When I first signed up for a Fet account, I couldn’t click the “Dominant” label fast enough. I was a cis-gendered straight man, there were no other options!
I was an idiot.
After a lot of unlearning, self-exploring, and debates with myself (sometimes in public), I came to the realization that I am and have always been a switch. The percentages are still a little murky and ever-shifting but that’s fine, there is absolutely no need to nail anything down permanently in this lifestyle except for crosses, consent, and maybe some other BDSM furniture.
This is my first experience from the bottom of the slash.
Negotiations had been finalized, times and paddles chosen, this was basically just going to be a little tasting. I had zero expectations of experiencing an actual scene or finding a submissive headspace. I was just going to let a friend spank me a little to see how we both liked it.
I’m still an idiot.
The dungeon was dark as we stepped up to the St. Andrews Cross and I looked down at the little side table at the paddles that lay across it. Domina looks at me and nods, “Are you ready?”
I think I nodded confidently and took off my shirt as I stepped up to the cross but in my head was a nervous buzz that drowned out everyone and anything around me. I wasn’t nervous about the paddles or my partner, I was absolutely fucking terrified of whoever might be watching. I wanted to do this right, I wanted to be a good bottom, I needed to not fuck this up!
Her nails softly found my back as I was trying to figure out where a good bottom puts their hands, holds their head, arms at the side, or wrapped around the cross? What the fuck am I supposed to do?! The nervousness slipped a little as her nails moved over my skin, raising goose bumps that raced around my back as I let out a breath that might have been held in too long.
She artfully used her nails to relax my mind as well as my body and my shoulders moved under her touch. A piece of my thoughts waited for the loud thwack of a paddle. Why would the first one be the hardest? Cause clearly I have issues, but we’re not here for that.
Instead, the paddle found me lightly, carefully, as if to say, “Hello, I’m here. Can you come out and play?”
For a second my thoughts flashed to, “Is this as hard as she is going to go? Everyone’s going to laugh!” Now clearly, I should not give a fuck about anyone else’s ability to take pain as a bottom. This is like BDSM 101, err, maybe 102, but that thought was still there for a second. I was still so worried about what others would think that I wasn’t even there for my own scene.
She slowly increased the force of the blows as the paddle gracefully moved around my ass. At some point, my toes started to curl as my body swayed gently back and forth.
Then came the thwack!
Someone in the audience let out an audible start of some kind as I closed my eyes and let the air hiss from my lips. Yes!
Her nails found my back again as she leaned forward to check in on me after a couple of seconds. I confirmed that I was fine and was willing to continue.
Somewhere off to my right, I could hear someone moaning as their own scene unfolded.
I used those moans in my own scene. In my head, I somehow managed to intertwine them with my own experience even though the scenes were completely separate and even now, I have no idea who was there or what they were doing. But thank you if it was you, ’cause that was cool.
Another check-in from Domina and her glorious nails, another vocal reply.
The nails left and the paddle returned. With each set becoming more intense. She would check in, and I would respond.
A couple of times my brain would think back to the dungeon I was in and the hits would be almost too much and I would be just on the brink as Domina would stop and check-in.
I wanted to give a high number but as her voice calmed me I realized, we weren’t really at a high number, I was just starting to get nervous again. “We can go more”, I said. Or something to that extent.
With each set of paddling something else began to happen. I was less and less concerned with whoever may be watching. The harder the hits, the more I had to concentrate on myself.
Thwack! Relax clenched muscles… Thwack! Breathe… Thwack! Keep my knees bent… Thwack! Breathe!
More check-ins, more nods, and more spanking!
I could no longer hear the moaning beside me but my own internalized growl within me as I took each hit and forced myself to remember the release, to embrace it. I want it!
My brain flipped a switch, one that doesn’t often get flipped these days. The one that used to get flipped when I was young and scared. When I was alone with a lighter. When all I wanted was a little high from the pain, here it is, once again, endorphins!
The nails dug in deeper as they moved across my back and I had to fight back a verbal challenge to go deeper, harder.
She began to dig the paddle in and twist it. I took it as a challenge and pushed back against it. More thwacks, more challenges. At this point, there wasn’t a single person in the world except us.
More check-ins, more thwacks. At one point I remember thinking to myself, “Stop with the fucking check-ins already!” but as we have covered, I am an idiot and she did phenomenal as this was our first scene together and my first time as a bottom, ever.
This went on for a good “three minutes” before she asked me where I was and I managed to ask how long it had been. Clearly no more than ten minutes, right? It had been 45 minutes.
I waved the white flag and asked for a cool down. As soon as I did that my body was like, “Cool, so we done? Peace out.” and left me alone with a woman and her paddles who wasn’t quite, “done done”.
She leaned in and said in the softest most horrifying voice ever, “These will be the last four, okay?”
Wait, what?
Thwack!!
Holy fuck! I clenched my teeth together and hugged the cross tight trying not to scream.
I told my brain to ready my body, go back to where we were in my mind, raise the endorphins, call the Marines, whatever the fuck it needs to do!
“That was one. Actually no, it doesn’t count unless you count them out loud. That was zero.” This demon behind me said about as nonchalantly as you might mention a boring-ass re-run you watched seven years ago on network TV.
Thwack! “One,” I managed to whimper. I could hear her smile as she asked, “What was that?”
“One!”
Thwack!
“Two!”
Thwack!
“Three?”
Thwack!
“FOUR!” I managed to cry out a little shakily.
“Good,” she said as she placed her hand on my back and checked in one last time. I think?
I honestly have no clue what happened right then but I know she asked if I wanted to sit on the couch for aftercare. I remember saying no like it wasn’t at all needed as I looked at the couch but I realize that I didn’t actually see the couch or anything for that matter. I was barstool drunk.
That drunk where you feel like you’re just a little buzzed until you stand up and the world shifts its rotation. Yea, that was me.
I said clearly and soberly, “Do you want me to wipe down the cross?” as she looked at me a little strangely, “Do you feel like you can?” I nodded confidently and got to work.
Thinking about it a week later, I realize she was probably asking cause I was clearly in the headspace and had no idea I was. She fed me a bottle of water at some point in this interaction as well and I remember wiping down the cross and feeling like I did such a good job, even remembering to wipe the edges and the areas other people miss.
I turned to stroll out of the dungeon alone. Confident, and with all of my wits about me. Later I would learn that she pretty much walked behind me with her arms out ready to catch me until I managed to find friends outside of the dungeon who nodded to watch me as she went back in to pack up the equipment.
It wasn’t until I noticed the lights had a haze about them the same way they used to after swimming in chlorine swimming pools for seven hours as a kid and my chest felt different that I realized I wasn’t actually sober at all. But I was with people who would keep me safe, and they did.
I spent the rest of the night smiling and happy, something that doesn’t happen too much these days and for that, thank you, Domina, A.K.A. “Bratress”. Let’s do it again!
Thief of Dreams 