no less than me, grip my shoulders; that you claim me; that your fingernails refuse my escape; that your legs enwrap me; that your hips, breasts, and slenderness are inevasibly attractive to my boyish muscle, intent, and purpose; that I cannot refuse my precious semen; that my erections have always acknowledged your birthright; that you encapsulate me; that you grip my muscular buttocks to drive my cock deeply into your womb; that you study me; that your fierce intelligence is no less than my own; that my weight, my length, and the girth of my cock are your entitlement; that you expect no less than the praise of my rigidity, my unyielding desire, the weightiness of my balls; that you accept nothing less than my full weight; that you accept nothing less than my full measure; and that your orgasm is a gift, that I do not deserve it, that I am not owed it and that you only freely give your orgasm, like your love, to the man who claims it as his own by dint of effort, work, and sweat; I know that there is no toil as joyful to me, as desired, or as precious.



You bite your lip. You gasp. Your wide eyes, your girlish smallness, the submissive anatomy of your spine when I penetrate don’t fool me. You are a predator. You wait. You watch me with your fierce intelligent gaze. You know when I can’t escape. Then your taut belly becomes sinuous. Your hips become undulate. Your fingers and slender legs become insinuate. Your pussy grips its prize. I am like a dying animal. I bend. I cannot escape. I howl. I stiffen. I convulse. I release my precious liquids. Don’t think I don’t know. I see how you sit atop me, how you wait, how you gaze at my death with a predator’s cunning, how the unhurried undulations of your belly collect the liquids that uncontrollably burst from my shuddering groin.


White SpacerTrust Trust, n. [OE. trust, trost, Icel. traust confidence, security; akin to Dan. & Sw. tr[“o]st comfort, consolation, G. trost, Goth. trausti a convention, covenant, and E. true. See True, and cf. Tryst.]

We are equal. Your soul is no different. Your intelligence is as fierce. Your form is as athletic. Your ribs number the same as mine. Your love is as needful. Your architecture is as perfect.

Our power over each other is commensurate and complimentary.

I will not judge you. I will not take what you do not willingly give. My joy is in your pleasure just as your pleasure is in my joy. You will never exhaust my joy. You will never plumb my delight in you. My love for you is complete, unquestioning, and boundaryless.


I remember what you told me. You were young. You were masturbating. You didn’t know what you did. The erotic was a striation of shadows. They had begun to lick you unexpectedly in words, gestures, or in the eyes of men. Your masturbation was an answer to a question, an expectation, or a command communicated by their gaze. Your body beseeched you. Your nipples hardened for lips. Your legs widened for the breadth of a man’s hips. Your back vaulted because your body already knew, before you did, that this was the way you receive a man’s cock. But you didn’t orgasm. You didn’t orgasm until, one night, he walked in on you. Perhaps he had come in to kiss you good night. This would be the last time. He saw what you did. He saw all of it. He saw that you were no different. You told me you stopped. You stared. Your mouth was open but you said nothing. You legs were open. Your knees were back and parted, and that you were transfixed. It was his stare that stopped you: the shame, the disappointment, your disobedience. Your said your orgasm began like a pinprick; like a radiating heat pinned to the display of your cunt. You told me that you gasped once, audibly, as if you had been pinched. His stare never left yours. You said you inhaled sharply, once again, as if shocked, because it wouldn’t stop. You didn’t know not to moan. You didn’t know not to open your mouth as though you yourself were stunned. You said that your orgasm was a like dirty confession. Your body forced you show it to him. His stare forced you. You admitted your guilt. You lifted your head from the pillow and spread your thighs further with each spasm as if to vulgarly display the source of your shame. You tell me to look at you. You tell me to stare and not to turn away, You open your legs. You lift your knees and your feet arch and point. You show me your shame. You fall back on your elbows. Your breathing grows shallow. You tremble. Your face is a mask of agony. Yes, you cannot help it. Yes, this is what you are. I expect it. I demand it. I will accept nothing less from you. I will make you suck my cock. I will fuck you. I will flood your cunt. You will be a woman. You will be filthy with the stink of my semen. You will be what I desire the most.



