Source: Lorado / Getty

I didn’t set out to become a Goddess.

My desire was to study Black kink spaces, especially how Black women moved through them. I wanted to better understand my sisters, maybe even myself, and our complicated relationship with pleasure. So when a friend invited me—gorgeous, commanding, a corporate executive who melted into a bratty baby girl at the sound of her daddy dom’s voice—I said yes. I slipped into my favorite little black dress and the heels that laced delicately around my ankles like a promise. The thought of watching her shift from boss b*tch to obedient plaything thrilled me more than I expected.

I had no idea what I was in for.

I stepped into that BDSM lounge as a curious onlooker, maybe even a voyeur. I had no plans, just a quiet craving for something different, something sexy, something more than I believed was possible. The lounge was pulsing with smoke, candlelight, and bodies that knew themselves and others. And then there were ropes, cuffs, whips, hot wax, baited breath, and the occasional scream. A warmth ran through me, not of fear, but of recognition. In this place, finally, pleasure wasn’t shameful. It felt ceremonial.

In that dimly-lit room, I watched Black bodies of all hues, shapes, and sizes dance in power—one person tied, another touched gently, someone else being f*cked into submission. I felt completely at ease. Not aroused in the way I expected, but seen. This wasn’t the kind of performative kink I’d read and heard about. It was soft, and not, reverent, honest.

That’s when I met Marcus.

RELATED CONTENT: How Satisfied Are You Really? This 3-Minute Quiz Reveals The Truth About Your Sex Life

7 Wildly Popular Sex Clubs That People Are Getting Off At

He was a well-respected daddy dom in the community—older, sharply dressed, dark-skinned, with locs to his shoulders and eyes that studied you like scripture. He took one long look at me and smiled.

“Welcome, beautiful. You carry yourself like a queen,” he said, “but not the kind waiting around to get picked. More like a goddess—like you already know the world is yours. I love that kind of energy.”

Marcus asked if he could show me around and introduce me to some folks. He ended up being my guide for the night, clearly impressed by my intelligence and quick wit, and maybe the fact that I wasn’t fawning all over him like some fangirl. By the end of the evening, he’d invited me to join his house and submit to him.

I hesitated. The idea of being taken care of by Marcus was intoxicating. But to yield? To obey? That’s never been my thing.

Source: Edward Olive / EyeEm / Getty

I smiled. “Submission isn’t my calling.”

He chuckled. “Exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

That night, he gave me a new title: Goddess Nandi, after the Zulu warrior queen.

“You don’t kneel,” he said. “You command. Your power is soft, but it’s still very much power. You deserve to be worshipped.”

And that’s when the fire caught.

Marcus introduced me to Eric a week later. We met at his home during a small, private gathering of trusted players. I arrived wrapped in gold lingerie, my skin kissed with shimmering oil, and my lips glossed with a honey hue. I was channeling Osun—the Yoruba Orisha of sweetness, love, and pleasure. I wore gold hoops that grazed my collarbone and anklets that chimed softly with every step.

Eric was younger than Marcus, maybe early thirties. Smooth brown skin, a quiet confidence in his shoulders. He was the kind of man who didn’t speak unless it meant something. Eric was a switch, Marcus told me, someone who could dominate or submit depending on the energy in the room and the woman he was pleasuring.

“But I think,” Marcus said, “he’s been waiting to serve a woman like you.”

Eric took my hand gently. “I’m honored to be here with you, Goddess,” he said. “I’d love to learn how to care for you. How to please you.”

My body buzzed with delight. Eric was beautiful and eager to serve. Most men enter sensual play believing they already have all the answers to what women desire. They lack curiosity. They’re boring lovers, honestly.

But not Eric.

The post Becoming Goddess Nandi — How A Night In A Black Kink Lounge Taught Me To Be A Worshipped Dominatrix [Op-Ed] appeared first on MadameNoire.



Source link
#Goddess #Nandi #Night #Black #Kink #Lounge #Taught #Worshipped #Dominatrix #OpEd

powered by Auto Youtube Summarize

Categories News

Tags Black Dominatrix Goddess Kink Kinky Lounge Nandi Night OpEd Sex Taught Worshipped