Inside the Mind of a Dominant Hotwife - Part 1

Walt's request was simple. Too simple, really, but we'll get to that.

"I want to be dominated."

Those were his exact words. We'd been married nearly seven years when he spoke those words. I'd heard of female domination - I'm pretty sure most women have - and I'd been with a few guys that seemed to like me being a little more in charge, but it never went beyond anything other than occasionally sitting on their faces or me being on top most of the time.

I was willing to indulge Walt's request, in no small part because he's a good man and a good husband and I was more than happy to try my best to ensure his sexual satisfaction.

Of course, "I want to be dominated" isn't even the slightest bit specific and Walt didn't actually have much to offer in the way of specifics. I worked him with him, though, and through experimentation I learned that what he really meant was, "I want to feel submissive."

Those are two sides of the same coin, of course, but I learned over time that there's a fairly massive difference.

You see, when a man says he wants to be dominated, he usually has a specific fantasy in mind. He wants to experience the sexual role reversal of his wife fucking him with a strapon. He wants to have his cock locked in a chastity device so he never knows when he'll be released. He wants to be spanked until tears are rolling down his cheeks from the pain. He wants to be smothered by her pussy until he can barely breathe. You get the idea.

When a man wants to feel submissive - when he's a genuine submissive that gets off on spending time in subspace - that's a different thing and it's often unaccompanied by a specific fantasy, typically because the larger fantasy is that his submission will provide the dominant woman in his life with pleasure.

That last part proved challenging for me, at least at the start, as I couldn't immediately come up with a way to dominate him that would give me the sort of pleasure Walt sought to provide.

I didn't really like the idea of fucking him with a strapon (honestly, it just seemed so weird). I didn't want to spank him until he cried. I didn't want to lock his cock in chastity (it felt like giving myself the job of constantly managing his cock, which sounded awful). I didn't want to smother him with my pussy (though I did enjoy sitting on his face while he made me cum).

At first, my attempts to dominate him - this was before I truly understood his desires - were largely limited to me being a little more aggressive in bed. I'd ride his face for a little to get wet and then drag my pussy down his chest and sit on his cock. I'd pin his hands above his hand while I rode him. Once I put my fingers in his mouth while he was inside me. It all felt just fine and I think he enjoyed himself, but it was pretty clear we weren't getting to that place he really wanted to be.

In hindsight, I know that I hadn't yet come close to putting Walt into subspace, in part because I hadn't found anything that triggered a genuine interest in dominating him.

I experienced a breakthrough, though. It happened after a barbecue/pool party our friends hosted. It was at the height of summer. Everyone was encouraged to attend in their swimsuits and I went in a bikini (like lots of women at the party). I wore a semi-sheer cover up on my bottom half - a bit of modesty is always good at a party mostly filled with married couples - but I'll admit that I looked good.

There was a single guy at the party that also seemed to think that I looked good, given that he spent a great deal of time flirting with me. It wasn't the sort of thing where I didn't notice, either. He was being fairly obvious - though not overtly so - about it.

I'd had a fairly strong margarita, which was probably why I was happy to indulge in his flirtation. It felt good. It pretty much always feels good when an attractive person flirts with you.

That's not the important part of the story, though. The important part happened after the party was over when Walt and I were back home. We were in the bedroom changing out of our party clothes. I was naked and about to turn on the shower so I could wash the chlorine out of my hair.

"Did you know that guy was flirting with you?" he asked.

The question was fairly harmless, but it was the look on Walt's face that made it obvious he was a little bit annoyed with me. He had every right to be annoyed - I was flirting with another man at a party filled with our friends, after all - but in the moment I met Walt's annoyance with a heavy dose of my own.

"Yes, I did," I answered as I held his gaze. I offered nothing more, though. I think he was hoping for an apology, but for some reason I wasn't even slightly in the mood to offer one.

After a brief period of silence as we stared at each other, Walt asked, "Why did you flirt with him?"

For a moment I saw the hurt in his eyes, hurt he was expressing via a simple, straightforward question. It would have been easy enough to ameliorate his pain by apologizing for the flirting. I could have approached, kissed him, and offered Walt an orgasm, which almost always works to sooth a man's ego when his wife has damaged it a little.

I'm not sure why, but I wasn't in the mood to take the easy path that night. There were probably numerous contributing factors. I think I was feeling a little frustrated with Walt - in a big picture kind of way - for being unable to articulate the details of his desire to be dominated. As strange as it might sound, I was also feeling a little annoyed that he chose to express his annoyance with me while I was standing there naked. I'm not even entirely sure why that's the case - though I suspect the natural vulnerability that comes with being naked made me annoyed that he chose to initiate a potential fight in that moment.

Whatever the reason, I was in no mood to take the easy path. Instead, I chose to be completely honest. "I flirted with him because it felt good."