on hands knees,
the fingers
that nub your clit
with hard
and the fingers
of my other hand,
that pinch
your nipples until
you shudder and arch,
your mouth
opens and no sound emanates,
you shake
and wet your thighs,
your eyes roll
into a sightless agony,
section of
and pleasure,



I taste acridness. My eyes fill with dust. My tongue is dry.
·····A thief has stolen you.
·····A thief has robbed my house of its goods and profit.
But what worth is a thing if it is not worth stealing?
You knelt and I did not praise your mouth with the fullness of
·····my cock.
You proffered your arms and I did not estimate their pricelessness
·····with silk and hemp.
You vouchsafed your cunt and I did not esteem the openness of your
·····legs with the bondage of my semen.
What is the man if he is not a jealous lover ? How does he price
·····her heart? What if he does not daily steal and covet the heart
·····she daily gives to him? His eyes will fill with dust. His tongue
·····will be dry. He will cry that a thief has robbed him of his profit.
You give him the salve of your tongue. You give him the oil of your
·····cunt. His lips are flavorful with the tincture of your nipples. He
·····throws you over his horse and the hooves of his horse beat the
·····earth. They are the gallop of a woman’s heart and his nostrils are
·····her exhalations.
A thief has robbed you from my house.
·····He fucks you.
·····He fucks you as he rides.
His semen flavors your tongue. His semen cultivates your cunt. His
·····semen is heavy in your bowels and my name is foreign to your
·····A thief has stolen you.
He cultivates your cunt and his semen harvests your womb. My
·····tongue is dry and dust fills my mouth. My name is foreign to your



I remember how she caught me masturbating. I was spying on you as you sun-bathed nakedly after a swim. I stood behind a tree. I stopped when she saw me. She put your finger to her lips. She came to me beneath the hemlock tree. She told me to turn back around. She told me to stand against the tree as I had been. She stood behind me. Put your hands in your pockets – she said. Her words were moist in my ear. I put my hands in my pockets. My fly was open. She took my cock in her hand. Aren’t we beautiful? – she said to me. We make you hard, don’t we? Our cunts must be painful to your cock. We fill it up with come, don’t we. You can’t stop looking at our tits. You can’t help yourself, can you. You want us tits in your mouth so much. You like it when we bend over, don’t you. You want to put your cock in us so much. Go ahead. I know you can’t help it. You can’t stop it. I came in her hand. My spurts were like piss. They arced in front of me as she pumped my semen out of me. Get it out. Yes. That’s it. Your balls must feel so much lighter . She held my cock until my spunk covered her fingers. She told me not to move. I’m masturbating myself, she said to me, with your come on my fingers. She bit my shoulder. She bit me hard, then she violently shook. I’m pushing your come into my cunt, she said. We can’t help ourselves. Either.



Your little giggles.
Your chit-chattiness. Your girlish little laughs.
·····I like how it starts that way.
·····I like it that way
·····when I take you from behind.
·····I like how your chit-chat abruptly stops when I
·····open you
with just the flair
of my cock, your sudden inhalation, how your head abruptly lifts,
·····how your legs suddenly widen,
·····how, as I push more deeply, you already begin to pant with shocked



I meet you at the entry to my apartment building. There are bicycles stored beneath the stairs, tricycles and baby carriages. You come to me wearing panties when I have explicitly told you not you. Sometimes words are unnecessary. I shove you face-first against the wall. I reach under your short black skirt. I yank them off. I had planned on driving but I escort you to the bus stop instead. I don’t care who sees me holding your panties. I pay the fair. I’m a gentleman. I lead you to the back of the bus. I stand behind you. I place your hands on the chrome pole. You understand. You will not move them. I kick your legs apart and your eyes roll beneath your eyelids. I press the panties, just the tip of a thumb’s width, up your ass. You arch. Don’t let the passengers see you. Bite your lip. I push more inside. That’s right. Grip the pole and pant. I push again. You bite your arm. Your nostrils flair. I hold you by the hair because this last push will be deep. I will shove your panties firmly into your bowels. I shove until you stand on your toes, until you brace your shoulder against the pole and your sphincter tightly squeezes my finger again and again. For that I will fuck you tonight and spunk your pussy while your panties are still up your ass.


