Hitting the lottery

[nosypucker]

Sex researchers have pretty well established that approximately four out of every five people--both male and female--secretly crave to be dominated sexually. The bad news is that this means that the odds are roughly four to one against the average submissive male finding a dominant female by random chance. The good news is that the same math dictates that at least one-fifth of the women out there may well be sexually dominant by nature. I think we can take it for granted that any woman who will face-sit men is probably in that category. So it behooves a submissive male to do whatever he can to increase the odds of finding one of them. The story below describes a time when I tried to do that -- and hit the lottery jackpot. These scenarios don't pay off like this every time, or even most of the time, but if you stop trying, your face will never get sat on.
I met Lynn at an open house hosted by an advertising agency to celebrate landing a big new account. We both dropped in unattached, and she caught my eye right away. She was attractive but, more importantly, she gave the impression that she considered herself attractive and enjoyed it thoroughly. Many women whom you wouldn't ordinarily call beautiful are magnificent just because they believe that they are magnificent, and so does everyone who sees them. That kind of self-confidence in an attractive girl doesn't always equal dominance, unfortunately. Many actresses and models learn how to look strong and assured for the camera, though inside they may not be sexually dominant at all. But it's always worth checking them out, because beauty and the right kind of arrogant confidence in one of that dominant 20 percent makes for a truly memorable combination.
As we chatted, I tried to sound Lynn out without sticking my neck out too far. (I have sometimes enjoyed being humiliated privately by some women in some circumstances, but I have no wish to be publicly challenged as a pervert by non-dominants.) When her tone of voice suggested that she disliked one of the agency's account executives, I had the opening I was looking for. I pretended to be surprised at the harshness of her attitude, even though what she said hadn't really been all that extreme.
I said lightly, "For a pretty girl, you've got kind of a mean streak, haven't you?" She smiled, but replied, "When it comes to jerks like that, you bet I have."
"I'll have to be careful to stay on your good side," I said, still in a joking vein.
A few minutes later, when she expressed another fairly strong opinion about something, I picked up on it. "A lady of positive opinions," I laughed. "I'll bet you'd run things differently if you were in charge." She smiled again, and agreed that she probably would.
I volunteered eagerly to get her another drink. In handing it to her, I managed to spill a little of my own drink. I wasn't stupid enough to spill it on her, but I pretended I thought I might have. Dropping immediately to one knee and ignoring the obvious pool of liquid on the rug, I took out my handkerchief and began to wipe off her shoe and foot. Still kneeling at her feet, I said, "Oh-oh, and this is the girl with the mean streak. While I'm down here, I'd better apologize humbly."
If she'd shown any embarrassment about having me kneel before her in public, I'd have backed off at once, but she only smiled and said, "Apology accepted." And then, with mock sternness, "But don't let it happen again."
Most encounters between members of opposite sexes follow a similar pattern of signals and countersignals, but this was a little more specialized in nature. I hadn't spilled all of my drink, but I asked her if she minded if I got a refill. "Of course not," she replied. "Why should I mind?"
"Well, I've already lived dangerously once, and as I said, I want to be sure I stay on your good side."
"I have nothing but good sides," she said archly.
"Nobody with eyes could argue that," I agreed quickly. "Just the same, I promise not to spill the next one. People are going to get the wrong idea if I keep kneeling down and polishing your shoes. They might suspect you of being visiting royalty, traveling incognito."
That opened a new avenue, giving me a reason for kiddingly calling her "Your Majesty" and "Your Highness", and referring to her "loyal subjects". When she went along with it, I kept on addressing her as if she really were a princess, gradually abandoning the light tone of voice. Before long, an eavesdropper might have believed that she was the real thing. She didn't try to stop me, and I began to suspect that she was enjoying the game. So I felt a flash of panic when she suddenly glanced at her watch. I didn't want our conversation to end before I had a chance to sound her out a little more. I'd already discovered that she didn't have her car with her, and I took advantage of the fact.
