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.

Who Likes It Rough?

This afternoon I find myself in a jagged mood for no reason.  Some sort of hormonal anger where I feel like throwing things (do throw things, my hairbrush, my sandal, go bouncing off the couch).  I send Michael a message that I won’t be there when he gets home from work, I’m headed to get a drink at the bar round the corner as I’m in no mood to be submissive tonight.  I add that the only way he’d get me to submit would be to wrestle me into it.  I write it like a joke, but I am actually issuing a challenge.  I’m craving the peace of submission to calm my feeling of aggression and secretly hoping he will wrestle me into it.

But he gets home before I can get out the door, and he can see the challenge in my face.  My husband rises to the occasion, and says, “Discipline must be maintained, on your knees.”

I feel a flare of “You jerk, I just told you I’m having a hard day.”  But then I get on my knees and suck his cock, with pleasure, but also with a toothy roughness.

His makes a noise of alarm and I look up at him and smile.  “Am I scaring you?”

He laughs uncomfortably.  “You’re scaring the hell out of me.  That’s enough.”

I admit, I’m satisfied he didn’t let me slip out of submitting to him, which I tell him later at the bar.  We drink and eat and laugh, and by the end of dinner, my jagged mood has subsided.  But still, the idea of him wrestling me into submission has taken hold of me.  And when we get home and he says he’s going to tie a breast harness onto me, I say, “Make me.”

And so begins a wrestling match, me pushing him away and letting my momentary rebellion free.  It is delightful.  And quick.  He subdues me oh so easily, holds me down with a grip like granite, any attempt to move is impossible.  He is stronger than I imagined and it is thrilling to me, I am dazzled by his strength.  Blog24Quote1I somehow thought that if ever a man was determined to have his way with me, I’d be able to fight like hell and be able to free myself.  But now I know this is an illusion.  Until this moment, I honestly did not realize men intrinsically had such raw power over me.  For the first time I understand how consciously gentle most men are with their women, which is touching and thrilling on a whole other level.

Now I am feeling wonderfully subdued and ready to submit as he ties me in a breast harness.  He tells me he is going to spank me, and me, half-drunk from our time at the bar, I say,  “And then what will you do to me?”

He says, “Nothing.  We’re taking a sex break because yesterday you said you’re getting too sore.”

My excitement deflates.  “Who cares what I said yesterday?  You’re just going to spank me and get me all hot and bothered and then nothing?”

“That’s right,” he says.

My jagged anger rushes back with a vengeance, and I’m maybe more than half drunk because I start ripping the clawing at the harness, trying to get it off.  “Well, then you can’t spank me.”

“Don’t take that off,” he says firmly.

I yank my arm away. “How dare you tell me I’m too sore!  I’m the only one who knows if I’m too sore!  You can’t tell me how I feel!”

Then he starts yelling, too.  “Don’t take that off!  I’m the Daddy!”

One might think this is where we’d laugh at how absurd this moment.  But no.  I just keep yelling.  “Not even my Daddy can tell me how I feel!”

I am unwinding the rope now.  He sits down and tells me I am topping from the bottom.   I snort, “Oh horrible me, just wanting you to fuck me.”

“Well,” he says, “I’m not about to get aroused now.”

“Oh thanks, now I’m an erection killer.”  Then I storm off to the bedroom.

I throw myself on our bed.  And that’s when the absurdity hits me.  I am a silly person.  I am also a terrible submissive.  He comes in and I apologize, and we finally laugh at ourselves then, at our drunken brawl.

Feeling a little better, we lie there on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.  “Are we going to just go to bed now?” I ask.

He says no.  He sits up against the headboard, tells me to lie across his lap.  I start to crawl over to him, talking as I lay myself across his lap, “Yeah, but are you doing this because you think I want you to?  Is this me topping from the bottom?”

He doesn’t say anything, just roughly drags my panties down.  His hand came down on my ass with a resounding smack, shockingly hard, blistering hot.  My questioning mind shuts off.  He delivers ten spanks that leave me gasping and squirming in pain.  Blog24Quote2I barely have to time to catch my breath before he flips me over and holds my face down against the mattress.  He kneels over me and shoves his cock into my mouth.  He fucks my mouth hard, cock filling my throat until I can barely breathe.  I cannot move, cannot do anything but lie there, relaxed, an empty accepting sexual receptacle.

