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.”

Sexual Submission is Easy; Dominance is Hard. Sort of.

Michael comes home after being gone on a work trip for five forever days to find me, an eager little submissive waiting for him, craving attention.  He knows from my many feverish emails to him while he was gone that I am longing to be tied up, be spanked.  I know from one look at him that he is tired, drained from the trip.

But my sweet Daddy doesn’t want to disappoint me, so he tells me he is going to put me over his lap “after we watch TV for a little bit.”

His voice is flat, so I express some hesitation.  “Please don’t think you have to if you’re not up for it.”

I am hoping he will say something like, of course I’m up for it. But he doesn’t.  He says, “Okay, then I probably won’t.  But I reserve the right to change my mind.”

So that’s that.  I mentally let it go.  Poor tired man, he slips in and out of sleep during the show we’re watching, I stay tight against him, and touch him constantly so he knows I am good with him.  After the show is over I ask, “What would you like to do?  Ready for bed?”

“What I’d really like to do is tie you up in this rope,” he says over a yawn.  Well, he may want it in theory, but it is clear he doesn’t want it in reality.

But I don’t want to say no, it would be like refusing to submit.  So I say, Let’s go lie down.   Once we are snuggled up together, I ask again, okay so really, what do you want to do?

He still has that whatever tone when he says he wants to tie me up.  So I challenge him to make me submit.

He says, “I thought you had no choice.”

“Well, apparently I do because it’s not happening.”  Why there is a sarcastic tone in my voice, I don’t know.

He sighs, doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word.  He’s clearly not going to tie me up.  I want to cry, our lovely dynamic has collapsed.

I don’t want to let this frustration be the winner of the evening, I don’t like that it has become some kind of wall between us.  I want so badly to stay connected with him, so I attempt to put the feelings banging around inside me into words.  I say I really do want to submit to him, but I am finding it difficult to tell his true desire.

“Submitting is only half the equation,” I add.  “There has to be some dominance on the other side.”

He does not argue, just lies there.  My frustration grows.

David Deida would say that in enlightened sex, the masculine element provides the “directionality” of the sex, while the feminine element provides the depth and fullness of it.  The woman, he says, is the ocean, full of life and flow, yielding as water.  Blog27Quote1The man, he says, is like the boat sailing the ocean, deciding which way to go, maneuvering the boat to a specific destination.  If the man doesn’t feel any sense of direction, the woman cannot surrender to him, cannot carry him to where he wants to go.

I tell Michael I understand that the submission side is easy, I can submit whether I am in the mood or not.  The only thing I cannot do is submit to unclear desires.  He owns the much more difficult side of things.  There’s no way one can be dominant if one isn’t in the mood.  I tell him I think that he might essentially be too much of gentleman at heart to do the 24/7 Dominant/submissive relationship.

Again, he doesn’t argue, says something about me being right.  I don’t know if I’m right.   Maybe it is something else altogether.  David Deida says men also seek freedom, do not like to be constrained.  They want the freedom to dominate a woman and do what they want with her.  But if it becomes an obligation (as in a D/s situation), then it is no longer freedom, it is an obligation that loses its appeal.

I say I’m going to get up and start to rise from the bed.  He grabs my wrist.

“You want to know what I really want?” he says.  I say I do.   Then he says, “I want you to worship my ass.  I want your tongue on me.”

My heart jumps.  He has never asked me for this before.  I had shown him a web page once, a list of ways submissives can serve their dominants, and “ass worship,” or kneeling to lick his anus, was on that list.  It was my way of telling him I’d be open and willing to perform such service.  But I didn’t know whether the idea had appealed to him.  Now I know.

He kneels on the edge of the bed, bent over, and I kneel on the floor and gently begin licking my way up the crack of his ass.  He moans immediately.  Another taboo to embrace, and oh embrace it I do.  His ass is so responsive and I go into this otherworldy state while I am licking him, kissing, sucking, plunging my tongue into the hole.  I am having some kind of deep communion with his ass, his “secret spot,” he is so delicious wonderful satisfying to taste, and I actually go into some kind of pleasure trance, my mind all blissed out.  I love hearing his moans, I love love love feeling so intimate close to him.  I do not want to stop, but he says, “Now I do you.”