A frustrated look crossed Walt's face. "But...our friends were there. People...people saw you flirting."

"And why should I care about that?"

For a moment Walt looked like I'd just slapped him across the face.

"Answer me, Walt," I said. "Why should I care that other people saw me flirting with another man? Is that illegal?"

He shook his head.

"But it bothered you."

He nodded.

"And what about it bothered you, Walt? That I was flirting with another man? That some of our friends saw me flirting with him? That the guy I was flirting with happens to be really attractive?"

He looked at the floor and shifted his feet. I'd hit a nerve. I probably should have felt bad, but I didn't. I felt emboldened.

"I liked that he was so attractive. I liked that he thought I was attractive. I liked that he seemed to want me, Walt," I continued. I hadn't really thought about any of that while I was talking with the guy at the party, but in hindsight those reasons were at least partly why I was more than willing to entertain his attention. "It felt good to have his attention. It felt good to experience his desire for me. That's why I kept on flirting with him."

Walt sat on the edge of the bed and when he looked up at me I expected to see pain, or anger, or annoyance. I expected to feel like I'd made a mistake, that I'd gone too far and would have to offer a genuine apology. I saw none of that, though.

It was subtle, but I saw arousal. I immediately thought of Walt's request to be dominated and wondered if I'd somehow tapped into a version of that by asserting - somewhat absurdly, if I'm being honest - that I somehow had the right to flirt with another man at a party filled with our friends. If you think about it, it was perfectly reasonable for Walt to object to what I'd done.

I leaned against the bedroom wall and ran my fingers over my bare, taut stomach. Walt watched as I took one of my breasts in my hand and squeezed it gently. I closed my eyes, let out a soft moan, and then looked at him and said, "I'll flirt with any man I want to, Walt. I'll do it in front of our friends if I feel like it. I don't care that it makes you uncomfortable. I don't care that it's a little embarrassing. It feels good to me and that's all that matters."

The arousal was no longer subtle. He was turned on. He stood and moved to close the distance between us.

"No. Sit. Right now," I demanded.

Walt sat and rested his hands on the edge of the bed. His posture had changed. His eyes were wide open and alive with desire. I reached between my legs and rubbed my clit as he watched. I squeezed my breast, closed my eyes once more, and let out a genuine moan of pleasure.

I masturbated as my husband watched and it felt good. Actually, it felt better than good. It felt great. My clit was so much more sensitive, so the simple pleasure of rubbing it with my finger was just so much better than usual.

That was the moment that it clicked for me. That was when I knew I could dominate Walt. It was a foggy sort of realization, of course, since I hadn't really had any time to think about it and was acting on a sort of instinct, but there was no question in my mind that the pleasure I felt was a result of dominating my husband, and it seemed clear that he was just as turned on as I was.

"Take your swimsuit off," I instructed from across the room.

Walt hastily yanked his swimsuit off and tossed it aside. His cock was almost fully erect, further proof of his desire.

"Stroke your cock for me," I said. He wrapped his fingers around his dick and my legs trembled. Rubbing my clit somehow felt even better, seemingly because Walt had done as I instructed.

"You look so hot," he said. "You're so fucking beautiful, Emmy."

"Did you get jealous, Walt? When I flirted with that gorgeous man, did you get jealous?" I asked.

There was a hint of pain on his face. Proof of his jealousy. Proof of a continuing sense of discomfort with my flirting. To my surprise, it made me want to do it again. It made me wish that we could somehow go back to the party so I could find that gorgeous man and flirt like crazy while my husband watched. It seemed insane at the time. What kind of woman finds pleasure in doing something her husband doesn't like?

As it turns out, there's a certain kind of dominant woman that finds the most intense pleasure imaginable in pushing her submissive to experience things he doesn't necessarily enjoy. I'm that kind of dominant woman, as I would come to discover in the months and years after the flirting incident at the party.

"Did you get jealous, Walt?" I asked after he refused to answer.

He nodded.

"And did it hurt that I was flirting in front of our friends?"

"Yes," he admitted.

I held Walt's gaze and slipped two fingers into my pussy. I moaned, mostly because I was actually quite a bit wetter than I expected. I saw a shiny drop of precum at the tip of Walt's cock and he stroked a little faster in obvious pursuit of the pleasure he felt.

"My pussy is soaked," I said.

Walt groaned.

"Of course, my pussy has been wet since the party."

The pain returned to his face, though he didn't stop masturbating. That look of pain was an aphrodisiac for me, at least when combined with Walt's continued pursuit of his pleasure.

"Does that bother you?" I asked. "That my pussy got a little bit wet for another man?"

"Yes," Walt admitted. "It really bothers me."

"Did you see him touch me, Walt? Did you see when he reached out and rested his hand on my lower back for just a moment?"