I disrobe your breasts. I open your legs. You will never conceal your pussy from me. I will fill it with my cock and my semen for as many seasons as we live together; and I celebrate the joy of knowing that you want me to.


Cock and Balls

Truth is a hot day – a Tuesday in the third week of August. Truth is when I’m exhausted. I sweat with the heel of the road. Truth is when you want something. You kiss me and I tell you I’m too damned hot. You lick my ear and the scathing heat is in my head. The truth is when you walk half way to the back-porch door. You take off your loose top and your tits are hard brown knots. You shimmy out of your panties. You leave your mini-skirt on. You turn your back to me. Your spine is an elegant swale. You lower yourself to your knees. Your cheek and nipples touch the hot painted floor. Your arms stretch out in front of you. You don’t look at me once. You widen your knees and arch your back. Your cunt lifts and opens like a hot greenhouse flower behind you. Fuck. That’s all you do. You are your pussy. There’s no other position on god’s green earth that speaks to a man like this one. My overheated semen is already bubbling out of my balls and filling my rigid cock. I’m all cock. I’m all balls and cock. It’s already bubbling out of me, wetting my cock, when I kneel behind you to. You could say that I have nothing to do with it ,that it’s my cock and balls responding to your sign. You must be born knowing they belong to you. You can get it any time. Your womb, beneath the ball end of my cock and lifted for my spunk, sucks the last spurts out of me. You stand, having gotten what you wanted, the stuff of my balls hot and melting in your flat abdomen. That’s it. Smile. You happily hum and traipse off to the kitchen. Me? I’m on the floor. I’m on my ass. I’m a mess. My drained and flaccid dick drips on the floor. This is the way a woman dominates a man. This is the way a man submits. A man who doesn’t understand this knows nothing about dominance or submission. The man who acknowledges a woman’s beauty, in body, mind and soul, and that her beauty dominates him, discovers that she will do anything for him. She will submit to him. She will, unprovoked, lift her cunt for him on a hot August floor.


Once, when we
·····were hiking,
·····you squatted. I said –
I put my cock in your mouth. I said –
·····You can
·····when you begin

tumblr_mhyoxkSdMa1qfbon7o1_1280 (1)


When I tell you to squat. When I shove a dildo up your cunt. It is when the dildo vibrates. When I tell you the dildo is shaped like your Daddy’s cock. When you cannot close your mouth because a gag prevents it. When I shove a plug up your ass. When I tell you to try and push it out without pissing out a stream on the floor. When I pinch your distended clit. When I won’t stop. When I tell you you’re a slut. When I put my cock in your mouth. When I tell you that if you come I’ll piss my spunk in your mouth because you’re a slut and that’s what belongs in a slut’s mouth. When I tell you everybody’s watching you. When I tell you I’ll pull out the dildo so everyone can see what else is in your cunt. When I whip you. When I tell you to keep fucking squatting. When you pant. When your thighs shake. When your cunt pushes. When you try to expel the dildo. When you can’t. When you tinkle on the floor. When you can’t stop it. When you tell me you’re going to come. When it’s not what I do to you. When it’s what you do to me that makes you come.



When I lick your anus. When I kiss your thighs. When I kiss your belly. When I taste myself in your mouth. When I taste myself in every part of you. When I moisten your skin with ointment. When I apply balm to your lips. When I anoint your brow, ears and shoulders with almond. When your raw knees are redolent with incense. When I moisten your nipples with salve. When I press liniment into the tracery left by the whip. When I spill the oil of my arousal on your belly, it’s fragrant warmth, and press it into your cunt and cleanse your cunt with my tongue, lips and mouth.


A woman can wear a cock. A man can be fucked from behind. He too will claw the sheets. He too will pant. He too will spread his legs. He too will arch, stiffen and squirt. Then he will be obedient. A woman can enjoy him. However, she must be careful not to reveal too much the exquisite pleasure of being fucked from behind.