I give a giddy little laugh as I climb up onto the bed, feeling caught on a wave of innocent hungry love for each other.  Garden of Eden-style love. We seem to be compelled to offer up every single part of ourselves for the fevered exploration by the other.  And so he returns the favor, tongue sweet on my ass, fingers going back in my pussy, and I go off into a different kind of heaven, receiving, surrendering.  Oh yes, this is the root chakra, the source of all our life energy, all our sexuality, I am letting go and opening.  And I am so deeply moved by this moment, the way we lavish love all over each other, as if we want to get inside each other, no barriers at all.

When he’s done with me, he finally drifts off to sleep.  I, however, am nowhere near sleeping, I am too acutely aware of the feeling of whirling love throughout my body.  I seem to be able to feel the spinning energy of the chakras in my lower body, almost as if I am in the midst of one long slow-motion orgasm.  I feel soaked with warmth and light, and I ride the feeling for a long beautiful while.

I think of Deida again, who talked about not surrendering to your lover, but surrendering to love through your lover.  And I am convinced that is what is happening with us.  I somehow didn’t fully understand what that meant before this night.  I’d been so caught up in thinking he had to condition me so I could stay in a ‘subspace’ kind of trance in which my submission was automatic.  I thought that if I couldn’t sustain that mindset all the time, if I didn’t truly see him as my dominant Daddy all the time, then we’d be playing a silly role play game that would lose its spiritual power to transform me.

But tonight, caught up in this shimmering dissolving sensation of love, the framework I was trying so hard to impose on our D/s fell away.  I know he really is my Daddy, but not just Daddy, what a mistake it would be to narrow it down just to that.  Blog27Quote2He is also Michael and sweet baby and lover and husband and friend.  There is plenty of room for him to be all those things at once, and each is always there, and it’s just a matter of focus on which arises in the moment.

That is, it’s a matter of his focus, his direction, his intention, his desire.  Whether I am in a trance-like subspace or not, I am the waiting sea, always in a state of flow, always ready to surrender to him and the love between us.  My submission is not contingent on a special trance, nor on him conditioning me with particular routines.  I hope he will tie me up when he wants, spank me if he wants, do all those things that make my mind go smooth and my pussy swell hot and red and wanting.  But I don’t need those things like I thought I did.  My submission is his by right at any time, he is the one who unlocked me and opened me, I belong to him.  We don’t have to plan it, or sign a contract, make some kind of prior agreement on what it will look like.  I can trust it will unfold in the moment, through its own spontaneous power, like it has all along.  If he truly wants to take me, control me, my heart will know, my body will know, and I will let go.  And I will surrender.

The BDSM Contract; Or, Do We Need to Put it In Writing?

My husband has left on a business trip for five days.  Five long days.  “Daddy’s aren’t supposed to leave,” I pouted just before he left.  Yes, he said with a laugh, I’m a bad Daddy.   No, no, no, I said as I pressed myself close.  You’re the most perfect Daddy there ever was.

It’s becoming easier to call him that, mostly.  The word still strikes me as silly, but the cherished feeling it represents is anything but silly.

We have decided that while he is gone, we will come up with a real contract we can sign when he gets home.  One thing we know from our online searches and reading is that we really should have some kind of contract to formalize our D/s relationship and sets out boundaries.  So after Michael’s first “rough draft” of a contract he sent me, we are making attempts at revising it.

We accept as a given that we must do this.  This is where I declare in writing what I am willing to let him do to me, and what I will not let him do to me, so there is no confusion.  A contract is one of those things that BDSM people boast about, proof that the D/s relationship does not undermine the submissive’s rights, but rather honors her needs and desires.  It is a symbol not only of consent, but also of the deep communication that must happen between dominant and submissive before entering such a potentially perilous arrangement.  How many vanilla people are willing to discuss their desires so thoroughly, they say.  How often do women so explicitly state what they like and dislike?   Although I have not seen the 50 Shades of Grey movie yet, I’ve read there is a cute scene in which the main characters negotiate terms across a conference table.

