In the bedroom, you hold the whip. Schoolteacher, cop, prison warden—these are the roles you were naturally born to play. If he winds up with a few scratches and bruises, that’s what the little boy gets for trying to tussle with a lioness. And if he starts giving you attitude, it’s time to peg him again. You are dominant not only in bed, but out of it—that’s why after the sex is over, you force him to make breakfast.
You are always ready to sting. Men tremble at the sound of your footsteps. Men would give their life’s savings just to sniff your high heels. Men masturbate to the thought of you laughing at them. Men will fight each other just for the privilege of having you insult them. You don’t take instructions, you issue commands. You call the shots, and he takes the hits.
You make men melt like ice cream on a hot summer’s day…all that’s left is a creamy puddle. Your vaginal muscles are strong enough to choke a horse. When you get him flat on his back in bed, you grab both his wrists with one hand, pin them back over his head, and ride him on top until you’re satisfied. Is he satisfied? Who cares? His problems aren’t your problem.
Sex is like anything else: There’s give and take. It’s just that you take a lot more than you give. In other words, he doesn’t fuck you; you fuck him. Strong men respect your strength. Weak men flee from you in fear. You see no problem in using a man’s body like a sex toy. But every so often a man will come along who’s so strong and big and sexy that you’ll play the submissive. What is “every so often”? Maybe once every ten years. The rest of the time, you’re in the driver’s seat.
You wouldn’t be such a domineering bitch if there weren’t so many weak, pathetic, wormy, mealy-mouthed men out there. But somebody has to take control, and more often than not, that somebody is you. You would love if some big tough lumberjack were to sweep you off your feet, take you to a mountain cabin, and command you to light the fireplace while he goes outside to hunt for dinner. Problem is, most of the time you’re surrounded with a bunch of weak jerks at Starbucks.
You are yin and yang, dom and sub. With the weak you are strong, and with the strong you are weak. You can be a switch hitter—in charge one day, dutifully taking orders the next. But most of the time, you don’t even think about power; you only think about pleasure. In bed, it’s always a race to the finish line to see who cums first, because you give as good as you get.
Why are there so many weak boys out there? You’re on the hunt for a man who has so much confidence, you stutter when trying to speak to him. You don’t want him to be an asshole, but you don’t mind if he’s a bit of a dick.
The better he is in bed, the more you’re willing to get on all fours, wag your tail, and do anything he tells you to do. That’s when the big bad bull turns into the meek little lamb.
You’re very assertive outside the bedroom, but once inside, you’re a little purring kitten. You like to give men a “shit test”—give ’em a little bit of attitude just to see if they have the guts to give it back. If he does, you’re soaking-wet and spread open wide.
You adore a man who does menial labor. Who gets sweat and grease all over his rippling muscles. Who takes off his shirt to chop wood with an axe and lets you watch. You love traditional gender roles so long as you’re the soft girl and he’s the hard boy.
The idea of surrendering your body like you’re a country and he’s an invading army drives you mad with desire. Cuffed to the headboard and face-down on a pillow while he keeps thrusting endlessly like waves crashing on a beach, it feels like heaven to you.
You like being handled roughly—not to the point that it hurts, of course…well, to be perfectly truthful, even that’s not true. Sometimes you like a little pain just so long as, you know, you don’t wind up disabled. You like to blush. To submit. To have him grab a fistful of your hair while he’s riding you from behind. To be dominated, filled, and occupied.