The BDSM Contract; Or, Do We Need to Put it In Writing?

The BDSM Contract; Or, Do We Need to Put it In Writing?

My husband has left on a business trip for five days.  Five long days.  “Daddy’s aren’t supposed to leave,” I pouted just before he left.  Yes, he said with a laugh, I’m a bad Daddy.   No, no, no, I said as I pressed myself close.  You’re the most perfect Daddy there ever was.

It’s becoming easier to call him that, mostly.  The word still strikes me as silly, but the cherished feeling it represents is anything but silly.

We have decided that while he is gone, we will come up with a real contract we can sign when he gets home.  One thing we know from our online searches and reading is that we really should have some kind of contract to formalize our D/s relationship and sets out boundaries.  So after Michael’s first “rough draft” of a contract he sent me, we are making attempts at revising it.

We accept as a given that we must do this.  This is where I declare in writing what I am willing to let him do to me, and what I will not let him do to me, so there is no confusion.  A contract is one of those things that BDSM people boast about, proof that the D/s relationship does not undermine the submissive’s rights, but rather honors her needs and desires.  It is a symbol not only of consent, but also of the deep communication that must happen between dominant and submissive before entering such a potentially perilous arrangement.  How many vanilla people are willing to discuss their desires so thoroughly, they say.  How often do women so explicitly state what they like and dislike?   Although I have not seen the 50 Shades of Grey movie yet, I’ve read there is a cute scene in which the main characters negotiate terms across a conference table.

As I think about what the contract should say, I begin by contemplating my limits, and …  I immediately come up blank.  I cannot think of what my boundaries might be.  Okay, obviously ‘no bestiality,’ but it would be ridiculous to say that, because it would imply Michael might suggest such a thing.  Blog26Quote1I implicitly trust my husband not to do anything bizarre or dangerous to me, to know the difference between pain and harm.  He is a good person, he loves me, I don’t feel the need to protect myself from him and his desires.

I toy with writing “no humiliation,” or “no golden showers,” things that do not appeal to me.  But I reject those as well.  How do I know if such things should be a boundary if I haven’t tried them yet?  So far, I have surprised myself by liking things it never occurred to me I’d like, just about anything has felt good and exciting and even enlightening in the right context.  One of the things I most love about our D/s exploration is how we have been crossing normal boundaries and the liberation I feel when they fall.  Ultimately, I declared myself submissive because I don’t want choices in sex, and so I find myself getting nowhere in trying to come up with my limits.  I very much want him to decide the limits.

I go online to see what other people write in their D/s contracts.  I read page upon page about how to negotiate the rules for setting up “scenes,” a framework for BDSM “play,” with a repeated focus on the concept of “Safe, Sane and Consensual.”  This seems it might be appropriate for people who don’t know each other very well getting together for some hot sex, but what about for married people who have already established great trust with each other and want to throw caution to the wind in order to expand their love?  I certainly am not doing this to protect my choice, or to stay safe or even necessarily sane.  I want to risk everything for my husband, go crazy with over-the-top love for him.

Of course, on one hand, I can see how it might be helpful to set up a framework that helps one know when to behave a certain way.  And I can get the value of that, bracketing the SM in a specific scene with beginning, middle and end.  I know Michael and I have been at a loss sometimes in these first months, we aren’t quite sure how to move in and out of dominant or submissive behavior, we stumble and fumble, is it time for this now?  What do we want to do?  How do we live normal life and this other life at the same time?

On the other hand, talking about scenes and play seems to attach a sense of artificiality to our power exchange, as if it is all one big game.  We are not “playing” in bed, we are making love.  Or as Deida would say, we are “serving love.”  If I have learned anything these past weeks, the spiritual deep love dimension of our D/s unfolds spontaneously, unplanned, no scene.  Blog26Quote2There seems to me a difference between becoming a servant to sex – which is how much of the BDSM scene-negotiation and contract stuff I find online strikes me – and through sex becoming a servant to love.