As I think about what the contract should say, I begin by contemplating my limits, and …  I immediately come up blank.  I cannot think of what my boundaries might be.  Okay, obviously ‘no bestiality,’ but it would be ridiculous to say that, because it would imply Michael might suggest such a thing.  Blog26Quote1I implicitly trust my husband not to do anything bizarre or dangerous to me, to know the difference between pain and harm.  He is a good person, he loves me, I don’t feel the need to protect myself from him and his desires.

I toy with writing “no humiliation,” or “no golden showers,” things that do not appeal to me.  But I reject those as well.  How do I know if such things should be a boundary if I haven’t tried them yet?  So far, I have surprised myself by liking things it never occurred to me I’d like, just about anything has felt good and exciting and even enlightening in the right context.  One of the things I most love about our D/s exploration is how we have been crossing normal boundaries and the liberation I feel when they fall.  Ultimately, I declared myself submissive because I don’t want choices in sex, and so I find myself getting nowhere in trying to come up with my limits.  I very much want him to decide the limits.

I go online to see what other people write in their D/s contracts.  I read page upon page about how to negotiate the rules for setting up “scenes,” a framework for BDSM “play,” with a repeated focus on the concept of “Safe, Sane and Consensual.”  This seems it might be appropriate for people who don’t know each other very well getting together for some hot sex, but what about for married people who have already established great trust with each other and want to throw caution to the wind in order to expand their love?  I certainly am not doing this to protect my choice, or to stay safe or even necessarily sane.  I want to risk everything for my husband, go crazy with over-the-top love for him.

Of course, on one hand, I can see how it might be helpful to set up a framework that helps one know when to behave a certain way.  And I can get the value of that, bracketing the SM in a specific scene with beginning, middle and end.  I know Michael and I have been at a loss sometimes in these first months, we aren’t quite sure how to move in and out of dominant or submissive behavior, we stumble and fumble, is it time for this now?  What do we want to do?  How do we live normal life and this other life at the same time?

On the other hand, talking about scenes and play seems to attach a sense of artificiality to our power exchange, as if it is all one big game.  We are not “playing” in bed, we are making love.  Or as Deida would say, we are “serving love.”  If I have learned anything these past weeks, the spiritual deep love dimension of our D/s unfolds spontaneously, unplanned, no scene.  Blog26Quote2There seems to me a difference between becoming a servant to sex – which is how much of the BDSM scene-negotiation and contract stuff I find online strikes me – and through sex becoming a servant to love.

I give up on thinking about limits and rules.  I decide the purpose of our contract should not be about limiting our D/s interactions, but about how to better open the door to the D/s dynamic.  How to keep him in a dominant mindset and keep me in a submissive mindset.  I think of all the things that might make me feel submissive:  being on my knees, being tied up helpless, being over his lap, exposed and vulnerable, daily spankings …  I make a list of these things, and email them to him, then immediately regret it.  I realize how it sounds like a list of demands from me, requirements of him.  It is nothing less than topping from the bottom.  And I really don’t want that, don’t want to have to judge and analyze whether my desires are being met, don’t want to have any choices at all.

I write to apologize, he writes back that it’s fine, he wants to know my desires.  And while he has no trouble thinking up what he might want to do to me, he also doesn’t see why it should be written in a contract when he can just do what he wants in the moment.   We decide to revisit the idea of a contract later, when we have a better handle on what it should say.

Only in the weeks and months that follow, we never do write a contract.  We simply trust each other, and allow the dynamic to unfold spontaneously as it has from the very first day.  Maybe one day we will figure out how to write the perfect contract for us, but so far we have managed to be in perfect agreement without it.  Lucky us.