I am vaguely aware that if anyone else ever treated me like this, it would be appalling, traumatic.  But because it is him, because I have surrendered, and am making my surrender literal.  My mouth yields, my mind smooths out, calm, while my body fills with blood and heat.  Being fucked rough and rude by my husband is a primal thrill that satisfies like nothing else, like scratching a deep itch I didn’t even know I had.  And oh I get off, I get off …

The Zen of Sexual Surrender; Or, How D/s is Saving My Soul

Only a few weeks in, my D/s experience with my husband is now hitting me with all the power of a religious conversion.  I have that ‘born again’ feeling of being a new person in thrall to a new understanding of God.  I lie over Michael’s lap for a spanking and it feels like a spiritual exercise.  I make myself vulnerable, allow him to whatever he wants to me, and somehow the more painful and invasive, the more my body feels opened and my soul feels saved.  This fascinates me.  Why is it impacting me this way?  Am I simply drunk on all the chemicals released from the intense sexual stimulation?  Or is it possible there is real salvation in sex?

Conventional wisdom says no.  In our puritanical culture, sexuality is relegated to the base urges of “the body,” the temporary house for the soul.  Judeo-Christian religion especially considers the sexual urges of the body to be a troublesome impediment to soulful concerns.  To have sex outside of procreation is to wallow in sin and forsake one’s soul.  This unnatural separation of body and spirit has caused all manner of misery and shame for centuries.

Fortunately, “sex is bad” has not been the view of many Eastern cultures.  Taoism boasts a millennia-old tradition of cultivating sexual energy for the good of the spirit.  I once attended a talk by Taoist teacher name Mantak Chia, and he described the importance of honoring one’s sexuality.  “Sexual energy is the commander in chief of all the cells of the body,” he said.  Blog23Quote1“All cells in body and brain respond to the energy of sex, the commands of sex.  It is our original pattern.  Sexual energy creates us.  When you forget sexual energy, you get crazy, you get sick, you get lost.”

Michael and I spent some time exploring the philosophy of Tantra, and learning how to heal the false divide between body and soul.  (The word Tantra literally means “woven together.”)   Traditional Tantra is not merely about sex, but how to get into a right relationship with all things material.  However, the popular version of modern Tantra that shows up in the New Age-y seminars these days focuses almost exclusively on sexual union as the path to God.  Workshop Tantra has introduced Americans to the idea that sex, undertaken consciously, can be a holy act which weaves together not just man and woman, but body and spirit, humanity to the divine.

So Tantra at least offers a way to embrace sex as a path to spiritual salvation.  But I have to say, the few Tantric workshops Michael and I attended, despite overtly inviting spirit into the sexual arena, did not give me any great bursts of either sexual energy or spiritual insight.  Mostly I felt uncomfortable with the loud histrionics of it.  Making noise is highly encouraged while doing Tantric exercises to “raise sexual energy.”  Pelvic tilting, and mirroring movements, with lots of loud breathing and moaning and, for me, giggling.  Of course, many attendees are empowered by such activities, but it struck me as inauthentic.  Each experience left me unsettled, like hearing people speak in tongues in church.

Looking back, perhaps another reason Tantric workshops didn’t open any spiritual-sexual doors for me is because of a heavy emphasis on elevating the power of the feminine.  The workshops are all very egalitarian, with women encouraged to go after their pleasure and voice their wants in what strikes me as a nice, respectful 50/50 way.  It all pointed to more of the same of what we were already doing – just slower.  And louder.

Now I know from our BDSM explorations that what seems to raise my sexual energy – make that explode my sexual energy – is to turn over my power to my husband.  To become to the opposite of noisy, to become still and quiet and yielding.  I gain my sexual power by relinquishing it.  Interestingly, David Deida’s theory on sexual polarity between the masculine and feminine – which has been so helpful to me in understanding the power of BDSM – is supposedly drawn from Tantric philosophy.

I wonder what Deida would make of workshop Tantra failing me, but the practice of D/s liberating me.  Would he be surprised?  Of course, Deida does not explicitly talk about D/s, although it seems to me he is speaking code for it when he uses terms like “ravishment.”  When he talks about a woman submitting to her lover, he explains that the woman is submitting to the force of love rather than the individual man.  He also talks about our drive to break out of 50/50 ways of relating, and “embrace the taboo.”

