I’m touching my nipple with my little finger, she said.
We were lying in bed, late night, not in the same bed.
We had met a week and a half ago
on a dating site that has not been particularly useful
but just in this past week pointed three women my way,
all of them very sub, all of them intelligent.
She was the most interesting, right up front
being very clear about what she wants
even if we can’t go there yet.
We have talked on the phone every day,
sometimes for hours, I’ve sent her pictures
of my toys, describing in detail
the effect of each on bare skin; she sent me a picture
of her mouth on her current Dom’s cock.
She says she is very oral, that she can orgasm
simply from giving her man oral pleasure.
It’s more than kink lining up, more than the chance
to really, REALLY, let my sadist out to play,
which I can’t do with any of my current partners:
it’s also an instant connection, the kind that leaves you feeling
as though you’ve known this person your whole life.
My princess said, when I sent her this woman’s picture, she’s hot.
She has short hair; I can almost feel it under my palm
when we talk about how I can use it
to give non-verbal instructions. She called me sir,
and I corrected that, I hate titles, please use my name;
I’ve been to too many events where pretentious 20 year olds
called themselves Sir and Master and Dom, then
told stories that make it clear they have no clue,
told stories about routinely violating their sub’s consent.
I can’t stand that icky stuff, and I hope someday
those guys get what they deserve from a sub they push too far.
Using my name is also clandestine: my sub can ask permission
when in public without anyone knowing she is, just by including
my name in her statement or question.
So we are in bed, naked by my direction, she in her house,
I in mine, and she is describing to me what she is doing,
how it feels to touch her nipple, what that does
to her pussy, to her energy, to her desire
I tell her that is as far as she can go right now.
She has permission to give herself an orgasm later
but not now, we aren’t yet intimate enough
for phone sex, for hearing each other’s climax;
if she does self-pleasure later she has to describe to me what she did.
She agrees. I read her a poem about my other sub,
about holding space, and I hear the energetic arousal in her voice,
how it drops into little-girl intonations,
how she speaks, with almost no words, her desire
to please and pleasure me.
Finding a true sub, someone whose nature is this
and not just a persona they put on for play or fantasy,
is transcendent, it energizes all of me,
I feel every inch of my skin alive, energy pouring through.
Another partner asked me once, how do you know
you are Dom? This is how I know; the connection, the polarity,
her sub to my Dom, her surrender to my power,
it’s got nothing to do with the outward trappings,
and yes, she wants hard play, hard and stingy impact,
pain and being put into the sub-space pain causes,
but none of that is essential; in this moment,
lying in bed, her openness and surrender to my desires,
to my direction, to my power, this is all that matters.
Someone once asked, What is the true nature
of Dominance and surrender? This exchange,
her energy flowing to me, her desire to serve
fueling my desire to direct and encompass.
This is the true nature of surrender.
The rest is, as they say, commentary.
Slut of the Cloth 
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