"Tightening the ties that bind..."
Reviewed by Ashleigh Compton
Posted February 28, 2015
Erotic
The BDSM community is alive and kicking and has never
been more in need of sensitive, correct literature. THE
BIG BOOK OF DOMINATION provides twenty-five stories of
dominance, of the people who hold the whips and keep the
keys to the chains. In stories ranging from first-time
scenes to long-established relationships, THE BIG BOOK OF
DOMINATION tries to provide the reader with a picture of
what it's like from the top. When a reader enters the
world of THE BIG BOOK OF DOMINATION they take on the
personas of the dominant in the relationships, though
occasionally dipping into the personas of the submissives
and what domination means to them.
This book is, like most anthology works, a mixed
bag of stories. Most of the stories in this work operate
with the idea of implied consent, which does not signify
a healthy BDSM relationship, but they can be overlooked
in favor of the others. My biggest concern is that even
in the stories where consent is explicitly discussed, it
still seems very one-sided and uncomfortable for the
submissive partner. I am glad that where consent is not
brought up the focus is not on an unwilling participant.
All participants in each scene seem to be willing and
even excited. Each story has to be taken as it is read,
one by one.
In Faking It, a submissive woman takes the role
of dominant under the guiding hand of her domme. The two
of them take over a young man for an evening of pleasure,
and it ends leaving both the submissive and reader
wanting more. A brief exploration of a baseball player's
daddy kink takes place in Caught Looking. In one of the
most fascinating exchanges, a slave trains her Mistress's
new pet in a story called Little Angel. No matter what
the reader's preference, there's a story in THE BIG BOOK
OF DOMINATION for them.
SUMMARY
Not every woman likes to submit. An increasing number
like
to be on top. And their partners love it! D. L. King,
editor of 2013's award-winning Under Her Thumb, curates a
scintillating collection with The Big Book of Domination.
Filled with surprises and unexpected twists (yes, that
kind, too!), this book proves that when lust and desire
take control, all bets are off. Dominants and submissives
are not so very different — they both crave that
frisson
of power. The Big Book of Domination brings you erotic
stories to get your heart pumping, like the story of a
reporter who likes to experience everything first hand.
It’s been said that clothes make the man — can
putting
on the right clothes transform an ordinary man into a
charismatic dom? When Glenn finds the leathers in his
friend's closet, his trip to the bars nets him the
perfect
boy . . . Dominance and submission is a dance D. L. King
knows well, and The Big Book of Domination rocks your
world with stories of sensuous games with male dominants,
training and discipline by female dominants, and all
manner of sensuous games and pairings.
ExcerptI hate him.It’s instant. Fiery hot, burning through my veins like a
volcanic eruption. “Isn’t he sweet, pet?” Mistress laughs, ruffling the
shiny black hair of the grinning boy at her side. “Yes, Mistress,” I reply, jealousy splashing and churning
in my belly like acid. “His name is Gabriel. When I saw him up on the stage
tonight in his cute little collar, I just couldn’t pass
him up!” She pinches his cheeks, making him blush. “He’s
going to be my little angel, aren’t you Gabriel?” He nods, still grinning, which earns him a swat on the
behind and a look that promises more. “I mean, uh...yes, Mistress.” He looks proud of himself,
and Mistress has a hungry gleam in her eyes that I know
only too well. “You can head to bed, pet. Breakfast at eight please,”
she says without taking her eyes off the boy. “Yes, Mistress,” I say again. She hooks a gloved finger through the D-ring on the front
of his collar and leads him down the hall to her room. For a moment, I remain kneeling on the cool marble of the
entryway floor, a riot of thoughts racing through my
head. I’ve never seen Mistress with a boy before. I know
she’s taken male lovers in the past, but not in the year
since I’ve been with her. Is she not happy with me? She
hasn’t said anything to that effect, and she’s definitely
not one to hide her displeasure. She only casually
mentioned attending the auction tonight (which wasn’t
even a real auction, I might add), and certainly said
nothing about buying some pretty boy who looks barely old
enough to drink! And he is pretty; even I can’t deny