He nodded. He looked frustrated, too. Deeply frustrated, really.

I added a third finger to my pussy and moaned. I was wetter. My clit was more sensitive, too, and rubbing it felt spectacular. "Would it bother you to know that it felt good when he touched me?"

"Yes," Walt said through gritted teeth.

"It felt so good. My skin tingled where he touched me. I had to make an effort not to tell him it felt good. I couldn't help but smile, though. Honestly, I wanted him to pull me closer. I wanted him to run his hand over the whole of my back. I wanted him to run his hand over my stomach. I wanted him to touch me again, and again, and again, Walt," I continued.

All of that had the benefit of being true, at least for the most part. The guy's touch had felt spectacularly good and I had given just a moment's thought to the idea that I would have enjoyed being touched more. I would have stopped him, of course. I wasn't going to be that flirty at a part filled with our friends.

"Please, Emmy, stop," Walt pleaded.

His please fell on deaf ears. I was in pursuit of my pleasure, not his. I was in the midst of discovering a side of myself I'd never known existed, though Walt didn't know it in the moment, I was in the early stages of becoming the dominant wife he wanted.

"Get over here," I said. "Right now."

Walt stood and approached. I admired his body - he'd always been in good shape and worked out regularly to keep it that way - and surprised myself by pointing at the floor as he approached.

His eyes lit up as it seemed to dawn on Walt that was I dominating him. He sank to his knees in front of me. He reached up to run his hand over my stomach and I brushed it away.

"No touching," I instructed. "Not unless I give you permission."

He reached between his legs and stroked his cock.

"Did I give you permission?"

Walt shook his head and released his dick.

"There's a guy at work that tries to flirt with me," I said with a smile. "Usually I offer a polite response and move on, but I've decided I'm going to have a little fun with him, that I'm going to flirt when I'm in the mood."

"Please, don't," he said as that same pained look washed over his face.

I reached between my legs and pushed two fingers into my pussy. I moaned and Walt's gaze followed my fingers. I saw him reach up like he wanted to help before his hand fell to his side once more.

"This isn't about what you want, Walt," I said as I pulled my fingers out and spread my pussy lips a little so he could see how wet I was. "This is about what I want. This is about what makes me feel good. This is about me doing as I please because it makes my pussy wet."

I witnessed the first of what would be many internal battles play out on my husband's face. I had no way of knowing precisely what was unfolding in his brain, but I knew he was, essentially, contemplating the cost of offering his submission. He could have chosen to stand his ground, get up off his knees, and have an argument with me. He didn't, though.

"May I lick your pussy?" Walt asked as he looked up at me with a newfound sense of serenity in his eyes. He'd made the decision to offer his submission, to suffer the pain of knowing I was going to flirt with another man, that he was going to experience everything unpleasant he'd experienced at the barbecue and that he was likely going to experience it over, and over, and over again.

"Yes, you may," I replied.

Walt leaned in and I put a hand on the back of his head. I grasped my breast, rolled my head towards the ceiling, and moaned as my husband licked my clit.

He wasn't suddenly better at oral sex, but it felt better. Sexual pleasure is just as much a mental thing as it is physical, though, and my mind was in a hugely aroused state. He probably could have made me cum by gently blowing on my clit.

"Make me cum," I said. "Walt...fuck...make me cum!"

Moments later I had an orgasm. An orgasm so powerful I would have collapsed to the floor had I not been leaning against the wall. An orgasm that made my pussy drip juice in a way I'm not sure it ever has.

When I'd finished, Walt sat back and looked up at me. I smiled at the sight of his stiff cock and a naughty thought came to mind.

"You can masturbate," I said. "And you can cum, but I want you to think about me flirting when you do. I want you to picture me at the barbecue."

Walt took his cock in his hand and stroked. I obviously couldn't police his thoughts, but the mixture of pleasure and just a hint of pain on his face made it seem as though he was doing as I desired.

"Think about him touching me," I said as he got closer. "Think about him caressing your wife's lower back. Think of how intimate that was, Walt."

He moaned and his dick looked so hard in his hand.

"Think about how I made no move to stop him from touching me. Think about how I stood there and let it happen. Think about the way I smiled at him when he touched me. Think about how much I liked it, Walt."

He came and he came hard. I felt that same intense pleasure as I made him do something I know he didn't want to do. I probably could have masturbated to another orgasm in less than a minute. I held off, though.

"Make sure you clean up your mess," I said before walking into the bathroom to turn on the shower. I wanted Walt to stew in the aftermath of his orgasm. I wanted to bask in the continuing pleasure I felt, too.

It was just the first taste, obviously, and our explorations went so much deeper over the ensuing weeks, months, and years. There's plenty of time to tell you all about that, though.