After living in a 50/50 relationship for awhile, Deida writes, one begins to “long for the next stage,” where you are no longer equal, no longer serving your own preferences, no longer even serving each other’s preferences.  “All you want is to let go and serve love’s preferences, do whatever love demands of you, go wherever it takes you.”  You no longer care about your self anymore, he says, or your self’s so-called needs, because you don’t even need a self at all anymore at all.  You are only interested in “being lived” by something bigger than you, only interested in dissolving into the ecstasy of big love.

I think of where Michael and I were a few months ago, wandering from one Tantric workshop to another, seeking a doorway to transcendental sex, and not finding it.  Then we stumble into D/s, almost by accident, and whoosh!  We catch fire, serious fire, and boundaries are dropping away.  Blog23Quote2I am being ravished, he is being worshipped and adored, and we are being lived by this wild force, just as Deida describes.

I am convinced there was no other way for us to get to where we are now, get to unguarded all-consuming and life-transforming love without D/s.  Without embracing that taboo.  What a surprise to discover that BDSM in general, and D/s in particular, is the doorway, providing us entry to the dynamic of sexual polarity.  The abstract idea of surrender to love becomes a concrete action I can experience viscerally.  And it gives me the feeling of a Tantric-like joining of body and spirit like nothing else I’ve ever experienced.

I imagine most people look at BDSM a curious fetish, or odd perversion.  So I suppose it sounds a little crazy to assert that sexual submission to my husband is a spiritual path.  But I don’t feel that Michael and I indulge in this only in order to get off (although it clearly leads to more and deeper getting off).  I believe it is our way of getting past the normal 50/50 barriers that have been instilled in us, a way of opening to the mysterious power exchange of love.  By serving him, I am serving love.  True, it often feels all about him.  Each day I am becoming more and more unguarded with him, more and more trusting of him.  But in the process, I feel more and more open to love, trusting of love.  I am offering up my will to him, but it is the love rushing so madly between us that is consuming my will, taking me out of myself.

I do, however, remember my Buddhist lessons not to confuse the “finger that points at the moon with the moon.”  I will endeavor not to confuse the means with the end, not confuse the doorway to getting there (D/s) with the actual there (the love).  But I also think it right to acknowledge that the doorway – the way in – is important and necessary and marvelous.

The Ben Wa Dilemma; Or, Do Sexual Submissives Need Punishment?

The BDSM world we see on the internet is full of sexual curiosities, and, as we try to see ourselves in this new kinky light, Michael and I are feeling game to give different things a try.  First, because it’s a lot of laughing fun, and second, it might possibly turn us on, and third, because we can.  For the first time in decades, neither of us have kids living at home.  Certainly, if we thought one of our kids might walk through the door at any moment, I would not now be reclined on the living room couch, legs open, while my husband slips small, silver Ben Wa balls inside of me.

I have only worn them once before, the night we bought them, for about ten minutes while I lay next to him on the couch.  This time, he says, I am to wear them while I cook dinner.  (Wait, can one really “wear” Ben Wa balls?  Blog20Quote1Isn’t it more accurate to say I carry them?  Or, hold them in?)  So, I pull up my panties and move into the kitchen, feeling the slight pressure of weight inside my pussy when I move.  It’s nice, the constant focus on holding them in.

As I cook, he sits on the barstool across the kitchen island, and we talk about D/s, trying to define what we want it to be for us.  I have no idea how much I should be trying to hold on to the feeling of a submissive trance.  Is it even realistic to always be feeling submissive around him?  He tells me he is not interested in a full-time submissive, he’s been reading about master-slave relationships, and that holds no appeal for him.  He doesn’t feel any need to be waited on.  He is interested only in dominating me sexually.  Although, he adds, he always wants to be my Daddy, whether we are having sex or not.  He says he loves the feeling of being able to take care of me.

I walk around the island to kiss him.   He pulls me close, gropes my ass and says, “I do like the idea of training you, setting up rules for you to follow.”

He is referring to the contract he sent me earlier, and I am still not sure how I feel about it.  It was both too much, and not enough.  I head back around to the cutting board.  “You want to keep me in a steady submissive state.”

