‘Coming Out’ in BDSM

‘Coming Out’ in BDSM

It’s been nearly five years since my Daddy Husband and I stumbled into BDSM and began a relationship-transforming journey. Make that a life-changing journey. Those early days – which I have been writing about here on this blog – felt like a spiritual conversion to a new way of understanding ourselves and each other; indeed, a new way of understanding life. Our sexual relationship was of course, the most obvious beneficiary; we went from having great sex to ecstatic sex. We experienced a kind of fiery hot, transcendent sex that my imagination would have never been able to come up with on its own, no matter how many romance novels or sexy movies I fed to it.

But power exchange gave us far more than just fuel for incredible sex. It swept us up in a wave of more honest communication, deeper intimacy, unbreakable trust, more liberated love. The practice of surrender in D/s also instilled in me greater trust in my body, in the designs of nature, and in the experience of being alive.

It made us both a little crazy that we hadn’t discovered the D/s dynamic sooner and been able to reap the benefits earlier in our lives. It made me, in particular, almost angry that this code to unlocking my sexual self had been so deeply buried under myths and taboos and fetish porn that I only accessed it by accident. That is why I began turning my journals of our early days into posts on this blog. I felt almost morally obligated to leave a trail of bread crumbs for other natural submissives like to me to find. And yet …

I never tried to put the blog ‘out there,’ never linked it to anything, never talked about my secret project. In fact, over the first four years we practiced it, we’d never told anyone at all about our BDSM ‘orientation.’ First, because it’s not so easy to buck conventional wisdom that one’s private sex life is no one else’s business (although we are all terribly curious about others). But other reasons also seemed important: saving my adult children and family members from embarrassment, fitting in with my circle of vanilla friends, protecting my job with a conservative company famous for its brand of “traditional values.” And then there was the glare of the #MeToo movement and the fierce cultural rejection of men imposing their sexual will on women. Women were suddenly feeling empowered to protect themselves from being treated as sexual objects, and that, more than anything, made me reluctant to boast about the benefits of my own BDSM-style of sexual surrender to my man.

Yet, as our D/s relationship has matured over the years, evolving from the early red hot and bumpy stage, to a more calm and sustainable way of being with each other, I longed to be able to talk about our dynamic with other like-minded people. And so, earlier this year, we sought out our local kink community and tentatively attended our first munch. I didn’t know what to expect, but I certainly wouldn’t have guessed how wonderful it would feel to finally introduce myself as my husband’s submissive. Or, to be able to talk and laugh with other people who were enjoying the same kind of life. Or, to join a support group in which I could get other perspectives on challenges with the dynamic. Plus, they were just generally nice, fun, open-minded people to hang out with.

But something else really caught my attention at that first munch. A submissive woman was there, and the dominant she had devoted herself to had just died. She talked sadly about how she had not been invited to the funeral because her dominant had never felt comfortable informing his family about his D/s relationship with her. The leader of the group said, “Maybe in the future, when more people come out as BDSM, heartbreaking things like this won’t happen.” 

From that moment on, my long-standing desire to leave a trail of bread crumbs for other potential submissives to find has been evolving toward a determination to “come out” as an enthusiastic BDSM practitioner. I still face the same challenges and risks of doing so, but I am taking slow, careful steps in that direction. My first step was going to that munch. My next step has been to turn the posts from this blog into a book that will require me to be a more open and public advocate of D/s. Well, I should say a semi-open advocate, because I am publishing it under a pseudonym. I do still work for a conservative company, and I do still have children I want to protect from an embarrassing excess of information about their mother’s sex life.

Yet, for the first time, I am about to reach out to others in the online BDSM community, and find out if this book can contribute to the effort to inform and educate people about the joys of power exchange, and the many benefits that come with the D/s way of relating to one’s partner. I believe, as I have from the beginning, that BDSM can help create happier, more satisfied people and happier, more contented relationships, and thus, a happier world.

If you agree with that premise, and have been reading this blog or have just stumbled upon it, then I invite your thoughts on “coming out” as BDSM in the comments. I also invite you to check out the book – it’s available for free with a Kindle Unlimited subscription. I would especially welcome feedback on its contents (or reviews on Amazon!). Do I present the submissive experience accurately? Do I answer questions many of the uninitiated may have? I very much want to make it easier for the BDSM curious-but-hesitant feel good about undertaking an exploration into this rewarding way of sexual relating. In the meantime, I am forever grateful to anyone who has sent me comments and encouragement through this blog. It has meant the world.

The Joys of Rough Sex

The Joys of Rough Sex

Daddy and I have been writing each other all day about my desire for him to force me to submit, how I crave rougher, and I am full of bravado as 5 o’clock nears. But once I hear the garage door open and the rumble of his car in the garage, I am suddenly scared, nervous. And when he walks in with those smoldering eyes that tells me he has been working up a head of sexual steam all day, I think I actually gulp.

“Come here,” he says.

I walk toward him, and his hand claps onto my shoulder and he pushes me hard down onto my knees so forcefully that it makes me lose my balance a bit. Zing. I am instantly turned on just by that little bit of force, that one moment of being overpowered.

After I suck his cock, he pulls me to my feet, and I move a little wobbly into the kitchen to make dinner. As I cook, he begins unwinding the rope in the living room, looking over to me with a small smile that looks positively ruthless to me, and gives me a little shiver of fear, and a big wave of anticipation.

Our attempts at small talk are interspersed with small bursts of stray laughter from me.

“Is someone nervous?” he asks.

“Someone is very nervous,” I answer.

“You should be,” he says.

After we eat, he begins binding my breasts in a harness.

It is such a singular thing, to stand mostly naked, while he puts all that focus on me, and winds the rope around me in this slow hypnotic rhythm. It settles me completely into my body and my sexual self, while at the same time making it explicit that my body is his.

“Now,” he says. “Your spanking.”

He pulls me to the couch and pulls me over his lap, none too gently. My squeezed tight breasts are pressed painfully into the couch, and while I am trying to get comfortable he smacks my ass hard, very hard. Way harder than usual. I don’t know why it shocks me, how much it hurts. This is what I wanted, right?

It seems not at all what I want when the blows land. I am flinching, and moaning, trying to scramble away. But he shoves my head down onto the couch, holds me still, spanks me brutally until I am in tears. I think, how stupid am I, to invite such a abuse. I don’t like this!  But only moments after the last spank, my body calms, and I am swept by the sweetest surrendered feeling to his power over me.

With my ass still burning hot, he tells me to lie still on his lap and relax. I am only too happy to obey, still face down on the couch. He reaches for the lube and starts stroking my bottom hole. This is when he most truly becomes Daddy to me, when he penetrates me there, gently probing, opening me to his fingers while I lie helpless across his lap. My mind is so convinced only a Daddy could be allowed to do that, or would want to do that, would be so careful gentle and yet so insistent. It is hard to lie still for it, accept the intensity of his fingers pounding into my ass, the too-much-ness of it. I want to squirm because it feels like an invasion, a wrongness, and it hurts.

But oh my god the pleasure that comes as I allow that pain, and submit to that piercing pressure. I have a mental image of those expanding circles that artists draw in the ocean to show the traveling of a sonar waves. I feel round shafts of the most deeply satisfying pleasure pulsing through me.

But ass penetration is not just physical pleasure, it rivets my mind as well as my body, my mind literally cannot move any more than my body can, and my mind craves more even when my body is saying enough, I can’t take more. Then he slides another finger in, and I feel myself keep opening, allowing, almost swooning, fuck yes. And I know, I KNOW this is what Daddy love feels like, to be so essentially and personally taken and invaded and penetrated to the core.

