There is room for delicacy in Dominance. It’s not all hard hands and sore arses. I can ass

There is room for delicacy in Dominance. It’s not all hard hands and sore arses. I can assert myself gently, fingers against lips, fingers in mouth, hand against your wrist. It’s about knowing when to build to a crescendo with the cymbal bash, and when to just slide them together, let it build and build into something altogether more satisfying. The orchestra needs the punctuation, but an exclamation mark should be used sparingly. 

It’s the delicate moments that let me really know. Anyone submits when there’s a collar around their neck, a cock stuffed deep between their legs and a heavy hand against their body, one wrapped around both wrists and the other tight around their neck. You have no choice, in that moment, because I’ve taken it from you. I don’t care if you willingly submit, because I've taken control, seized it with a military coup, all pomp and might and big guns. 

Present you with the choice, though, and you’ll submit willingly. You have the choice to pull away, close your lips and stare me down. You can move your head back and you can shake your head. You can reach up and move my hand away. You can say ‘No’. But instead you accept me. No. Not accept. Surrender to. You wave the white flag. You let me win. 

I occupy you.