A Submissive Little Red Riding Hood

Yesterday was a very upside down day.  I felt so confused by what is happening to me. Here I thought I’d been chronicling a great love story, in which my soul is saved by sweet submissive sex to my Daddy Husband.  Then, suddenly, it felt like I was writing a harrowing psychological journey in which I’d consented to my own brainwashing into a different reality.  I imagined myself ending up crouched in a closet, naked, insensible to myself, begging Daddy to be let out and fucked.  And who would have any sympathy for idiot me?  No one.  I’d been trying to turn my mind over to him as if it was useless to me, and my mind seemed only too willing to oblige me.

As I head out for my morning walk through our neighborhood under the still-bare oak branches, I wonder if this is what I deserve for trying to take a shortcut to enlightenment.  Like Little Red Riding Hood trying to ‘zag’ through the woods, I’ve run smack into the Big Bad Wolf.  I’m not sure if the wolf is Daddy, or if the wolf is inside me – the thing that wants to devour my ego and leave me empty.  I think “it’s cheating at life to turn myself over to someone else.  Blog37Quote1Isn’t it my job as a human being to be responsible for my own body, my own choices?”  The price of shirking that responsibility to become submissive suddenly seems very high.  I am dragging my feet as I head back up the concrete steps to my front door.

Then I sit in my chair by the window with my computer and open my inbox to find an email from Michael in response to me sharing my worries the night before.  It is a taking-it-in-stride no-worries email.  A yes, it’s a disorienting journey but Daddy-will-take-care-it email.  It immediately calms me.  And when the work day is done, he comes home and kisses me and puts me on my knees and puts his cock in my mouth and all seems right with the world.

Although I apparently keep looking at his face in a searching way, because he says, “You look wary.”

I suspect I am looking for Michael, my husband, but he is not the man standing before me.  This man is truly Daddy to me now, the name Michael doesn’t even seem to fit.  But I feel so calm and happy in his presence, it seems not a problem any more.

We talk for awhile, agreeing that we can’t go back, don’t want to go back, this is who we really are.  He says he needs to be my Daddy for himself, and I say I need him to be that for me.  But how, I ask, do we make it work so that I don’t get so overwhelmed and lost in it, especially during sex with the insatiable dominant in him?  Should I ever be allowed to say no?

The question is no sooner out of my mouth than we adamantly agree – that is not going to happen.  Neither of us want me to have a choice in how he uses me (oh how I love that word ‘use’ and the throb of sexual heat it releases in me – used by Daddy, used by love, used by life).  I cannot give up my submission to him, that would be disastrous to me, and this is such a surprising thing to feel.  Is this really me?  I can’t help but ask myself.  It feels so different than the independent me I have known most my life, is this who I really want to be now?  But the answer is unequivocal: yes, yes, yes, yes.

We talk about the possibility of me using code words for when I am feeling pushed too far, but that is just another way of saying no, another way of reducing it all to a role play game rather than the reality we want to live.

Besides which, I tell him, I crave to be pushed too far sometimes.  And he seems to understand that it is his job to push, the way he is talking about it, with no hint of conflict or concern in his voice.  I think, wow, he really sounds like a true dominant.  (Just as I frequently question whether I am truly submissive at heart, I also frequently wonder whether he is truly a dominant at heart, as I never saw any hint of that in my respectful gentleman lover for our most of our time together.)

I speak my fear that I will keep falling deeper and deeper into submission, become less willing to make any decision about any of it at all.  “That means it’s all on you, all your responsibility to make it work,”  I say.  “What if that responsibility becomes too big, too burdensome?  What if you want to forget the whole thing, but by then it’s already too late for me?  Then we wouldn’t match anymore, and then what would happen to us?”  In the end, we agree there is nothing to be done about it.  I have to keep submitting and trust him to find the right balance.  We agree that all we can do is live in this moment, allow it to unfold, stay open and honest with each other, keep communicating.  We know we are playing with fire – oh I think we are both deeply aware of it – but we feel certain the rewards are worth the risks.  We feel we have no choice.  We can’t unknow what we now know about ourselves.

And after all, it is only a problem I cook up in my mind while thinking about it when we are apart.  When we are together, the complexities of it all seem to resolve and fade away.  I just let go and do what he says and feel dominated and happy and loved, oh my god so loved.

He puts me over his lap for my nightly spanking, and afterward, I lie there across his legs, panties around my knees, bare ass-cheeks warm and tingling, my mind serene, as he reaches across me to the drawer in the coffee table where we keep the bottle of lube.  I know what is coming, I can’t wait for what is coming.  My Daddy has devoted himself to the training of my ass to open for him.

As his slippery finger starts to stroke my bottom hole, he tells me that back when I first confessed my fantasy of being touched in my “secret spot” at night before bed, he didn’t realize that I’d meant my ass, he thought I’d meant my clit.

I smile and say, “no,” any man will go for the clit, the pussy.  “Only my Daddy is allowed to touch me where you’re touching me now,” I say.  And it is true that I have kept my ass very close to virginal for him, waiting for him to discover it, caress it, soothe it, penetrate it …

And penetrate me he does.  After his fingers, he patiently works a large butt plug into tight me, leaves it in for awhile, stretching me, preparing me.  Then he eases it out, and tells me to get on my knees.  I am athrob with excruciating excitement as he shoves and pushes his cock into my ass, splitting me, oh it is so fucking intense, being filled to the point of lovely perfect pain.  Blog37Quote2To resist would only cause more pain, so there is nothing I can do but submit completely, go still and relax and accept him into me.  His cock holds me impaled, motionless, gasping, full.

I am not able to take to take it for all that long before I’m groaning from the pain, and he eases out.  But it is certainly longer than I’ve ever taken it before, and afterward I sink back down to the couch, feeling so invaded, so owned.  He is showing me that there is no part of me that belongs to only me anymore, he has taken everything.  I love it in the most primal way, and I happily float off to the bedroom with him.

Before we fall asleep, he reaches over, pulls my leg up across him so my ass opens to him, and again pushes his finger into my most private, most sensitive place.  Then a second finger.  I love that he doesn’t ask, or even seem to care if I’m ready, he just takes possession of me, reaches into me where I have never let anyone else go.  And again it shoots piercing pleasure/pain up through my whole body, and oh my god the soul-melting sweetness of it, the intimacy of it, the full and pure surrender of it.  The deeper his fingers go, the more I let go, and the greater the feeling of being held in his power, and the greater the security and peace that blooms up throughout me, spreading warm safe love into every cell of me …

As his fingers lazily stir inside my ass, he says, “Being able to do this to you whenever I want is changing me.”

While I am not exactly sure what that means to him, it gratifies me, and I relax around his fingers even more.  He senses it and pushes a third finger into me, opening me wider. “Thank you,” I whisper, “that feels so good.” How lovely to know I am not the only one being transformed.

Submitting to the Insatiable Beast: Or, The Brain on BDSM

I haven’t posted in awhile.  I have been so busy with my job, 12-hour days lately.  Michael and I find that me working so much temporarily throws off the sexual power balance between us.  Work takes assertive masculine energy, and I often have a hard time shifting down into a passive submissive space.  And without the sweet spell of D/s, we end up having less sex.  Well, not for long, we always find our way back to it.

But even when we get there, I’ve felt constrained from writing about it, with all the #MeToo movement stuff and the loud and fierce female resistance to women being treated as sexual objects.  It has seemed important to take that movement all in and give it space, figure out where the cultural feeling about sexual relationships will end up.  It’s simply not the most auspicious time to brag about the joys of sexual surrender.  So I will not brag about the joys today, though they remain clear and strong for us nearly three years into our D/s journey.  This blog is basically pieces of journal entries I kept during our first year.  And while most of those early days were exhilarating and electrifying and enlightening, we did stumble into difficulty on occasion.  The following paragraphs describe what I felt one morning, barely one month after my turning my sexual will to my husband …

I am overwhelmed, I cannot keep up with the speed of these changes between me and my … I started to write Daddy Husband.  But I have the unsettling sense that I lost my husband somewhere along the way, misplaced him in my mind.  There is only a Daddy now, and he is suddenly scary in his power over me.

This morning his possession of me is very overt.  I am barely awake and he is kissing me and shoving his cock inside of me.  I am already sore from the weekend, from last night, but oh I love this so much, this still-dark morning being fucked.  I mean, I really really LOVE this, the not having to think about whether I am in the mood or not, or does it feel good or not, just mindless open allowing.  Sex is just happening to my body, love is happening, orgasms are happening.  He pounds me, and I sink very deep into his possession of me and it feels wonderful…

Then he tells me to open my legs, says, “Daddy is going to make you feel so good.”  I open my legs, his fingers slide into me, but I am even more sore now, my body both opening and resisting at the same time.  Blog36Quote1My body obeys, but now mind is starting to say, too much, too much.  After another orgasm, (or two?… yes two, his tongue in my ear) I feel myself starting to squirm away, nerves raw, too much.

But he doesn’t seem to notice.  He gets on top of me, shoves his cock in me again, and oh my poor raw hole.  I normally like being sore, to walk around sore and aching during the day makes me think of him, of sex, of us.  The too-muchness is good sometimes, too, and now I am trying to embrace the too much as he fucks me, whispering in my ear, “Daddy is pouring his love into you.”

I am taking it, but my nerves are stretching tight, I feel an orgasm coming and it keeps coming and coming, my whole body shaking beneath him, and he still speaking into my ear, “Daddy loves you, Daddy loves you…”  And I am in pain and ecstasy and shaking, breathing hard, hyperventilating.  I feel this rise in me, my body coming up, revolting against this too much.  My overwhelmed nervous system crashes, and my mind crashed into fear.  I have the clear thought:  I am in the grip of an insatiable beast.  He is going to fuck me into oblivion.

I scramble away, cold and hard with fear, I look at him, and he does look like a beast, gazing down at me in a blank and lazy way. I am trying to calm down, repeating in my mind, “This is the man who loves me, I am safe.”

He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong, just pulls me close, hard against him.  When I can finally form words, I say, “I wonder if you can love someone to death?”  He doesn’t seem surprised at the question.  “You said you wanted to test the boundaries, find the edge.”  We had talked about that the day before, in a lighthearted sort of way.  I said I wanted to keep pushing into the further reaches of submission and pain, find the boundary, the edge where we wouldn’t go past.  He had said that he wondered the same thing, where are his limits, how far will he go, does he have any limits at all?

As he gets up to get in the shower, I regret having spoken so carelessly.  My body is shaken by too much sensation.  I can’t get comfortable in myself, let alone with him.  And when he comes out of the bathroom, and sits on the bed to put on his socks and shoes, I reach to touch his back and ask, “How are you doing?”

He turns to look at me… And he does not look the same to me.  I actually gasp, because he does not look like Michael my husband anymore.  He looks like Daddy, and only Daddy. And he feels like how I remember my parents feeling to me when I was little, the all-powerful people I adored, but who scared me with their unpredictability.

He answers my question, tells me that he is doing well, but I somehow can’t decipher if this is true or not.  His face and manner seem suddenly inscrutable to me in the way adults are to children. This man I know so well feels almost a stranger – a stranger with complete control over me.  I can barely keep it together long enough for him to say goodbye.

I mentally spin into a panic after he leaves.  What the fuck has happened to me? I have never felt afraid of him before.  Okay, I don’t suppose I am actually afraid of him now, more like afraid of what is happening in my mind.  I never dreamed that I would experience such a literal transformation of perspective – and certainly not after such a short time.  I’ve been struggling to remember to call him Daddy at all.

Clearly, I have hit some transition point in the evolution of my submission.  The intensity of this process is not just physical, it is psychological, far beyond what I previously thought.  His sexual conquering of me has been amazingly effective, all resistance to his ownership of me has seriously broken down.

Is this the result of some kind of hypnotic suggestion?  Charles Muir, the Tantra expert, says that in the moments before, during and after orgasm, the psyche becomes very open to words and suggestions (and so one should say only loving things).  BDSM-oriented writers are more straightforward about “mental malleability” and brainwashing techniques inherent in their practices.  Clarisse Thorn, the self-proclaimed S&M Feminist, writes of the aftermath of submitting to pain: “I felt myself starting to fall apart and reform:  around him, around his guidance and force and demands. Almost unable to think.”

Be careful, many such writers say.  The introduction of pain and chaos to mind and body leads to cognitive dissonance, and the mind gives in to save it from stress.  Well, my dominant Daddy has been putting my body through stress, and perhaps I have been brainwashed – but not against my will. Blog36Quote2.png I have consented to it, craved it, wanted it.  Oh I very much wanted to “fall apart and re-form” myself around him.  But now it is freaking me out.  Any last vestige of a role play game is completely gone.  And I feel unexpectedly bereft because I have lost my husband, lost Michael.

This is the problem:  my husband is the one I trust.  I know I can trust that my Daddy loves me, will take care of me, but his dominant side is growing stronger and ever more powerful over me.  And his dominant side is unpredictable even to him, he keeps pushing me farther, overwhelming me with constant forceful sex and stimulation.  Daddy is an insatiable beast, wringing orgasm after orgasm from me, pushing and pulling me, day by day and hour by hour, between pleasure and pain.

If I could look at him and see Michael again, see my husband, I would be able to tell him “stop, no more no more, I feel wrung too hard.”  But Daddy owns me.  I never say stop to him, I won’t, every day I feel more and more that I am actually his to use as he wants, whenever he wants.  I have thrilled to that like nothing else in my life, oh I will never ever say no to him.  Just the thought of saying no to him actually plunges me into a kind of despair, I can’t, I can’t, I feel I would rather die than go back to owning myself.  I fear I am fated to lie still and go slowly crazy from the too much.

“This is scary, loaded, complicated territory,” says Thorn.  But however scary, I feel like I have to keep moving with him into this territory.  I am committed to surrender, to allowing it to take me, change me.  I know that is where real happiness lies for me.  Yes, I am trembling in fear of my powerful Daddy.  But I do trust Michael with everything in me.  I just need to figure out how not to lose sight of him…