How Submitting to a Dominant Daddy Allows Me to Inhabit my Body

For the longest time, Michael has been openly calling me his baby girl, and referring to himself as my Daddy.  He is able to say the words with an unabashed confidence that I cannot yet match.  Most often I still call him “Daddy” only under my breath, barely audible.  Oh, I call him Daddy in my mind continually, no problem, I write it here in this chronicle with ease.  But I still feel silly when I say it out loud in the space between us.  Well, unless in throes of sex, when the word bursts out of me, as if tired of being pent up.

I don’t know why this hesitance, this embarrassment. It seems to be a common enough longing in women.  I look up “Daddy Dom” in Amazon, and come up with hundreds of books, erotic novels in which a stepfather (usually) is the romantic hero, and teaches his curious teenage stepdaughter about her body, about her sexuality.  I wonder if this triggers some sort of universal archetype in our minds.  It is definitely the mental framework we have built for our particular expression of dominance and submission. Michael is my stepfather figure, and I am the girl who needs him to sexually teach and care for me.

In so many ways, I feel that this is what he is literally doing for me.  While I had a definite model for sex as good clean fun growing up (Thanks, Mom), I did not have a good model for sex as an expression for love.  And for most of my life, sex and love have never been very well-connected.  Blog35Quote1I was plenty sexually adventurous, but I also remained distant from the act, and from my own body’s participation in it.  It seemed like a game I’d play on occasion, a grown-up game that made me laugh.  But most of the time, I’d feel so disconnected from my body that I’d pretty much never let my lover see my body naked if I could help it.

In our first relatively vanilla year together, Michael helped my body learn to experience sex as the full expression of love.  Through his loving care and acceptance of my body, he helped me shed inhibitions, open up to him, and trust him deeply.  But that was only the first part in a much bigger journey.  Now, in handing my body and sexual will over to him as my husband and looking at him as my dominant Daddy, I feel like he is literally teaching me how to inhabit my body, inhabit my sexuality.

In tying the rope around my breasts – especially when it is so tight I have to stay aware of them sticking out so bare and vulnerable at every minute – he alters my perception of them.  In his constant pinching and sucking of my nipples, he is giving me no choice but to feel my own breasts in a sexual way for more than just brief moments.  After hours in that harness, I am achingly aware of the sexual purpose of my breasts, my body.  And for the first time in my life, I feel I am finally connecting to myself as a sexual creature, someone designed by nature for the purpose of sex and love.

In giving myself sexually to my husband, he is giving me my sexual self back to me.  And now I understand why that first day I submitted to him, I was so rocked by the feeling of ‘this is who I really am.’  I’d assumed I was feeling that way about being submissive, but now I believe I felt that because submitting to him makes me feel so sexual, so alive and present in my body.

Paradoxically, in this dynamic that seems like such a game on the surface, I can finally stop looking at sex as a game.  I don’t think this ever would have happened for me in a normal marriage of equal partners.  My own strong-willed version of myself, my culturally induced hostility to my body, and my disconnected relationship to sex all got in the way.

Now, several months into D/s and power exchange, I am for the first time ever in my 51 years, walking around comfortable with my body, comfortable being without clothes, even preferring to be without clothes when Michael is home.  It feels miraculous, this change, as if I have finally been granted permission by a loving generous father figure to own my sexual nature, inhabit my true self.

The question that has been lurking at the back of my mind is:  Am I too caught up in this discovery to interpret it correctly?  Is sexual submissiveness the only way for me to get there?  Is that truly who I am underneath it all, what I need long term?  Is it even possible to live it long term?

It takes true effort to keep the dynamic alive, the 50/50 relationship is so much a part of us and our default way of relating.  We are pretty high on the D/s dynamic at the moment, but we are burning very hot, the intensity is overwhelming, and I can’t help but wonder:  Will we burn each other out before we figure out how to keep it alive in a sustainable way?

Last night I got a little bit of an answer to my questions.  After several days of being distracted by ordinary life and work and kids, the D/s dynamic sort of faded away, and by the weekend, we had drifted into our ordinary husband and wife way of being, doing not much on a Saturday, having dinner at the lake, watching a funny movie.  It was 9 o’clock at night when he surprised me by saying it was time to lay across his lap.  I laughed, a little uncomfortable.  I was not in the submissive mindset at all, and it felt suddenly silly to pull off my pants and lie across his lap.  That feeling of silliness gave me a moment of worry, oh shit, this isn’t really me, is it?  I am a grown woman, an intelligent person, am I really going to go through with this absurd ritual every night?