"May I have the privilege of escorting Your Majesty home?" I asked quickly. I thought about kneeling to ask her, but decided that might be overdoing it a little. She pretended to consider my request, but I was pretty sure she'd been expecting me to ask, and had her answer ready.
"We grant our royal permission," she said, and relief washed over me.
I let her precede me slightly as we headed for the door. When we got to the car, I unlocked the door for her, opened it with a flourish, and suddenly knelt as she entered, saying "Enter, Your Majesty." She chuckled, and patted my head as she got in. I didn't push my luck that first night, but she agreed to go out with me again.
On my date with Lynn I started right off again with the royalty approach. Within five minutes after I arrived at her apartment, I was on my knees at her feet begging her forgiveness. I accomplished that by managing to drop her coat while helping her put it on. As I knelt, I admitted that my crime was unforgivable, and offered to undergo whatever punishment the princess felt my offense merited.
"I'd prefer to avoid being boiled in oil, or drawn and quartered," I said. "But I admit that I probably deserve at least twenty lashes with Your Majesty's quirt, or perhaps an evening in the royal stable."
She pretended to consider her decision. "We are feeling merciful tonight. But if it happens again, be assured that you'll feel our royal wrath."
Of course that was my cue to find a way to drop the coat again, putting her in the position of having to decide on a punishment. I already knew that no matter what she decided, I was going to make a production out of kissing her royal foot in gratitude at her leniency.
To shorten a long (and, for me, delightful) story, we never did get out of her apartment that evening. When she expressed regret that there was no royal stable for me to clean, I offered myself as her first noble steed, and she rode me once around the living room lightheartedly. As she was about to dismount, I pretended to buck, which led--at my suggestion--to her using her shoe as a whip on my flank. This time, when she dismounted, I kissed her foot in gratitude again.
No matter what she did or said, I let her know that I thought she was magnificent in dominance, and it quickly became apparent that she was getting turned on by my subservient and worshipful attitude. Her obvious enjoyment let me know that it would be all right to take some liberties, as long as she could be certain that she was in charge each step of the way, and that I wouldn't proceed to any new plateaus without clearing it with her first. I asked and received permission to kiss her, and my first kisses were very obviously tentative. Next, I got her to let me kiss her with more passion, though still with the respect due a princess, until we were both breathing quite a bit harder. In response to further humble pleas she let me put my hands on her body, and gradually to move them to her breasts.
Some time later her dress was off, and I was being permitted to stroke her bare breasts (she wore no bra) and panty-clad hips. By now she was quite flushed, and her eyes were shining both from the physical stimulation and at the power she had over me. Yet when I asked for permission to take off her panties, she answered with a flat "No." That shook me up for just a moment, because I sensed that she didn't really want me to stop. I suspected that she might be merely testing me to be sure she really was in control. I didn't argue, however, thanking her with bowed head. Then I kept on fondling her body as I'd been doing.
Several minute later I asked again, more beseechingly, and this time her answer was, teasingly, "Well, I don't know if I should." That was my cue to beg her fervently to let me take off her panties. She made me wait for several long moments before replying, "Oh, well, all right, then." I moved in back of her, dropping to my knees to better slide the sheer panties down her legs to the floor. My gasp as her lovely ass was revealed was intended to be quite audible to Lynn. Still kneeling behind her, I asked in a low, reverential tone if I might please have the great privilege of saluting Her Majesty's beauty. She wasn't quite sure what I meant, but she was confident by now that I wouldn't be overly aggressive, so she granted me permission.
Thanking her humbly, I leaned forward and kissed her bare ass. Her body twitched a little when my lips touched the firm flesh of her bottom, but she stood quite still and straight as I gently saluted the other cheek. As I thanked Her Majesty again, I suspected that she was beginning to really appreciate the advantages of female dominance, and perhaps even savoring its potential for the first time.
