A girl with a dragon tattoo – Short Memoir

Saturday night at LFW was sure interesting…

I arrived at the fet event stag. I had arranged to meet someone there and didn’t want the complication of arriving with one and going home with another. I wasn’t looking forward to standing alone… I’d much prefer it of course, being an introvert, but it meant I would be free game for the sharks. Being an out-of-towner and not ‘verified’ it would be hard to meet a group of friends for the night to blend in.

Needing to soak up the atmosphere quietly, I found a nice corner where I could enjoy the view of the stage. Events like this were set up for people watching and I took advantage. Every now and then a shark would swim past and I’d conveniently look at my phone and reply back to one of my Kik contacts.

While in mid-text conversation with a New Yorker, a guy sat down next to me. Here we go. Handsome, bright, and a with happy vibe, he introduced himself. I followed social protocol, kicking myself for the only reason he chose me – I was alone. His accent got my attention – I never ask questions, they are just too needy – but it wasn’t long before he revealed he was Italian. That made me understand why he was so handsy and chose cheesy romantic words to (try and) woo me, but I could tell he thought I was submissive. He must have mistaken my lack of words as coyness, my velvet and lace clothes as gentleness, my reserved demeanour as naivety… He likely presumed I was the perfect prey.

The Italian wanted to play with me upstairs – just some spanking… of me. That didn’t sound too interesting. I imagined myself over his knee as he tried to reach my pain threshold, yawning to myself. There has only ever been one person that has spanked me – my mother – and my blatant disregard for it frustrated the hell out of her. “I’m dominant,” I said to the Italian. He ahhed as if he thought that was cute, as if he didn’t believe me. Suddenly I had the immediate urge to bust his balls.

Strapped to the Italian’s side was a swinging flogger. He unclipped it and encouraged me to feel its leather strips, to hold it. The flogger was impressive – good quality and weighted well. “How about we do some flogging instead, huh?” His sexy voice hit my nerves, and as he picked up my hand without permission, he continued, “C’mon, this will be fun”. This dude needed to be taught a lesson, and I was the girl to do it.

I had never been flogged before, or cropped, or strapped… though, I had done it many times to my subs. It’s not that I didn’t want it – I believe a good Domme must experience what they dish out – I just never had the opportunity. I would need someone who would know what they were doing so they could truly appreciate my pain threshold, my control, my power. Being the receiver of pain has nothing to do with submission. It is a causation to help the mind journey… Some are broken down to please, to escape, to prove their love… but I naturally build up vengeance. I wait, and gather… and unleash. I wanted blood and the Italian’s persistence gave me no qualms to get it, so I said, “If you flog me, then I flog you.”

“No, really?” he laughed with glee. “Alright, I’ll flog you and you can flog me,” he agreed, seeming to think I was just being cute, that he was indulging me.

I pertly smiled, “You really don’t know what you are getting yourself into.” He laughed again and guided me up the grated stairs. I wiggled my tail as he followed to help him think I was just a kitten, feeding his assumption of all women. It is astounding how many men believe all women are submissive, that a Domme just hasn’t found the right man… Imbeciles.

We passed a few females on their way down having difficulty with the grated stairs, trying not to get their heels caught between the holes… and there was something about the distance of the steps that made them cautious. I noted it for the way down.

With his hand on the small of my back, the Italian ushered me into a small room that had people already playing. A Dom that I recognised from a particular London BDSM House was supervising. I know him to be particularly sadistic but strict about safety. I wondered what he’d think watching me being ‘coerced’ into play by this Italian.

The couch was occupied by voyeurs and a couple in the middle of a spanking session. The St Andrew’s Cross was available… of course it was. I had used one for flogging a weekend sub at LAM the month before, but I had never used it as a floggee. I stood against the device, legs apart so I could get a good stance in my heels, and waited.

My silence obviously made the flogger think he had to lull me… his hands caressed my shoulders, my arms, my sides, my ass, as he talked about how much he admired my body. Ugh… men surveying womens’ bodies always makes me brutal but I was enjoying how much he was riling me up. I could sense his giddiness, not for the flogging but that he had thought he had caught one so early in the night. The fool. The tepid water was heating… and there was no way he’d sense to jump out before the boiling point.

I felt my boy shorts being tugged on. The Italian obviously wanted my bare ass so I hitched the bottom of my shorts into a thong to expose my netted cheeks. His hands rubbed over them, fingers slid in between. I thought how a normal girl wouldn’t tolerate that, and how much of a normal girl I am definitely not.

I held still for the first flog, the second, the third, the forth…. No movement, no reaction from me. I wanted him to go harder. The harder he’d get, the harder I’d be able to go with him.

He checked in, rubbing my ass. It became quite clear that the ass rubbing was his main reason for wanting to flog me. “You like this, huh?” he whispered in my ear. “You want more?” I looked at him with a ‘do you really have to ask’ attitude. He laughed and stood back.