that. I sigh, getting slowly to my feet and padding down
the opposite hallway to my small room. Once inside, I close the door and slide between the soft
cotton sheets of my single bed without even turning on a
light. I barely notice the pleasing feel of the cool
sheets on my naked skin—such is my agitation. I wonder
what they’re doing. I wonder if he’ll kneel between
Mistress’s thighs, caressing her with his tongue while
her fingers delve into his hair, holding him fast. I
wonder if she’ll stoke her desires first with flogger and
paddle, heating his skin until it’s as hot as hers; until
the demands of her body make her lay down her tools and
open herself to him. The familiar pulse of arousal begins
to beat low in my belly, and I roll onto my side with a
groan, knowing that relief will not be mine tonight. Sleep eludes me. I feel like I’ve been staring at the
wall for hours when suddenly my door is thrown open and I
bolt upright as Mistress shoves the boy, now naked and
tearful, into my room. Barely over the threshold, he
collapses into a heap on the floor, sobbing pathetically. “Mistress?” I ask. “Ugh. He’s completely useless. No skill whatsoever with
oral sex, and he came all over my Persian rug while I was
spanking him. I should’ve known better—all Dominic sees
is a little submissive with a pretty face...” She lets
her sentence trail off. I’m not surprised. While Dominic’s charity auction is
rightly lauded for its support of many worthy causes,
it’s also a notoriously bad place to go looking for a
well- trained slave. A superior smirk tugs at the corner
of my mouth and I quickly school my features. “How can I be of service, Mistress?” “You can take his place in my bed. And you,” she points
to the boy, “you’ll sleep on the floor here. I’ll see
about a room for you tomorrow.” She turns on heel and heads back toward her room, leaving
me to close the door behind her. For one brief moment, I
allow myself a triumphant smile as my eyes sweep over the
sniveling boy. Good night, little angel. “Mmm...pet, you are divine,” Mistress says, chest rising
and falling rapidly in the aftermath of her orgasm. Her
cunt is still spasming around my fingers, and my face is
wet with her juices. She tugs my hair, drawing me up out
of the cradle of her thighs and into her embrace, my head
resting in the hollow of her shoulder as she runs her
fingers through my hair. This is my very favorite place
to be. “You could teach that boy a thing or two,” she continues. I don’t want to teach him anything. “In fact...” her voice takes on a contemplative quality,
and little pinpricks of apprehension skitter over my
skin, “I think you should teach him!” she laughs. “Oh,
this is too good...” I frown, trying to imagine the boy servicing Mistress
while I lean over his shoulder and offer pointers;
frankly, it doesn’t seem like a terribly sexy scenario.
“You’ve never been with a boy, have you pet?” she asks. Wait. What? “No, Mistress.” She can’t possibly mean— “I want you to train him.” She props herself up on elbow,
looking down at me with an excited intensity. “You know
exactly what I like, and moreover,” her voice turns
sultry and she runs a fingertip down my belly to my sex
where she lingers, circling my clit, “I happen to know
it’s what you like as well.” “Mistress, I—” “Besides, I can’t even entertain the thought of f##king
him until he learns to control himself.” She rises gracefully, slipping into her peignoir and
taking a seat at her vanity where she picks up her hair-
brush and runs it through her dark, shoulder-length hair. “I leave for Brussels tomorrow evening. You can have him
for the week.” She eyes me speculatively through the
vanity mirror. “I’ll be curious to see what you’ve
accomplished.” Oh god. Panic makes me swallow convulsively, makes my
palms sweat and my mind race. I can’t do this. There’s no
way I can do this. “Mistress...with respect, I don’t think...” The words
come out slowly, carefully. Her eyes narrow and the rhythmic brushing stops. I
blunder on quickly, knowing I shouldn’t even as I do. “I
can’t train him. I can’t teach him—I don’t know anything
about boys, and...and I’ve never disciplined anyone in my
life. I’m a slave—” I break off with a jolt as Mistress’s hairbrush connects
forcefully with her vanity. “Yes, and you’re my slave.” She rises, coming back to sit
next to where I’m huddled on the edge of her bed. “And
you can, and will do as I say.” She grips my chin in her
hand, holding me with her powerful gaze. “Yes, Mistress.” I say quietly. “Because you don’t want to disappoint me.” “No, Mistress.” “Good. She stands, and I do the same, allowing her to guide me