So he has prepared me, and stretched me, and even though I feel so incredibly open, he tells me I am tight, and he is going to put a plug in. I lie still and breathless as he pushes the fat, clear silicone plug into my throbbing behind. It feels more hard and painful and cold than his fingers, but satisfying still, to be on the edge of what I can stand, to feel myself stretched and full. And his fingers go in my pussy, oh I am full everywhere, I feel ecstasy building, I am dissolving …

And then a dark pain, deep in my ass, BAD pain, his fingers pounding into my pussy are pushing the plug too far in, I turn my head in alarm, start yelling, “Ow, ow, ow!” my hand shoving at him to stop. The TV is on, he cannot hear me at first. It is getting worse, I am in a panic, kicking my feet, yelling louder, when he finally stops. “It hurts!  You’re hurting me!”

He quickly discovers that the plug has ENTIRELY disappeared inside me, round handle and all have gone too far up my ass. From ecstasy to horror in ten seconds. True horror. I am scared so scared, I fear I have to go to the emergency room to get it taken out, I will become a joke, the humiliation will be unbearable.

But Daddy keeps his head, and calmly works his finger in after it and plucks it out. He seems to take it in stride.

I do not take it in stride, I am so upset by this turn, mortified by it.  My butthole hurts bad, I have no clue if it is seriously damaged (it isn’t), and I am pretty well hysterical, half laughing half crying.  But he is saying shhhhh, pulling me onto his lap, comforting me.

But I am done, and I am sure that my solicitous husband will stop now, release me from sexual obligation for the evening, allow me to recover my composure. But this is not my husband, this is my Daddy, and what Daddy wants, Daddy takes. And when I say I am done with anal training, I give up, he will not hear of it.

“We are not giving up, baby girl,” he says. Already he is pushing me back over his lap and sliding his fingers back into my pussy. I have the uncanny feeling that it doesn’t matter what I feel, literally does not matter, my body does not belong to me, and he is going to finish what he started. And yes I am still excited after all, and his fingers keep sliding in and out of me, stirring me, and the orgasm comes fast, and then another … And then he tells me to turn over onto my back and he fucks me until his own orgasm makes him groan loud. He will later tell me that it was the fuck of his life.

Afterward he cleans between my legs with the towel, that tender Daddy task that makes me so feel like a girl being taken care of, makes me know I can trust him. He lies over me, sucks on my pushed out titties, then, his face charged and wild like I have never seen, he grabs the front of the breast harness, and lifts the top of my body, shaking me with growls of ownership. I feel like a rag doll, helpless in the grip of his powerful hand, his powerful possessive love. Being shaken like that pushes me further in a submissive trance, I feel my head fall back in the stunned peace of subspace.

Finally, Daddy pulls me to my feet so he can unwrap the ropes. It is a long luxurious process, he cradles me close, and the feel of rope sliding across my body as well as his tender hands keeps me in that space for a long, suspended while …

I was not wrong about more force bringing me more satisfaction, more surrender.  I could have never imagined being so close to someone, so handled inside and out.  I feel consumed by him, swallowed up into him.  I had thought I was throwing myself into the D/s dynamic, did not realize how completely I would be throwing myself into him.

Who is he, this dominant Daddy of mine?  I have only barely met him. He does not even know this unfolding version of himself. I am unfamiliar with myself too, we are changing each other, becoming new people with each other. I feel so raw as he unwraps me, so at the mercy of the unknown him and the ever changing us. And so fucking in awe of how he loves me.

The Nitty Gritty Part Two

The Nitty Gritty Part Two

After our little D/s crisis of the other night, where I felt foolish for wanting to ask for anal training, and shut myself down, I keep wanting to ask Daddy, what are we DOING?  I cannot wait for him to get home to have a real conversation, and it is easier for me to write my thoughts anyway, so I email him again:

We’ve had many talks about how D/s feels to you and me, and how and why it excites each of us.  But I don’t think we’ve talked about how we want the process to unfold, what point we want to get to, what exactly we are trying to accomplish with this kind of relationship.  I know right now we’re in discovery mode, and still trying to figure those things out.  But it seems to me that we can’t get past the bumps in the road – like what happens if I am not in the mood to submit – without a mutual agreement on what we are DOING.    

On the surface, we have a basic agreement that I will do whatever you tell me sexually, and you have the right to my body, and so forth.  This agreement has infused incredible heat into our sex life.  And it seems to me that you look at the BDSM type things we’ve been exploring as a menu of options that you may choose from depending on what sounds pleasurable to you at the moment.  That is, of course, as it should be; the submissive is there to serve at the pleasure of the dominant.  

But there is a larger framework in D/s, at least for me.  A framework that I believe requires deeper responsibilities to each other than just the delivery of pleasure or sexual excitement.  I got tangled up in my ideas on anal training the other night.  But it’s not just because “Oh I like it in the ass.”  You talk about butt plugs as if they are part of whatever menu of pleasure you feel like indulging in, when I have been looking at it as something different, something more like the holy grail of submission.  You have been looking at it as something that is “hot” and I have been looking at it as a spiritual requirement.  

I told you I have been reading the book, The Surrender by Toni Bentley, that erotic memoir about anal sex.  I picked it up looking for clues as to why whenever you put a finger, or anything else, in my behind it has such a powerful effect on me.  Maybe if I send you a few snippets, it will help you understand why I made such a stupid deal out of those stupid plugs the other night.

“Bliss, I learned from being sodomized, is an experience of eternity in a moment of real time.  Sodomy is the ultimate sexual act of trust.  I mean you could really get hurt – if you resist.  But pushing past that fear, by passing through it, literally, ah the joy that lies on the other side of convention.  The peace that is past the pain.  Going past the pain is key.  Once absorbed, it is neutralized and allows for transformation.  Pleasure alone is mere temporary indulgence, a subtle distraction, an anesthetization while on the path to something higher, deeper, lower…

“Anal sex is about cooperation.  One is in charge, the other obedient.  Entirely in charge, entirely obedient.  You can’t half-ass butt-fuck… His cock pierces my yang – my desire to know, control, understand, and analyze – and forces my yin – my openness, my vulnerability – to the surface…  As a liberated woman, it is the only way I can get there.  Turned over, ass in the air, I have little choice but to succumb and lose my head.  This is how I can have an experience my feminist intellect would never allow… Emancipation through the back door would never be, for any rational woman, a choice.  It can only happen as a gift.  A surprise.

“I am, you see, a woman who has been in search of surrender my whole life – to find something, someone, to whom I could subsume my ego, my will, my miserable mortality… And then he found me, the man who demanded my submission… If you can let a man ass-fuck you – and only the truly sensitive lover should have that privilege – you will learn to trust not only him but yourself, totally out of control.  And beyond control lies God.  It is through this physical surrender, this forbidden pathway, that I have found myself, my voice, my spirit, my courage.  This is the truth about the beauty of submission.  The power in submission.  It is God’s supreme irony.  Enter the exit; paradise awaits.”

I send those words to Daddy.  I want him to understand the larger context for me.  How I feel like the health of my soul depends on cultivating real dominance and submission between us.  This time his reply is not long in coming:

Oh, wow, lightbulb moment, .. “What are we DOING?”  I thought you were asking that in the rhetorical sense, the bewildered/panicked/relationship-at-stake sense, .. I didn’t realize your question was literal, .. What, indeed, are we doing, in the larger sense?  And, of course, you’ve asked exactly the right question (you always do), .. I’ll admit that I’ve approached our D/s dynamic in a haphazard way, without any end in mind, .. some light reading, a one-page ‘contract’, and off we went, .. Don’t get me wrong, these first few weeks have been incredibly gratifying, .. OMG, the pleasure you’ve given me, .. so many ‘best ever’ moments.  It’s clear now, though, that I have to consider your ‘larger sense’ question.  I hadn’t thought of BDSM (and anal play in particular) as a spiritual pathway. I’ve viewed our evolving D/s dynamic as a way to reveal my truest nature, free myself, .. and yes, “get my rocks off” by having you submit to my every sexual whim , .. It’s so appealing on a raw, physical, visceral level, that masculine-me hadn’t considered the spiritual possibilities.  My mind association has Tantra in that spiritual space and BDSM a purely physical/mental experience.  I hadn’t considered that it was possible to “know God by being fucked in the ass.” .. :))).  You’re right, I had thought of anal sex as a ‘menu item’, but I get where you’re coming from now, .. it can apparently be so much more.

