Topping From the Bottom? Not in My Dungeon.

He called me Mistress with such pretty breathlessness.

Said he wanted to be used. Owned. Broken. But somewhere between surrendering and stroking his own ego, he forgot what submission really is. This is what topping from the bottom looks like: he was on his knees, but giving instructions. Making demands. Trying to script the scene when he was supposed to be surrendering to it. Of course, I love tease and denial torture, so it goes without saying I build that desperate fire of need slowly and thoughtfully.

At first, I let it play. I like a little brat energy when it’s genuine, but topping from the bottom is a no go. But this was something else. This was control-seeking in disguise. This was a submissive trying to puppeteer his own punishment. He moaned a little too loud when I brushed against him, like he was trying to guide me. He whispered, “Harder, now,” like he forgot who held the leash.

And that’s when I stopped everything.

I looked down at him, hands still tied behind his back, and said, “Are you trying to top from the bottom, sweetheart?” His face flushed. He paused — good boy instincts flickering back to life. “You’re not the one in charge here,” I said, stepping back and walking toward the toy chest. “And now you’re going to learn what happens when you forget that.”

I pulled out the black strapon. The thick one. No warm-up, no asking, no permission. I lubed it generously while he squirmed against his bindings. “This isn’t for your pleasure,” I reminded him. “This is for correction. You will not try topping from the bottom again.”

I bent him over the padded bench, strapped his legs open, and positioned myself behind him. My hand pressed firmly between his shoulder blades as I whispered, “No safe word needed. But you will apologize.” Forget about having a sensual roleplay, he was going to feel my cock for days as a reminder of his poor behavior.

The first thrust wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t cruel either — it was intentional. Deep. Claiming. Corrective. He gasped and whimpered, his smart mouth suddenly quieted by the reality of what he asked for, and what I decided he needed. He tried to pull his hips back against me. More topping from the bottom. So I stopped again. “No,” I said, landing a hard slap on his ass. “You take what I give you. Nothing more.” He nodded, breath ragged. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Now you remember.” I started again, this time slower, with control that made him shake. Every inch was deliberate. Every moan he let slip was mine.

The truth about topping from the bottom

is that most submissives don’t even realize they’re doing it. It’s not always about malice, it’s about miscommunication, or a need to feel involved, or not trusting that their Dominant will deliver what they crave most. But a Dominant who knows herself,  who understands the psychology of power, and will always correct the course. And I did.

By the time I finished with him, he was trembling. Humbled. Ruined. Aftercare was quiet. Gentle. His head on my chest, my fingers in his hair. That’s when he finally said it. “I’m sorry for trying to control it.”

I kissed his forehead. “You’re forgiven,” I whispered. “But if it happens again, I’ll use the red one next time.” He laughed softly, already aching for more. And just like that, balance was restored.

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