Deep submission, says David Deida, allows a woman to experience her own “uninhibited sexual essence.” Well, I’d say the man knows what he’s talking about. In the few weeks since I submitted my body to my husband, I am have become so fucking uninhibited, and my sexual longings have become so intense that it’s freaking me out a little bit.
While I have been reading Deida’s lovely spiritual book about sexual polarity, Michael has been giving the problem of how to keep me in a submissive headspace some internet research. He has found numerous pages of suggestions on how to train a submissive. Now he emails me an agreement, a contract of sorts, where he outlines his sexual expectations of me. We have talked about needing a container of sorts for what we are doing. I’m amazed at how far we have evolved in this complicated business in such a short time, and I click open the document, excited to read it.
It doesn’t take long. He lists only a few instructions: Wear his shirt while he is at work. Wear Ben Wa balls inside me for an hour a day. Suck his cock when he gets home. Reveal to him everything I am feeling. Lovely things all, and it will make me happy to do them. But this spare list doesn’t seem enough to keep me in a submissive state for more than a few minutes, let alone long-term. Why is there no mention of spankings? Or of whippings? Or a butt plug perhaps? What about rope bondage? Nipple clamps?
I am terribly disappointed, and then annoyed at myself for it. The whole point of submission is to please him, not to get him to please me. But it puts me in a state of worry, regardless. Is this how basic his needs are? What if our sexual appetites are not well matched as I thought? From this worry, I move to feeling disgruntled: Yeah, he says he is going to meet my sexual needs, but the reward of fingers in my pussy twice a week isn’t going to do it. I am so turned on by all this, I am in a constant state of ache, feel a desperate edge of need to be used and used, somehow, anyhow.
I come across the term “submissive frenzy,” and immediately recognize I have a raging case of it. Sub frenzy, say women who have been there, is a state of mind, common to new submissives, in which they feel an overwhelming need to have all their desires fulfilled. As in immediately. As in it takes over one’s entire mind, leaves no room for anything else. That’s exactly how I feel right now.
The words of warning about sub frenzy I find online are mostly concerned with new subs not putting themselves in danger within the wider BDSM community. Not giving themselves to a dominant they barely know. Not exercising enough caution with strangers. But since I am married to my dominant, that is not something I need to worry about.
The most immediate problem in sub frenzy to me is how exposed it makes me feel to my husband. All of my deepest desires, and all of my darkest, neediest corners are on vivid display to him. While in the middle of heated sex, it is thrilling to feel so open, so known, so accepted. But at every other moment, it is feeling increasingly uncomfortable, even scary.
The truth is, I feel in danger of becoming a freak. I remember only too well the blue-eyed man who once played submissive to allegedly dominant me, a man who needed more and more complex stimulation to get into a state of submission. Our sexual relationship slowly became all about satisfying his ever more ‘out-there’ fetishes instead of real submission. When he began asking to drink cups full of my urine in the guise of “worshipping” me, I had no desire for that, but brought cups to the toilet anyway, and half the time got more on my own hand than in the cup. I watched him gulp down my pee over and over, but because I wasn’t being honest about what I truly wanted and didn’t want, this so-called worship only made me recoil from him.
Is that the path I am on? Where I pretend to be submissive, but really I am “topping from the bottom,” trying to get Michael to be my continual sex-giver instead of making myself available to his sexual needs? He has said he wants me insatiable, and he’s succeeded remarkably well in getting me to that state. I am full of fevered, explicit desires to be bound and beaten and penetrated in the guise of worshipping him. The odds seem high that it will turn him off, he will recoil.
And even worse than my fear that he will see me as a freak, is my fear that he will eventually see himself that way, because of me. A month ago, he was this nice normal guy, and we had been enjoying this wonderful relationship that made us both so happy. Now, I call him Daddy, and I ‘get-off’ as he crams my face against the mattress while fucking me. We have become weird, and everything seems full of pitfalls, difficult to navigate.
For the rest of the afternoon, I ride the waves of sub frenzy madness, whipsawing between euphoria at his first attempt to bind me in some kind of contract to him, and fear of where it will lead. I want to squelch the fear, but I can’t. This is a risky journey. There is no getting around fears and insecurities. And there is no going back either, if going back means neutral 50/50. There is no way to go but forward and work through the fear, find the right rhythm, the right conditioning, the right mindset. I want to believe I will learn how to settle into it. I work hard to believe we will find our balance together, find our sweet spot.
In the meantime, he says I have to reveal everything to him, so I plan to be honest about my feelings when he gets home from work. Then I will let it go, let him figure out what to do with it. This thought is such a comfort that I decide to cultivate the attitude that, “Daddy will take care of it.” My husband is in charge, he will figure everything out and make it okay, and make me feel better. When the fear looms, I repeat these words to myself: “Daddy will take care of me. He will make it all better.”