So, what are we doing? .. In my view, stepping back, it involves words/phrases like: ‘pursuing our truest selves’ or ‘pursuing “oneness” with each other’ or even ‘pursuing God’ .. You asked,“What happens if I’m not in the mood to submit, then what?  Will you force me?” .. I am finding that societal restraints are fading as time passes, so the answer is a simple, ‘I will force you to submit’ (Oh, just typing that thrills me), and I don’t know whether you’ve noticed or not, but I feel that I’ve been more and more assertive in that way as our dynamic unfolds, as my truest self is revealed, .. You asked, “What did I mean the other night when I said that I need to be your Daddy?” .. Oh, baby girl, it’s my highest calling, my truest purpose, .. the thought, ironically, makes my heart soar and my cock stiff, .. taking care of you, holding you, cherishing you, loving you more than life itself, .. the bondage, the discipline, your submission, your surrender, .. it all resonates so perfectly well as good and right and even necessary down to my very core.  I don’t know that I can explain it any better than that.

As I read Daddy’s words, I have to squeeze my thighs together to ease the throbbing in my pussy.

He has just rescued me from the terrible suspicion I had the day before that I’d been trapped into being secretly in control, able to manipulate him with my feelings.  And I had noticed that he’s been more willing to impose his will on me in a physical way. I’d also noticed how much it helps me snap out of whatever mental snafu I have gotten myself into.  Daddy manhandling me, pushing and pulling me over his lap the night before, despite my reluctance, was the one peaceful moment I had that evening.

I believe David Deida is right in that the motive of force matters, whether it is motivated by love or not, and that there is a difference between rape and ravishment, though they may look the same on the outside.  And Deida is right too in that anyone with a feminine essence longs to be ravished.  The rougher he is with me the more I feel…  well, the more I feel everything.  More passionately desired and more inside my body and inside of life, and more free from my mind, more surrendered and more peaceful and more right.

I am more and more convinced that BDSM is a kind of secret code to the subconscious, or even spirit itself, a symbolic language that unlocks very deep life and love things.  And oh, I can’t wait for Daddy to get home…

The Nitty Gritty of Power Exchange

The Nitty Gritty of Power Exchange

So Daddy goes off to work this morning and I send him my thoughts about our little D/s moment of crisis from last night, and my epiphany on how I want to be more forcefully dominated.  More forcefully forced.  And this is what he writes me back:

Well, my suddenly rebellious teenager, you have been a bad girl haven’t you? .. So, I ask myself:  Can I be the very strong Daddy you need me to be?  Can I run roughshod over my baby girl when she gets wobbly? .. No, that’s the wrong question, .. Of course I can, .. the better question is do I want to?  A few weeks ago, I would have said, ‘no’, that’s not me, but our D/s dynamic continuously evolves and reveals and awakens, and as we peel back the layers, I am often surprised and occasionally shocked by the severity of my masculine essence, ..  I thrill at turning you over my knee and smacking your ass and cramming your face into our mattress while fucking you, .. Still, the question remains, do I want to run roughshod when you’re rebellious, when you’re reluctant?  Do I need to show you who your Daddy is in those moments?  Is that me?  As you point out, societal indoctrination to respect others is strong, .. ‘no’ means ‘no’ and all that, .. but if my cock is any indication (currently stiff), it’s definitely in my nature to impose and subdue, even when you’re unwilling, so the want is there, .. time will tell if I’m capable, I suppose.

Of course then I ask myself the next obvious question:  What if I’m not the very strong Daddy my baby girl needs?  Where does that leave us?

When I read this, which I basically interpret as, “ I guess we’ll see,” I feel very unsettled.  It’s not what I expected him to say.  I thought it would be something like, oh yeah baby, gonna use whatever dominant force necessary to keep this D/s ship sailing on smooth seas.  Or words to that effect. Instead, I hear him saying he is not sure how dominant he really is.  I don’t like it.  And so I write him back:

Oh Daddy, what a big self-deceiver I have been, and maybe you have been one too.  What in the world are we DOING?  Do we really have any idea of what dominance and submission even means?  I have been so busy focusing on the finer points of submission, and the sexual love juice of it, I never much thought about the domination side of things, only that I knew it was the more difficult side of it, the greater responsibility.  But I take that back – 

I have the more difficult side, because it is really me running this show.  You have said you don’t know if you are capable or not of being in true and literal control of me.  If I am not in the mood, or can’t find the submissive impulse, well you might not be able to insist.  So if there is no dominant on the other side, then by default, it is up to me and my will and my moods and my consent whether it works or not, and that makes ME the fucking dominant, jesus Christ, fucking AGAIN.  And I am PISSED, probably not at you, I think you are amazing brave wonderful to take on this crazy experiment with me at all.

But I am back where I was when I tried to play the dominant role with previous husband, and it slowly occurred to me that the whole thing was happening per his desires, the supposed submissive. I knew then it was all an elaborate play-acting game, and now it seems that no matter which way I turn, I cannot escape elaborate play-acting.  Seriously, how can we call it domination if it is at my pleasure not yours?  As I was pouting and shutting down last night over a stupid fucking butt plug, oh I felt I’d become so absurd, unable to manage my evermore intense desires.  I feel so lost and I don’t know where safety is. It’s supposed to be with you, in your solid sense of what is right for me, but the few times I have pushed it, I have felt your hesitance, you hold back, for what reasons I am not sure. It could be that it just takes time to be confident in a new way of relating.  But it also could be that it is an impossible task, in the real world anyway –

When I read D/s erotica stories, there is no negotiation for “safe, sane and consensual” scenes, there is always some set up in which the woman is given no choice at all, she is forced to submit, sold into marriage, or given to some man for some reason, or some other set up in which he literally owns her or has legal right to her body.  That is the female fantasy of submission, no choice, being owned, forced, that is where the peace lies.  But that is fiction.

I had assumed that submission and being dominated were the same experience, but they’re not.  Submitting by choice is wonderful and sexy, but if it is only by choice, then here comes all the noisy static of choice.  Do I want this, do I like this, am I in the mood for this, and so on.  There is no peace in choice for me.  Being dominated is a much different feel, a more wild and raw thing, and I am discovering I need that as much or even more than simple submission …

It can’t be only my responsibility to make this work, I can’t be the only one who is willing to cross the boundary of acceptability, the only one willing to take all the psychological risk – and oh there is risk.  I have been trying to turn my mind over to you in the most real way, and on some days it has been almost scary effective.  But what is the risk for you?  You smashing my face against the mattress when you know I like and want it?  What is the risk in that?

I don’t know if that is the right question, I don’t what I’m saying, or asking exactly.  I write you all my thoughts, but yours feel hidden to me.  I don’t know what was going through your mind last night.  You seemed upset at the idea of giving up being my Daddy.  You said you NEED to be my Daddy, but why do you need it?  We have agreed that a Daddy is protective and loving and all that.  But what about the domination part of it?  The ownership part of it?  What is domination to you?  What is it that makes you identify as a dominant?  What do you mean when you say you want me to belong to you?  What does that require of me?  What does it require of me if I do not feel like doing what you say, if I am having some mental shut down moment like last night?  Does it require I just go along anyway?  Then that means I become a pretender, a play actor.  That means all the responsibility is on me to make it work.

