In these early days of our D/s life, I am lucky I don’t have a lot of work on my plate, and after Michael goes to work I can just float in this new perspective on “us,” try to grapple with his change in our relationship, this change in myself. The feeling of coming home to myself as a sexual submissive has been one of the greatest shocks of my life, and I am now obsessively curious about the entire subject. I want to know: How many women really live this way?
I google “dominance and submission” and find a blog on Tumbler which is nothing but gifs that show a muscled guy – we never see his face – manhandling different women during sex. In short five-second clips, he pounds them mercilessly with his cock while they are tied up. Pounds them while forcing their heads down on the bed. Pounds them while slapping their faces, or while grabbing them by the neck and choking them. I have never watched internet porn before, and I have never seen anything like this. These are offensive images; abusive and awful images. These are images in which people should probably be arrested, and laws prohibiting them passed. And they turn me on intensely.
After all our attempts to “raise sexual energy” through complex Tantric exercises and visualizations, and feeling little but laughing discomfort, now the mere sight of a woman being forcefully dominated unleashes a torrent of sexual heat in me. I go through image after image in a kind of sick fascination, appalled at myself for how excited I become looking at them. Those images do not look like love. What is happening to me?
That night, Michael comes home from work, again has me on my knees after he walks through the door. The cock-sucking ritual is oddly calming. Then he asks me what I did all day, and so I nervously show him what I found online. While I cook dinner, he sits on the couch, going through the images of rough, dominant sex for a good 15 minutes, not saying a word, giving nothing away. He is so quiet, I regret showing him the site. I am embarrassed, I have just revealed how base I have become. The whole relationship suddenly seems threatened. I want to go rip the computer away from him. I want to cry. What is happening to me?
“Come here,” he says. I go sit on the couch with him, barely able to look at him.
He points to the images on his computer screen. “Is this what you want?” he asks.
I can only shake my head, shrug, nod, all at once. “I know it looks bad.”
“I think it looks hot,” he says.
I am surprised. And somehow even more unsettled. What is happening to us?
That night when we get in bed, we are both in an agitated, over-excited state. He reaches over in the dark to put his hand around my neck like in the images I showed him. He squeezes tightly. And after the first instinctual moment of fear, my brain goes smooth and flat and peaceful in a submissive “yes.”
I have just learned what a submissive trigger is. Now I know how a female lion feels when a male clamps his teeth on her neck so he can mount her. I know why she looks so hypnotized, so sedated.
Michael is breathing hard as he lets go. “How did that feel?”
“I loved that.” I turn to press my face into his neck. “But doesn’t doing that seem disturbing to you?”
He laughs low. “It should. But it doesn’t. It just gets me hot.”
He then puts his arms around me, tells me in no uncertain terms that he is very comfortable taking ownership of my sexual will, that it feels good and right for him to dominate me. I grab onto his hand and kiss it in gratitude. My questions fade away, and I fall asleep happy.
Putting Sexual Submission to the Test
It is still deep dark and I sleeping soundly when I feel a hand wrap around my ankle and pull my legs apart, and I wake up to him looming over me, shoving his hard cock inside me. I am startled. Okay, now here is a true test of how submission really feels to me. I have no time, no chance, to tell myself a story or fool myself about it. Surprised awake, my true feeling is all right here, immediate, unfiltered.
And what do you know, I feel nothing but acceptance of what is happening. I would have expected at least annoyance at being awakened from such a nice sleep, but no, I just let go into whatever Michael wants to do to. It isn’t about me, or how I feel, or my arousal. It’s simply lying here in sweet peace while my husband pleasures himself with my body. And he is clearly feeling pleasure; in fact, he is working himself into a frenzy, fucking me hard, penetrating me to the core with hard relentless thrusts. I lie beneath him, still and yielding, as if asleep. Oh, it is lovely to feel this no-static peace, to feel my excitement slowly building, to revel soundlessly in the lust and love he pours all over me.
His mouth swoops down onto my neck, my breasts, kissing, biting my nipples. It hurts, and I feel a struggle rising in my mind to lie still, to not resist, to not stop slap him off and say, “Too rough!” He starts working his way down my belly, biting, like an animal devouring me; I don’t like my belly touched; I am self-conscious; he knows that, and I am tightening up more now, the word “no” starting to form itself. Then again, I remember, I am submissive now, I have no choice, just allow, allow… I let go into the “yes” and then whoosh, a powerful jolt of electricity shoots through me. Suddenly I am thrilled by the little pulls of pain and over-stimulation, thrilled by the feeling of animal wildness in him. And I am aroused even more by the uncertainty of what he might do to me, and knowing that I trust him anyway.
My trust in him is an alive thing now, flexible, accommodating, my “yes” repeating itself in my head, my body taking up its beat, yes, yes, hurt me, take me over the edge of what I can stand, please use me, dissolve my will completely… His orgasm is loud, convulsive, I feel its echo inside me. I feel elated by this glimpse of wildness in both of us, the catharsis of it, and the calm that follows. I curl against him like a cat, it feels as if my nerve-endings have been completely restrung, I am all but purring.
As he is getting dressed for work, I am mesmerized by him. His eyes catch me and I can’t look away, he is a god to me, a magician, the master of my body. I also feel a delicious vulnerability, knowing I will do anything for him, share any part of myself he wants to gain access.
He kisses me goodbye, and disappears out the door to the garage, and I just stand there in the hall for the longest time, transfixed by the spell he cast over me. Then I am overcome by a strange need to cry, a combination of desperate helpless love and being overwhelmed with “too much.” Too much sensation, too much soreness, too much exposed-ness, I don’t know what exactly. After the frenzy, I crave to be still within myself, absorb everything that has happened. I start toward the bedroom to lie down again, and feel I can barely walk. We have had a lot of truly passionate and meaningful sex since we met. But we have never had raw soul-scorching sex like this.