I give up on thinking about limits and rules.  I decide the purpose of our contract should not be about limiting our D/s interactions, but about how to better open the door to the D/s dynamic.  How to keep him in a dominant mindset and keep me in a submissive mindset.  I think of all the things that might make me feel submissive:  being on my knees, being tied up helpless, being over his lap, exposed and vulnerable, daily spankings …  I make a list of these things, and email them to him, then immediately regret it.  I realize how it sounds like a list of demands from me, requirements of him.  It is nothing less than topping from the bottom.  And I really don’t want that, don’t want to have to judge and analyze whether my desires are being met, don’t want to have any choices at all.

I write to apologize, he writes back that it’s fine, he wants to know my desires.  And while he has no trouble thinking up what he might want to do to me, he also doesn’t see why it should be written in a contract when he can just do what he wants in the moment.   We decide to revisit the idea of a contract later, when we have a better handle on what it should say.

Only in the weeks and months that follow, we never do write a contract.  We simply trust each other, and allow the dynamic to unfold spontaneously as it has from the very first day.  Maybe one day we will figure out how to write the perfect contract for us, but so far we have managed to be in perfect agreement without it.  Lucky us.

Opening the Gate; Or the Tantric Art of Pussy Stirring

Opening the Gate; Or the Tantric Art of Pussy Stirring

Almost always on weekend mornings in the year we have been together, Michael and I wake and roll toward each other, and soon we are groping and kissing and fingering and fucking and loving so deeply that we do not stop until an hour or two later when we are limp and exhausted and starving.

This morning begins no different, and he slips his fingers into my pussy, stirring me awake, as he often does to get me ready for him (Oh, he has such talented fingers).  Then he fucks me and fucks me, as he often does, only this time when he kisses me, he kisses me deep, deeper than he has ever kissed me, his tongue filling my mouth so completely that it forces my jaw to stretch wide wide open.  A submissive trigger, smooth brain, I am helpless opening and opening in my throat, and coming.  Then he holds my head still and thrusts his tongue into my ear, and oh I am opening in my head, buzzing buzzing excited.

Then his fingers go back in my pussy, stirring me, swirling me, thrusting, banging rough, then a delicious pause before he starts swirling me again, and he keeps going for so long that my whole pussy seems to transform into different material, softening, dissolving, becoming liquid.  It feels as if he can reach through that concentrated hot liquid to the very place my soul is connected to my body.  Blog25Quote1As his fingers keep stirring and swirling inside me, I feel as if he is touching the essential core of me, creating an opening, and the universe is pouring into me as my body pours out, expanding, filling the room, and oh jesus fuck, it is achingly exquisite.  I feel literally caught between heaven and earth, and I am hanging there astonished when …

An electric orgasm jolts me, then lifts me up on a wave.  Michael stops and lies next to me, but somehow the orgasm doesn’t stop.  I can still feel the wave of pleasure moving through me.  I keep shaking with that pleasure, tremble through wave after wave.  My body is animated, and my mind is riding the flow, there is nothing but pleasure, rolling waves, dancing waves and I can hear the sound of my own ragged breath and feel my Daddy beside me, holding me, and it isn’t going to stop.  I feel his lips around my nipple and the waves increase and I think I might be coming again, I sound like I am coming, I am moving as if I am coming, but orgasm energy builds and recedes and this is just a play of energy through me.  I am a harp being played by soundless music and it is wonderful and his hands are wonderful, and I know this is bliss and I am lucky …

When it finally subsides, I am stunned, how long was it?  Ten minutes maybe?  My mind turns itself back on, and I panic for a beat, what has happened to me, I don’t understand it.  For a moment, I feel like something diabolical has been done to me.  I start to flail with a feeling of panic.  But sweet Daddy, he grabs my neck, holds me still, and calm pours back into me.  And then I cry because it was so intense and I feel so rearranged and I am still confused.  I feel so different inside my body, I feel he did this to me, he put something in me that possessed me, it is still there, I can feel it deep in my belly, running up through me like a shaft of foreign energy.  No, not foreign.  His energy.

