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.

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.

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.


Ass Training; for the Ultimate in D/s Sex

This morning, I slip off back to sleep after Daddy goes to work, and I dream that he has decided to start “anal training” and come back into the room to slip a butt plug in my ass.  We have been talking about it so much lately, my growing desire to surrender to this ultimate symbol of his domination and the problem of how to get my ass open enough to be able to take his cock.  But however much the idea excites me, just a finger or two is about all I can handle, anything bigger hurts so much that my behind clenches up in resistance.

I have printed out actual “submissive ass training” instructions off the internet that require a graduated series of butt plugs, and flushed with embarrassment as I handed it to him a few evenings before.

I tell him I am embarrassed that this is how I am spending my mental energy.  Really?  I say.  This is the biggest problem in my life right now?  We laugh as we talk about it, our “first world problems.”  Imagine, I say, if I could put all this mental energy into actually doing good in the world instead of trying to figure out how get your cock up my butt.  I look at all the people on Fetlife, and I am agog at the ingenuity that goes into constructing gadgets and contraptions for sexual stimulation.  What if those people put their minds to doing something useful with that ingenuity, too?  Then again, what if more people were focused on getting off sexually rather than raping and pillaging the earth, inventing useless things, bombs, airplanes, starting wars?

But whether I approve of myself or not, this is where my mind is going, this seems an urgent and vital thing.  My Daddy must fuck me in the ass or I cannot be happy.  Blog31Quote1And this morning my dream seems so vivid and real that when I wake, I am unsure whether really happened, and I reach around and touch my behind to make sure there is truly no butt plug there.

I open up my email to write Michael and tell him about my dream.  But he has already written me that he intends to begin my ass training over the weekend.

“We’ll begin on the couch tonight,” he writes, “after I apply the usual discipline, gentle anal massage, sensual, relaxing, after which I’ll ease a slightly larger plug inside.”

I cannot wait for him to get home.  I helpfully put the tray of graduated sizes of silicone butt plugs on the coffee table.

He comes home crackling with sexual energy, puts me on my knees, I suck his cock.  He sits in a chair, he wants to show me silly cat pictures on the internet.  So I sit on his lap, and he shows me.  At first I feel too huge and silly to be draped across his lap, but then I snuggle in, to be close to him always intoxicates me.  I am nervous and giddy I tell him; you are so powerful over me; I don’t know what you’ll do.  I hope you’ll never tell me what you plan to do; I just want to be in a receptive state.

We kiss, he whispers his “sweet Daddy nothings” in my ear, plays with the edge of my underwear.  Then: take them off baby girl.  I splay wide on the chair in front of the living room window while he goes down on me.  The window is open I can see the neighbor in the front yard, I try to be quiet as he makes me come with his tongue on my clit.

Then he tells me I am going to lick his ass for him.  Oh my God, I am so excited for this, “this is my treat for being good,” I tell him.  He gets naked, I play with his ass, licking, sucking, fingers.  And the whole time I am thinking of the tray of plugs on the coffee table.  Soon it will be my turn.

Then he does me, oh my god he does me, fucks me so hard.  As he is pounding me from behind, pressing my head down on the mattress, I ride this spike of excitement, being carried by the intensity of it, and then finally can’t seem to keep up with the intensity, and I feel a switch go off in me, everything in me releases, becomes passive empty open.  I lie there taking it, completely mindless and peaceful, an object in truth.  When he is done, I can barely move so deep is my peace and serenity.

Later, after dinner, he ties me up in a breast harness.  I keep asking for it to be tighter, tighter.  And when he is done it is uncomfortably tight around my breasts, but not painfully so, just enough to keep me constantly aware of it, unable to get in a truly comfortable position.  I am constantly achingly aware of my bare breasts being pushed out, aware of the rope, the feeling of being tied, owned, oh my god it is stimulating.  And he can’t stop playing with them.  “I am fascinated with your titties,” he says as he grabs them, sucks on them.

He turns me over his knee on the couch for my spanking, and with each blow he yells out and shudders, he says he feels like he could orgasm that way, it so turns him on.

