countertop: finding power in being bottomed

i’m sitting on the counter in my kitchen, feeling a little like a young girl; legs swinging. she’s cooking and moving easily around my space. the kitchen is her domain, for sure. she’s cheerily telling me some story to which i’m not actually listening. how could i be? she's at my place for the evening, and it’s been too long since we last spent time together. i see her mouth moving. there are words dancing out of it that i’m not hearing. it’s smiling the way it does when she says something she’s particularly satisfied with, and i can only imagine that mouth on me. she moves near to where i am but then away, busy assembling ingredients for the dinner we’re going to make together. my anticipation and hunger for her, not our dinner, is growing. i smile back and wait.

it would be accurate to say that in my relationships with women in the past, i have been a total top. dominant, to be sure. the driver, always. the top both literally and figuratively. i’m never beneath. never bottomed. rarely too open. never overexposed. not so much with this girl. so the waiting for her to move is new for me, and surprisingly exhilarating and delicious.

she comes close to where i’m sitting. she leans down and reaches for spices from the cabinet adjacent to my swinging legs; her generous palm landing casually on my thigh. finally, she touches me! i shift a little under her hand from excitement, and to tell her i’m wanting. she almost always listens to my telling, which is maybe part of what makes the vulnerability of saying, safe, for a new bottom like myself. rising up she looks at me with her mischievous eyes that i love so much. she grins and kisses me full on my mouth. at first the kiss seems simply to be an acknowledgment that i’m there, before she returns to her task... her full soft lips lightly on mine. but instead she lingers there. pressure on my mouth harder. her whole body leaning a little into mine. my legs that she’s standing between sliding open just a bit, to welcome her. her soft pink tongue brushes my lips, taking a taste. savoring. a sigh escapes my lips. we open our eyes. smile. she moves away and returns to the food and her story.

this taste of her only serves to make me more distracted. animatedly, she’s telling her tale. she’s laughing, arms waving as she talks, the way they do. all i see is her dark chocolate brown skin that i want to feel next to mine. the space between her neck and collar bone where i love to bury my face and breathe. my favorite part of her back that slopes and sways and invites my hand to rest there; my mouth to kiss it. her lovely round ass that i can nearly feel spilling out of my hands…wonderfully too much to hold all at once. her thick thighs that make my mouth water as i imagine what lies nestled between them. i take a deep breath and shift again on the cool counter top. our eyes meet and i know she sees me hungry. wanting. still waiting, i’m perhaps getting impatient.

sometimes this new locale of mine….more toward the bottom… is positively exhilarating: the not knowing where i’m going… the waiting and wanting… the not being the one driving… letting her do the bidding? ya....new and mostly exciting. but other times it makes me feel a little out of my depth. vulnerable? for me, there has been control and power…thus safety? security? being the one on top. being the one who directs the movement. that’s the place i’ve always inhabited. it’s comfortable for me there. openly wanting? letting her see that? is not only sometimes frightening, but certainly seems to be something i want to feel and also want to give her. this phenomenon is inexplicable and without any other context, in my world. and watching her respond… take care of? getting her to do what i want? seems to somehow pass back to me some of the power i might have thought was being given up. this is essentially completely challenging my existing notions of top/bottom dominant/submissive powerful/weak strong/vulnerable. i’m discovering that the line between top and bottom is sometimes quite blurry.

she strolls toward me, for what i assume is more seasoning, or some desperately needed kitchen utensil for whatever it is she’s concocting. meanwhile, i’ve forgotten entirely about the dinner. or could it be that maybe she’s coming near for more touching and kissing? instead she ambles right past me. i sigh a little. frustrated. kind of starving and perhaps pouting, some. maybe even slightly embarrassed that my wanting is so evident and she’s perhaps ignoring? still on my kitchen counter perch, i don’t even turn around to see where she’s gone.

when she reappears within my view, in her hand i see a round, beige cushion. she drops it nonchalantly onto the floor in front of where my feet are dangling. without saying a word, she kneels on it in front of me. my breath stops short in my throat, as i anticipate where she’s going. i’m relieved that my need isn’t going to be overlooked. i think i’m about to become the appetizer and i’m positively giddy about that realization.

she looks up at me eyebrows raised, confidently places her hands on my knees, and spreads my legs open wider. her hands slip knowingly under my cotton skirt, sliding it up, exposing snowy white thighs that i’m sure she can feel trembling. her hands reach behind me and authoritatively pull me closer to her face. lifting up the front of my skirt, she again spies the irreverent patch of red that hides there, and she giggles. i love that.

i am wet and short of breath and more than ready for her mouth to find me. i wiggle forward on the counter top tipping my hips a little skyward, to be more within her reach. she leans in between my legs, inhales deeply and sighs. i know she’s hungry. in this position i feel vulnerable: exposed and open. i feel powerful: her on knees before me… beneath me, clearly wanting. i spread my legs and move further forward as she dives between my thighs to take her first taste. the familiar moan comes from deep in her throat. the one i almost always hear when her lips first touch mine. there. it simultaneously makes her dominant and not, and i’ve come to wait for it. i long to hear it.

she takes her time. her slippery tongue laps up the wetness that she finds there between my legs, causing me to shiver. gently at first, she licks my clit and then pulls it between her tongue and top lip. she begins to suckle. my hips are involuntarily rocking in rhythm with her movement: back, forth, back, forth. the backs of my thighs resting on each of her shoulders now, i reach back to brace myself on the counter. a breathy sigh escapes my lips. she answers back with a moan. i remember her words; that i’m ‘the most delicious she’s ever tasted,’ and push myself further into her mouth. i’m singing…sighing…moaning. first cum is approaching. i can feel it creeping up inside. i know she knows it too. the tips of my toes are beginning to tingle. there is heat rising in my flushed cheeks as she rocks me not-so- gently on the cold granite kitchen counter. tremors are taking over my legs as i get closer to the edge. sucking harder, her teeth sharply graze my clit and it’s all over. colors explode behind my closed eyelids. as i cum in her mouth, my thighs are shaking. my vagina throbs and pulses and drips wet. she holds on tight to my ass so i can’t get away, as she dives further into my pussy... drinking in every sweet drop. where her fingers pressed hard into my pale skin will be left the bruises i adore. bruises that i will later run my fingers over, tender and sore, and remember this yummy exchange between us. 

catching my breath, i hang my head….deliciously foggy and satisfied…for a minute. for now. i mean, i am a redhead. ; ) and i’ll be wanting again, soon. her head rests heavily on my thigh…long graceful fingers reverently stroking my hip. power and vulnerability exists for each of us in this space, where the distance between top and bottom is shorter than i ever imagined.

When's the last time your top was bottomed?