It takes me a long while to pull myself together enough to get out of bed.  I do not go far.  I walk twenty feet into the living to sit on the couch in a daze.  I am not entirely sure what just happened.  Did chakras open?  Did Kundalini arise?  How did that happen?  Ever since our Tantric explorations months earlier – and a class we took on “yoni” massage (a.k.a. pussy stirring) – Michael has been lavishing much patient time swirling his fingers in my vagina.  And it has given me enormous pleasure and satisfaction.  But nothing like this morning.  I need to understand.

By the end of the day I am watching a Tantric DVD that I bought months earlier but never got around to watching.  It’s called “Alchemy, Orgasm and Awakening,” and it’s a lecture in which two different teachers give their perspective on the Tantric approach to orgasm.  One of the teachers is the famed Charles Muir, who I remember hearing is considered some kind of sexual magician able to bring any woman to ecstasy.  And in this lecture, he talks briefly about men’s orgasms, and why they shouldn’t ejaculate too often.  And then he starts talking about women’s orgasms.  And here is what he says:

There is a difference between clitoral and vaginal orgasms, and it is good to have both, because erogenous zones need to be awakened.  Finding the clitoris is nice, but the energetic access point to the female psyche is inside the vagina, in what is called the yoni nabi.  It is also called the G-spot;  I call it the sacred spot – and when it is massaged and stimulated and held consciously, and energy runs through and into it – then her second chakra and her sexual psyche awaken, and a mind body connection happens.  There is vast consciousness in that chakra and it needs to be awakened by someone she can trust to hold her heart precious, someone who can touch her and open her …

I am nodding as I listen to this, I am in tears as I listen to this.  Muir goes on to explain that a woman’s clitoral orgasms are a nice release, but vaginal orgasms are different:

… For her to open up to them, to give up control, is to plug into the universe, where wave after wave of bliss runs through her.  And once a woman is awakened, usually as the result of some kind of sexual healing, she can plug into that energy effortlessly … That is the nature of the second chakra my sisters, and it is your job to bring it forth.  And to break through your conditioning that nice girls don’t, that spiritual women don’t.  You do.  And bring god into bed with you.

The audience listening to Muir in the room applauds wildly at that, and I applaud, too, sitting there on the couch.  That’s it! There it is, a vivid explanation of what happened to me this morning.  And not just this morning, but over the past months I have been with Michael, and all the time he has spent, stirring his fingers inside me, opening me, often 20 or 30 minutes at a time, sometimes even an hour at a time.  I have suspected all along, there is something so healing about it, some kind of physical/soul therapy, this reaching to the core of me, this unlocking me.

And just as Muir described, over these past months of pussy-stirring attention, I have felt a profound change within myself, my whole body has come to feel different to me, more alive to me, even more attractive to me.  Certainly, my sexual response has heightened, I am able to orgasm more quickly and deeply than ever before.  Maybe it is true my life source literally resides there inside the walls of my vagina, and my husband’s generous loving fingers have been awakening it, making me acutely aware of the connection between me and all of life.

And oh my God, when his fingers start swirling in me, my connection to him, to Michael, feels like this solid unbreakable rope of hot electrified love, like his hand is literally plugged into me and who I am, and his energy just flows into me. I am completely penetrated by him and his love for me, and taking it all in.

I am shocked that I am just now learning this at 50 years old.  By most any standard I would be considered sexually experienced, sexually educated.  I am no stranger to my G-spot, certain lovers have found it, and ingenious little swirling rabbit vibrators have found it.  And I have often heard the words “G-spot” massage, and even “sacred spot massage.”  But I don’t recall hearing why one should undertake prolonged caressing of it beyond a powerful orgasm.  Yes, a G-spot orgasm is incredible, but to be touched there for sustained periods is clearly meaningful far beyond the orgasms.  Blog25Quote2Nothing in my life, no physical activity, has ever been as life-changing as that one thing Michael does for me.  I lie there, legs wide open, whole body self open, and I am changed.  And oh, if he does it while I am face down across his lap, there is the added dimension of submission to him as well.  Body and mind are both transformed at once.

I want to shout it from the rooftops so every woman will know what is possible. And so every man will learn the art of pussy-stirring.

