The Light Switch Flipped

She was exhausted. He was unequivocally the man of her dreams. He had a full head of fiery red hair at 44. He had a beard she loved kissing with both sets of lips. He had piercing blue eyes and an equally piercing wit and charm.

He teased her about being "grown in a lab" for him. She was short, just like he liked. Dark hair and glasses, his eternal type, he would say. And while the rest of the world loved his blue eyes, he was in love with hers. They had such depth and wonder and awe.

He was such an inexperienced dom when they first started. So afraid from previous relationships, she had to ease him into actually being dominant. He explained constantly: religious trauma, family of origin, severe bullying in school, being part of a conservative religious cult, his long term relationships. He had never been in charge of anything nor had he the ability to.

She watched him blossom and actually be a decent top in spanking. He had finally started enforcing the rules they created. As a caretaker he was perfect for her Little. And with his words, his ability with a praise kink had no equal.

And my goodness, the chemistry, sexual or not, they had with each other. His cock knew her mouth, her touch, her saliva. It came alive just from her being in the room. Originally not a fan of oral sex, he made her want it, crave it, need it. Nobody had ever touched her like that. She'd had to box up the nipple clamps. The way he applied pressure, they were useless to her.

In spite of everything there was one area he couldn't seem to conquer. Degradation. He had only one type of love... worship. This man could win contests for praise kink. There was no equal. But it wasn't enough. Sometimes she needed both. The irony of praise kink is that it often goes hand in hand with degradation. He could not say anything bad about her. Even IF she had a flaw, he still could not say anything. He was so in love with her, he couldn't see it nor say anything anyway.

He was in his element with her nipples in his fingers. He knew how to pinch them just right. Tonight as he was playing his symphony of orgasm denial, sadism and pain, all was going according to plan.

He learned by doing. This made him a frustrating board game player. But he was very adaptive, flexible. This made him an excellent improvisationalist. He was quick on his feet with customers, a great storyteller and the perfect meeting participant.

There comes a moment when a person has a great realization. Newton with the falling apple. Pythagoras with the disappearing ships. Tombaugh discovering Pluto. New inventions, innovations, troubleshooting, ways at looking at a challenge from a new perspective, standing on John Keating's proverbial desk in Dead Poets Society.

Dieter F. Uchtdorf once wrote, "There is a beauty and clarity that comes from simplicity that we sometimes do not appreciate in our thirst for intricate solutions."

All the corporate jargon he had learned over his years, the process improvement, the problem solving, he had an idea. He took a nipple in his hands and with the "Jerk Daddy" tone she loved, he found new life.

"You know what? You fucking piss me off, you know that?" She began to moisten down there. "Do you know why?" With the other hand he reached to choke her as she had taught him. "That's right, you cumslut." That was the one degrading term he was comfortable using. "You are too fucking perfect. That's right... Yeah..." He squeezed harder, making her writhe. "Have a fucking flaw. I can't stand how perfect you are for me. You take gentle care of me. You have the same interests as I do. Even if you don't you want to learn about them because they matter to me." She was almost to the point of convulsions. "You watch the pretentious art movies I like, you'll watch pro wrestling with me, you'll listen to me drone on about baseball history. You even encourage it. Like, a woman is not meant to be this perfect. I don't fucking get it." At this point, inside she was as though Hoover Dam had been released. "Have a flaw. Be imperfect. Make me mad for once. For the fucking love." Then his voice accessed a primal, guttural growl. "Now... cum for me."

With a release that is now known to theoretical physicists as "Big Bang II" she released and let go. To begin their aftercare, he reached his arms around her and she wept. Sorry, wept is a poor word for it. This was no weeping. That notes mild and pensive. This was violent, soul-emptying, sobbing not seen before in this life.

He had tried. Not only had he tried, he figured it out. He found his niche. He knew only one style of love-worship. And this was his way. He had unlocked the secret of degradation for him. The revelation was there. He discovered his new power.