But I didn’t say any of those things out loud, I just obeyed, lay across his lap.  And then came his hands pulling my panties down…  Then came that vulnerable feeling, and the building anticipation…  And then came the hot smacks of his hand…  Blog35Quote2And my mind went quiet and still and peaceful, as it always does.  It did not feel absurd at all, but necessary to me.  It felt essential.  And when it was over, I thought yes, yes, yes, this is who I am, this is what I need, Daddy knows what I need, I am so lucky to have him.

I was elated to have my moment of doubt so decisively chased away, to have the grown woman who lives only in my head brought back to my body and put back in my proper place.  I spent the rest of the evening tight against him, held in his arms, floating in the feeling of submissive serenity.  And knowing I have given my trust to the right man.  And feeling the most amazing relief that I don’t have to worry about how to sustain it long term, that is his job.  My only job is to submit to what he asks, no matter my mood of the moment, and he will keep liberating my true self.

Daddy will take care of me.

Why We Don’t Use the Language of BDSM

In our early days of exploring D/s, Michael and I spent a lot of time online, exploring BDSM sites and learning the language and lingo from others who’d been immersed in “the lifestyle” for ages.  It was very comforting to discover we were not alone, that this path had been traveled many times and found wonderful.  We soaked up the new language, and tried it out like people with a phrasebook getting ready to journey to a foreign land.  Should we try going to a ‘munch’? I’d ask, then laugh at this unfamiliar word.

But over time, we’ve found ourselves dropping the words, and eventually drifting away from material written for a BDSM audience.  Most of it feels designed for people who are in it for the fetish aspect, people who primarily use bondage and discipline to get off.  Of course, there’s nothing wrong with getting off good and hard; Michael and I have been getting off plenty.  But we feel ourselves primarily motivated by the desire for greater intimacy, greater authenticity.  Blog34Quote1When we use phrases like “scene” or “play,” it seems to imbue our power exchange with the artificiality of roleplay.  We don’t see ourselves as “playing” at D/s, we see ourselves as loving each other.  I feel a stark difference between becoming a servant to the heat of BDSM sex, and through hot BDSM sex becoming a servant to love.

“Safe, Sane, and Consensual” slogans also don’t seem to resonate with us or do “safewords,” or rules of “aftercare.”  These concepts are clearly important, even necessary, for pursuing sex between strangers or the uncommitted.  But they feel irrelevant and overly complicated, two married people who know and trust each other completely.  At least for us.

“Respect for emotional safety” is another phrase we encountered a lot, but this somehow this puts me off as well, I’m not sure why.  Who can object to emotional safety?  Yet, I wouldn’t be doing this if I wanted emotional safety.  The further we go in our power exchange journey, the less we feel like clinging to safety and the more we want to turn ourselves over to the perils of the unpredictable and unknown.

Most BDSM literature strongly encourages two people to be specific with each other about what activities we want, and don’t want, all spelled out beforehand.  And we did at first find that bracketing BDSM activities in a “scene,” and discussing expectations, allowed us to know when to behave a certain way.  That was helpful in our first weeks, when we often felt a little lost as we tried on this new way of relating.  We constantly wondered, how do we move in and out of dominating or submissive behavior?  Is it time for this now?  How do we live normal life and this other life at the same time?

Yet, we quickly realized we were better off allowing our D/s life to unfold spontaneously – unplanned, no scene, just following the impulse of the moment.  Most our attempts to plan a specific scene made it all feel mechanical, a game, and we couldn’t relax into it.  And of course, reality rarely goes according to plan anyway, or feels like one expects it to feel.  Planning a detailed scene more often led to disappointment than pleasant surprise.

We do, of course, spend a lot of time talking about it all.  We still make brief forays online, and tell each other about the images and ideas we find intriguing.

“I love the idea of being tied up naked on the couch,” I will tell him.  “With legs splayed open, being unable to close my legs, just stuck there, exposed, on the couch, while we watch TV.”