Later, I will discover Charles Muir again on another Tantra DVD, recorded decades earlier, in which he provides a detailed instruction and demonstration of “sacred spot massage” on his then wife, Caroline.  And as he reclines beside her and slides his fingers into her, he asks her, “Did I find it?”

She answers back to him, “You found me.  That spot doesn’t feel like an ‘it,’ it feels like me.”

Exactly, exactly, oh exactly.  That is how I have felt with Michael’s fingers inside me, like he found the real me.  And I want to fall at his feet in helpless love for opening the gate and setting me free.


Who Likes It Rough?

Who Likes It Rough?

This afternoon I find myself in a jagged mood for no reason.  Some sort of hormonal anger where I feel like throwing things (do throw things, my hairbrush, my sandal, go bouncing off the couch).  I send Michael a message that I won’t be there when he gets home from work, I’m headed to get a drink at the bar round the corner as I’m in no mood to be submissive tonight.  I add that the only way he’d get me to submit would be to wrestle me into it.  I write it like a joke, but I am actually issuing a challenge.  I’m craving the peace of submission to calm my feeling of aggression and secretly hoping he will wrestle me into it.

But he gets home before I can get out the door, and he can see the challenge in my face.  My husband rises to the occasion, and says, “Discipline must be maintained, on your knees.”

I feel a flare of “You jerk, I just told you I’m having a hard day.”  But then I get on my knees and suck his cock, with pleasure, but also with a toothy roughness.

His makes a noise of alarm and I look up at him and smile.  “Am I scaring you?”

He laughs uncomfortably.  “You’re scaring the hell out of me.  That’s enough.”

I admit, I’m satisfied he didn’t let me slip out of submitting to him, which I tell him later at the bar.  We drink and eat and laugh, and by the end of dinner, my jagged mood has subsided.  But still, the idea of him wrestling me into submission has taken hold of me.  And when we get home and he says he’s going to tie a breast harness onto me, I say, “Make me.”

And so begins a wrestling match, me pushing him away and letting my momentary rebellion free.  It is delightful.  And quick.  He subdues me oh so easily, holds me down with a grip like granite, any attempt to move is impossible.  He is stronger than I imagined and it is thrilling to me, I am dazzled by his strength.  Blog24Quote1I somehow thought that if ever a man was determined to have his way with me, I’d be able to fight like hell and be able to free myself.  But now I know this is an illusion.  Until this moment, I honestly did not realize men intrinsically had such raw power over me.  For the first time I understand how consciously gentle most men are with their women, which is touching and thrilling on a whole other level.

Now I am feeling wonderfully subdued and ready to submit as he ties me in a breast harness.  He tells me he is going to spank me, and me, half-drunk from our time at the bar, I say,  “And then what will you do to me?”

He says, “Nothing.  We’re taking a sex break because yesterday you said you’re getting too sore.”

My excitement deflates.  “Who cares what I said yesterday?  You’re just going to spank me and get me all hot and bothered and then nothing?”

“That’s right,” he says.

My jagged anger rushes back with a vengeance, and I’m maybe more than half drunk because I start ripping the clawing at the harness, trying to get it off.  “Well, then you can’t spank me.”

“Don’t take that off,” he says firmly.

I yank my arm away. “How dare you tell me I’m too sore!  I’m the only one who knows if I’m too sore!  You can’t tell me how I feel!”

Then he starts yelling, too.  “Don’t take that off!  I’m the Daddy!”

One might think this is where we’d laugh at how absurd this moment.  But no.  I just keep yelling.  “Not even my Daddy can tell me how I feel!”

I am unwinding the rope now.  He sits down and tells me I am topping from the bottom.   I snort, “Oh horrible me, just wanting you to fuck me.”

“Well,” he says, “I’m not about to get aroused now.”

“Oh thanks, now I’m an erection killer.”  Then I storm off to the bedroom.

I throw myself on our bed.  And that’s when the absurdity hits me.  I am a silly person.  I am also a terrible submissive.  He comes in and I apologize, and we finally laugh at ourselves then, at our drunken brawl.

Feeling a little better, we lie there on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.  “Are we going to just go to bed now?” I ask.

