The BDSM world we see on the internet is full of sexual curiosities, and, as we try to see ourselves in this new kinky light, Michael and I are feeling game to give different things a try. First, because it’s a lot of laughing fun, and second, it might possibly turn us on, and third, because we can. For the first time in decades, neither of us have kids living at home. Certainly, if we thought one of our kids might walk through the door at any moment, I would not now be reclined on the living room couch, legs open, while my husband slips small, silver Ben Wa balls inside of me.
I have only worn them once before, the night we bought them, for about ten minutes while I lay next to him on the couch. This time, he says, I am to wear them while I cook dinner. (Wait, can one really “wear” Ben Wa balls? Isn’t it more accurate to say I carry them? Or, hold them in?) So, I pull up my panties and move into the kitchen, feeling the slight pressure of weight inside my pussy when I move. It’s nice, the constant focus on holding them in.
As I cook, he sits on the barstool across the kitchen island, and we talk about D/s, trying to define what we want it to be for us. I have no idea how much I should be trying to hold on to the feeling of a submissive trance. Is it even realistic to always be feeling submissive around him? He tells me he is not interested in a full-time submissive, he’s been reading about master-slave relationships, and that holds no appeal for him. He doesn’t feel any need to be waited on. He is interested only in dominating me sexually. Although, he adds, he always wants to be my Daddy, whether we are having sex or not. He says he loves the feeling of being able to take care of me.
I walk around the island to kiss him. He pulls me close, gropes my ass and says, “I do like the idea of training you, setting up rules for you to follow.”
He is referring to the contract he sent me earlier, and I am still not sure how I feel about it. It was both too much, and not enough. I head back around to the cutting board. “You want to keep me in a steady submissive state.”
He tells me he’s getting a good idea of what triggers me. “But I don’t know what kind of punishments to try if you break a rule.” Then he gives a little moan and grabs his crotch. “Just thinking of punishing you gets me excited.”
I, however, am feeling no excitement at this turn in the conversation. In fact, most of the excitement I had been feeling off and on all day disappears. Even with Ben Wa balls inside me. I don’t know why.
“I suppose I get the concept of punishment, at least in theory,” I begin. “But the idea of you actually punishing me? I don’t know, it feels stupid to me. It kind of puts the whole thing into game territory to me.”
I can tell from his face this is not what he expected to hear.
I try to explain. “It just seems silly to punish me for not following a rule, because for me to accept your right to punish me, I’d have to be in a submissive state. And if I was in a submissive state I wouldn’t break the rule in the first place.”
“You could break the rule by mistake. Say, I ask you to do something with your legs open, and you forget.”
“Well,” I counter, “if you make such a petty rule, then I don’t see how I can respect you, let alone submit to you.”
As he is brooding over this, I head back to him to press my forehead to his shoulder. “I don’t want my submission to you to feel silly. I couldn’t bear if it was a game with trivial rules. There’s no satisfaction for me in a stupid game.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. I realize I am not doing the best job of expressing what I’m feeling, probably because I don’t know exactly why I am feeling so let down by his ideas on punishment. All I know is I loved the submissive trance I had been in for days, and I want it back. It has taken the significance of the Holy Grail to me, but I feel certain that trying to follow some arbitrary rules isn’t going to get it back for me.
I try again to wrestle my vague thoughts into words.
“Honey, If all you want is sex from me when you want it, well, I can choose to give you that anytime. I don’t need to be in a submissive state for that. I can just go ahead and decide to do what you want. But there’s no spiritual element for me in that, no thrill of belonging to you, and being owned, being safe.”
I raise my face to look up at him. “What I want is that spiritual, surrendered state where it feels as if you have the unconditional right to take me. When I’m in that state, I don’t have to make any choices at all because I am so surrendered. That’s what eliminates all the static in my mind, that’s what gives me peace.”
His face goes soft at that. “That’s what I want, too. Exactly what I want.” He reaches to cup my breast in his hand. “So how do we get you to stay in that space?”
I tell him I’m not sure exactly, although I don’t think a silly game of rewards and punishments will do it. I venture that the answer is probably more along the lines of “conditioning.” Perhaps the consistent application of submissive triggers.
“Like regular spankings,” I say. “I’ve read online about maintenance spankings every day. What do you think of that?”
He swats my rear in response. It makes me smile.
I tell him that him holding my throat, or pushing my head down makes me feel submissive. If he ties me up, makes me helpless, that creates a feeling of deep submission. Kneeling before him does it, too.
“But lying across your lap, I think that is the most submissive feeling of all,” I say. “Or anytime you push something into any one of my holes. Your thumb or cock in my mouth, your fingers in my pussy, or … in my ass.” I blush furiously as I say this. “You know, like the other night, when I was over your lap, you had two fingers in my ass, and oh my God.”
I tell him that one experience made me a firm believer in what I’d been reading online, that ass penetration is hugely symbolic of domination. And to be penetrated in the ass is to about as submissive as one can get. I tell him I’ve been reading about submissives being trained to butt plugs, and how that gives me an erotic jolt.
“Oh, you’re going to get butt plugs,” he says, and when I laugh the Ben Wa balls threaten to fall out.
It’s time to take them off. So I slip out of my panties and go lie back down on the couch. He slides his finger inside me to pry the balls out. Only he can’t quite get them. His fingers keep digging, but they’re able to hook around the balls, and it’s starting to hurt.
“You’re too tight,” he says.
Now begins a determined wrestling match inside my vagina, with him working his fingers around inside me, and me squealing in pain and tightening my muscles against him. I stand, thinking gravity will help, while he sits on the floor to reach up into me. It doesn’t work.
Next, I bend over the couch, and he can finally get one, but not the other. I am laughing, but I am also mortified. What kind of cavern is my pussy that it is so stuck? But bigness isn’t really the problem, it’s the resistance of my muscles, locked up tight around that little ball. I have horrified visions of having to go to the emergency room to get it out.
I go back to the couch to lie down, try to relax and he again tries to pry it out. It is now very painful, I can feel that hard ball bruising the inside of my vaginal walls. This has got to be the most unsexy moment of my entire life. By the time he finally gets it out, we are both sweating.
He drops the ball in my hand, and I march over to the trash can and fling it in.
“Okay,” he says, “Ben Wa balls are no longer part of the conditioning.”
I say thank you, then go off to the bathroom to try to restore my dignity. It doesn’t work. But when I emerge again, we are laughing so much that it doesn’t matter. And later, as he fucks me on the couch, the ache of inflamed tenderness in my pussy, engorged with blood, adds to my excitement, and the pain-pleasure orgasm … oh my God.
Meanwhile, the contract still sits on the counter, unsigned, forgotten.