In bed, I identify as a top. I like to feel in control even when I’m not actually domming someone; I’ll initiate sex and take an active part in it; the surest way to ramp up my arousal when I’m making out with a boy is for me to straddle him and/or pin his hands over his head. And yet, if P-in-V intercourse is happening, I prefer to be on the bottom. Being on the bottom means I can relax, enjoy the sensations, and have my hands free. Minx in particular needs to be ridden at an angle that taxes my leg and ass muscles very quickly, so I get on top even less than I did with previous partners (although I’ve started weight training again so hopefully I’ll get more stamina).
I sort of hate that being on the bottom is associated with submission. One time during (missionary) intercourse Minx made some snarky comment about that…“Ah-HA! Look how the tables have turned!” or somesuch thing. In response, I linked my ankles together behind his back and slowly levered my thigh muscles together against the sides of his abdomen. I can exert a terrifying amount of pressure that way – probably enough to rupture someone’s internal organs if I tried. As I tightened my grip, Minx’s face went from startled to uncomfortable. I kept ratcheting up the pressure until his expression clicked over to scared, and then I said “You may be on top, but you are there by my good graces. Don’t think for one minute that you control me.” And I made him beg me to release him. It was pretty hot, and he never got insolent with me again.
This morning Minx straddled me and jerked off onto my chest, which I love. This, again, would probably be read as Minx domming me: being on top, treating me like a come-rag, etc. But, of course, context is everything. While he gasps and strains above me, I lie there lazily enjoying the view and trash-talking him. Telling him that all his pleasure belongs to me. Ordering him to give me what’s mine, down to the last drop. Taunting him for taking too long; telling him I’m getting bored and I might just get up and make breakfast. Sometimes, I make him ask permission to come – and I don’t always grant it. I was going to make a rule that if he comes on me, he has to clean up the mess with his tongue (HOT!) but the first and only time he tried, the taste made him gag (NOT HOT!) so now he attends to me with Kleenex instead. And through it all I am indisputably the one in control (to the extent that any dom truly controls things…but that’s a topic for another post).
I don’t care who’s physically stronger.
I don’t care who’s in what position.
I don’t care who’s doing what to whom.
I’m the boss because I said so, BITCH.