He says no.  He sits up against the headboard, tells me to lie across his lap.  I start to crawl over to him, talking as I lay myself across his lap, “Yeah, but are you doing this because you think I want you to?  Is this me topping from the bottom?”

He doesn’t say anything, just roughly drags my panties down.  His hand came down on my ass with a resounding smack, shockingly hard, blistering hot.  My questioning mind shuts off.  He delivers ten spanks that leave me gasping and squirming in pain.  Blog24Quote2I barely have to time to catch my breath before he flips me over and holds my face down against the mattress.  He kneels over me and shoves his cock into my mouth.  He fucks my mouth hard, cock filling my throat until I can barely breathe.  I cannot move, cannot do anything but lie there, relaxed, an empty accepting sexual receptacle.

I am vaguely aware that if anyone else ever treated me like this, it would be appalling, traumatic.  But because it is him, because I have surrendered, and am making my surrender literal.  My mouth yields, my mind smooths out, calm, while my body fills with blood and heat.  Being fucked rough and rude by my husband is a primal thrill that satisfies like nothing else, like scratching a deep itch I didn’t even know I had.  And oh I get off, I get off …

The Zen of Sexual Surrender; Or, How D/s is Saving My Soul

The Zen of Sexual Surrender; Or, How D/s is Saving My Soul

Only a few weeks in, my D/s experience with my husband is now hitting me with all the power of a religious conversion.  I have that ‘born again’ feeling of being a new person in thrall to a new understanding of God.  I lie over Michael’s lap for a spanking and it feels like a spiritual exercise.  I make myself vulnerable, allow him to whatever he wants to me, and somehow the more painful and invasive, the more my body feels opened and my soul feels saved.  This fascinates me.  Why is it impacting me this way?  Am I simply drunk on all the chemicals released from the intense sexual stimulation?  Or is it possible there is real salvation in sex?

Conventional wisdom says no.  In our puritanical culture, sexuality is relegated to the base urges of “the body,” the temporary house for the soul.  Judeo-Christian religion especially considers the sexual urges of the body to be a troublesome impediment to soulful concerns.  To have sex outside of procreation is to wallow in sin and forsake one’s soul.  This unnatural separation of body and spirit has caused all manner of misery and shame for centuries.

Fortunately, “sex is bad” has not been the view of many Eastern cultures.  Taoism boasts a millennia-old tradition of cultivating sexual energy for the good of the spirit.  I once attended a talk by Taoist teacher name Mantak Chia, and he described the importance of honoring one’s sexuality.  “Sexual energy is the commander in chief of all the cells of the body,” he said.  Blog23Quote1“All cells in body and brain respond to the energy of sex, the commands of sex.  It is our original pattern.  Sexual energy creates us.  When you forget sexual energy, you get crazy, you get sick, you get lost.”

Michael and I spent some time exploring the philosophy of Tantra, and learning how to heal the false divide between body and soul.  (The word Tantra literally means “woven together.”)   Traditional Tantra is not merely about sex, but how to get into a right relationship with all things material.  However, the popular version of modern Tantra that shows up in the New Age-y seminars these days focuses almost exclusively on sexual union as the path to God.  Workshop Tantra has introduced Americans to the idea that sex, undertaken consciously, can be a holy act which weaves together not just man and woman, but body and spirit, humanity to the divine.

So Tantra at least offers a way to embrace sex as a path to spiritual salvation.  But I have to say, the few Tantric workshops Michael and I attended, despite overtly inviting spirit into the sexual arena, did not give me any great bursts of either sexual energy or spiritual insight.  Mostly I felt uncomfortable with the loud histrionics of it.  Making noise is highly encouraged while doing Tantric exercises to “raise sexual energy.”  Pelvic tilting, and mirroring movements, with lots of loud breathing and moaning and, for me, giggling.  Of course, many attendees are empowered by such activities, but it struck me as inauthentic.  Each experience left me unsettled, like hearing people speak in tongues in church.

Looking back, perhaps another reason Tantric workshops didn’t open any spiritual-sexual doors for me is because of a heavy emphasis on elevating the power of the feminine.  The workshops are all very egalitarian, with women encouraged to go after their pleasure and voice their wants in what strikes me as a nice, respectful 50/50 way.  It all pointed to more of the same of what we were already doing – just slower.  And louder.