He tells me he’s getting a good idea of what triggers me.  “But I don’t know what kind of punishments to try if you break a rule.”  Then he gives a little moan and grabs his crotch.  “Just thinking of punishing you gets me excited.”

I, however, am feeling no excitement at this turn in the conversation.  In fact, most of the excitement I had been feeling off and on all day disappears.  Even with Ben Wa balls inside me.  I don’t know why.

“I suppose I get the concept of punishment, at least in theory,” I begin.  “But the idea of you actually punishing me?  I don’t know, it feels stupid to me.  It kind of puts the whole thing into game territory to me.”

I can tell from his face this is not what he expected to hear.

I try to explain. “It just seems silly to punish me for not following a rule, because for me to accept your right to punish me, I’d have to be in a submissive state.  And if I was in a submissive state I wouldn’t break the rule in the first place.”

“You could break the rule by mistake.  Say, I ask you to do something with your legs open, and you forget.”

“Well,” I counter, “if you make such a petty rule, then I don’t see how I can respect you, let alone submit to you.”

As he is brooding over this, I head back to him to press my forehead to his shoulder.  “I don’t want my submission to you to feel silly.  I couldn’t bear if it was a game with trivial rules.  There’s no satisfaction for me in a stupid game.”

He doesn’t say anything to that.  I realize I am not doing the best job of expressing what I’m feeling, probably because I don’t know exactly why I am feeling so let down by his ideas on punishment.  All I know is I loved the submissive trance I had been in for days, and I want it back.  It has taken the significance of the Holy Grail to me, but I feel certain that trying to follow some arbitrary rules isn’t going to get it back for me.

I try again to wrestle my vague thoughts into words.

“Honey, If all you want is sex from me when you want it, well, I can choose to give you that anytime.  I don’t need to be in a submissive state for that.  I can just go ahead and decide to do what you want.  But there’s no spiritual element for me in that, no thrill of belonging to you, and being owned, being safe.”

I raise my face to look up at him.  “What I want is that spiritual, surrendered state where it feels as if you have the unconditional right to take me.  When I’m in that state, I don’t have to make any choices at all because I am so surrendered.  That’s what eliminates all the static in my mind, that’s what gives me peace.”

His face goes soft at that.   “That’s what I want, too.  Exactly what I want.”  He reaches to cup my breast in his hand.  “So how do we get you to stay in that space?”

I tell him I’m not sure exactly, although I don’t think a silly game of rewards and punishments will do it.  I venture that the answer is probably more along the lines of “conditioning.”  Perhaps the consistent application of submissive triggers.

“Like regular spankings,” I say.  “I’ve read online about maintenance spankings every day.  What do you think of that?”

He swats my rear in response.  It makes me smile.

I tell him that him holding my throat, or pushing my head down makes me feel submissive.  If he ties me up, makes me helpless, that creates a feeling of deep submission.  Kneeling before him does it, too.

“But lying across your lap, I think that is the most submissive feeling of all,” I say.  “Or anytime you push something into any one of my holes.  Your thumb or cock in my mouth, your fingers in my pussy, or … in my ass.”   I blush furiously as I say this.  “You know, like the other night, when I was over your lap, you had two fingers in my ass, and oh my God.”

I tell him that one experience made me a firm believer in what I’d been reading online, that ass penetration is hugely symbolic of domination.  And to be penetrated in the ass is to about as submissive as one can get.  I tell him I’ve been reading about submissives being trained to butt plugs, and how that gives me an erotic jolt.

“Oh, you’re going to get butt plugs,” he says, and when I laugh the Ben Wa balls threaten to fall out.

Vaginal Wrestling

It’s time to take them off.  So I slip out of my panties and go lie back down on the couch. He slides his finger inside me to pry the balls out.  Only he can’t quite get them.  His fingers keep digging, but they’re able to hook around the balls, and it’s starting to hurt.

“You’re too tight,” he says.

What?

Now begins a determined wrestling match inside my vagina, with him working his fingers around inside me, and me squealing in pain and tightening my muscles against him.  I stand, thinking gravity will help, while he sits on the floor to reach up into me.  It doesn’t work.