Tell me, Daddy Husband, what are we DOING?  Your phrase “time will tell” is probably the right one, it has to be allowed to unfold as it will, as we discover it.  We need time and experience to grow into it.  But still, that phrase made me want to weep. If you don’t know one way or the other, then how can you be the dominant?  Isn’t what happens supposed to be by your choice?  I know that’s not fair, I can’t allow myself the luxury of being wobbly in submission, and give you no wobble room at all.  I just know I can’t keep this up if it is essentially only a play-acting charade.  At some point we will have to face that defining moment – do you have it in you truly own me, and to be the strong Daddy I need?

Oh, I am sad you sounded so unsure.  But then, how can you not be unsure?   This is a dark and strange foreign land we have entered, nothing is as it looks on the surface …

I hit send, and then sit in turmoil for the next few hours, wondering if I am dragging us toward the edge of the D/s cliff.  I have the feeling when standing atop a hill and I can see the destination I want to get to, but I can’t see the path to get there.  Or maybe that’s not the right analogy.  Maybe it’s more like I know how to get there, but I can’t drive.  I need Daddy to drive us there.  It takes awhile, but here is what I hear back:

Well, sweet girl, what an odd twist, .. happier than ever two short days ago to full-on crisis tonight.  I’ve been a very bad Daddy, baby girl, .. “time will tell”, Jesus fuck, did I really type that phrase?  What a candy-assed thing to say.  It seemed benign enough in context, .. the D/s way of being does continue to evolve for me, but fuck, you have every right to be pissed, .. at me, not yourself.  I’ll try again in crystal clear terms:  I have an extremely masculine bent.  I prefer the ‘loving dominant’ dynamic, but I get stiff when I think about subduing you, willing or not, and I am very capable of imposing my will.  It isn’t a game or role play; it’s me being my true self, of that I’m certain.  I am the strong Daddy you need.

I close the computer, and I actually cry.  Oh, thank God.  It is only later that I realize he still hasn’t answered the most important question of all:  What exactly are we DOING?

When the D/s Dynamic Gets Slippery

When the D/s Dynamic Gets Slippery

I was a bad girl last night.  Those are the first words that came to mind as I sit down to write this while it is still early morning dark.  I don’t know if that’s literally what I was; more like imperfectly submissive.  I upset Daddy for sure.  I got myself in a mental tangle, one of those stupid things, for stupid reasons.  It is the first time that has happened like that.  I have been shaken and rattled by this dynamic before, scared by it, but I have not felt … Frozen in mind, unable to willingly surrender.  It was strange …

Daddy came home from his trip last night, and I was nervous, but I was so relieved when he walked through the door and immediately pushed me down to my knees to take his cock in my mouth.  A little later he tied me in wonderful rope, tight around my breasts, and I felt that delicious submissive spell creep up on me.  Then he said it was time for a spanking.  But instead of lying across his lap like I was told, I said, “Wait!”  And I ran into the bedroom to get the tray of butt plugs.  I planned to ask him to put one in me before he spanked me.

I had spent some time on Fetlife earlier in the day, and saw again the submissive girls posting videos of themselves showing how much they can take in their ass, how big the toys, how they train themselves.  Or their Daddies post the videos of themselves ass fucking his sub with captions like “see what a good baby girl I have.”  It’s clearly a prized submissive skill, to take your dominant’s cock in the ass, and so of course this is what I aspire to – for that, and many other reasons, pleasure reasons, submissive mindset reasons, spiritual reasons.  And after Daddy had been gone so long, I’d thought, Damn, after all Daddy’s efforts to get my ass to open up, I am probably back to where I started, and I need to get back to some kind of training …

But as I started to open the drawer for the tray, I didn’t feel right taking it back into the living room and trying to get him do something I wanted.  It seemed it should be his idea, not mine.  And what if he wasn’t in the mood for that?  I closed the drawer, went back to couch where Daddy was waiting, and started to lie on his lap.  But then I had the thought, no I’m allowed to at least ask, and so I straddled his lap and started to talk to him about it …

But I couldn’t quite get the words out.  I felt embarrassed and stupid that it meant so much to me.  I felt I’d already made a fool of myself asking for anal training too many times, mentioning it over and over, writing about it, and leaving the stupid tray of plugs laying out on the coffee table.  I’d been hinting, hinting, but he only reached for them a few times on his own.  So I sat there facing him, frozen, unable to say what I wanted.

“What?” he demanded.  “What do you want to say?”

I could only shake my head.  I felt like a bad submissive for having my own agenda, and then I suddenly I felt upset at him.  Why did I have to keep asking (pleading) for ass training?  Why did he keep telling me he was into that if he really wasn’t?  Why did he agree it was an important thing for us to accomplish and then make so little effort to get there?  Was it because he was tired of working on my stubborn tight butthole?  Was it because it had become a chore?  It was agonizing to be spinning in such a mental circle over something like THAT.  My fear of turning him off made my mind freeze up, and then the ropes on me felt ridiculous too, I felt the urge to get them off me.  And so I asked him, please take them off …

But he said no  (oh, I did feel relief when he said no, if he’d said yes, then that would confirmed that I was indeed ridiculous).  He said I was wearing them for him, not me, and that was a relieving thought, and then he said time for spanking, and I was shaking my head, I didn’t see how I could submit to that feeling so foolish already, but he kept coaxing me, physically pushing me over his lap, and that was good, I needed that.  The spanking was good, it helped, I could feel myself moving back toward submission.  But then … there was nothing else to submit to.  He didn’t ask for anything more.  So we sat, we watched TV, and submission drifted away out of reach again, and soon I wanted the ropes off again, kept asking, please take them off.

It was a fairly miserable evening for me, and when we went to bed, he said he’d tuck me in, but I told him I didn’t want that either.  He became silent for a long while.  I lay still and cold and hard.

Finally his voice came in the dark, tinged with a note of fear:  “You don’t want to do this anymore?”

“That’s not it,” I said.  But I didn’t know how to express my own fears.  We were somehow in a moment of crisis with D/s I didn’t fully understand.

We lay there in the dark for several more long, tense minutes.  Then all at once he rolled toward me with energy and purpose, and pushed me over onto my side.

“You don’t have a choice,” he said, then shoved my leg up so that my ass was exposed to him.  I lay still, heart beating hard as I heard him open the lube.  Then he tucked me in all right, shoved his fingers up into my ass, whispering in my ear, “You’re mine, and you’ll do as you’re told.”

Oh fuck, the relief to feel dominated!  To be given no choice, to shut all those tortured thoughts off.  To just say, yes, Daddy, I am yours.  Oh, I wanted to cry with relief.

But this morning I feel regretful, very much like a bad girl.  I don’t like upsetting the D/s dynamic.  Why does it feel so fragile sometimes?  Is it just because we are so new?  Do we just need to better understand how it works?

The submissive mindset sometimes comes easy for me, sometimes it slips away, mostly when I am embarrassed or scared or feeling foolish.  But clearly, I can’t fix it all by myself.  Submission is only half the equation, there needs to be strong force of dominance on the other side.  I need a very strong Daddy, someone willing to dominate me forcefully when I am feeling wobbly in my submission.

This is not an easy thing for us to grasp firmly, we are both so indoctrinated in the respect the other person’s feelings, we have all this cultural training to look it at is wrong and immoral to do something without the other’s consent.  But when I am struggling like that, I don’t need my feelings respected, I need them overrun and shut off.  I need to be physically made to obey, put in my place.

