I hated it when Steve told me I wasn’t really submissive. Adding insult to the injury was the fact that he said it in front of another dom at a party we were attending. A dom that I wouldn’t have minded kneeling in front of.
“Oh you’re submissive when you want to be,” he continued. “But it’s just a fetish for you, not a lifestyle.”
“Perhaps Angela just likes being the center of attention,” said the other dom, giving me a slight pet on the cheek. At that point I hated both of them.
I didn’t understand why I would have to be something like a full-time slave in order to be considered submissive. Maybe it was just that Steve and I had been dating too long and had become such good friends. Maybe that screws up the power exchange. He hadn’t asked for a full-time slave relationship from me and yet our sex life definitely centered around him being dominant and me being submissive. But in the rest of our relationship he seemed to dote on me much more than I doted on him.
I figured that was just our style. I was overt and controlling in my “free porn” life and got off on being totally dominated sexually. Steve was such a giver in his “normal” life that I thought the role change was a natural extension for him as well. I went to bed that evening feeling angry and confused.
The next evening Sheryl, a woman I had met at a recent leather festival, came to visit. She was passing through town and I had invited her over to show Steve her collection of floggers. He kept telling me he was in the market for a nice flogger and I had often spoken of the beautiful deerskin one that she owned. When she showed up at the door, both hands held large duffel bags.
“Good grief,” I laughed as we walked back into the house. “Did you bring your entire dungeon with you?”
“Well, not the St. Anthony Cross,” she joked.
Sheryl was taller than either of us at nearly six foot. I wasn’t sure about her sexual preference, but by the amount of toys she collected, I guessed she was a top. Her shy personality kept me from confirming whether it was males or females, tops or bottoms that she preferred. The one time I brought it up, she just laughed and said that she hated labels.
Steve seemed to like her right from the start. We sat in the living room and talked casually over wine, sharing our common interest in the D/s world. Steve’s eyes occasionally wandered to Sheryl’s bags by the side of the couch, and although I could tell she noticed, she did not volunteer to open them. Finally, the suspense got to be too much for him.
“Sheryl,” he said clearing his throat. “Angela tells me that you have some beautiful floggers. I was hoping you would show them to me.”
“Sure,” she said standing from the couch and retrieving the bags. Her black, high-heeled boots clicked along the hardwood floor and I watched Steve’s eyes follow her ass. I just snickered knowing he would never get a piece of her. Not, unless he wanted to get down on his knees and kiss those boots.
Sheryl brought the bags over in front of the couch and opened up the first one. She drew out two matching floggers made of black and blue leather.
“These are moose,” she said handing one to each of us. “They are my favorite.” The handles were tightly braided in a beautiful pattern and the straps themselves looked to be about a yard long.
“Why are they your favorite?” asked Steve, looking over the artwork.
“Well, it’s not as soft as the deerskin,” she said reaching into the bag and drawing out my favorite in her collection. “But it’s not as wicked as this guy.” Upon her last statement she drew out a flogger that had several leather, braided strips containing a red bead at the end of each strip.
“I’ll take the deerskin,” I said reaching for the soft, brown leather. It felt luxurious and I could just imagine it swiping between my legs.
“Whoa,” hissed Steve looking at the red beads on the black flogger. “Brutal.”
“Well, you have to be in the right frame of mind.” Sheryl smiled and winked at him and I noticed him swallow kind of hard. We passed the floggers around, but no immediate demonstrations were suggested. Steve’s eyes wandered back over to the bags, which still appeared to have many toys inside.
“So what other goodies do you have in there?” he asked.
“Well, let’s see…” answered Sheryl, leaning over and reaching into the bag. “Here is a restraint that I made.” She pulled out a long strip of leather that contained several holes and a buckle. Steve took it from her and held it in several positions trying to figure out how it worked.
“I don’t get it,” he said turning it again. “How does it work?”
“Well, it’s easier to show you than to explain.” Sheryl took the leather back from him and Steve looked over at me as if I were going to model it.
“Don’t look at me,” I said shaking my head. “I’m not submissive, remember?”
