Honestly, some of the most fulfilling stuff I’ve done with partners has been giving dominants aftercare. I really dislike how the whole idea of aftercare is so centered on submissives, and totally doesn’t take into account the dominant’s experience and feelings. While it’s not always the simplest thing to do, it’s important and rewarding to sit with that partner and be like, “hey, look, I’m fine and you’re a good person and we both had fun.”
dynamic
Ugh, my stupid heart.
Unf.
Femme Daddies, yo.
“He’s so damned nice and he’s so awful. He’s my sort of thing.” – Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises.
That Time Pup Was Celibate for a Little Bit, Part Nine
The day after Sir left town, I was a little mopey (as I usually am when he does) and invited Pup over to hang out. We had agreed that it was probably for the best that he and Sir and I had not endeavored to threesome that evening. But, we hadn’t totally addressed the whole breaking into a dynamic thing.
Pup and I were hanging around on my couch when the other night somehow came up, and I made some snarky comment about him “breaking his sacred vow.” I was still laughing when he shoved me off of my couch and onto the floor.
“You’re a little bitch, you know that?” He said in a way that made me pause for a moment to see if he was joking or not.
“Is this okay?” I asked. I was still lying on my floor. “Like, are you serious or…?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m good. I’m just playing.”
I nodded, “okay, good, right. Are you sure you want to?” I brought myself up to my knees.
“Yeah.” I went to stand and he stopped me, reaching down to unzip his pants.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course. Of course the first fucking thing you want is that."
He grinned and shoved my mouth down on his cock. "Shut up,” he murmured as he applied pressure to the back of my head. I humored him for a few minutes before pulling back and shaking my head. “No, you don’t get off that easy.”
Pup pushed me back down. He got up and swept his foot under my skirt, kicking it up over my stomach. Despite my earlier claim that I really only wore stay-ups, I was wearing an old pair of tights that had a little rip on the thigh. They matched my outfit better than any of my stay-ups and I didn’t actually think I was going to be showing anyone what was happening underneath my skirt.
Pup crouched down and hooked his finger into the rip. He jerked his hand up, tearing them further until most of my inner thigh was exposed. “I like this,” he said, giving another tug.
“You’re ruining them,” I huffed.
“Aw,” he tore into the crotch. “I think you can still wear these. They look better now.”
It’s a typical evening where Sir’s trying to work from home and I’m buzzing around him and acting all little and bratty, like, “or you could just give me attention.”
Ugh send all the Femme Daddies my way, yo.
Counting down till Sunday, when we’ll hopefully do a lot of this stuff.
I get this so soon.
But, as always, it’s not soon enough.
One of the fundamental differences between my kink and Sir’s kink used to be that Sir wasn’t into a Daddy/little dynamic and I was starting to realize that having that dynamic was central to my kink identity, if you will.
At first, we handled our differences with ethical non-monogamy. I wasn’t into extreme degradation? Fine, this partner of his was. He doesn’t want to be called Daddy? Totally okay, I had a fun Femme Daddy friend (Heart).
This totally served us well. The Femme Daddy in question and I have a pretty casual dynamic because of distance, but I liked that. It might me sad I couldn’t see her very often, but I was enjoying myself. Sir was seeing girls who would do more extreme stuff and sometimes I felt intimidated, but by mid-September I knew a girl who liked extreme beatings wasn’t going to ruin my relationship with Sir.
However, something was happening. After the last visit, Sir started letting me call him Daddy in certain contexts, and I started accidentally calling him it even when we hadn’t decided it. At first, I apologized and went back to Sir. But, eventually, it was clear he was starting to really like it.
“I don’t mind,” he said one day, “if you call me Daddy sometimes, if I’m still Sir sometimes, too.”
“You don’t mind like you’re okay with it or you don’t mind like you enjoy it?” I asked.
He got a little coy but eventually came out with it: “Yeah, I like it.”
A little while later, I opened my askbox to find he’d sent me the above image.