That is what I was craving last night, to be forced to obey.  He figured it out eventually, he is very smart and intuitive.  But it took hours, and I wonder what will happen the next time I become frozen and reluctant.  Can he force me to submit?  What if I am even more reluctant than I was last night, could he drag me over his lap, and cram my head against the couch and spank the crap out of me until I KNOW who my Daddy is?  Could he hold me down and fuck me and show me I belong to him even if I was saying no?  How dominant is he in truth?

I suddenly feel this rebellious teenager type feeling of wanting to test our boundaries.   Find out what my Daddy is made of, find out how much he wants to own me.  I have no idea how I’d really feel if he did run roughshod over me like that.  But I can honestly say I crave to be subdued.  I don’t want to be able to control the level of dominance he exercises through my own feelings.  There is paradoxically a feeling of great safety in being shown total and complete dominance, of knowing there is no room for me to wiggle free and be left to my own mind.  I am usually miserable when left to my own mind.  I feel saved when I submit to his.

There it is, the truth.  I want to be forced, I need to be forced.  What will he say when I tell him?

Are Women “Wired” for Submission?

Are Women “Wired” for Submission?

Ah, wonderful life-affirming, marriage-enhancing, heat-producing BDSM.  After a long hiatus updating this blog while I dealt with health problems and a couple of no-fun surgeries – and feeling constrained by the whole #MeToo movement of female empowerment against unwanted sexual dominance by men – my Daddy and I have recommitted ourselves to our BDSM life with marvelous vengeance.  We are now over four years into our journey of Dominance and Submission, and oh the things we have learned.  But for now, I am going to go back and pick up our tale from where I so abruptly left off, back when we were just beginning.  This is my journal entry written a month or so into our D/s journey …

Daddy has gone away on a business trip, and over the two days he’s been gone, I’ve been caught up in work, feeling the return of independent me, not thinking too much about sex.  In fact, I’ve become so detached from the idea of sex that I feel puzzled by the intensity of the past month, maybe even a little embarrassed by my previous zeal for the Daddy Dom dynamic.

Last night, all alone, I poked around online for things to read, and ran across these unbeknownst-to-me genres of erotic literature available only in e-books that have flourished in the post-50 Shades of Grey world.  There is a whole genre of being treated as “little” by dominating men and even a sub-genre of “historical” tales – stories of poor lost orphan girls pushed into Victorian boarding schools where they are trained to be submissives to new rich Daddies.  They are splayed open and inspected by stern doctors, given enemas by stern nurses, bound to their beds, and have ginger plugs shoved up their bums when they are bad.

I ran into these books just by typing “spanking” into the Amazon search engine, and hundreds of these are available for download.  Every possible spanking configuration has a niche, the submitting to the stepfather, the schoolmaster, the moody billionaire, the doctor, the sheikh, the teenager, the child, and even “the baby” who is forced to wear diapers, suck on a bottle.  And there is of course spanking on most every page.  It amazed and astonished me, the sheer volume of output about these fantasies.  True, it is dreadfully written stuff, laughably bad.  But clearly, women respond to them in a big way.  I do.  I got hooked reading Taken by the Duke late into the night, feeling the pull of it, almost put in a spell by it.

Before long, a huge sexual longing for my Daddy hit me like an ocean wave, and engulfed me completely.  My mind was possessed by restless sexual longing the rest of the night.  As my mind turned to imagining the rope, or the spankings I suddenly wanted so badly, I felt very aware of how the sexual reward centers of my brain were lighting up, creating a loop of craving (stimulating chemicals) and a following satisfaction (tranquilizing chemicals) from the mere thought of being spanked.  It felt like I had no choice in the matter, the rush of chemicals from the initial longing and then the imagined receiving – they literally hijacked my brain, and spread throughout my body until I actually ached to submit to Daddy, to be taken.

Again, I had the feeling that as a woman with an essential feminine essence (in Deida speak),  I am somehow “wired” for submission, that there is an actual chemical pleasure reward built into the more primitive parts of my brain that, and it lights up like crazy when triggered by feelings and acts of submission.

And last night, whatever chemical flood was triggered by my fantasies of submitting to Daddy stayed with me through the night, because I had long elaborate submissive dreams as well.    I read a sub wife’s blog yesterday where she talks about the intensity of discovering submission, which came with an overwhelming desire to stay on her knees almost constantly.  She said that desire “powerfully controlled” her body.  She said, “I was besotted with submission.  Saturated.  Infused. Owned.”

I have felt the same, saturated and infused, and I would guess that is what happens to me in actuality, I become saturated and infused with the stimulating/tranquilizing chemicals being churned out by my brain.  And these chemicals are wonderful and oh-my-god so addictive.  If I type “The neurobiology of BDSM” into a Google search, the first thing that comes-up is an article in Psychology Today. A relevant excerpt …

“We all know pleasure and pain can be felt simultaneously: think of the pleasures of a delicious meal laden with spicy chili peppers or the blissful ache following a long-distance run.  In the lexicon of cognitive neuroscience, both pleasure and pain indicate salience, that is, experience that is potentially important and thereby deserving of attention

How is salience built into neural pathways?  We have an evolutionarily ancient and highly interconnected pleasure circuit in our brains.  When  neurons in a brain region called the ventral tegmental area become electrically active, thereby triggering the release of dopamine in a structure called the nucleus accumbens, this evokes the feeling of pleasure …”

The article also says that only 5 to 10 percent of the population report finding pain in the context of sexual stimulation pleasurable.  But I suspect that is only the number of people who have experimented enough to discover an ability to find pleasure in pain.  A year ago I would have said that I absolutely do not find pain to be sexually gratifying.  But today, I am regularly becoming blissed-out by things like firm spankings and tight rope.  Of course, it might not be so much about the spanking or the rope, but about how efficiently those things trigger the chemical rewards of mild pain.

There is something beyond the pleasure reward that plays into submission.  While lying across Daddy’s lap getting spanked, or when he holds me down forcefully to fuck me, I get an incredibly strong sense that “I am designed for this.”  I experience it as such an overwhelmingly primal reaction, and see so much evidence of it in other women all over the internet, that I cannot help but think there could be a universal sexual submission response built into the female brain – or at least a whole lot of them.  Clearly it can be part of the male brain as well, but more many women in BDSM identify as submissive than do men. (See Fetlife breakdown of member kinks).  I know I have come to yearn for it in an urgent psychological way, a spiritual way.

For me, submission is spiritual surrender made literal through my naked body.  To be used by my Daddy feels very much like being used by life, allowing myself to be caught up in the visceral force of love – a creaturely animal force that needs the sexual union of opposites in order to create new life.  I have always had a concept of God as this life/love force, a spiritual longing to be joined in union that exists within all living things.  I can almost literally feel it within me as a longing for the infusion of the masculine polarity (spiritual being) into the feminine polarity (physical being).

I think David Deida is right, and the power exchange of dominance and submission explicitly charges up each polarity.  The more extreme the polarity, the greater the sexual charge between poles, the greater the magnetic pull and flow of energy, the greater the urge to penetrate and be penetrated, by love, and thus by God.  After all my restless spiritual wandering through different philosophies and disciplines, sexual submission to my Daddy Husband is the closest I have ever been to directly experiencing what feels like God-energy pouring into me.  All brought on by Daddy’s hand on my throat, a length of rope, his sharp smack across my bottom.

I am utterly fascinated by all this, but also outraged that I am so late to this way of being, that I only discovered this part of me, and the man able to liberate it, after a lifetime of lackluster 50/50 sex.  I am especially outraged that I have discovered it after menopause, when my sexual response is nothing like it what it was back when I had plump fertile ovaries and a working uterus.  I have a secret suspicion that the feminists who worked so hard to help women by pushing for the sexual revolution were at the same time unknowingly dragging some of us away from our true sexual nature.  Wait, that isn’t right, one has to be able to be an independent self in order to be able to offer true submission, right?  Submission can’t be forced upon a woman against her will, it must be offered willingly.  Sex that is taken without consent is criminal rape that hurts, not spiritual submission that heals.