He repeated this routine several times. He was getting harder and harder and I could tell he was a little astounded at my tolerance. He checked in, rubbing my ass and asking me if it was ok. I tried to be as blazé as possible so he’d get the hint I was a little bored with his efforts. He stood back and again I held the Cross as he flogged harder. My ass was finally heating up, then started the sting. I looked over my shoulder and saw the people on the couch watching. We smiled at each other. It seemed they were curious as to why I wasn’t feeling it.

Ugh… I’d had enough and pushed off the Cross. “It’s your turn,” I said. The Italian laughed at me as if I was cute. I snatched his flogger and I pushed him to turn. He swaggered to the Cross and leaned against the pads. “I don’t think so,” I said. Reaching around, I undid his belt with one hand and released his pants. I hooked my heeled-shoe on them to push the fabric down to the floor. I pulled his underwear to his knees as he laughed wholeheartedly, delighted at my no bullshit approach. He obviously didn’t expect me to be to bold, or forceful. I could tell he was loving it.

I was certainly not in this for the longevity. No slow build up to allow the body to adjust and surpass… I wanted him to feel the pain and know he couldn’t handle it.

There would be no melodic swinging… I stood in my baseball stance to get some leverage from the floor in my heels. Pulling up my backhand, I held the strips with the other for precision. With a snapping motion, I whipped the flogger tips onto the Italian’s ass like a wet towel. He felt it big time but laughed. Again and again I hit the exact same spot, and he knew he was in trouble. Pushing off the cross he said in his Italian-accented drawl, “No, you’re doing it wrong. You’re not supposed to hit in the same place.”

“I do what I want,” I said back and pushed him to the Cross. He chuckled. Ugh. I swapped to his other cheek snapping again and again without mercy, each time getting harder and harder. Before he could push off the Cross, I pushed him back down harder. Grabbing his red, burning ass, I pinched my finger nails in and twisted. He yowled. Whispering into his ear, I said, “See, I told you you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into.”

He laughed with delight, which I hated, but he knew he had got more than he’d bargained for. He pushed off and took the flogger from my hand. It was because he couldn’t handle any more, I knew it, but he was acting as if it was my turn. I laid against the Cross ready for whatever he was going to dish out, hoping it would be hard and painful.

He struck me with greater force. I breathed out the pain, detached myself from it. Holding still didn’t help my flogger – the pretender was hitting me all over the place… ass, legs, and even near the kidneys, (which I didn’t appreciate) but all the while in my mind I was begging him to go harder – I needed justification for my approaching brutality. Pretty soon the bites from the flogging became too close to dissipate and layered on top of each other. The stings were peeking. I remembered seeing girls shake and twitch, jerk and lash out at their Doms for such pain, but I stood there cooool as ice. I could tell he was tiring.

In a break, I pushed off, grabbed the flogger from him and pushed him onto the Cross, undoing his pants again. I started to go to town… the adrenaline in my body was stiffening up my leg muscles, but before I got into a rhythm, the Italian bounced off the pads and grabbed me. “Alright, alright…” he chuckled, “how about some spanking… I love spanking your nice round ass. You’ll enjoy it.” I knew it was just a ploy to stop the flogging, he couldn’t handle more, but if he thought my hands were going to be easier on his ass, he had another thing coming.

Securing my wrist in his hand as if he thought I would escape when we walked past the staircase, he led me to the other side of the play room. We had to pass through a crowd of people, which I suddenly realised where standing around to watch our flogging. The other room was in full swing – fucking, spanking, voyeurs… Conveniently, there was a BDSM bench available – ugh. I had never been on my hands and knees before for a guy to have free access to my ass and pussy. But, I was going to make it worth my while. I turned to him and said, “What ever is done to me, I will do to you ten fold.” He laughed, this time knowing I meant it.

Climbing on the bench, I refused to lay down. The face cushion was smeared with purple-ish-silver makeup. It was a sign of a feminate succumbing to the moment… that was not a place I wanted to go. I steadied myself high on my hands and knees. Again, the Italian felt up my ass, and slipped my boy shorts into my crack for access to my flesh. His fingers tried to wiggle their way into my crack but there’s a reason I wear shorts with no crotch clasp. I knelt there motionless, waiting for my turn to spank the crap out of him.

After the pathetic feel up, the Italian began to spank. His hands created dead beats, no crisp stings, nothing with echoes. I was waiting for the pain to heighten, anything… but the harder he struck, the more I kept waiting. I could hear his jolly amusement when he couldn’t get one reaction out of me.

I looked to the side of me and a man on the couch with a girl in his arm was watching my ass intensely. I caught his eye and I think he saw how bored I was. He smiled – it seemed he knew I wasn’t impressed with my spanko – and I smiled back before returning my gaze to the white corner ahead.

I knelt there in complete reverence, waiting for the Italian to finish. His fingers scratched through my hair and pinched to pull my head back to give himself leverage to spank harder. More and more he spanked as he pulled my hair, my neck hooked back to the extreme. Completely compliant, I waited for my turn. In between the spanks, he felt up my clothed pussy and I revelled in the devious thoughts of what I wanted to do to him in return. Releasing my hair, his spanking stopped and I stood up to get my turn.