I stay across his lap as his fingers begin playing inside my pussy.  A finger slips into my ass.  And here it comes, I think.  My throat feels thick with anticipation.  But he doesn’t do anything more than that.  I squirm impatiently across his lap.  Has he forgotten?

I lie there sulking for a good five minutes, deprived, cheated.  I finally reach out, slap my hand onto the tray of plugs and grab one of the medium-sized ones, then twist around to hold it up to him.  Oh I am topping from the bottom, but I can’t help it, I want this badly.

He laughs and nods, ah okay, and goes about the long slow business of caressing my nervous asshole, and then pushing the wide bottomed plug in.  It takes some effort; I keep trying to relax and open and take it in.  It is not really that big, but it feels HUGE.  It stretches me, feels both uncomfortable and incredibly hot.  I feel invaded, subdued.  He keeps caressing the area around it, keeping me relaxed.  Oh, I sigh and wiggle and smolder, feel so turned on it is excruciating.  He starts to take it out, but I say no, I need to leave it in so it will stretch me.

I move back onto the couch, lay up against him.  Oh, but there is no way to get comfortable with that thing inside me.  I feel some cramping sensations, like I have to go to the bathroom.  So now I am both strangely turned on and turned off at once.

Why is it the idea of having something in my ass is so much more pleasurable than the actual feel?  It as to be because of the submissive quality of it, the discomfort makes me feel deeply submissive, deeply surrendered.  Blog31Quote2So here I am, in love with the idea of being fucked in the ass, but struggling with the pain.  I ask him to take it out, he pulls and pulls, but my ass is so tight around it, it is not giving.  I think, oh fuck, it is going to rip me up.  Finally it comes out with a sudden pop.  Wow, he says, that sucker was in there.  It makes us laugh, I come up off the couch in wave of laughing embarrassment.  I say, “Now I have to go recover my dignity.”  I go wash the thing.  Oh, my ass hurts.

Soon we go to bed, he says he wants me again, but I am smarting and stinging down there, so I put him in my mouth and make him come.  He cries out, louder than I have ever heard him yell.  He tells me it was one of the most intense orgasms of his life.  He is 54;  I am 51.  We had intense exciting sex for the better part of six hours.

Daddy Tucks me In; Or, a Submissive Fantasy Comes True

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.  Blog30Quote1“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.  Blog30Quote2I 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.

Being ‘Loved to Smithereens’ Through Dominance and Submission

I am having a rough work day, lots of difficult conversations and criticism of the pages I have turned in.  And in the middle of this, Michael sends me an email.  He wants me waiting naked in bed for him when he gets home from work, to have ropes and riding crop ready so he can beat me.  I first feel dismay to read this, I could really use nice safe loving Daddy tonight, not pain and bondage Daddy.  I want to tell him, no I can’t do that, not tonight.

But once I remember I have agreed to submit, I have surrendered my choice, my emotional turmoil falls away.  Suddenly, I feel rescued from the dictates of my emotional whims.  The Tantric teacher Charles Muir said something about Tantra that I think could apply equally to sexual submission.  He said that Tantric people don’t wait to be in the mood for sex; he said because sex is their spiritual practice, they do it regularly whether in the mood or not.  “They don’t wait ‘til they feel like it, they change how they feel through the practice of love.”  When you don’t feel like it, he said, is the time when you MOST need to do it.

Still, it is challenging to wait in bed with my clothes off.  It makes me uncomfortable, but oh my God, it puts me very much in the frame of mind of looking at Michael as my Daddy, who gave me this hard thing I have to do before he gets home.  Blog29Quote1It makes me feel like I did when I was a kid and had to get chores done before my parent came home, or I’d be in trouble.  I am squirming like crazy under the covers when he finally comes in.  But oh the joy to see him, and to feel him close.  The love just flows between us, it is so palpable, so warm.