Still, I wonder. Did cave-woman sexual surrender feel the same as submission does to me when I offer it freely to my mate?  Did 18th century submission to one’s husband lead to any version of bliss?  If it is a universal primitive response as I have been considering, or an evolutionary mechanism built within women so they would allow themselves to be fucked and impregnated – and actually want to be fucked and impregnated – then wouldn’t it work no matter when and where?  I don’t know. I just know I get lost in thinking about this, wondering at this new self of mine, this thrilling new relationship of ours.  I can’t wait for Daddy to come home, and put me across his lap, and enlighten me some more.  Whether it is because I am a woman or not, I am wired for it, I am sure.

Why We Haven’t Been Posting Lately About Our BDSM Love Story …

Why We Haven’t Been Posting Lately About Our BDSM Love Story …

So last year my Daddy husband Michael and I started posting excerpts from a book we had been writing about our – at that point – two-year ecstatic journey into BDSM. I imagined eventually posting the whole book, which covered the first six months our experience. Oh those glorious first six months! But then … the #MeToo movement happened. It became more and more difficult for me to reconcile the cultural moment of women’s empowerment with my writing on the joys of sexual submission. And now we have the whole Brett Kavanaugh mess, a Supreme Court nominee who is accused of sexual assault, a dramatic reckoning which is unfolding as I write this…. The timing could not be worse for what I wanted to express.

Now – to all those who have wondered and asked– sexual submission has remained the basic dynamic of our relationship. We still know that is the most fulfilling way to conduct our sexual life. But this year we have also taken a little break from that, not because it doesn’t work for us (oh it works!), but because of the most mundane of reasons: health issues.

Ironically, one of my first inklings of my health problems was thanks to BDSM. Over the last year I had developed a fondness for being spanked outside in nature. I loved the extra layer of vulnerability, the excitement of the risk of being seen … But one day earlier this year, when my sweet Daddy sat down on a tree trunk in the nearby woods to turn me over this knee, the spanking did not feel good. It jarred me, and there was no pleasure in the pain. I rose up angry, saying, “Too hard!” He laughed and sort of brushed it off, saying he spanked me with the same force he always did. Which only made me even angrier. We can’t do this anymore, I said, if you’re not going to hear me.

I should have known that if I can’t take a good spanking, then something is wrong. And as it turns out, there was a reason why my pain tolerance had disappeared. And, after many long months of uncertainty and medical tests, I finally underwent brain surgery six weeks ago. Needless to say, we have not indulged in our preferred way of sexual loving for most of this year. But we miss it intensely. And we frequently talk of our hope of resuming that part of our relationship when all is healed …

But I have to say, that after all the years of building trust and communication through sexual dominance and submission, our relationship has been able to weather this stress amazingly well. My husband is still my sweet Daddy who takes care of me. And I still find him the most amazing man in all the world, worthy of worship. Our bond is strong. And maybe someday in the not distant future, I will go back to finishing that book, and posting our experience.

In the meantime, thank you to everyone who has written to us. We wish you well on your own journey.

A Submissive Little Red Riding Hood

A Submissive Little Red Riding Hood

Yesterday was a very upside down day.  I felt so confused by what is happening to me. Here I thought I’d been chronicling a great love story, in which my soul is saved by sweet submissive sex to my Daddy Husband.  Then, suddenly, it felt like I was writing a harrowing psychological journey in which I’d consented to my own brainwashing into a different reality.  I imagined myself ending up crouched in a closet, naked, insensible to myself, begging Daddy to be let out and fucked.  And who would have any sympathy for idiot me?  No one.  I’d been trying to turn my mind over to him as if it was useless to me, and my mind seemed only too willing to oblige me.

As I head out for my morning walk through our neighborhood under the still-bare oak branches, I wonder if this is what I deserve for trying to take a shortcut to enlightenment.  Like Little Red Riding Hood trying to ‘zag’ through the woods, I’ve run smack into the Big Bad Wolf.  I’m not sure if the wolf is Daddy, or if the wolf is inside me – the thing that wants to devour my ego and leave me empty.  I think “it’s cheating at life to turn myself over to someone else.  Blog37Quote1Isn’t it my job as a human being to be responsible for my own body, my own choices?”  The price of shirking that responsibility to become submissive suddenly seems very high.  I am dragging my feet as I head back up the concrete steps to my front door.

Then I sit in my chair by the window with my computer and open my inbox to find an email from Michael in response to me sharing my worries the night before.  It is a taking-it-in-stride no-worries email.  A yes, it’s a disorienting journey but Daddy-will-take-care-it email.  It immediately calms me.  And when the work day is done, he comes home and kisses me and puts me on my knees and puts his cock in my mouth and all seems right with the world.

Although I apparently keep looking at his face in a searching way, because he says, “You look wary.”

I suspect I am looking for Michael, my husband, but he is not the man standing before me.  This man is truly Daddy to me now, the name Michael doesn’t even seem to fit.  But I feel so calm and happy in his presence, it seems not a problem any more.

We talk for awhile, agreeing that we can’t go back, don’t want to go back, this is who we really are.  He says he needs to be my Daddy for himself, and I say I need him to be that for me.  But how, I ask, do we make it work so that I don’t get so overwhelmed and lost in it, especially during sex with the insatiable dominant in him?  Should I ever be allowed to say no?

The question is no sooner out of my mouth than we adamantly agree – that is not going to happen.  Neither of us want me to have a choice in how he uses me (oh how I love that word ‘use’ and the throb of sexual heat it releases in me – used by Daddy, used by love, used by life).  I cannot give up my submission to him, that would be disastrous to me, and this is such a surprising thing to feel.  Is this really me?  I can’t help but ask myself.  It feels so different than the independent me I have known most my life, is this who I really want to be now?  But the answer is unequivocal: yes, yes, yes, yes.

We talk about the possibility of me using code words for when I am feeling pushed too far, but that is just another way of saying no, another way of reducing it all to a role play game rather than the reality we want to live.

Besides which, I tell him, I crave to be pushed too far sometimes.  And he seems to understand that it is his job to push, the way he is talking about it, with no hint of conflict or concern in his voice.  I think, wow, he really sounds like a true dominant.  (Just as I frequently question whether I am truly submissive at heart, I also frequently wonder whether he is truly a dominant at heart, as I never saw any hint of that in my respectful gentleman lover for our most of our time together.)

I speak my fear that I will keep falling deeper and deeper into submission, become less willing to make any decision about any of it at all.  “That means it’s all on you, all your responsibility to make it work,”  I say.  “What if that responsibility becomes too big, too burdensome?  What if you want to forget the whole thing, but by then it’s already too late for me?  Then we wouldn’t match anymore, and then what would happen to us?”  In the end, we agree there is nothing to be done about it.  I have to keep submitting and trust him to find the right balance.  We agree that all we can do is live in this moment, allow it to unfold, stay open and honest with each other, keep communicating.  We know we are playing with fire – oh I think we are both deeply aware of it – but we feel certain the rewards are worth the risks.  We feel we have no choice.  We can’t unknow what we now know about ourselves.

And after all, it is only a problem I cook up in my mind while thinking about it when we are apart.  When we are together, the complexities of it all seem to resolve and fade away.  I just let go and do what he says and feel dominated and happy and loved, oh my god so loved.