out the door. “And pet,” she pauses, and there’s something in her eyes
that I can’t define, “this isn’t just for the boy.” “Yes, Mistress.” The door closes and I’m left to wonder at her meaning. At first, I don’t even go near him. Mistress left the boy in a tiny room adjacent to mine
after handing me a bag of toys (“nothing you can hurt him
too badly with”), and making sure we both under- stood
what was expected of us in her absence. Thwap. Right in the center of the pillow. I pull back my arm,
the soft tails of the suede flogger brushing against my
skin, concentrate and let it fly again. Thwap. Another hit. I tell myself I’m getting a feel for it—and
it’s true, I am. After all, it would be irresponsible of
me not to practice a little before I use it on the boy. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. But the truth is, I just don’t want to do it. I sigh,
letting the flogger dangle loosely in my grip. I’ve spent
the better part of the morning abusing my pillow, but the
fact remains that if I can’t teach this boy a few things
before Mistress comes home, I’m the one who’ll suffer for
it. Resolutely, I toss the flogger back into the bag of
toys, grab it by the handles and pad the short distance
down the hall to his room. When I open the door, he’s sitting on the bed with his
back against the wall and his legs drawn up in front of
him. Thick leather cuffs adorn his ankles and wrists, but
his collar, I notice, is nowhere in sight. His head is
bowed slightly and dark hair falls across his forehead.
He hasn’t heard my arrival, and there’s a quiet
vulnerability in him that I hadn’t noticed before. I
clear my throat to alert him to my presence and he
startles, his eyes immediately jumping to mine. They’re
beautiful, like brilliant sapphires fringed by the kind
of impossibly long lashes that make women weep with envy.
Its no wonder Mistress wants him, I think with a sinking
stomach, he’s just so...pretty. “Hi,” he says. “Rule number one: don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.” I
move briskly into the room, dropping the bag on the end
of his bed. “Okay.” I glare at him pointedly. “Sorry.” He has the grace to blush a little. “Now get up,” I say, the words awkward in my mouth. He complies, getting uncertainly to his feet, his hands
moving as though to cover his genitals before dropping to
his sides. “You might as well get used to being naked,” I say. “Mistress prefers her slaves unclothed while in the
home.” His eyes slide shyly over my body. For the first
time in a long time I’m conscious of my own nakedness,
and I frown as a flutter of awareness stirs in my
stomach. Mistress has always liked my appearance because
it differs so greatly from hers: my figure slim and firm
where hers is lush and curved; my skin pale where hers is
a rich olive; my light hair and green eyes a striking
contrast to her dark hair and even darker eyes. I wonder
if the boy finds me attractive, and the thought both
confuses and appeals to me. His body is as beautiful as his face, lean and muscular
without being overly large, his chest smooth but for a
light dusting of hair that begins at his navel and swirls
its way down to his cock. I’ve seen plenty of cocks in my
life, Mistress has several that she likes to f##k and be
f##ked with, but this is the first time I’ve really been
close to a naked man like this, and his cock looks so...
soft. It seems so unimposing, resting between his thighs,
and yet even as I watch it seems to lengthen and swell. I
wonder if it feels warm.... The boy’s hand rises into the air, like a schoolboy
waiting to be called on. “What is it?” I’m sharper than I mean to be, unsettled by
my thoughts. “It’s just that...I don’t even know your name. I mean—
what should I call you?” What indeed? I’m Mistress’s pet, but he can’t call me
that. Ma’am? Definitely not. “Ashley.” I say it out loud and it feels rusty on my
tongue. “How about...Miss Ashley?” “Miss Ashley.” He smiles. He looks at me expectantly, but
honestly, I don’t know what comes next. I remember the
first night I spent with Mistress, how she spent hours
learning all the nuances of my body, how unhurried she
was while she played with me, discovering how my body
responded to different sensations. I step closer to the boy, my eyes on his chest, and lick
my lips nervously. I raise a tentative hand and brush a
fingertip over the flat disc of his nipple. He sucks in a
breath and I watch as the skin tightens into a hard nub.