I think I'm running out of space, so I'll continue this story below.

[nosypucker]

Shortly after that, still kneeling behind her, I asked if Her Highness would deign to sit on her royal throne. By now she realized that whatever I had in mind was likely to be to her advantage, so she said she would. Once again I pressed reverent lips to her bottom, but this time I placed my hands on her hips and pulled down gently. She was a little startled at first, but gradually let her knees bend once she understood what I was driving at. I managed to maneuver myself to a sitting position behind her, my hands holding her hips and my feet thrust out between her legs. I pulled gently in a downward direction until her knees began to bend. As she gradually sat lower, I leaned farther and farther back until I was flat on my back. She was still leaning slightly forward to hold her balance, so that when I pulled backward, she found herself virtually sitting in my upstretched hands, her ass at arm's length above my face.
Once my hands were bearing her entire weight, I did a kind of reverse pushup that brought her slowly down the rest of the way, taking extra care not to let her feel at all awkward. When her body was within inches of my face, I said, "A royal princess deserves a royal throne." Then I drew her down that last little bit and she was finally sitting full on my face facing my feet. I was pretty sure she'd never done this before, and I could tell that she was reluctant to just relax and let all her weight rest on my face. I resolved any concern she might have had about hurting or discomfiting me by using my grasp on her hips to pull her down harder on my face and kissing all over her bottom again. I was sure she could easily see the bulge in my pants made by my skyward-pointing erection, which announced unmistakably how exciting I found this new position.
Even then I would have released her at the first sign that she was unhappy at what I was doing, but she gave no such sign. Instead, she settled herself more comfortably and announced "We find the royal throne satisfactory." It wasn't long before my lips and tongue were making it even more satisfactory, to judge from the way she squirmed and splurged her bottom more firmly on my adoring face.
She stayed on her throne for a long time, to our mutual delight. After she'd enjoyed countless orgasms from my mouth, she remained on top of me when we had intercourse. She obviously had never done it that way before, but the way she rode me, leaning back to control the act and bucking wildly when she came, suggested that it would be her position of choice in the future. Afterwards, yielding to my pleas, she slid her body forward so that I could lick and suck her clean again. She was absolutely glowing with contentment by the time I left.
On the next date, I set out at once to prove to Lynn that I was still her adoring subject. I think she had probably been wondering whether I'd keep up the game, because she relaxed visibly when I knelt before her and kissed her hand as soon as I was in the apartment. She didn't need any coaching to put me through my paces this time; indeed, we were through the preliminaries in no time at all. When she ordered me to remove her panties, she even turned her back to me so that I'd be in position for the royal salute. Before the evening was over, she even revealed a few fantasies of her own that she'd been refining since the last time. For a girl who was just discovering female dominance, she proved to be marvelously inventive and enthusiastic, and I cooperated eagerly in turning her fantasies into reality.
I've abridged this episode considerably, of course, but the main points are there. There isn't any ideal plan that will work for everyone, and it probably wouldn't be as much fun if there were. But I've used variations of this technique with a number of assertive women, and one of the things that makes me the happiest is that I've been lucky enough to help several of them take that first thrilling step into dominance. I served three of them for extended periods, and each one fitted right into my fantasies without having to adapt to them. (Obviously, if you find that your fantasies and hers don't dovetail, you might as well move on. She doesn't have to change, and it's very possible that you can't. But when you've played a part in creating those fantasies, it isn't surprising when they match your own.)
As it turned out, I was very lucky with Lynn, but I didn't take all that many risks. And when I've used similar techniques on other women, even in those cases when the woman turned out to be either non-dominant or so bound by neuroses that she found it impossible to relax and enjoy her dominance, I didn't really lose anything except a little time. None of them ever accused me of being a pervert, or indicated that I'd overstepped the bounds of decency, because I was careful to progress only a step at a time and to let them set the pace. I could even have gone out again with some of the ones I failed with, but there didn't seem much point in wasting time and scenarios that could be used more productively toward fulfilling my own fantasies.
