I once asked her to write a scene that placed her in a role other than that of the submissive.
Here, the first part of her letter.
—
How do you write about a scene?
(not the right question)
How do you write about a scene when you only know how to be submissive?
(Better!)
Try writing about your partner would do.
(Why? You are not him!)
Write about what you would like…
(Better!)
Try to write about how it would feel to receive someone doing the things that put you down…maybe not as hard as you get it now, but what put you down to start.
(Much better!)
Which direction do I go? Is this her first and my first, or no?
(Does it much matter?)
She entered the room. I was curled up on the couch reading. It was very warm and cozy…I had no desire to be uncomfortable. She looked good, just like I wanted; short skirt, long legs, and long brown hair. Her hair always drew me because of the contrast in color to mine. The colors would look so pretty intertwined today. She was quiet…she knew what I expected. We had discussed her attitude and presentation at great length. I enjoyed watching her stand and wait while her anticipation and desperation grew…
Caught in a moment of understanding, I told her to come to me. Kneel in front me, I told her. She did. I brought my feet out from under me on the couch, moved her back slightly, and knelt in front of her. Our proximity was very close and she breathed out when I leaned near her. I smiled. How sweet the sensation. I wanted more.
I used one of my hands to brush her hair from her face. Her eyes were downcast while I watched her intently. Her body language was so yielding. With my hand in her hair, I drew our faces close together, cheek to cheek, and held her there. My other hand gently stroked down her neck. It found the edge of her sweater loosely buttoned over her breasts. I felt her moan as I held her hair firmly and whispered for her to be quiet. It was distracting and she knew I needed to concentrate. I smiled to myself. Being quiet meant there was only one place for her to concentrate those feelings…inside. She had to internalize all of those feelings; it would only make her wetter when she did let it out. That in turn fed my hunger.
Being quiet is one of the most difficult things for me to do.