Domme’s Games

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In Domme’s Games by Rachel Kramer Bussel, the story follows Julie, a woman on a first date with Dana, who reveals herself as a dominatrix. Dana’s commanding presence captivates Julie, sparking deep desires she’s only fantasized about. The story explores the erotic tension between dominance and submission, mixing fantasy with a heightened reality as Julie surrenders to her inner desires under Dana’s lead.

LGBTQ (Lesbian), BDSM (Doms and Subs)

Spice Level: Spicy

 ~*~

When Dana told me she was a dominatrix, I almost spit out my rum and coke. We were on a first date at a classy French restaurant, both of us dressed in elegant outfits; she had on a sheer white blouse, black velvet pants and heels while I wore a low-cut white shirt, deep purple silk skirt, and killer heels. We’d been set up by my friend Eliza, who figured that femmes looking for other femmes were so rare, we’d surely hit it off, but Eliza had told me Dana was a trainer at a local high-end gym. 

“Well, I am a trainer, in addition to being a domme, and the two jobs are kindof similar; I get to yell at people and watch them squirm. It’s a total power trip, and I get off on both of them. But my real passion is women; with the guys, it’s like a warmup,” she said, her almost-black eyes glinting. She was gorgeous but had a dangerous vibe, not like she might hurt me, but like she knew things about me and could see inside me in ways even my longtime friends couldn’t. It didn’t seem like an act, either, the way she shone her gaze on me so intently, like we were the only two people in the whole city, let alone the whole restaurant. I felt my face flush and my body twitch slightly as I waited for her to continue. Her hand reached for my knee under the table, stroking my bare knee beneath my skirt. The delicious warmth of her fingers traveled up my leg. She massaged just my knee, but with such intensity I could barely breathe. “Do you like to be dominated, Julie?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, only semi-honestly. Nobody had ever actually so much as lain a hand on me or spoken in a harsh voice in bed . . . except in my head. In my head, I’d been naked in a room full of powerful women, crawling around as ordered, bending over so they could spank me and spread my ass cheeks and order me to do all kinds of depraved acts that made me blush there at the table just thinking about them. In my head, I’d taken a fist in my cunt and a butt plug in my ass, all at the same time. In my head, I’d been shared by two women, tossed between them like a rag doll, “made” to have orgasm after orgasm while clamps set off heat waves in my nipples. But fantasy and reality were very different creatures. They were about to meet, and I wasn’t totally sure how I felt about that.

Dana’s grip tightened, then she pinched my inner thigh before replacing her fingers with the sole of her foot. She’d slipped it out of the heel and it was flush against my pussy, with none of our fellow diners any the wiser. “Really? You have no idea how you’d feel about being stripped down, tied up, and told exactly what you could and couldn’t do?” She smiled at me, a victorious grin, her lushly painted lips curling up at the sides. “Open your mouth,” she said, the sensual tone gone in favor of a clipped, brisk command, made even more imperious by her faintly British accent. She’d been living in the States since she was a teenager, and had actually lived in more of them than I had, both of us winding up in New York in the last year or so. My lips parted slightly, just enough to make me feel the breath emerging from them slowly seep out . . . and allow her fingers to slip inside.

They were short, polished to a gleaming bright red that had glinted throughout the restaurant, teasing me with its brightness, and I felt their shiny surface against my tongue as she turned her fingers this way and that. She curled them against my teeth, claiming me in the process. My nipples hardened as I felt her possess me, fantasy giving way to an even hotter reality than I could ever have conjured. I gave myself over to her in those moments as my tongue melted against her. I wanted to do anything she wanted me to; pleasing her was suddenly all that mattered.

“For the rest of the night, you’re not going to talk unless I tell you to. You will follow my orders and you will not protest. I’m going to show you what a real dirty girl you are and you’re going to love it, I can just tell,” Dana said as she pulled her wet fingers from my mouth. I missed them the moment they were gone, but they soon found their way to my lips, toying with the fat bottom one as I wet my panties with pussy juice. I had no sooner thought about the state of my underwear than Dana said, “Give me your panties, Julie.” She sensed the words about to come out of my mouth. “No, not in the bathroom, right here, and hurry up about it.” Before I could stop to think or worry or look around, I was discreetly slipping my hands down below and pulling them off, trying to pass them off to her under the table.

“No,” she said, her voice short, clipped, and efficient. “Roll them into a ball and pass them to me across the table, like you were giving me your napkin.” My cheeks were flaming and I started to wonder if this was a very good idea. It was fun, and totally hot, but what if we somehow got caught? I’d be mortified if anyone else at the restaurant knew that I had instantly become Donna’s slave, that I would’ve practically walked around the restaurant naked if she told me to. My cheeks flaming, I attempted to ball the black lace into my palm and pass it off to her between our plates. As our fingers met, though, she made sure that my indelicate underwear shook loose from our grasp. The black lace was gone in an instant but I grabbed my water glass and drained it in a futile attempt to quell my beating heart and flushed face. I couldn’t bear to look around and see if anyone had caught on.

I looked down at my plate, knowing I’d never be able to finish what was on it. I wasn’t queasy, but I craved something more than food. I looked up at her, expecting us to exit quickly, so she could continue to order me around. Would she make me bend over and get spanked? Wear certain kinds of embarrassing clothes? Order me to masturbate?

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Rachel Kramer Bussel (rachelkramerbussel.com) is the author of craft guide How to Write Erotica as well as Lap Dance Lust: A Collection of Erotica Stories and editor of personal essay magazine Open Secrets. She is the editor of over 70 erotica anthologies, including 10 volumes of the Best Women's Erotica of the Year series, The Big Book of Quickies, The Big Book of Orgasms Volumes 1 and 2, Come Again: Sex Toy Erotica, and more. Her anthology Surrender won the National Leather Association Samois Anthology Award and she won the 2021 National Leather Association John Preston Short Fiction Award for her short story "Necessary Roughness" in her anthology Best Bondage Erotica of the Year, Volume 1. Rachel's essays and journalism have been published in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Glamour, Marie Claire, Salon, The Village Voice, and many other publications. Follow her @raquelita on X and @rachelkramerbussel on Instagram and subscribe to her newsletter here.

Rachel is a Founding Author and senior advisor on Theo Reads.