A Dominant’s thoughts on a scene during another rainy night in the city.

23 March 2024

Another rainy night in the city, Dad and I decided to forgo Cigar Time at the Eagle following a scene at the 15 Association’s monthly play party. The air is chilled and the sky hosts a lottery on when, where, and how much of its liquid bounty to release onto the streets below. It was a great decision especially after having a hearty dinner in the Castro; gearing up and braving traffic and wet to maybe have a decent time was another lottery we weren’t keen on participating in.

Tonight, I got to stretch my Dominant muscles, figuratively and literally. The 15s party is a wonderful outlet for me to break out my gear and engage in the remarkable power exchange of a scene with my Dad. Strapped to the cross, he is a willing canvas on which I can paint, a blank slate on which to write my Dominant song. The story of Us inked in welts, soundtracked by screams, infused with a need to transcend boundaries set in scenes before. I enjoy encouraging him to expand his limits; every moan, every scream slashes a Cheshire Cat grin across my face as my gloved hands search for the next instrument.

I liken a scene to a Tori Amos setlist; no one is ever the same. While there is an infrastructure to the set, the elements vary based on mood, events, and timeframe. In a scene, I start with something to warm the skin, heighten the sensitivity, and give my sub a taste of what’s to come. From there, the scene becomes something akin to slam poetics. I may open with Hotel, then call in Winter before going Code Red; then, I’ll visit Lust, have a Pancake, and play out an extended rendition of Strong Black Vine. I’ll pepper in moments of relief with a kiss, an embrace, a grinding of hips, or giving tongue to skin before pressing play on a new song. The playlist is constantly on shuffle and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

There is no one way to “do” Dominance and a play party gives great proof to that assertion. There are the sensualists, the riggers, the whipmasters, the pure sadists; each its own archetype in the Dominant spectrum. They are the musicians and the masochists are the instruments. What was just a room before becomes a orchestral hall holding sway over varying tempos, notes, and timbre. It’s a wonderful cacophony that I am proud to be a part of.

Dad took my administration very well; every scene is an opportunity to push just a little further and tonight was no exception. At our scene’s conclusion, I unshackled him from the cross and lead him to a chair; all the while taking note of his body, his movements, his breath, and the dreamy tone his voice takes on whenever he gets to what I call “the floaty place,” the endorphin-infused state a sub finds oneself in.

There is a lot of insight out there on the submissive and I’ve found it rare to come across what a Dom feels following a scene. To that, here’s my contribution to the subject.

Dom space is a place of meditation for me. In-scene, I am in my own world and the my sub is the center of it. Over the course of the time together, I’m monitoring the sub’s body, breath, and responses to my blows. While this may seem like work, it isn’t, not to me. As a Dom, I take pleasure in knowing someone is entrusting their body to me and I honor that trust by showing a great measure of care. If it is work, then it’s a labour of love. Yes, this Dom said love…what’re you gonna do about it?

When I’m in-scene, I find myself recalling lessons learned over the years from watching other Doms work or things I’ve heard from folx in the Community. I enter a state of conscious meditation, allowing the sub to navigate my hands to the next tool be it the flogger, the paddle, the cane, or the whip. I enter my own dreamlike state and it persists throughout the entire scene. Because I’ve been doing this for some time, I’m able to be in complete control of my faculties in Dom space. I save the endorphins for afterward; until then, there are avenues of desire and pathways to pleasure to explore.

At the scene’s conclusion, the sub is brought back, sat down, and allowed to rest while I deconstruct the scene. I may be weary but it’s a comfortable fatigue stemming from what I consider great work. Depending on the intensity, I may feel physically spent but the rest of me is in a state of Dominant bliss. A few glasses of water, a nice snack, a bout of rigorous aftercare sex, or a cigar provide outlets for these blisses.

As I put away my tools, I allow myself a few moments to look forward to the next scene when I can engage in the work I’ve grown to love.