My love. My little sugar-plumb dumpling. Hold still. I’ll tell you a secret, When I press your wrists into the pillow, when my hips bend your knees and open your thighs under me, I look for your sweet spot. Every woman has one. I press just enough to break the lips of your pussy. I jut into you just the , thick and tender knot of my cock. I’m looking for your pussy’s little squeeze. That place that’s like a firm tongue and lips before I press into your dark capaciousness. Pay attention to us, lovers, we may look for that sweet spot, that spot that isn’t the deepest part of you – the sweet spot that squeezes and tongues the liquor from just the tips of our bursting cocks.


White SpacerYou are inquiry. You are curiosity. You are affirmation. You are the positive and contain creativity, intent and purpose. Your beauty penetrates me. Your wisdom desolates me. Your sinews alloy my impassivity. The syrup of your voice, the colors of your scent, the silk of your motion, floods and makes fertile the womb of my imagination. I do not account a woman as zero, null or nothing. I comprehend her with awe, reverence and adoration. We are one God, the same creative act, made masculine and feminine.


William Crimson: March 4 2013

Categories: Algolagnia, Anal, Bondage, Clim, Consensual, Copulation, CP, Cum, Dominance & Submission, Erotica, Exhibitionist, Femdom, Forced Orgasm, Haiku, Impregnation, Insemination, Kink, Love, Married Sex, Masturbation, Nonconsensual, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Poetry, Quickie, RedBud, Reluctance, Romance, Rough Sex, Senryu, Sex Slave, Sex Toy, Short Story, Spanking


    • I liked that one too. And it’s interesting to read which ones are favorites. Maybe I haven’t played around with the ‘obedience’ dynamic enough. It’s an incredibly powerful and fulfilling (and powerfully subversive too) sex-play. The appeal to our psyches, masculine and feminine, is profoundly rich and worth exploring.

  1. vanillamom

    still digesting…but…so decadent.

    Very…well these are the things that ran through my head: dark, forceful, demanding, bossy, intense…

    Differently intense…very Dominant from other things you have written of late.
    And gods i do like them.

    yes, like Harper? Obedience was the one that smacked me right *there*….nom nom…


    • Well. Spring is coming and there will be some beautiful hiking trials to enjoy with your… Sir. I recommend at least seven or eight glasses of water before you get started. It would be a shame to get dehydrated.

      As I just wrote Harper, the play of dominance and submission really seems to complimentary needs that go deep. What is it about, you know? It’s a dark and wonderful maze.

    • vanillamom

      we rarely see this side of you… so it’s a darkness that I enjoy seeing. And the dance of Dominance and submission is yin and yang, conqueror and the taken, the freedom of giving up all to the surety that we see in the One who we give ourselves to. There is such freedom in letting go…(for those of us thus wired)…and you capture that so well in these microtales.


    • //we rarely see this side of you… so it’s a darkness that I enjoy seeing.//

      I don’t know why. There are so many different aspects of eroticism to write about; and I enjoy them all, but I also love the the dance of dominance and submission. I’ll think about that. :-)

    • vanillamom

      Okay…so I have this picture of you in my head of this mild-mannered, and sweetly sensual guy. ONe who admires the beauty and curves of women, who is enticed by the rise and fall of each breath, the soft parting of flesh, the pebbling of nipples, the slickness of sweat dewed skin….

      then occasionally you let the Demanding Dom show…and it’s shocking and insanely erotic. When your words are not about petal-soft skin, or pink-tinged lips, but terse bullets of commands.. “kneel, suck”…

      oh man. I love both sides of you, but my insides do this soft, nervous flip when I read that commanding, demanding side of you.


    • vanillamom

      gawd Will!


      you…seemed so sweet, all pink furred and all…

      but you’re not 100% sweet are you? :)

      PS my silly haiku will be in tomorrows blogpost. . . as ordered! :)

  2. vanillamom

    There aren’t that many dominants who write erotica…and to read about dominance from a male perspective gives us subs an insight into how it feels to be in that role. How it feels in your mind and body when you tell us to kneel, to suck…we *know* how it makes us feel. But the quiet (or not so quiet) pleasure I read when I see your take on it…it is both a delightful insight, and a sensual exploration.