Michael will nod, hmm, interesting.  But we will not set up a specific scene to do this.  He might one evening to decide to tie me like that if the mood strikes him.  Or, he might not.  Or, he might put his own twist on it.  Sometimes his version is not anything I would have imagined for myself, let alone thought to spell out.  And that is exactly how I want it.  In fact, I find it irritating if he asks me to spell out anything or tell him what I want.  To me, the whole point of being sexually submissive is to surrender to his desires, not mine.  I don’t want responsibility for any of it, I want to be free of having to think about it.  To me, submission is pure freedom.

David Deida best describes the dynamic we try to live now.  He advises the dominant man to “listen not to what your beloved says she wants, but what love tells you she needs.”  He says that a man can ignore what his woman says she wants if love demands it.  It’s an audacious assertion, and it goes against every tenant of the ‘safe, sane and consensual’ BDSM canon.  But this seems to us the only way it works for us.

Like this morning, I wake up with my husband’s hand reaching between my legs.  Before D/s I would have pushed his hand away, I am sore from too much sex already, and not at all in the mood.  But of course, before D/s he wouldn’t be reaching at all, he’d have waited for me to wake up, might have tried to measure my receptiveness before whispering, “I want to touch you.”  Then he’d wait for my assent, which I may or may not have given after a torturous mental assessment of my mood and desires and weighing the costs of refusal.  Would he be discouraged from offering if I didn’t accept?  Would he worry I don’t find him desirable anymore, or that I don’t appreciate his generosity?

But let’s say I assent and open my legs to him.  Before D/s, Michael would then finger my pussy with this sweet sort of reverence, a respectful and loving touch that responded to every move of my body or sound I made and gave me lovely orgasms well-spaced apart.  Before D/s, he only rarely touched my ass, and even then only hesitantly, carefully, as if not quite sure what to do with it.

This morning, as my dominant, he touches me sooooo differently.  His hands are so confident now, no hesitation, no permission asked.  He is no longer careful, measuring my response in the same way, as if trying to read what I want.  Blog34Quote2He already knows me inside out, and his fingers move inside me the way HE wants, deep and hard and insistent.  And right now, I feel taken by his fingers in the same way he can take me with his cock.  He no longer keeps respectful distance from my ass, but plunges a finger in that hole, too.  Oh and no more waiting for space between orgasms, either, they blend in to each other.  They are orgasmic rushes now, building, and building…

I can barely catch my breath, his fingers are pounding me so hard, opening me, pussy and ass.  I am completely surrendered to it, no resistance, and I can feel energy gathering between my holes, oh yes there is a root chakra, I feel it literally spin open, then whoosh – a conflagration.  Racing fire, the entire tree of my nervous system lights up in a flash, burns up my body in a beautiful searing rush.  Fuck.  Then my body locks up in some kind of overload, I push his hand away from me, scramble to sit upright.

My mind is so dazed by that intense flash that all I can do is stare up at him dumbstruck, while the embers the fire still drift through me.  I want to describe it to him, but I don’t know how.  My words are incomprehensible.

This is not a scene. We are not playing a game. These surges of sexual heat keep exploding between us unplanned and unexpected, carrying us away.  No moment is predictable anymore.  We are surprising each other always.  And my pussy is so damn sore that I will be feeling it – warm and throbbing – all day long.

Submissive Holy Grail; Opening for Daddy

Daddy finally – finally! – gets his cock in my ass.  For an actual minute.  I’ve already spent an hour face down across his lap with him spanking me and playing with my holes and sticking progressively larger butt plugs in me.  They are the soft, more flexible ones that aren’t so rough on delicate tissues.  First the medium sized one, oh hurts a little, but I think I like it.

I lay there on his lap, cheek pressed against the couch cushion, soaking in the feel of ultimate penetration.  He eventually pulls it out, and I think he’s done.

No, he says, Daddy’s gonna slide the biggest one in, babygirl.

I brace myself, struggling to relax into it as I feel him push the large plug into me, stretching me…  Well, kind of odd and uncomfortable, but… not bad.  I got on my knees on the floor with the big one in me to suck on his cock, oh I felt so full.  And so owned.

