Content: Discussion of service-oriented Dominance. Erotica. Power Exchange. Safe, Sane, and Consensual Play.
The discussion was incredible. Every week I’m wonderstruck by the depth and breadth of information folks are willing to share. Grateful doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings about our #fetchat followers.
Some folks were surprised to see service-oriented kinks discussed as a facet of a Dominant’s experience. I don’t know why that had me taking a step back. It makes sense that service is more readily associated with submissive behaviors. Now, full disclosure: I’m a switch. Seriously, everything about me is fluid. My experience with Dominance is all about service.
Service, in this context, is an outward demonstration of caring.
It’s an action that reminds a person how important they are and honors their place in my life. Service-oriented nurturing is one of the primary ways I express love and care for folks in my life. Let’s take cooking as an example. For me, there’s nothing so fulfilling as preparing someone’s favorite food for them. The act of creating something that gives a person I love such visceral pleasure is thrilling.
When I was writing the second part of Cygnet Springs, I decided to demonstrate this nurturing, service-oriented Dominance through Oliver. His Dominance is one of the ways he chooses to show his love for Jordan. It’s a service, in and of itself.
Be well, be wonderful, and above all, be you.
Cygnet Springs, Part II
Jordan drifted in the dark. Humid puffs of air brushed across the skin of their neck, and they wiggled away from the tickling sensation. Strong arms wound around their sleep-heavy body and pulled them until their back rested against Oliver’s chest.
A hand slipped beneath their t-shirt and stroked their bare belly, teasing the sparse line of hair that stretched from their navel to the juncture of their thighs.
Desire quickened at their center.
Restless energy surged through them, rising to the surface of their skin wherever Oliver’s hands rested. Time flowed around the lovers like a stream sluicing over an outcropping of rock. Undressing each other, their hands sought new territory. The drag of each caress grew smoother as their bodies became slick with sweat.
Oliver’s cock brushed along the cleft of Jordan’s ass, an insistent hardness that left them panting with a desire to be filled. Throwing their head back against Oliver’s shoulder, they nuzzled his neck. They wanted to drown in the sweet musk of woodsmoke and caramel wafting off his skin.
Home, Jordan thought. He smells like home.
Pointing their toes, they stretched, hips wiggling back, so the slick head of Oliver’s prick brushed the furled rose of muscle between their cheeks.
Jordan sighed, “You’re my home, you know that, right?”
The sensation of pressure against his shaft was delicious. He craved the tight grip of their ass or the velvet squeeze of their cunt. Oliver brushed a kiss against the nape of their neck, “I do.”
He gave Jordan’s earlobe a sharp nip, his large palm cradling their pussy, “Is this okay, or do you want your cock?”
“Fuck me.” They pressed their hand over Oliver’s, guiding his fingers between the folds of their vulva as they rocked their hips.
He lifted his fingers to Jordan’s mouth, tracing the seam of their lips with a feather-lite touch.
“What if I want to come all over this pretty face,” he said.
Their lover’s words tore a moan from their throat. Turning in his arms, they rolled until they were face-to-face.
Oliver’s mouth hung open, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Jordan lunged forward to suckle his bottom lip.
He shivered, grasping a fistful of Jordan’s hair and tugging them back.
Their eyelids closed, shutting out all the visual noise. Reveling in the pull on their scalp, they relaxed into Oliver’s hands. He saw the slackening in their shoulders. A flare of want, searing and primal, surged through him as Jordan’s body swayed toward him like a frond of kelp caught in the pull of the tide.
Breath quickening, he slid his other hand over Jordan’s bare chest.
A slight burn erupted in the wake of his blunt fingernails. Jordan whimpered, a high, tight sound riding out on a huff of breath. He was obsessed with the music of Jordan’s pleasure, hoarding every utterance from their sharp exclamations of joy to whispered pleas.
“That’s it, I want to hear every squeal and moan. Those are mine.”
“It’s all yours.”
Tightening his grip on Jordan’s hair, he gave them a small shake, just to watch their body move according to his demands. Another whine slipped from between their parted lips.
“Tell me what you want?” Oliver asked.
“I want what you said…”
A dark laugh rumbled in Oliver’s chest. They shivered.
“Are you feeling shy? Tell me, what was it I said wanted?”
Oliver adored Jordan’s shyness.
They were brilliant, unafraid of speaking their mind. It had been their conviction and passion that had drawn Oliver to them when they first met. But when they were together like this, when their dynamic flared to life between them, they got tongue-tied.
“You wanted to come on my face. I want that…from you.”
“Then that’s what you’ll have, kitten. Now, hands up,” Oliver said, guiding Jordan’s hands to the rails of the headboard. The headboard was wrought iron, brushed with a thin coating of white paint. The chalky, rough texture helped ground them in the now.
“Stay,” Oliver ordered as he climbed off the bed and turned on the bedside lamp.
Jordan whined, blinking at the soft yellow light that chased the evening’s shadows back into the corners of the cabin. Outside, the night had descended. The India ink of the treetops brushed against the last vestige of light in the sky.
Oliver trailed his fingers along Jordan’s side, tickling the taught muscles of their abdomen. He dropped a kiss on their navel before taking a moment to watch his lover stretched out for him.
“You are so fucking beautiful like this, Jordan, did you know that?”
“No.” A surge of emotion welled in Jordan’s throat. There were years of self-doubt to unravel before they believed those words in their bones.
“Well, you are. So, tell me.”
“You know the rules.” Oliver set a small traveling case on the bed near Jordan’s hip and straddled their waist. The warm, tender skin of his thighs brushed against their hips. His cock was hard and curved toward his belly. Stroking himself from root to tip, he took a deep breath and continued.
“Speaking of, what are those rules, kitten?”
Rolling their eyes, they couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of their mouth. Oliver was careful, even when he tried to be a hard-ass Dom, “This week we play from the time we arrive until we have to begin packing to leave. Each day we take two hours to debrief and make adjustments. Aftercare is ongoing, as are physical and emotional check-ins.”
“And at any time either one of us can say Red or Bunny to stop. Yellow to slow down and talk. Green to keep going.”
“That. Was. Perfect. Now, do you want to safeword or stoplight?”
Jordan giggled, and they felt their face and chest heat as they blushed, “No. I’m green.”
“Good. Where was I? Oh yeah, I wanted you to tell me how beautiful you were.”
Jordan groaned. They’d hoped Oliver would forget what had led to this review of the rules. The mood between them shifted away from the playfulness they were enjoying in that interlude. Oliver bent forward and dropped a tender kiss on Jordan’s lips.
“Do you trust me?” Oliver asked.
Jordan nodded, “I do. You know, I do.”
“Then tell me.”
Their hands tightened around the bars on the headboard, muscles in their arms flexing as they struggled with the language other people took for granted. A minute ticked by, then another, and it was clear Oliver was content to wait, hand on his cock, trailing his fingers up and down the shaft with a light touch.
“I’m beautiful,” Jordan said.
Oliver beamed at them, before rewarding their cooperation by tugging first one nipple, then the other into his mouth. He sucked and licked until the small nubs of flesh were hardened and sensitive to the chilled air.
“Damn right, you are.”