Now I know from our BDSM explorations that what seems to raise my sexual energy – make that explode my sexual energy – is to turn over my power to my husband.  To become to the opposite of noisy, to become still and quiet and yielding.  I gain my sexual power by relinquishing it.  Interestingly, David Deida’s theory on sexual polarity between the masculine and feminine – which has been so helpful to me in understanding the power of BDSM – is supposedly drawn from Tantric philosophy.

I wonder what Deida would make of workshop Tantra failing me, but the practice of D/s liberating me.  Would he be surprised?  Of course, Deida does not explicitly talk about D/s, although it seems to me he is speaking code for it when he uses terms like “ravishment.”  When he talks about a woman submitting to her lover, he explains that the woman is submitting to the force of love rather than the individual man.  He also talks about our drive to break out of 50/50 ways of relating, and “embrace the taboo.”

After living in a 50/50 relationship for awhile, Deida writes, one begins to “long for the next stage,” where you are no longer equal, no longer serving your own preferences, no longer even serving each other’s preferences.  “All you want is to let go and serve love’s preferences, do whatever love demands of you, go wherever it takes you.”  You no longer care about your self anymore, he says, or your self’s so-called needs, because you don’t even need a self at all anymore at all.  You are only interested in “being lived” by something bigger than you, only interested in dissolving into the ecstasy of big love.

I think of where Michael and I were a few months ago, wandering from one Tantric workshop to another, seeking a doorway to transcendental sex, and not finding it.  Then we stumble into D/s, almost by accident, and whoosh!  We catch fire, serious fire, and boundaries are dropping away.  Blog23Quote2I am being ravished, he is being worshipped and adored, and we are being lived by this wild force, just as Deida describes.

I am convinced there was no other way for us to get to where we are now, get to unguarded all-consuming and life-transforming love without D/s.  Without embracing that taboo.  What a surprise to discover that BDSM in general, and D/s in particular, is the doorway, providing us entry to the dynamic of sexual polarity.  The abstract idea of surrender to love becomes a concrete action I can experience viscerally.  And it gives me the feeling of a Tantric-like joining of body and spirit like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.

I imagine most people look at BDSM a curious fetish, or odd perversion.  So I suppose it sounds a little crazy to assert that sexual submission to my husband is a spiritual path.  But I don’t feel that Michael and I indulge in this only in order to get off (although it clearly leads to more and deeper getting off).  I believe it is our way of getting past the normal 50/50 barriers that have been instilled in us, a way of opening to the mysterious power exchange of love.  By serving him, I am serving love.  True, it often feels all about him.  Each day I am becoming more and more unguarded with him, more and more trusting of him.  But in the process, I feel more and more open to love, trusting of love.  I am offering up my will to him, but it is the love rushing so madly between us that is consuming my will, taking me out of myself.

I do, however, remember my Buddhist lessons not to confuse the “finger that points at the moon with the moon.”  I will endeavor not to confuse the means with the end, not confuse the doorway to getting there (D/s) with the actual there (the love).  But I also think it right to acknowledge that the doorway – the way in – is important and necessary and marvelous.

How It Feels to Have a Dominant Daddy

How It Feels to Have a Dominant Daddy

We are starting to find a rhythm in our D/s life, finding pleasure and joy in daily “keep me in a submissive mindset” rituals:  Me on my knees to suck on his cock when he gets home from work.  A sweet spanking after dinner.  I’m now asking for harder whacks.  I love the instant calm that goes through my mind as heat tingles and spreads across my ass.   I lie there so peacefully as my body absorbs the blows.  The last few whacks are very hard, they make me gasp in a flash of resistance, but then, oh yes, a much better burn, deeper into submission I go.

Tonight, after spanking me, he puts his fingers in my mouth one at a time so I can suck each one which turns him on enough that he tells me to get on my knees and suck him.  Blog21Quote1I spend fifteen minutes lavishing love on his rock hard cock, licking and sucking and humming, oh what a wonderful thing to partake of him.  I don’t want to stop, he is delicious, but how long can a man take it?

