#ComingSoon to #Audible!
Today’s #WriterlyWisdom features lovely contributing author, Adrea Kore. She’s here to elaborate on her inspiration and erotic intent behind her story, Dance For Me as featured in For The Men And The Women Who Love Them. AND following that, we’ve also got one steamy, #SexySnippet! Enjoy!
“Exploration, Inspiration & Intent”
with Adrea Kore
In Dance for Me, I’m exploring the “dance” between two intimately linked states – the desire to be seen and displayed as a sexually desirable being, and the desire to see, be seduced and be the recipient of that performance. I sometimes begin writing with a particular idea or premise in mind and continue writing to more deeply discover the layers and intricacies of the idea. What if? This makes me sound plot-driven, but often the idea is located in a character’s sexual or emotional psychology.
The words “exhibitionism” and “voyeurism” are thrown about – but they actually describe pathological conditions. Yet these desires – to watch, or be watched – exist on a spectrum in the sexual psyche naturally for almost everyone. And can be explored as both metaphor and a narrative of experiencing desire and desirability.
The trope of humiliation holds very little charge for me – it doesn’t arouse me sexually, and also I see it over-used and depicted in clichéd ways in erotic fiction exploring BDSM. However, I realise I do sometimes sexually humiliate my male characters. (Is that the Femme-dom in me showing itself?)
My stories aren’t always based on my own experiences – but this one is. I have a background in theatre, but have also studied and performed as a dancer, and have revelled in dancing – from clubs to outdoor raves to Burlesque classes – all my life. The first half of this story re-visits my second night out at a kink club. I was provocatively dressed for my date, and ended up in a cage, dancing for the pleasure of the man I was with, who identified as a Dom. I don’t particularly identify as a sub, but I enjoyed dancing for him immensely, with the internal fantasy that I absolutely had to wow him, or he wouldn’t release me. It certainly upped the stakes for my “performance”.
What I also like to uncover in my writing is what makes a sexual dynamic unique; in this story the submissive feels moments of enormous power, just as the Dom feels vulnerability.
“I’m in the cage, but he’s the one ensnared.”
The sexual charge for the female character comes not only from being exposed, but in a way that “plugs in” to her own long-held fantasies. This Dom has taken the time to know her – to know she loves to dance. The eroticism for her, comes from being both exposed and framed (by the ornate cage, and later by her Dom’s body) as a highly desirable woman; even an object of desire. For him, and for the admiration of strangers. Her Dom expands her limits around what she believes she’d feel comfortable doing publicly in terms of sexual display. She has moments of shyness, but her Dom enables her confidence and her pleasure.
For him, the charge comes from orchestrating and then receiving her dance as a gift, and a seduction.
I’ve always been interested in the inherent theatricality in sex. To truly see or be seen in a heightened moment – don’t we all desire this?
“Dance For Me”
by Adrea Kore
So this is what he meant by a challenge of submission.
I’m standing in this cage. In the center of a fetish club dance floor. In a leopard-skin corselet. It could look like I planned this, but I didn’t. It’s my first time here, my first play session with this dark-suited Dom, after several intense online interactions. The decisive click of his handcuffs securing the cage door. Ensnaring me in his scene of submission. Arms folded, smiling at my indignation.
“Dance for me.”
I look around at the club full of diversely dressed and undressed people. Bodies poured into and spilling out of latex, leather and fishnets. Unexpected revelations of flesh, piercings and tattoos. Some have stopped their conversations or caresses or are looking over their drinks, surveying my predicament with interest.
“Please me, and I shall ensure your…release…in more ways than one.”
Cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment, I try to focus on the music, washing over me in waves. Try to focus on his beguiling promise of release. The effect this has on my body. This slow burn, beginning already in my clitoris.
“Disappoint me, and I might make you spend the evening in there.” He kisses my hand, wound around the elegantly-crafted iron bars, and closer to me, whispers, “But I doubt you’ll disappoint.” He steps back, swirls his scotch, withdraws to a velvet couch at the dance floor’s edge. Best seat in the house, I think.
I feel too exposed, like a naked mannequin in a shop window. But my hips are swaying in spite of myself. Vulnerability and arousal pair in a double trapeze act, somersaulting through my stomach. Eyes closed, I begin to breathe in the seductive trance-like music, weaving my body into the melody. Flashes of memory and fantasy flicker through my mind.
Aged nineteen. My fantasy of being a striptease dancer at a men’s club. At twenty-four. Memories of dancing on a podium at a nightclub, feisty-hipped and pouty-lipped. Twenty-eight. Burlesque dance classes, learning the art of tease. And as the lights strobe through my eyelids, flash-images of the numerous men I had smoothly seduced from dance-floor to bedroom—via a lewdly-named cocktail or four. To create some cock tales of my own…
I can do this.
So I commit to my role. This cage is my stage. This leopard-skin corselet hugging every curve of me, my costume. Like a courtesan from another era, I must dance for the pleasure of my Dom. Dance for his pleasure and his favour.
Eyes on him, I move my hands down the sides of my body, watching him take in my long legs in dark stockings, garters accentuating my thighs. I realize he’s never seen me this exposed. The music courses through me as I widen my legs in a defiant stance, then writhe down into a feline crouch, feeling his eyes on my breasts, cupped firmly by the corselet. I prowl back up the bars, holding his eyes with mine, and cat-hiss at him, scarlet-nailed, clawing through the bars. Then I do it again.
No longer reclining back on the couch, he’s leaning forward. Glass empty, he’s drinking me in.
Just breathe in the music.
Yellow glow of the spotlight turns my skin into warm pelt. I’m a restless cat in a cage. Tossing my mane of tawny hair, the sensual layers of rhythms are fusing with my limbs, my hips. My dance becomes part of the music. Sure now of my movements, I throw myself lightly from side to side of the cage, writhing down and up, sometimes facing my Dom, mock-imploring him for my release. Sometimes I show him my back, the curves of my ass emphasized by black garters; teasing him with a coquettish glance over one shoulder. At one point, I suspend myself from above, using one hand to take most of my weight, weaving my torso to and fro with languorous, feline movements. I use the cage bars to propel me, turning on one leg in tight circles, freezing at certain moments like an animal caught in headlights, then whirling in the opposite direction. A man in a black leather vest eyes me hungrily over his drink.
I turn my attention to my Dom again. He’s mesmerized as I hook a high heel up to the bar, exposing black satin panties, the soft underside of my thigh. I start to rotate my hips, imagining I’m reeling him in with the desire emanating from my sex.
I’m in the cage, but he’s the one ensnared.
Tilting my head and hair back, I let the bars take my body weight, as I arch into a deep backbend. Swaying there, I imagine my Dom has me around my waist, pulling my hips to his, running his hands over my breasts. A delicious heat ebbs through my cunt, and I can almost feel the solidity of his erection against me. As I pull myself up again, he is suddenly there, in front of me. Breath quickening, I reach my hands through to touch him, stroking down his chest. His face draws nearer, and we are kissing through the bars of the cage, his tongue attempting to delve deeper into my mouth. I pull away subtly, pretending it’s the steel bars that hinder him from getting closer.
“Something getting in the way of what you want, Sir?”