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.  Isn’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.  To 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.