I do the same to his other nipple and it hardens too, and
he exhales shakily. I glance down, curious. Yes, the boy
likes this. Bolder, I circle one nipple with my
finger, then roll it between my thumb and forefinger,
gently at first, then with increasing pressure until he
gasps. I look up into his eyes and am struck by the
familiarity of his expression—hurt, need, desire—it’s all
there. “You like that, don’t you Gabriel?” He nods. “Yeah.” I pinch his nipple painfully and he gasps again. “Yes,
Miss Ashley!” He says quickly, eyes wider now. Arousal,
hot and sweet, fires in my blood and moves swiftly to my
sex. It’s a heady feeling, and yet so unexpected that I
drop my hand, momentarily unnerved. I look at the boy,
wondering if he senses my confusion, but he looks at me
with such expectation, such trust, that I know there’s no
choice but to continue. This time I place both hands on his chest, palms over the
slight swell of his pectoral muscles, his heart a rapid
staccato against my skin. I move my hands upward, tracing
his collarbones and the breadth of his shoulders before
moving down again, grazing his nipples with my
fingernails. He makes a small sound of pleasure and I do
it again, flexing my nails like a cat, scoring the tender
skin there and lower, across his ribs and stomach, a host
of red scratches rising in my wake. He moans, eyes
closed, his cock thick and hard just below his navel, and
I bite my lip against a moan of my own because I know
exactly how good that feels. I also know what Mistress would reach for next if she
were playing with me, and I leave the boy for a moment,
drawing a short leather crop from the bag of toys on the
bed. “Have you ever played with a crop before, Gabriel?” “Yes, Miss Ashley,” he answers promptly and politely. A
small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I tap the end of the crop against his belly and watch his
muscles instinctively clench while his cock bobs just a
little. I feel a tiny bit sadistic and for the first
time, I consider that I might actually enjoy teaching
this boy a few things after all. What was it that
Mistress said? No control, and no skill with oral sex. I begin tapping out a light, steady rhythm across his
torso, just enough to warm his skin a little. I love when
Mistress does this—it feels like she’s waking me up, like
my skin comes alive, every inch of it, and it practically
sings with pleasure. “Do you remember rule number one?” I ask, continuing the
same steady rhythm. “Don’t speak unless I’m spoken to?” Whap. He jumps a little and his breath hisses out. “Yes,” I say, “though if you can’t speak respectfully,
Mistress isn’t likely to let you speak at all.” I throw
in another hard whap for emphasis. “Yes, Miss Ashley. Sorry, Miss Ashley,” he says with a
wince. I circle around behind him, warming his back and
buttocks with the same light strokes. “Rule number two,” I continue, “is don’t come unless
you’re told to.” “Yes, Miss Ashley.” His skin is beginning to take on a soft, rosy blush, so I
make my strokes a little firmer. “Coming without permission makes Mistress very upset.” I change my rhythm, interspersing hard with soft: tap tap
tap WHAP tap tap tap tap WHAP. He doesn’t answer other
than to moan, which I figure is okay, given that I didn’t
really ask a question. I keep my rhythm unpredictable,
focusing on his ass, watching the muscles there clench
and unclench as he tries to anticipate where the next
hard stroke will fall. It’s an impossible task, I know,
and yet it’s almost equally impossible to stop that
reflex. Watching him struggle fuels my arousal, though whether
it’s because I’m the one in control, or simply because I
know what he’s feeling, I can’t honestly say. I want to
take it farther though—him, me, both of us—that’s what I
know. That, and I’m missing the sweet spot. “In fact, I suspect Mistress was so upset the other night
that she didn’t punish you properly for making a mess on
her rug, did she boy?” “No, Miss Ashley.” “Hands on the bed then, bent at the waist.” He moves into position without objection, exposing the
tender skin at the juncture of his ass and thighs. I run