“Are you ready for this?” I warned. He laughed, knowing exactly what he was in for. He seemed to think it would be worth it… It now became my passion to make him regret that.

I pushed him onto the bench. He climbed the rest of the way. I pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees to expose his red ass. Moving to the side I started spanking the same spot over and over again until it became unbearable for him. He stood up quickly scratching his ass – a sign that he couldn’t take it. The wuss. I gave him a short break, sweetly smiling at his attempts to win me over with his seductive cooing before pushing him back down on the bench.

Again and again we did this routine, only stopping when he squirmed and stood up so I could push him back down again. I was slapping the pride out of the man and he knew it. The ecstasy flooded in my body as my hand heated up and the muscles in my upper body went silky… I was spanking him to a pulp. Never did he say stop or no – the arrogance in him wouldn’t let him – but that was all he needed to do for it to end. Though, he knew if he couldn’t take it, he’d lose me. The mindfuck was real.

I scratched through his hair and yanked back his head to get more leverage. His body began to shake. He was my bitch now and the punishment had only just begun. I could tell he needed a break so I broke off the spanking, held him in place with his hair and started thrusting my pelvis into his ass, thudding him forward on the bench.

Reaching under him between his legs, I wrapped my hand around his cock and balls. I leaned back using my grip to hold my weight… his cock and balls stretching to the extreme. Raising my hand up high, I positioned my feet for grip onto the floor. Then I came crashing down on him, again and again in quick succession, sting after sting in the same spot. My hand was burning from flesh walloping flesh, but the pain was gratifying.

It wasn’t long before he quickly scurried back off the bench, whimpering in pain, and turned to me. There was a glint in his eye. He finally believed me – when I woman says she is dominant, that she is. However… the fucking wonder in his face… it sacred me a little. I had turned him – rather than seeing me as something to be played with, he finally knew I had the control all along. He was smitten. Quickly he captured my jaw and sucked my lips. It felt more like a impulse, like he had no other choice… But it was the wrong one. If he had fallen to his knees, I would have shown him mercy, but he insisted on having me for his own agenda.

Reaching down, I grabbed his balls, squeezed and twisted to make him stop kissing me. He slapped my jaw, lightly enough not to hurt but strong enough that my head whipped to the side. I slapped his face in return so my hand stung brilliantly. His eyes alighted with fierce desire. Picking me up in his arms again, he said, “fuck me”. I shook my head and said no. “Fuck me please… you know you want to.” The insolence! He tried to kiss me again but I gripped his hair and yanked his head back as hard as I could. He seemed to love it, and that irked me.

We looked down beside us… a couple was fucking each other madly on the floor at our feet… It made me laugh, it made him whimper, “Fuck me please, I need you. You are amazing.” I shook my head and grabbed his cock and wanked it. “We’re so good together…” As he melted back onto the bench, I realised he was right. Our physical chemistry would be amazing… the pain and pleasure of it… divine. “Then if not, suck my cock,” he pleaded. I shook my head again. The guy was an ass.

He wrapped his arms around me and sucked my face, devouring my mouth. I kept jerking him, feeling his pre-cum in my palm. Finally, he released my body to cup my head in his hands… to make me look into his eyes. He was at a point of desperation, the passion was devouring him. As he began to whimper again. I pushed away and slapped his face harder than I expected. His head snapped towards his shoulder and he sighed in pleasure, a huge smile on his face. It was then I knew I could do anything to him and he would lap it up… if it meant he could have me. However, no matter how many times I’d slap him, his arrogance would still be left. It was his arrogance that I was at war with.

I grabbed onto his face – he thought I wanted him to look at me – but I rubbed his pre-cum all up his nose and into his eyes before scratching through his hair and yanking hard to the side. Coming in close, I purred, “Neverrrr.” I slapped him once more and left. The look on his face…? Cut. Ruined. Cheated. Priceless.

Down the stairs I went, being careful, expecting it to be difficult, until I realised it wasn’t… I don’t know why the other girls needed to tiptoe down… I stormed in my high heels and plunged into the crowd. Straight into the toilets, I washed my hands of him, satisfied.

So why’d I do it? For many reasons really. I wanted to fuck with him. I wanted to test-run his quality flogger to see if I wanted to get one for myself. And, I do…lol. I wanted to slap him silly, show him a girl can out-flog him, out-spank him, out-man him…To teach him a lesson about thinking solo girls are easy to prey on. I wanted to lure him in, give him a taste of passion, and then steal it way. The flogging and spanking were just a warm up for the pain inflicted on his pride. But more precisely, I am a girl with a dragon tattoo…

I spent the rest of the night making love to the mad-ass DJ – well, his music. I saw the Italian watching me from afar in several different places of the warehouse, but he didn’t dare approach. I didn’t end up meeting the guy I was supposed to that night but in the end I got to go back to my hotel with someone I actually liked.


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