We lie on the couch afterward in a blissful state, talk about how we’re feeling about the Daddy dimension of it all.  How does he really feel about that, does it ever sound weird to him?  He assures me it doesn’t, he loves it.  He says this is who we really are, it has been evolving all along.  He makes it feel natural, and it feels joyous to me, so rich and right and safe safe safe.  I feel known and accepted and appreciated, it is strange magic.  Then he holds my head still and slips his tongue into my ear and my body shudders with an unexpected orgasm.

Later, after he falls asleep, I lie in the dark beside him in astonishment.  I have a Daddy.  Growing up, I barely knew my father, and the few occasions I did see him, he certainly didn’t offer me love.  I had no experience of warm male approval and acceptance.   Meanwhile, my mother’s love was fickle, sometimes enveloping, but often punishing.  I developed a shell to protect myself.  “You’re so cold,” she’d tell me.

As I took men into my life, and embarked on rickety relationships, never did I perceive man’s feelings for me as unconditional love.  I could always feel their agendas, their desire for me to be feel a certain way, say certain words.  Of course, I’d try to give them what I believed they wanted, but then feel lost from myself.  I admit the love I offered those men was not unconditional either.  I was trapped behind my shell, a cold girl, with a cold, walled-off heart.  Despite my great longing for romance, I could never sustain love for a man beyond the infatuation stage, I could only conjure little dribbles.

Meeting Michael changed all that for me.  From the moment I met him, I could not sense any agenda coming from him other than to love me.  I trusted in that love, and yet, the feeling of being loved by him was very airy and abstract.  It seemed to float somewhere outside and around me.  It touched me, but did not penetrate me bodily.  Perhaps my shell was more intact than I knew.

Now, with dominance and submission, everything has changed.  Michael’s love for me has broken through my shell and moved into me.  Part of it must be my willingness to surrender, followed by the surge of energy from sexual polarity.  No walls can stand against that kind of energy.  But I think it is more than just that.  A new dimension of security has come with all his Daddy talk, and it is a brand new sensation to me.  There is a grounding weight to it, a warm solidity.

In truth, it feels as if he is going back into my past and rescuing me from the cold walls I shut myself inside at the beginning of me.  It’s a paradox, because I am submitting to his sexual agenda, yes.  But like a real loving Daddy – or at least my image of what a real Daddy should be – his only agenda is for me to be me, for me to be happy.  He sees me, and knows me, and I feel like I am becoming the real me for the first time ever.

It should be impossible to have a Daddy now, to be a girl, at the age I am.  It should be absurd, and maybe it is a little.  Blog21Quote2Yet, somehow he makes it feel simple and natural with his easy acceptance of it all.  I don’t know how he does that, makes the impossible possible, turns absurdity into perfect sense.  And now I not only feel loved, but I feel oddly innocent again, as if I have never been hurt, as if I have no idea what hurt is.  I suddenly feel confident that nothing could ever hurt me, I feel so safe and free and light and loved that I just want to laugh and play with my big handsome Daddy, with his firm confident hand, and his big wonderful cock.  I want to give him all-over kisses and lick and suck on him, and thrill when he holds me down or spanks me, or opens me with his fingers.

My heart grows full as I contemplate these thoughts, and I press up against Michael’s smooth back in the dark, wanting to tell him how grateful I am.  But he is asleep.  Sigh.  I try to lie still, but I cannot hold it all in, I am bursting, restless, with this change in the experience of being me, being loved by him.  I slide out of bed, then go sit on the couch with my laptop to write him words that he will be able to read in the morning:

I am so happy with this secret, I love being in our own secret world, it feels like a dream.  And if it is a dream, please don’t let me wake up, please keep me in this trance, please keep me as your sweet girl, please control me, condition me, hypnotize me, take my mind, own my pussy, fuck me into submission, dominate me, use me, own me completely.  I have never felt so good as when you show me so viscerally that I am yours.  I have never felt so alive, so in love, so full happy, oh you are such a good perfect Daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you.