Next, I bend over the couch, and he can finally get one, but not the other.  I am laughing, but I am also mortified.  What kind of cavern is my pussy that it is so stuck?  Blog20Quote2But bigness isn’t really the problem, it’s the resistance of my muscles, locked up tight around that little ball.  I have horrified visions of having to go to the emergency room to get it out.

I go back to the couch to lie down, try to relax and he again tries to pry it out.  It is now very painful, I can feel that hard ball bruising the inside of my vaginal walls.  This has got to be the most unsexy moment of my entire life.  By the time he finally gets it out, we are both sweating.

He drops the ball in my hand, and I march over to the trash can and fling it in.

“Okay,” he says, “Ben Wa balls are no longer part of the conditioning.”

I say thank you, then go off to the bathroom to try to restore my dignity.  It doesn’t work.  But when I emerge again, we are laughing so much that it doesn’t matter.  And later, as he fucks me on the couch, the ache of inflamed tenderness in my pussy, engorged with blood, adds to my excitement, and the pain-pleasure orgasm … oh my God.

Meanwhile, the contract still sits on the counter, unsigned, forgotten.

My Submissive Frenzy

Deep submission, says David Deida, allows a woman to experience her own “uninhibited sexual essence.”  Well, I’d say the man knows what he’s talking about.  In the few weeks since I submitted my body to my husband, I am have become so fucking uninhibited, and my sexual longings have become so intense that it’s freaking me out a little bit.

While I have been reading Deida’s lovely spiritual book about sexual polarity, Michael has been giving the problem of how to keep me in a submissive headspace some internet research.  He has found numerous pages of suggestions on how to train a submissive.  Now he emails me an agreement, a contract of sorts, where he outlines his sexual expectations of me.  We have talked about needing a container of sorts for what we are doing.  I’m amazed at how far we have evolved in this complicated business in such a short time, and I click open the document, excited to read it.

It doesn’t take long.  He lists only a few instructions:  Wear his shirt while he is at work.  Wear Ben Wa balls inside me for an hour a day.  Suck his cock when he gets home.  Reveal to him everything I am feeling.  Blog19Quote1Lovely things all, and it will make me happy to do them.  But this spare list doesn’t seem enough to keep me in a submissive state for more than a few minutes, let alone long-term.  Why is there no mention of spankings?  Or of whippings?  Or a butt plug perhaps?  What about rope bondage?  Nipple clamps?

I am terribly disappointed, and then annoyed at myself for it.  The whole point of submission is to please him, not to get him to please me.  But it puts me in a state of worry, regardless.  Is this how basic his needs are?  What if our sexual appetites are not well matched as I thought?  From this worry, I move to feeling disgruntled:  Yeah, he says he is going to meet my sexual needs, but the reward of fingers in my pussy twice a week isn’t going to do it.  I am so turned on by all this, I am in a constant state of ache, feel a desperate edge of need to be used and used, somehow, anyhow.

I come across the term “submissive frenzy,” and immediately recognize I have a raging case of it.  Sub frenzy, say women who have been there, is a state of mind, common to new submissives, in which they feel an overwhelming need to have all their desires fulfilled.  As in immediately.  As in it takes over one’s entire mind, leaves no room for anything else.  That’s exactly how I feel right now.

The words of warning about sub frenzy I find online are mostly concerned with new subs not putting themselves in danger within the wider BDSM community.  Not giving themselves to a dominant they barely know.  Not exercising enough caution with strangers.  But since I am married to my dominant, that is not something I need to worry about.

The most immediate problem in sub frenzy to me is how exposed it makes me feel to my husband.  All of my deepest desires, and all of my darkest, neediest corners are on vivid display to him.  While in the middle of heated sex, it is thrilling to feel so open, so known, so accepted.  But at every other moment, it is feeling increasingly uncomfortable, even scary.

The truth is, I feel in danger of becoming a freak.  I remember only too well the blue-eyed man who once played submissive to allegedly dominant me, a man who needed more and more complex stimulation to get into a state of submission.  Our sexual relationship slowly became all about satisfying his ever more ‘out-there’ fetishes instead of real submission.  When he began asking to drink cups full of my urine in the guise of “worshipping” me, I had no desire for that, but brought cups to the toilet anyway, and half the time got more on my own hand than in the cup.  I watched him gulp down my pee over and over, but because I wasn’t being honest about what I truly wanted and didn’t want, this so-called worship only made me recoil from him.