Within minutes, he is tying me face down on the bed, first binding my wrists together, something he’s never done yet.  I feel a surge of fear, and the words “Wait, wait, I’m not ready,” tumble out.  But he just smiles at me, and tells me to trust him, and so I do.  I let go of my resistance, and the threatening panic subsides.  He licks my pussy halfway through, but doesn’t let me come, (mean Daddy).  By the time he finishes tying me up my mind has gone nice and quiet.  Oh it is so easy to submit now, easy to allow, feel, experience.

I lift my head to see him digging in a drawer, and he comes out with a clear lavender plastic butt plug I haven’t seen before.  I laugh nervously.  “Where did you get that?”

He just smiles again as he slathers lube all over it.  Then crouches behind me.  “Now just relax.”

What choice do I have?  I cannot move.  I lay my head back down and close my eyes and then I feel it, it’s a little cold, forcing it’s way up into my ass, then nestling into place.  It hurts a little, but intensely erotic, stretching me open.  Then comes a hard smack, and my ass tightens around the plug.  Ohhhhhhhh.  Another smack.  Goooood.

The feeling of being owned and used as he spanked me with that in my ass, me helpless tied up, unable to move, no mind at all… sweet emptiness of thought meets huge hot fullness of sensation.  Ecstasy is a word ringing in my mind, but it is not that, it is something of a different shade than that.

When he’s done spanking me, he fucks me from behind, that plug still in my ass.  I can barely make out the edges of my orgasms any more, I feel more like I stay in a “state of orgasm,” always on the crest of a wave that doesn’t break just builds and rises and curls through me, his fingers his mouth and oh my god his tongue in my ear shoot energy through me in rushes, I feel my body moving in shudders of pleasure and joy and love and love and love.  The deep submission of it takes my “self” away, it is freedom from self, this amazing nothing/everything, this kind of purity of experience.  I want to say ‘I love you,’ but it is hard to even think the word “I,” because I cannot connect subject to object, or make a sentence that makes sense out of it.  I’m not a subject, I am all object, and there is love and there is intensity.  I am completely swallowed in the moment, and if that’s not the essence of a spiritual experience, then I don’t know what is.

I feel wonderful after, perfect and pacified, as he unties me.  But he is not done, he leads me docile into the living room, ties me in a breast harness and puts clamps on my nipples.  I cannot perceive the pain, it just feels like spiky heat radiating through me.  He takes me to the couch and puts me over his lap to stir his fingers in my pussy some more, and the clamps on my nipples catch on the seam of his pants and tug, giving me more electric jolts of heat until fire takes over my body and I am shaking with energy and pleasure so deep, and making sounds and sighing “yes” and begging “please” at the same time.  Blog29Quote2.pngI am receiving all this love he is pouring into me, and becoming love and the whole time he is speaking, chanting, “Daddy’s sweet girl, you’re my sweet girl, so beautiful… I need this, I need you naked on my lap…”

Later, when he has sated himself with me, I go into the bathroom, and catch sight of myself in the mirror.  First, I see how swollen my lips are from his hard kisses, see how flushed red my skin, as if I have been sunburned by the heat of passion.  Then I try to take in my whole face, and I feel almost disoriented to see a woman standing there.  I look sort of familiar to myself, but not entirely, so completely had I lost any feeling of self at all.

This is how submission is changing me, making it so that ‘making love’ is no longer something I myself am “doing.”  I am no longer thinking about how I am doing it, it has become something that is “happening.”  I switch from thinking to just feeling, I am open and allowing and all this love is happening inside me.  I am not doing anything, love is happening, pleasure is happening, I am just flowing with the experience, and experiencing it more fully somehow, being moved by it more deeply.

David Deida talks about “Embracing the Taboo,” and aggressively “Loving Her to Smithereens.”  He says our love is too polite and respectful, it does not carry us away anymore, and I would not have thought that was true, I would have said my sex the past ten years was amazingly passionate and loving.  But then, I had no idea what it was like to be truly carried away, to be loved to smithereens through rough powerful sex.

More on the Spirituality of Dominance and Submission

I have a new hobby:  Contemplating all the ways in which sexual submission is similar to actual spiritual practices, and how it is “saving” me.