There is such sweetness in offering up my ass to whatever he wants to do to me, whether it hurts or not.  And now, he tells me, what he wants is to get his cock in there.  I swallow thickly, worried.  I am already sore from the plugs, don’t feel ready.  But whatever Daddy wants, Daddy gets.  And so I get on all fours on the couch, grip onto the arm, and he shoves his way in.

It hurts.  A lot.  Jagged little streaks of pain.  An unnatural invasion so it seems.  But I can take it.  I like taking it.  I like the rude visceral surprise of it.  I breathe, breathe, as he moves around just a little bit.  Then he’s pulling it out.  I am almost disappointed it was so brief.

But it feels like a triumph.  We are both incredibly turned on by it, and when I get up off the couch, he comes after me, backs me up against the wall of the hall afterward and kisses me and yanks on my nipple until I come.

Afterward, we go out dancing, have a blast, so high on each other, so crazy in love.  We come home and feel asleep in each other’s arms on the couch…

This morning he tells all he can think about is doing me in the ass.  “It’s a huge domination high,” he says.  “I want to try again.  Go wash up.”

I want this, too, but my hole is sore from the breach of my behind last night.  Do I tell him I can’t?  The thought makes me want to cry.

My ass is the last part of me that has not cooperated in submission.  Oh, my pussy is completely conquered, it opens for him, welcomes him, craves him, wants him, comes for him.  My pussy is a willing slave.  But my ass, it doesn’t want to give, still a gate that wants to stay locked, stopping me from giving him everything.  I resent my ass its resistance.  Blog33Quote1I look at our collection of butt plugs as the tools to open the gate, I crave to have him put them inside me, train me open, to take him.  I sometimes think about putting them in myself, try force myself to open for Daddy.

That’s the phrase I use in my head, “Open for Daddy.”  I first encountered it on a submissive wives blog a week or so ago, where a woman posted her despair because she couldn’t withstand the anal sex her dominant wanted.  This other woman talked about how painful anal was for her at first, but eventually he trained her with many hours of butt plug wearing.  Now, she wrote, “I keep my ass lubed all the time so master can use it for his pleasure whenever he feels like it.  Now it always opens for him real nice.”

I have been taken by this idea.  And I am now determined that my ass should open for Daddy.  So I go wash up, make myself clean.

But when I go back into the bedroom, my fear is still nipping at me. I crawl on top of Michael, bury my face into his neck and tell him so.  I’m afraid I can’t take it.

Don’t worry, he says, I’ll get you ready.

And so, as I lay there on his warm chest, breathing into his neck, he reaches down, starts stroking my behind, he pulls one of my knees up, pries one cheeks open… and oh God, the way he touches me.  Stroking the edges of the hole, slow, soothing, gentle, relaxing knowing.  He slides one finger, then two fingers inside me, oh so gentle and yet with all this skill and familiarity, gently stretching me wider.

I completely allowed and relaxed and it changed the sensation for me, not painful anymore, but this aching deep pleasure that was so unexpected.  Up until now, any time he touched me there was a sort of hot turned-on, pain-pleasure sensation.  To have it become pure melting pleasure, radiating pleasure, and no pain whatsoever, well the world turned upside down.  I felt as if everything I previously knew about myself was wrong, my whole body had been transformed.  And Daddy the man who transformed me.

I had come to believe my true self was located inside my pussy, that sacred spot, and I think that is still true.  I have sometimes felt very aware of it being the literal spot where my soul meets flesh, and I still feel it is the seat of my soul, and the opening to my heart.  Blog33Quote2Oh but it is not the seat of my body, that is in my ass, my bodily self begins there, I never knew that before this moment, never felt it so palpably directly touched and moved… Daddy has found the physical me in a way I have never been found or known before, and I want more.

I am gasping on his chest, waiting for him to tell me it’s time, time to turn over so he can enter me.  But he doesn’t do that.  Instead, he kisses me, says, “I’m going to give you more time to be ready.”

I groan, then roll off him, laughing.  Hoist by my own petard.  I don’t know if he’s decided to wait to be kind to me, or if he’s not ready yet himself.  I think of him as all-knowing and powerful, but the truth is, he has zero experience in ass fucking, maybe he’s not that confident.

But whatever the reason, that’s the last time I’ll tell him I’m afraid to take it.