Is that the path I am on?  Where I pretend to be submissive, but really I am “topping from the bottom,” trying to get Michael to be my continual sex-giver instead of making myself available to his sexual needs?  He has said he wants me insatiable, and he’s succeeded remarkably well in getting me to that state.  I am full of fevered, explicit desires to be bound and beaten and penetrated in the guise of worshipping him.  The odds seem high that it will turn him off, he will recoil.

And even worse than my fear that he will see me as a freak, is my fear that he will eventually see himself that way, because of me.  A month ago, he was this nice normal guy, and we had been enjoying this wonderful relationship that made us both so happy.  Blog19Quote2Now, I call him Daddy, and I ‘get-off’ as he crams my face against the mattress while fucking me.  We have become weird, and everything seems full of pitfalls, difficult to navigate.

For the rest of the afternoon, I ride the waves of sub frenzy madness, whipsawing between euphoria at his first attempt to bind me in some kind of contract to him, and fear of where it will lead.  I want to squelch the fear, but I can’t.  This is a risky journey.  There is no getting around fears and insecurities.  And there is no going back either, if going back means neutral 50/50.  There is no way to go but forward and work through the fear, find the right rhythm, the right conditioning, the right mindset.  I want to believe I will learn how to settle into it.  I work hard to believe we will find our balance together, find our sweet spot.

In the meantime, he says I have to reveal everything to him, so I plan to be honest about my feelings when he gets home from work.  Then I will let it go, let him figure out what to do with it.  This thought is such a comfort that I decide to cultivate the attitude that, “Daddy will take care of it.”  My husband is in charge, he will figure everything out and make it okay, and make me feel better.  When the fear looms, I repeat these words to myself:   “Daddy will take care of me.  He will make it all better.”

The Handmaid’s Tale, Bill O’Reilly and the “Stages” of Sexual Submission

The first half of 2017 is not an auspicious time to start a blog on sexual submission.  Maybe a few years ago, thanks to the success of the 50 Shades of Grey series of books and movies, my story of sexually submitting to my husband would have fit the cultural moment.  But since Donald Trump exploded on the national scene and traumatized American womankind with his unapologetic pussy-grabbing ways, there has been a mass cultural outcry against any kind of suggestion that women be treated as sexual objects.

Since Trump’s winning campaign, I have run across story after story online written by women describing their histories of sexual abuse by men who feel themselves entitled to their bodies.  And since his election, women have been knitting themselves pink “pussy hats,” and marching in city after city to protect their rights.  Meanwhile, one of the most buzzed about shows that have premiered on TV lately is The Handmaid’s Tale in which society literally takes ownership of women’s bodies for the sexual/procreative use of the most powerful men in the community.  And last month, conservative blowhard Bill O’Reilly followed Roger Ailes out the door at Fox News due to his serial sexual harassment of female coworkers.

I look at this cultural landscape and wonder what has possessed me to publicly write about my decision to become sexually submissive to my husband.  I often feel my own mother’s ghost – proud sex-positive woman that she was – rolling over in her symbolic grave that I am so idiotic as to hand my sexual agency over to a man and then brag about itBlog18Quote1And I frequently squirm from the waves of disapproval I imagine coming at me from countless feminists – past, present and future – not to mention the appalled feminist in my own head.

I know the treatment of girls women as sexual objects is very real, and very harmful, not just in America, but especially other countries where such views are sometimes enshrined into actual law.  But perhaps it is because I am experiencing the joys of submission at the worst possible time in Western culture that it is important to write about it.  What is happening in the news sets the best possible stage to make a distinction between the abusive and dehumanizing sexual domination of women, and a loving kind of sexual domination that elevates a woman, and creates a path for deeper union.  Michael and I have strongly felt the distinction since embarking on our spontaneous D/s journey, but it took reading the work of David Deida for us to fully understand it.

In his books, Deida describes three stages of how men and women relate to each other.