    Views from the topside, as it were. :)


    • Oh god. When you do those things, you really have no idea how much power you have over us. The more we assert our dominance, the more power we give you. It’s why we (some of us I guess) can’t get enough of it. We devour the thing that starves us.

  3. mishellerose

    Love, love, love all of these. Your words are the ignition to my desire. Thank you for existing, writing, and sharing. Your words are the beautiful, blue glass that holds the water I so desperately need to drink. Thank you, just thank you.

  4. I love how many flavors you tested here. In particular, I like how the middle pieces had a sense of developing the first piece into the last.
    A favorite moment: “The syrup of your voice, the colors of your scent, the silk of your motion, floods and makes fertile the womb of my imagination.”

    • Thanks wordsmithingimp, I have to admit I was just talking about (with my fellow writers) removing the breath-play passage — “Truth”. The more I think about it, the more I’m deciding that breath-play isn’t really about dominance and submission. It can be but shouldn’t be riskier and more dangerous than that; and it’s about a different kind of trust and eroticism. I’d like there to be more context for this kind of eroticism. Any thoughts? That last part you quoted — I’d like to do more of that kind of Synesthetic imagery.

    • Have you removed it already? I’ve read this comment rather belatedly, I’m afraid!

      That…is a complex question. So please pardon me for the ramble I’m about to indulge in. It is a personal belief of mine that D/s is not so much something inherent to particular acts (though some certainly invoke the image more than others, by habit of association) as it is a psychological layer woven through various acts. For instance, I once atypically submitted to someone by caning someone else–at their order. The headspace was not as spacily blissful as your stereotypical subspace; the girl I was beating had a way of tearing up and quivering her lip that made my cunt burn. But there remained a consciousness of my place in service to the person who had ordered the encounter, that turned my sadistic physical behavior into something submissive.

      You toy with this concept a bit in your writing too, I think–describing stereotypically dominance-associated acts (like penetration) in such a way that readers perceive them as being a kind of submission. So I don’t think it would be too out of place to cast breathplay in a D/s context even if you don’t think it inherently belongs there–because you’ve already established a theme of power exchange altering with perspective.

      But if breathplay as a D/s-less act is specifically something you wanted to explore, then sure, it might distract less from this collection to elaborate on the idea in some other context.

      Also, synesthesia is loads of fun. I was also referring though, to the feminine imagery applied to a male narrator. I thought that had really interesting symbolic connotations.

      PHEW that was quite a wall of text. You’ll have to pardon me, I’ve been writing a lot of lit papers lately and it’s got me all stuffed up with words.

    • Thanks Wordsmithingimp, I loved the ramble.I sometimes feel like I’m in uncharted waters and so a comment like yours is exactly like the kind I really hope for. You’re right that I like to turn stereotypical power relationships upside down. I think it makes sex so much sexier and truthful. Maybe it’s just me, but I do wonder if many women don’t fully appreciate their own power? I get this sense when I read some more radical feminist literature, for example: when sex, any sex, is portrayed as rape. One can’t say that another person’s subjective perceptions are wrong, but one can describe a very different perception that is equally valid. Your story, in that light, is really fascinating. It’s insights like these, into our sexuality, that I live for. They’re the kinds of things I try to turn into stories.

      Also, I haven’t deleted the passage yet. I realized after responding to your post that I, myself, got confused as to which post you were responding to. The short passage, Truth, is in this collection of stories. I haven’t changed it yet. I burned my candle at both ends writing this last two posts.

      // I was also referring though, to the feminine imagery applied to a male narrator.//

      Thanks for correcting me. I often wrongly assume I know what readers like or dislike about a given story.

  5. Anonymous

    Followed a link to find Monocle’s stories and found your writing as well.

    “Girly-Girl” gave me pause in the nicest way, as if remembering and anticipating at the same time. It’s one of those things that makes me take a moment to reflect and savor, and wish someone else were here. Thank you!

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