One way my husband wants me to surrender to him is to reveal to him how I am feeling about him and our Dominant/submissive sexual arrangement, so I am developing the habit of writing down our sexual experiences and how I feel about it. I call it my “chronicle” (and the basis for this blog). Today, when he gets home from work, he tells me that after he read my chronicle at his desk, he headed straight to the bathroom masturbate.
“In all the years I’ve worked there, I’ve never done that,” he says. “But I was that stirred up.”
He tells me he wants me to cook dinner topless, and ties me in a rope harness so that my breasts are squeezed in loops of rope, my bare titties jutting out. I love the feel of it, love the way his eyes follow me around the kitchen, love the submissive trigger of rope.
Still, something is stopping me from getting too deeply into a submissive space. Maybe it’s the novelty of cooking topless? No, I think it’s my self-consciousness. I feel more than a little ridiculous as I chop onions and jalapeno peppers with bare, jutting breasts. What an odd sight I must be, middle-aged me, with my imperfect body on such flagrant display. Even as it turns me on, it also inhibits me from letting go like I want. I am disappointed in myself for letting my insecurity take precedence over his pleasure. But I don’t know how to stop it. I know there is no way I am going to eat like that, so I put my shirt over the harness to eat dinner. Yet, as soon as we are done and I settle onto the couch beside him, he tugs at the shirt. “Off.”
I peel the shirt off, and my breasts are now faint pink from being squeezed so tightly by the rope. He drops his head down to put one of my nipples in his mouth, then yanks his head back in surprise. “My mouth is on fire.”
I laugh. I must have touched my nipple after chopping the jalapeno, and now he’d gotten a mouthful of the spice. I get up to go to the kitchen to watch them off.
Survivor starts on TV, and I go back to lie down on the ouch with my head on his lap. As we watch the screen, he idly plays with my rope-squeezed breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers, pinching them. It is ohhhhhh, lovely lovely, waves-of-warmth, fuck yes perfect. My whole body soon feels electrified, and still he plays and pinches, pleasure ratcheting up and up and up… I feel as if he is plucking me away from myself and throwing me up into heaven.
I never asked for it – he is doing it for his own pleasure I’m sure – but I am so profoundly enjoying it, that it doesn’t feel like submission at all. It feels like he is submitting to my own secret desires. I am suddenly confused, who is submitting to who?
It is a conundrum that has been nagging at me lately. When he is giving me such intense pleasure, I feel my own sexual will bursting back to life, yes Daddy, give me more of that, more more, I need more. My words start as a plea, but come out sounding like a command to my ears.
As I lay there, panting with the intensity of the pleasure, I ask him, “How is this submission?”
“It’s okay if you get off on it,” he says. “I’m your Daddy. That means I want to take care of you, spoil you, make you happy. It doesn’t mean I’m not in charge.”
As if to prove his point, he twists my nipples, making me gasp and arch my back in sharp beautiful pain. Then he pulls me across his lap and spanks me shockingly hard. As I take the pain, my mind shuts off immediately, goes blank, quiet, peaceful.
“I know you need me to be rough sometimes, too,” he says.
“Yes, Daddy,” I say, my behind on fire.
And just like that, he has made my conundrum dissolve away into his generous Daddy love.
He unties the rope, takes me to bed. He tells me to kiss him all over, show him how I love him. And I do, sweetly, thoroughly. We continue in a slow tender dance of lazily exploring each other with mouths and fingers, anywhere and everywhere, arm pits even. There is an innocence about it that moves me greatly, to be able to feel so free of boundaries, to have such permission to touch each other anywhere. Places never touched before, or even considered sexual before, are now charged with erogenous energy.
I begin to grow sleepy and lie on my side, with him curled behind me. He slowly starts caressing my behind, his fingers moving to softly along my crack. I sigh, and relax and open… And then, oh then, with one moist finger, he begins caressing my bottom hole. And I do mean caress, the lightest strokes against the oh so sensitive hole. I have never been touched there like that, so slow and gentle and loving. The tender intimacy of it makes my heart beat hard. The pleasure of it suffuses me with glowing heat. My eyes fill with tears.
I am ready to cry because Michael has discovered my deepest desire without me ever speaking it aloud. I think I’d once mentioned I had a fantasy of “my Daddy tucking me in,” but I never told him what being tucked in meant to me. But in my fantasy, which I’d lately been having nightly – in a strange and secret longing that I barely understand – I imagine that after I turn over to go to sleep, my Daddy slips in behind me and whispers in my ear that I have been such a good girl that he is going to make me feel good as I fall asleep. Then he softly strokes my pussy, like petting a cat, slipping a finger into me just a little bit, stirring me slowly. I sleepily tell him it makes me feel nice, and then he says, “I can make it feel even better. I am going to touch your special spot now.” Then his finger eases back until he is stroking my asshole, achingly soft. As he does, he is whispering, “Shhhh, just lie still and go to sleep now baby,” and I do, I relax into the sweet warmth, and drift off, feeling so loved, so special…
Now he is doing exactly that, and it feels a hundred times sweeter than I could have imagined. And then I do start crying because I am so blown away that he knows me so well that he is now able to pull my desires straight from my mind, without me even speaking them. I also cry that he is loving me so freely and so expressively, and because I am about to fall apart from the keen pleasure of it. I try to tell him what this means to me, but my voice does not work, trapped inside me by the lump in my throat and the loving sweetness he is still stroking into my the most intimate and vulnerable part of me.
It is, without a doubt, one of the most profound moments of my entire journey with him. I am undone.