He puts me over his lap for my nightly spanking, and afterward, I lie there across his legs, panties around my knees, bare ass-cheeks warm and tingling, my mind serene, as he reaches across me to the drawer in the coffee table where we keep the bottle of lube.  I know what is coming, I can’t wait for what is coming.  My Daddy has devoted himself to the training of my ass to open for him.

As his slippery finger starts to stroke my bottom hole, he tells me that back when I first confessed my fantasy of being touched in my “secret spot” at night before bed, he didn’t realize that I’d meant my ass, he thought I’d meant my clit.

I smile and say, “no,” any man will go for the clit, the pussy.  “Only my Daddy is allowed to touch me where you’re touching me now,” I say.  And it is true that I have kept my ass very close to virginal for him, waiting for him to discover it, caress it, soothe it, penetrate it …

And penetrate me he does.  After his fingers, he patiently works a large butt plug into tight me, leaves it in for awhile, stretching me, preparing me.  Then he eases it out, and tells me to get on my knees.  I am athrob with excruciating excitement as he shoves and pushes his cock into my ass, splitting me, oh it is so fucking intense, being filled to the point of lovely perfect pain.  Blog37Quote2To resist would only cause more pain, so there is nothing I can do but submit completely, go still and relax and accept him into me.  His cock holds me impaled, motionless, gasping, full.

I am not able to take to take it for all that long before I’m groaning from the pain, and he eases out.  But it is certainly longer than I’ve ever taken it before, and afterward I sink back down to the couch, feeling so invaded, so owned.  He is showing me that there is no part of me that belongs to only me anymore, he has taken everything.  I love it in the most primal way, and I happily float off to the bedroom with him.

Before we fall asleep, he reaches over, pulls my leg up across him so my ass opens to him, and again pushes his finger into my most private, most sensitive place.  Then a second finger.  I love that he doesn’t ask, or even seem to care if I’m ready, he just takes possession of me, reaches into me where I have never let anyone else go.  And again it shoots piercing pleasure/pain up through my whole body, and oh my god the soul-melting sweetness of it, the intimacy of it, the full and pure surrender of it.  The deeper his fingers go, the more I let go, and the greater the feeling of being held in his power, and the greater the security and peace that blooms up throughout me, spreading warm safe love into every cell of me …

As his fingers lazily stir inside my ass, he says, “Being able to do this to you whenever I want is changing me.”

While I am not exactly sure what that means to him, it gratifies me, and I relax around his fingers even more.  He senses it and pushes a third finger into me, opening me wider. “Thank you,” I whisper, “that feels so good.” How lovely to know I am not the only one being transformed.

Submitting to the Insatiable Beast: Or, The Brain on BDSM

Submitting to the Insatiable Beast: Or, The Brain on BDSM

I haven’t posted in awhile.  I have been so busy with my job, 12-hour days lately.  Michael and I find that me working so much temporarily throws off the sexual power balance between us.  Work takes assertive masculine energy, and I often have a hard time shifting down into a passive submissive space.  And without the sweet spell of D/s, we end up having less sex.  Well, not for long, we always find our way back to it.

But even when we get there, I’ve felt constrained from writing about it, with all the #MeToo movement stuff and the loud and fierce female resistance to women being treated as sexual objects.  It has seemed important to take that movement all in and give it space, figure out where the cultural feeling about sexual relationships will end up.  It’s simply not the most auspicious time to brag about the joys of sexual surrender.  So I will not brag about the joys today, though they remain clear and strong for us nearly three years into our D/s journey.  This blog is basically pieces of journal entries I kept during our first year.  And while most of those early days were exhilarating and electrifying and enlightening, we did stumble into difficulty on occasion.  The following paragraphs describe what I felt one morning, barely one month after my turning my sexual will to my husband …

I am overwhelmed, I cannot keep up with the speed of these changes between me and my … I started to write Daddy Husband.  But I have the unsettling sense that I lost my husband somewhere along the way, misplaced him in my mind.  There is only a Daddy now, and he is suddenly scary in his power over me.

This morning his possession of me is very overt.  I am barely awake and he is kissing me and shoving his cock inside of me.  I am already sore from the weekend, from last night, but oh I love this so much, this still-dark morning being fucked.  I mean, I really really LOVE this, the not having to think about whether I am in the mood or not, or does it feel good or not, just mindless open allowing.  Sex is just happening to my body, love is happening, orgasms are happening.  He pounds me, and I sink very deep into his possession of me and it feels wonderful…

Then he tells me to open my legs, says, “Daddy is going to make you feel so good.”  I open my legs, his fingers slide into me, but I am even more sore now, my body both opening and resisting at the same time.  Blog36Quote1My body obeys, but now mind is starting to say, too much, too much.  After another orgasm, (or two?… yes two, his tongue in my ear) I feel myself starting to squirm away, nerves raw, too much.

But he doesn’t seem to notice.  He gets on top of me, shoves his cock in me again, and oh my poor raw hole.  I normally like being sore, to walk around sore and aching during the day makes me think of him, of sex, of us.  The too-muchness is good sometimes, too, and now I am trying to embrace the too much as he fucks me, whispering in my ear, “Daddy is pouring his love into you.”

I am taking it, but my nerves are stretching tight, I feel an orgasm coming and it keeps coming and coming, my whole body shaking beneath him, and he still speaking into my ear, “Daddy loves you, Daddy loves you…”  And I am in pain and ecstasy and shaking, breathing hard, hyperventilating.  I feel this rise in me, my body coming up, revolting against this too much.  My overwhelmed nervous system crashes, and my mind crashed into fear.  I have the clear thought:  I am in the grip of an insatiable beast.  He is going to fuck me into oblivion.

I scramble away, cold and hard with fear, I look at him, and he does look like a beast, gazing down at me in a blank and lazy way. I am trying to calm down, repeating in my mind, “This is the man who loves me, I am safe.”

He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong, just pulls me close, hard against him.  When I can finally form words, I say, “I wonder if you can love someone to death?”  He doesn’t seem surprised at the question.  “You said you wanted to test the boundaries, find the edge.”  We had talked about that the day before, in a lighthearted sort of way.  I said I wanted to keep pushing into the further reaches of submission and pain, find the boundary, the edge where we wouldn’t go past.  He had said that he wondered the same thing, where are his limits, how far will he go, does he have any limits at all?

As he gets up to get in the shower, I regret having spoken so carelessly.  My body is shaken by too much sensation.  I can’t get comfortable in myself, let alone with him.  And when he comes out of the bathroom, and sits on the bed to put on his socks and shoes, I reach to touch his back and ask, “How are you doing?”

He turns to look at me… And he does not look the same to me.  I actually gasp, because he does not look like Michael my husband anymore.  He looks like Daddy, and only Daddy. And he feels like how I remember my parents feeling to me when I was little, the all-powerful people I adored, but who scared me with their unpredictability.

He answers my question, tells me that he is doing well, but I somehow can’t decipher if this is true or not.  His face and manner seem suddenly inscrutable to me in the way adults are to children. This man I know so well feels almost a stranger – a stranger with complete control over me.  I can barely keep it together long enough for him to say goodbye.

I mentally spin into a panic after he leaves.  What the fuck has happened to me? I have never felt afraid of him before.  Okay, I don’t suppose I am actually afraid of him now, more like afraid of what is happening in my mind.  I never dreamed that I would experience such a literal transformation of perspective – and certainly not after such a short time.  I’ve been struggling to remember to call him Daddy at all.

Clearly, I have hit some transition point in the evolution of my submission.  The intensity of this process is not just physical, it is psychological, far beyond what I previously thought.  His sexual conquering of me has been amazingly effective, all resistance to his ownership of me has seriously broken down.