Incidentally, my research indicates that the percentage of dominants among black women runs pretty nearly the same as with their white sisters, at least when dealing with white men; however, I've found that their dominance seems to be more physical once they lose their early inhibitions. I had the privilege of serving one of them--let's call her Marla--for nearly a year, and we discovered that we were both more turned on when she injected a racial theme into her dominance of me, sneering and calling me "Honky!" and ordering me to "Kiss my black ass, you white slave!"
Marla was an excellent example of how a creative dominant can take over a scenario and rewrite it to suit her own psychological needs. Although she'd never heard a word about golden showers from me, it was only our third date when she ordered me to lie naked in the bathtub, then straddled me and baptized me with her urine as I sputtered and stammered. She didn't make me drink it, but I did have to kneel up and lick her pussy clean when she was through. (It wasn't my first time and, while I don't really enjoy it, it's a price I'm willing to pay for being the lucky guy who first brings out the dominance in a woman.) Even though I hated the sensation of the urine splattering in my face and the odor of it all over and around my body, I adored her for the way she so perfectly established our respective positions.
Marla was also the only one of the women I used this type of approach with who didn't prefer to keep our relationship strictly private. I don't mean that she paraded me out in public, or anything like that, but she did enjoy putting me through my paces in front of a couple of her black girlfriends. I was pretty scared the first time she made me submit to their fantasies until I discovered that their racial animosities weren't any more savage than Marla's, and that they were much less aggressive than she was. If she hadn't stepped in and taken over the first session, I'm not sure they would been able to bring themselves to really use me sexually. Thanks to her, though, each one enjoyed several climaxes.
The next time she gave them the chance, they were a lot quicker to make me go down on them. One lovely young lady, after tying my hands behind me, took complete command of me and used my face and mouth like a dildo. I think I must have lost a couple of fistfuls of hair that night, not to mention the wear and tear on my ears. When the night was over, I had the clear impression that she was going to go out and get a sex slave of her own, preferably a honky. She was a sexy-looking lady, and I wouldn't have minded volunteering, but I knew Marla would never have permitted it, and I was equally sure the friend would never have trespassed.
To get back to Lynn for just a moment, she told me later that I'd changed her life in a wonderful way that first night, which doubled my own pleasure. Not only had I found the kind of mistress that I was seeking, I'd also awakened the kind of desires in her that many other submissive males have benefited from since, and countless others will in the future. As a matter of fact, she has no doubt that her newfound air of dominance was responsible for her rapid progress at work, especially after she permitted one of the partners in the agency where she works to taste (literally) the delights of submission to her on the thickly carpeted floor of his expensively furnished office one night after business hours.
I realize that the idea of a submissive male "training" a mistress sounds presumptuous, and I'm sure that many dominant women will be infuriated at the mere idea. Just the same, if I'd been content to let Lynn set the pace, I feel quite sure that I would have missed out on having my own fantasies brought to life again and again, and she might never have achieved the glory of pure dominance. To this day, she still occasionally calls and summons me to her royal presence to serve her whims and fulfill her fantasies, which match my own so rewardingly. (She particularly likes to call me after she has just broken in a new man, and wants to brag about it.) Would that have been the case if I hadn't taken the lead the way I did? Or if I'd met her only after she discovered her predilection for dominance some other way? I can't know for sure, of course, but I prefer to doubt it. And, to those furious dominants, I really don't consider it "training" a woman to face-sit; it's really more like helping to bring out her dormant dominant qualities, the way a talented clothes designer would bring out the finer points of her body.

[Rich]

Sir
You have a lot of class. Not being a man that seems to do all that well with the ladies; it's refreshing to hear your story.
I would love to be able to move with your ease in the social world.
Thank you so very much for your story. Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to run into one of the lucky ladies you have so honorably, & exquisitely created for us all.
:cool: