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. 
My 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. 
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…
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