Is this the result of some kind of hypnotic suggestion?  Charles Muir, the Tantra expert, says that in the moments before, during and after orgasm, the psyche becomes very open to words and suggestions (and so one should say only loving things).  BDSM-oriented writers are more straightforward about “mental malleability” and brainwashing techniques inherent in their practices.  Clarisse Thorn, the self-proclaimed S&M Feminist, writes of the aftermath of submitting to pain: “I felt myself starting to fall apart and reform:  around him, around his guidance and force and demands. Almost unable to think.”

Be careful, many such writers say.  The introduction of pain and chaos to mind and body leads to cognitive dissonance, and the mind gives in to save it from stress.  Well, my dominant Daddy has been putting my body through stress, and perhaps I have been brainwashed – but not against my will. Blog36Quote2.png I have consented to it, craved it, wanted it.  Oh I very much wanted to “fall apart and re-form” myself around him.  But now it is freaking me out.  Any last vestige of a role play game is completely gone.  And I feel unexpectedly bereft because I have lost my husband, lost Michael.

This is the problem:  my husband is the one I trust.  I know I can trust that my Daddy loves me, will take care of me, but his dominant side is growing stronger and ever more powerful over me.  And his dominant side is unpredictable even to him, he keeps pushing me farther, overwhelming me with constant forceful sex and stimulation.  Daddy is an insatiable beast, wringing orgasm after orgasm from me, pushing and pulling me, day by day and hour by hour, between pleasure and pain.

If I could look at him and see Michael again, see my husband, I would be able to tell him “stop, no more no more, I feel wrung too hard.”  But Daddy owns me.  I never say stop to him, I won’t, every day I feel more and more that I am actually his to use as he wants, whenever he wants.  I have thrilled to that like nothing else in my life, oh I will never ever say no to him.  Just the thought of saying no to him actually plunges me into a kind of despair, I can’t, I can’t, I feel I would rather die than go back to owning myself.  I fear I am fated to lie still and go slowly crazy from the too much.

“This is scary, loaded, complicated territory,” says Thorn.  But however scary, I feel like I have to keep moving with him into this territory.  I am committed to surrender, to allowing it to take me, change me.  I know that is where real happiness lies for me.  Yes, I am trembling in fear of my powerful Daddy.  But I do trust Michael with everything in me.  I just need to figure out how not to lose sight of him…

How Submitting to a Dominant Daddy Allows Me to Inhabit my Body

How Submitting to a Dominant Daddy Allows Me to Inhabit my Body

For the longest time, Michael has been openly calling me his baby girl, and referring to himself as my Daddy.  He is able to say the words with an unabashed confidence that I cannot yet match.  Most often I still call him “Daddy” only under my breath, barely audible.  Oh, I call him Daddy in my mind continually, no problem, I write it here in this chronicle with ease.  But I still feel silly when I say it out loud in the space between us.  Well, unless in throes of sex, when the word bursts out of me, as if tired of being pent up.

I don’t know why this hesitance, this embarrassment. It seems to be a common enough longing in women.  I look up “Daddy Dom” in Amazon, and come up with hundreds of books, erotic novels in which a stepfather (usually) is the romantic hero, and teaches his curious teenage stepdaughter about her body, about her sexuality.  I wonder if this triggers some sort of universal archetype in our minds.  It is definitely the mental framework we have built for our particular expression of dominance and submission. Michael is my stepfather figure, and I am the girl who needs him to sexually teach and care for me.

In so many ways, I feel that this is what he is literally doing for me.  While I had a definite model for sex as good clean fun growing up (Thanks, Mom), I did not have a good model for sex as an expression for love.  And for most of my life, sex and love have never been very well-connected.  Blog35Quote1I was plenty sexually adventurous, but I also remained distant from the act, and from my own body’s participation in it.  It seemed like a game I’d play on occasion, a grown-up game that made me laugh.  But most of the time, I’d feel so disconnected from my body that I’d pretty much never let my lover see my body naked if I could help it.

In our first relatively vanilla year together, Michael helped my body learn to experience sex as the full expression of love.  Through his loving care and acceptance of my body, he helped me shed inhibitions, open up to him, and trust him deeply.  But that was only the first part in a much bigger journey.  Now, in handing my body and sexual will over to him as my husband and looking at him as my dominant Daddy, I feel like he is literally teaching me how to inhabit my body, inhabit my sexuality.

In tying the rope around my breasts – especially when it is so tight I have to stay aware of them sticking out so bare and vulnerable at every minute – he alters my perception of them.  In his constant pinching and sucking of my nipples, he is giving me no choice but to feel my own breasts in a sexual way for more than just brief moments.  After hours in that harness, I am achingly aware of the sexual purpose of my breasts, my body.  And for the first time in my life, I feel I am finally connecting to myself as a sexual creature, someone designed by nature for the purpose of sex and love.

In giving myself sexually to my husband, he is giving me my sexual self back to me.  And now I understand why that first day I submitted to him, I was so rocked by the feeling of ‘this is who I really am.’  I’d assumed I was feeling that way about being submissive, but now I believe I felt that because submitting to him makes me feel so sexual, so alive and present in my body.

Paradoxically, in this dynamic that seems like such a game on the surface, I can finally stop looking at sex as a game.  I don’t think this ever would have happened for me in a normal marriage of equal partners.  My own strong-willed version of myself, my culturally induced hostility to my body, and my disconnected relationship to sex all got in the way.

Now, several months into D/s and power exchange, I am for the first time ever in my 51 years, walking around comfortable with my body, comfortable being without clothes, even preferring to be without clothes when Michael is home.  It feels miraculous, this change, as if I have finally been granted permission by a loving generous father figure to own my sexual nature, inhabit my true self.

The question that has been lurking at the back of my mind is:  Am I too caught up in this discovery to interpret it correctly?  Is sexual submissiveness the only way for me to get there?  Is that truly who I am underneath it all, what I need long term?  Is it even possible to live it long term?

It takes true effort to keep the dynamic alive, the 50/50 relationship is so much a part of us and our default way of relating.  We are pretty high on the D/s dynamic at the moment, but we are burning very hot, the intensity is overwhelming, and I can’t help but wonder:  Will we burn each other out before we figure out how to keep it alive in a sustainable way?

Last night I got a little bit of an answer to my questions.  After several days of being distracted by ordinary life and work and kids, the D/s dynamic sort of faded away, and by the weekend, we had drifted into our ordinary husband and wife way of being, doing not much on a Saturday, having dinner at the lake, watching a funny movie.  It was 9 o’clock at night when he surprised me by saying it was time to lay across his lap.  I laughed, a little uncomfortable.  I was not in the submissive mindset at all, and it felt suddenly silly to pull off my pants and lie across his lap.  That feeling of silliness gave me a moment of worry, oh shit, this isn’t really me, is it?  I am a grown woman, an intelligent person, am I really going to go through with this absurd ritual every night?

But I didn’t say any of those things out loud, I just obeyed, lay across his lap.  And then came his hands pulling my panties down…  Then came that vulnerable feeling, and the building anticipation…  And then came the hot smacks of his hand…  Blog35Quote2And my mind went quiet and still and peaceful, as it always does.  It did not feel absurd at all, but necessary to me.  It felt essential.  And when it was over, I thought yes, yes, yes, this is who I am, this is what I need, Daddy knows what I need, I am so lucky to have him.

I was elated to have my moment of doubt so decisively chased away, to have the grown woman who lives only in my head brought back to my body and put back in my proper place.  I spent the rest of the evening tight against him, held in his arms, floating in the feeling of submissive serenity.  And knowing I have given my trust to the right man.  And feeling the most amazing relief that I don’t have to worry about how to sustain it long term, that is his job.  My only job is to submit to what he asks, no matter my mood of the moment, and he will keep liberating my true self.

Daddy will take care of me.