June 21, 2015

Writing from the Dom Side

When I first posted Friday's excerpt (back in 2007), I touched a nerve with some of my readers. One wrote:

Slipping into Jack's role made me incredibly uncomfortable. Nervous. I didn't want his control or his position. But it also flipped the switch, casting a light, allowing me to see something I wasn't sure of.

Other readers were intrigued:

I always like to read from the Dom's perspective, get inside his head to even try to see how those wheels are turning. This entry by far was, it was the perfect way to start my morning inside the head of a clearly calculating, controlling and amazing mind. You wrote Jack like a pro, at least how I imagine he would be in my mind.

At the time, writing from a male point of view had not been supported by my publishers. In fact, my desire to write from a dominant female pov—or even about a dominant woman—had been rejected by one publisher who was adamant that what readers wanted was either third person or first person from a submissive female. (I'd pitched "Girls Who Wear Glasses" about a woman who likes to tie up her men.) Thinking back, I believe the publisher's own fantasies ran top male, sub female—and he wasn't interested in thinking outside his own bedroom.

Sometimes I'd be able to wedge a bit of unusual kink into the books—but mostly, I toed the line.

I used my blog to try out new voices. To push my own boundaries.

With the advent (am I using that word correctly?) of self-publishing, I've been able to explore whole new worlds. The book I'm working on now (started in 2013, but stalled because I was actually scared of what I was writing) is something I hope to publish in a brand-new manner.

The novel follows multiple story lines. What I'd love to do is finish the entire manuscript and then post the work in pieces with (I hope this doesn't sound silly) the different story lines written in different colors. I know. I know. That sounds juvenile. But I can see this in my head. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. But I would truly love to share the book in a new way. Then maybe I would gather all the pieces and publish them as a trade book as well.

And now, here's a little more from the past. I originally published this on 5/3/2007. I updated one character name, but other than that, here are the raw words:

You understand the game now, don’t you? I’m playing round robin. Or maybe I’m just trying to schedule an international circle jerk. Where I spiral us round and round until we all come together.

And hey—it’s not even global orgasm day…

A is for Alex, and the boy is far better behaved for me than Jack. I can slip into him with ease. I can be him, my body taking on his mannerisms. He doesn’t rebel the way Jack did. He doesn’t tell me to go fuck myself, he’ll use his own damn voice thank you very much. He lets me slide right in, lets me feel him, see him, be him.

And now you can be him, too.


A hand pets your head, letting you know that you’re golden. And while that should make you feel relaxed, make you feel at ease, you are lost in two places. You think of Samantha, standing behind you with her cock out, and you think of who you might have been in some other time and place.

You told her all about it, on that first fucked-up night in Paris, when you took her out to calm her down. To soothe her soul. You took her out into the night. Walking through the darkness until you found the right place. Sharing secrets while sitting by the river, drinking because you’d thought that was a good idea at the time. Told her that every so often, you have this pang. Not of regret or longing. Of relief. The pain you feel is from the sensation that you almost didn’t make it. You would have jumped. You were out on the ledge, and you would have fucking jumped.

There was blackness for you after you split with Jolie, after you watched her hook up with Craig. After you watched all of your friends hook up. Or grow up. Or something. You thought of joining one of the gay clubs on campus.

Are you lying to yourself now?

You thought of standing out on the street on Sunset to get what you wanted. Street trade. You knew you could do it. Pick up the type of person who would satisfy your needs. If only for a night. And yet the fear stopped you. Danger. The unknown. Some sense of self-preservation.

The blackness was with you all the time. Making you smoke too much pot. Drink too much vodka. Hang out in your apartment in a haze. Pulling it together for classes often enough so that you didn’t flunk out. But not often enough to erase the darkness that surrounded you.

And then, on some sort of a whim, you went to the job board. Saw the advertisement. Personal assistant. Something jumped out at you. Who the fuck knows why. Ended up meeting Jack for lunch. Staying with him the rest of the day. Being fucked by him that evening.

How can you have all of these sorts of thoughts while you’re blowing him? When you’re on your knees in a high-end hotel in Paris, with your lover before you and his lover behind you.

Because the world is crazy.
Or you are.

But that’s how you work. His cock consumes you, yet unless you’re bound down, unless you’re forced to submit mind, body, and soul, your thoughts take these weird little journeys. These side trips.

You didn’t leave after that.

Yes, you got your stuff. Your clothes. Your porn. But you didn't leave. He moved you into his place in Malibu. Guest room. Out of the way. He started you off slow, so you could finish your classes, graduate. And suddenly you were doing a lot better in school. Suddenly, you were living up to your potential.

He didn’t explain exactly what he wanted, but you were okay with that. Because from the start he gave you what you needed.

Like now. Now, as he pulls you back in that way of his, understanding you’ve slipped into your own thoughts. Pulls you back with a word. Not your name. But hers.


And you perk up your own ears because you know she’s got that strap-on, and you’re guessing from past experience that the synthetic cock has your name on it.

Fucking nerve the girl has, doesn’t she?

You kind of like that. You didn’t expect it.

Maybe that’s what Jack truly rescued you from. The expected. The life that everyone wanted you to have. The life that even you thought you wanted you to have. You didn’t think you deserved anything better. Porn in a box in the closet. Your soul in that box along with it. The rest of your life a fucking act. You live in L.A. You could have been a star, the act you were putting on. The blackness was overwhelming, but you had a secret. Under the porn, you had a way to end everything. A way to step out when the pain got too strong. When the vodka and the pot stopped working.

And Jack saved you.

What he did was simple. He stripped away the act, and now you can just be.

You can suck him.
You can bend over for him.
You can take him when he wants that.

But most important. You can just fucking be.

And that’s why everything else comes so easy for you. The things he has you do to her. The things you get involved in. Get to watch. Get to play.

He’s growing more excited now. You can feel the change, the shift in him, and that brings all your focus to Jack. Because now the night is going to really start. You feel that. Now, you’ll get to see exactly what Jack has in mind for his players.

Whatever it is, you’re there. You’re ready. You’ve been his from the start.

You’ll be his until the end.