How I Learned to Love Being a Mom Domme
Exploring the nuances of BDSM as a ‘service top’
The sound is what I remember most. Not the thwap of tails against my exposed back, but the sound just before that — the flick of the flogger as it was being tossed back before the stroke, an abrupt yet soft sound, like a large bird ruffling its wings. The thud and the sting came just a moment later, to the beat of electronica pumping through the speaker overhead. I liked the song. Part of my attention wanted to tear itself away to remember something so I could listen again later. Thwap. “No, just stay here,” I reminded myself, and my body sunk a little more heavily against the wrist ties holding me to the St. Andrew’s cross. My top came to check on me. “Doing alright, kitty?” I nodded, snarled, and rubbed my cheek against the smooth wood of the cross. I wanted more.
I wasn’t prepared for the sensation. An hour before, as I showered and tried to make myself presentable, I was a little more than slightly terrified. I’d never done anything like this before. Or, I hadn’t put the theory into practice. I’d been to play parties and watched. I took a rope class. I read a few books to pick up some BDSM basics. But every time I had the opportunity to participate, I declined. When I read about the joys of slipping into sub space or the powerful feeling of topping, I had nothing to…