The first is obvious, and that’s the experience of surrender in the most literal way.  Eastern religions have long taught that when one is truly surrendered, relinquishing all power and control, allowing what happens without resistance, the ego momentarily dissolves and the soul is liberated.  The most interesting thing to me is that I feel most liberated when he makes a sexual demand when I am least interested in it.

I’ll be in the middle of doing something when Michael walks up to me and says, “I need my cock sucked now, babygirl.”  And I’ll feel a flash of annoyance, and think ‘oh, not now.’  But then I open my mouth and take him in anyway.  Or at night in bed, I’ll be half falling asleep and he’ll out of nowhere say, “Open your legs, Daddy needs to touch you.”  And even though I’m not ready for it, I let my legs fall open and lie still as he slips his fingers inside me.  I allow allow and let go.

That’s when I discover the pure spiritual submission in it.  Especially if gets a little uncomfortable or there is a stray bit of pain.  I surrender and my mind just abandons itself, and a feeling of freedom overtakes me, freedom from my own will, and I open into the beautiful non-resistance of the moment.  That freedom in my mind translates to freedom in my body…  It’s the only time I lose self-consciousness, when he is giving me commands, I just do it, and accept what is happening, and it becomes this spontaneous flowing thing, me following his whims, being here now, being present.

Then there is the meditative quality that comes with being spanked and stimulated, in focusing on the pain and intense sensation as it arises in the moment.  There is a book I love, called Radical Ecstasy on how BDSM is very much like meditation and can lead to enlightened states.

I also find spiritual reward in accepting the love of a man who, in such intense moments, represents god the father to me.  With his attention and approval, he frees me from guilt and shame about experiencing deep sexual pleasure.  Blog28Quote1When I open my legs for him, he doesn’t tell me I am wicked or bad; rather he tells me I am a “good girl.”  Morality feels like it is resting on its right foundation.

Actually, my whole self finally feels like it is resting on a more solid foundation.  When I submit, I no longer exist in that uncomfortable place in the large everything of my own mind, where it is all about ‘me, me, me’ and what I want and what I think.  But neither am I flung away into the fickle disregard of the rest of the world.  It is now all switched around:  I am nothing to myself, but everything to him.  It is relief.  And what relief it must be for him, unconditional acceptance, love without games, no manipulation required to fuck me, no self-doubt.  He wants, he takes, he gets, no resistance.  And he then becomes everything to me.

Putting Me In My Place

I think a lot about how often I have come across the writing of other submissives, and they talk about being “put in their rightful place.”  They are usually talking about it in the context of kneeling, or otherwise making themselves subservient to their dominant, as if their rightful place is below him, or less than him.  But to me, the dominant is the symbolic representation of life itself.  When I turn over my body to my husband, make myself his sexual object, I come to know that we are all sexual objects, all creations of nature and its sexual impulses.  I am put in my place because I am experiencing in the most visceral way that my sense of myself as an individual being separate from nature is an illusion.  We are not in control of what our bodies feel and want, and any sense of our existence as a product of own will is also an illusion.

“We do not breathe so much as we are breathed by the universe,” said Alan Watts, the famous teacher who first introduced me to Eastern spiritual thought.  I remember how struck I was by that idea, that life breathes us, it is involuntary.  Blog28Quote2We come into the world involuntarily, our hearts beat involuntarily, our breath fills us involuntarily, our sexual organs engorge with blood involuntarily.  None of us are creations of our own will.  And sexual submission allows me to embody that, understand live that.

Nature literally creates itself through sexual union, the joining of male and female.  In surrendering sexually to my husband, I feel I am surrendering to life, to the force that created me and instilled these longings in me, and is now using me for its own purpose.  I am learning my place, so to speak.  I was put here by life to experience my body, to mate, to procreate.  D/s is teaching me that to open myself to Michael’s lust, and to my own, is to open myself to the force of nature, to open myself to life itself.

Once again, I go back to the words of Taoist sex teacher, Mantak Chia.  “Sexual energy is the commander in chief of all the cells of the body.  All cells in body and brain respond to the energy of sex, the commands of sex.  It is our original pattern.”