Stage One is the “Dependent” Stage, where each person needs something from the other, the “traditional” relationship in which the man is dominant in all things and trades his protection of a woman for sexual favors and the care of his children.  In a Stage One relationship, the man is king of his castle, and may keep his woman under control with threats of violence or financial deprivation.  In a Stage One relationship, a woman’s right to sexual consent is meaningless as she is in no way a man’s equal, nor even really a whole person to him.  This is old school sexual domination, and that is what Trump and O’Reilly embody with their reigns of sexual intimidation, and what The Handmaid’s Tale portrays.

A Stage Two relationship is 50/50, and this is the kind of equal relationship most “enlightened” people strive for today.  Each partner is independent, respected, with equal voice in all matters including sexual.  This kind of relationship is the goal of feminist efforts, and is now the model for the way we understand relationships “should” be.  But while this is a vast improvement over a Stage One relationship (and a necessary step along the way), there is an inherent flaw in the 50/50 relationship.  All that equality mutes sexual polarity.  Without two partners fully inhabiting the masculine and feminine poles, there is no more magnetic force, no more pull, and passion fades.

“Second stage men,” Deida writes, “are so devoted to their inner balance they are afraid to sweep a woman off her feet with the kind of uncompromising love that could fill her deepest desire for intimacy.  Meanwhile, a second stage woman is afraid to give a man the kind of devotional love that wants to overflow from her heart.  Both are cautious not to let go of their own boundaries or to trespass beyond the emotional boundaries of their partner.”

True, both partners in Stage Two are safe, but a feeling of flatness can pervade the relationship – and eventually, dissatisfaction.  “A second stage woman may come to realize her heart is still yearning,” Deida continues.  “A second stage man is safe but not sufficient to pierce the deepest caverns of her heart – at the very center of her life, something is missing.”

So, what is a woman to do to become fulfilled in a relationship?  Move beyond such stringent equality.  Or, at least that’s how I interpret what Deida writes next.  “She must be sucked through the black hole of her need before she can emerge like a butterfly with wings of love.  The third stage woman no longer searches for love, but rather breathes love, relaxes in love and radiates love.”

The third stage woman doesn’t feel the need to be adamant about maintaining her personal identity, he adds.  Since she already knows that she is love, she simply practices giving love, moment to moment, in the ecstasy of surrender.  Her identity is not derived from her man (first stage dependence), nor from herself (second stage equality).  “Her need for self-identity is virtually gone, so bright is the shine of her love.”

Oh yes, I think as I read these words in Intimate Communion.  My identity has indeed been swallowed up these last days of D/s discovery, surrendered along with my body to my husband’s masculine will.  And I do feel myself shining brightly with love.  I feel incandescent with it.

Of course, Deida does not once mention the phrase “dominance and submission” in his book.  He speaks more coyly, in terms of a man “taking” or “ravishing” his woman, without saying what that might look like.  And I doubt that the practices of many in the BDSM community would fit his description of a transcendent Stage Three Relationship.  Clearly, many BDSM relationships sit somewhere between Stage One, with its literal master/slave relationships, or Stage Two, with its more consensual framework of negotiated boundaries and safewords.

Naturally, I like to think that Michael and I are practicing the more evolved version of D/s.  I know I’ve found my inner experience of what is happening with us reflected in Deida’s book.  And although it will be months before I fully understand that the practice of D/s is not the destination, but a vehicle for a journey, I already have an inkling that my preoccupation with things like training and triggers and maintaining subspace is beside the point.  The point is intimate communion with each other, and the opening to love.

But understanding the distinction between Deida’s Stage One male dominance which dehumanizes women and creates an ugly rape culture and Stage Three masculine dominance that celebrates women and creates shining love is a huge gift to me.  Blog18Quote2It is a salve to the shame and guilt stirred up by the feminist chatter in my head that I am breaking the rules by sexually submitting to my husband.  After all, the feminist rules were designed to take women into Stage Two 50/50 relationships, which is a vital evolutionary leap in the way men and women relate to each other.  Unfortunately, Stage Two 50/50 is also the stage where passion goes to die.

Michael and I, we are being driven to find our way to ecstatic Stage Three, and I am grateful to Deida for describing it for us.  I no longer have to feel that I am somehow going “backwards” when I allow my husband to do what he wills to my body.  Now, I can feel that we are moving together into a more evolved sexuality, where my alignment with my feminine nature calls forth his masculine self to ravish me.  Oh, and what heaven it is to be ravished by him …