In my explorations around my switch nature, I did not imagine the intensity of the scenario I found myself in Sunday night. Both sides of myself being richly and fully present at the same time. Feeling the surge of desire to experience it all at once and the struggle for which side would hold court that evening.
It was my first time at the elegant protocol event with a focus on art, beauty, service and socializing. Attending as a patron, my dragon-mother dominance was a bonfire in my being. I knew a certain serving boy had requested my patronage and I was intensely looking forward to continuing the exploration of our deepening connection. I knew he’d be wearing the black socks I’d had delivered and I had a special item for him tucked in my bag.
As he was presented to me by a hostess, the flames of my core crackled. I wanted to touch him, scratch him, devour him. But I would have to wait for the proper time so he could perform his serving duties and show off the training he had invested time and energy into. He was beaming with pride and desire and I drank in my own power as he kissed my boots.
And then, the waiting. The socializing while drinking of pretty non-alcoholic beverages brought another pleasant distraction: dancing with other dominant energies, siddling up to sadists, and flirting with friends. I felt my masochist raise her hand timidly and my submissive service side awaken. They wanted to play, too.
I began to see play happening. Punishments of servers for missteps. Creative demands as whimsical thoughts crossed someone’s mind. Servers being spoken to firmly and corrected. I had begun the evening already turned on from the atmosphere and this fuel was beginning to torment me. Wanting to give and receive pain simultaneously. Wanting to serve and be served. These two sides were playing tug-of-war with my body.
When it was time for the boy’s play shift, I was able to regroup and ground myself in the dragon queen energy he elicited. So eager, submissive, yearning, and willing. Our short time together passed in what seemed only moments and I had to sadly return him to service.
Taking a deep breath and collecting myself, I resumed socializing. Soon, the group I was with arranged for a masochist to join us. She was young and beautiful and my fingers itched to touch her and hurt her. Soon, however, I found myself unable to move, mesmerized by the scene unfolding before me. Two handsome men in dark suits thoroughly beating a tied-down and helpless woman. They were focused on her, breaking only to exchange smiles with each other. Her cries were the sweetest music I had heard in weeks. She was enthralling. And they were dark and sadistic and playful and incredibly good at the task of administering pain.
My breathing changed and I felt the masochist in me yearning to *be* her instead of *beat* her. I watched, transfixed, as her pain and pleasure melded and the bruises appeared. I needed pain, too. Wet, oh so wet, and so incredibly turned on, I knew I would be remembering this scene for days, even weeks, as I pleasured myself.
Ultimately, I had to walk away. Wanting, aching, needing pain. Craving, desiring to give it. I couldn’t reconcile these simultaneous surges. I was exhausted from merely watching.
I found the boy and had him sit at my feet. Breathing deeply, I pet his head, grounding myself again in our energy and knowing that soon, very soon, I would need to receive the gifts of pain and dominance.