the end of the crop across this untouched skin, then
between his legs, stroking it gently across his cock and
balls. He moans and rocks his hips forward, seeking more
contact. I pull back and immediately deliver a sharp
smack right on the underside of his ass. He cries out, a
mixture of surprise and pain, and the sound goes straight
to my pussy. I do it again, this time on the opposite
side, and he grunts and then sucks in a breath, but
otherwise holds still. He’s ready now; he knows what’s coming, so I go to work
in earnest, peppering both sides of his ass and thighs
with a series of deliberately hard strokes, and though
his thighs tremble and his skin turns a deep, rich rose
he maintains his position. I watch his body to try and
gauge where he is: at first he’s stiff and stoic, but
then, as the endorphins start to kick in, his moans
become less restrained and his back arches ever so
slightly. Now for the lesson. “Stand up, boy.” I say, and he complies, turning to face
me. His eyes are hazy with pleasure and his cheeks are
flushed, and I know a pang of longing so intense it makes
my breath catch in my chest. What I wouldn’t give to be
in his position right now. And yet, the feel of the
leather grip in my hand, the sheer number of things I
could do to him...or have him do to me; knowing that I’m
the architect of his pleasure and pain right now, all of
these things are so much more intoxicating than I’d
imagined. I run the tip of the crop down the center of his chest,
over the fine hair below his navel and down to his cock.
When he moans again, I’m bolder, tracing the rigid length
of his erection, swirling the leather against the
moisture that glistens at its tip. “I want you to stroke your cock for me, Gabriel,” I say,
my voice husky with desire, “I want you to show me what
feels good to you.” I move the crop lower, brushing it
against his balls as he takes his cock in his hand,
pumping it slowly. “But if you come before I tell you to,” I pause, the crop
resting snugly against his tight sac, “I’ll make you
regret it. Do you understand?” “Yes, Miss Ashley.” He licks his lips, eyes on mine while
he strokes himself. At first he’s almost leisurely, but
gradually his tempo increases, his breathing becomes more
erratic and I can see his muscles beginning to tense. I
tap the crop lightly against the side of his balls and he
jumps, breath hitching a little.
“Not yet.” I shake my head and he nods that he
understands, taking a deep breath and slowing his tempo.
This time, I keep the crop moving, stroking it against
his balls and the base of his cock. Before long, he’s
close again, and I give him another tap, though harder
this time than before. “No,” I say, and for a moment he stills his hand and
closes his eyes, swallowing rapidly. When he resumes, I
start tapping his balls gently, rhythmically, just as I
warmed him up earlier. “This time when you get close, I want you to ask me to
come, boy.” “Yes, Miss Ashley.” He speaks quickly, voice rough with
arousal. I can feel my own arousal pooling between my
thighs, and I marvel that this slave, this boy, can have
such a profound effect on me. Mistress knew though.
Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself. “Can I come, Miss Ashley?” he asks, before hastily
adding: “Please?” I smile wickedly. “You’ve got to do better than that, boy,” I say. I know
he’s a heartbeat away from coming, and holding there, on
that edge, is the hardest thing in the world right now,
but he does it, muscles straining visibly as he pumps his
cock. “Please, Miss Ashley,” he says. “Please can I come now?” “Yes, boy.” He throws his head back, eyes shut, and his whole body
shudders as he comes, thick white jets spurting from his
cock and trickling down over his fist. I sit down on the
bed, my clit pulsing insistently, watching him as the
aftershocks of his orgasm pass. His legs look as wobbly
as a newborn foal. Fortunately, I think, patting the spot
next to me as I recall Mistress’s other complaint about
the boy, he doesn’t need to be standing for what comes
next. “Come here, little angel,” I say.
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