Opening the Gate; Or the Tantric Art of Pussy Stirring

Almost always on weekend mornings in the year we have been together, Michael and I wake and roll toward each other, and soon we are groping and kissing and fingering and fucking and loving so deeply that we do not stop until an hour or two later when we are limp and exhausted and starving.

This morning begins no different, and he slips his fingers into my pussy, stirring me awake, as he often does to get me ready for him (Oh, he has such talented fingers).  Then he fucks me and fucks me, as he often does, only this time when he kisses me, he kisses me deep, deeper than he has ever kissed me, his tongue filling my mouth so completely that it forces my jaw to stretch wide wide open.  A submissive trigger, smooth brain, I am helpless opening and opening in my throat, and coming.  Then he holds my head still and thrusts his tongue into my ear, and oh I am opening in my head, buzzing buzzing excited.

Then his fingers go back in my pussy, stirring me, swirling me, thrusting, banging rough, then a delicious pause before he starts swirling me again, and he keeps going for so long that my whole pussy seems to transform into different material, softening, dissolving, becoming liquid.  It feels as if he can reach through that concentrated hot liquid to the very place my soul is connected to my body.  Blog25Quote1As his fingers keep stirring and swirling inside me, I feel as if he is touching the essential core of me, creating an opening, and the universe is pouring into me as my body pours out, expanding, filling the room, and oh jesus fuck, it is achingly exquisite.  I feel literally caught between heaven and earth, and I am hanging there astonished when …

An electric orgasm jolts me, then lifts me up on a wave.  Michael stops and lies next to me, but somehow the orgasm doesn’t stop.  I can still feel the wave of pleasure moving through me.  I keep shaking with that pleasure, tremble through wave after wave.  My body is animated, and my mind is riding the flow, there is nothing but pleasure, rolling waves, dancing waves and I can hear the sound of my own ragged breath and feel my Daddy beside me, holding me, and it isn’t going to stop.  I feel his lips around my nipple and the waves increase and I think I might be coming again, I sound like I am coming, I am moving as if I am coming, but orgasm energy builds and recedes and this is just a play of energy through me.  I am a harp being played by soundless music and it is wonderful and his hands are wonderful, and I know this is bliss and I am lucky …

When it finally subsides, I am stunned, how long was it?  Ten minutes maybe?  My mind turns itself back on, and I panic for a beat, what has happened to me, I don’t understand it.  For a moment, I feel like something diabolical has been done to me.  I start to flail with a feeling of panic.  But sweet Daddy, he grabs my neck, holds me still, and calm pours back into me.  And then I cry because it was so intense and I feel so rearranged and I am still confused.  I feel so different inside my body, I feel he did this to me, he put something in me that possessed me, it is still there, I can feel it deep in my belly, running up through me like a shaft of foreign energy.  No, not foreign.  His energy.

It takes me a long while to pull myself together enough to get out of bed.  I do not go far.  I walk twenty feet into the living to sit on the couch in a daze.  I am not entirely sure what just happened.  Did chakras open?  Did Kundalini arise?  How did that happen?  Ever since our Tantric explorations months earlier – and a class we took on “yoni” massage (a.k.a. pussy stirring) – Michael has been lavishing much patient time swirling his fingers in my vagina.  And it has given me enormous pleasure and satisfaction.  But nothing like this morning.  I need to understand.

By the end of the day I am watching a Tantric DVD that I bought months earlier but never got around to watching.  It’s called “Alchemy, Orgasm and Awakening,” and it’s a lecture in which two different teachers give their perspective on the Tantric approach to orgasm.  One of the teachers is the famed Charles Muir, who I remember hearing is considered some kind of sexual magician able to bring any woman to ecstasy.  And in this lecture, he talks briefly about men’s orgasms, and why they shouldn’t ejaculate too often.  And then he starts talking about women’s orgasms.  And here is what he says:

There is a difference between clitoral and vaginal orgasms, and it is good to have both, because erogenous zones need to be awakened.  Finding the clitoris is nice, but the energetic access point to the female psyche is inside the vagina, in what is called the yoni nabi.  It is also called the G-spot;  I call it the sacred spot – and when it is massaged and stimulated and held consciously, and energy runs through and into it – then her second chakra and her sexual psyche awaken, and a mind body connection happens.  There is vast consciousness in that chakra and it needs to be awakened by someone she can trust to hold her heart precious, someone who can touch her and open her …

I am nodding as I listen to this, I am in tears as I listen to this.  Muir goes on to explain that a woman’s clitoral orgasms are a nice release, but vaginal orgasms are different:

… For her to open up to them, to give up control, is to plug into the universe, where wave after wave of bliss runs through her.  And once a woman is awakened, usually as the result of some kind of sexual healing, she can plug into that energy effortlessly … That is the nature of the second chakra my sisters, and it is your job to bring it forth.  And to break through your conditioning that nice girls don’t, that spiritual women don’t.  You do.  And bring god into bed with you.

The audience listening to Muir in the room applauds wildly at that, and I applaud, too, sitting there on the couch.  That’s it! There it is, a vivid explanation of what happened to me this morning.  And not just this morning, but over the past months I have been with Michael, and all the time he has spent, stirring his fingers inside me, opening me, often 20 or 30 minutes at a time, sometimes even an hour at a time.  I have suspected all along, there is something so healing about it, some kind of physical/soul therapy, this reaching to the core of me, this unlocking me.

And just as Muir described, over these past months of pussy-stirring attention, I have felt a profound change within myself, my whole body has come to feel different to me, more alive to me, even more attractive to me.  Certainly, my sexual response has heightened, I am able to orgasm more quickly and deeply than ever before.  Maybe it is true my life source literally resides there inside the walls of my vagina, and my husband’s generous loving fingers have been awakening it, making me acutely aware of the connection between me and all of life.

And oh my God, when his fingers start swirling in me, my connection to him, to Michael, feels like this solid unbreakable rope of hot electrified love, like his hand is literally plugged into me and who I am, and his energy just flows into me. I am completely penetrated by him and his love for me, and taking it all in.

I am shocked that I am just now learning this at 50 years old.  By most any standard I would be considered sexually experienced, sexually educated.  I am no stranger to my G-spot, certain lovers have found it, and ingenious little swirling rabbit vibrators have found it.  And I have often heard the words “G-spot” massage, and even “sacred spot massage.”  But I don’t recall hearing why one should undertake prolonged caressing of it beyond a powerful orgasm.  Yes, a G-spot orgasm is incredible, but to be touched there for sustained periods is clearly meaningful far beyond the orgasms.  Blog25Quote2Nothing in my life, no physical activity, has ever been as life-changing as that one thing Michael does for me.  I lie there, legs wide open, whole body self open, and I am changed.  And oh, if he does it while I am face down across his lap, there is the added dimension of submission to him as well.  Body and mind are both transformed at once.

I want to shout it from the rooftops so every woman will know what is possible. And so every man will learn the art of pussy-stirring.

Later, I will discover Charles Muir again on another Tantra DVD, recorded decades earlier, in which he provides a detailed instruction and demonstration of “sacred spot massage” on his then wife, Caroline.  And as he reclines beside her and slides his fingers into her, he asks her, “Did I find it?”

She answers back to him, “You found me.  That spot doesn’t feel like an ‘it,’ it feels like me.”

Exactly, exactly, oh exactly.  That is how I have felt with Michael’s fingers inside me, like he found the real me.  And I want to fall at his feet in helpless love for opening the gate and setting me free.

 

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.

How It Feels to Have a Dominant Daddy

We are starting to find a rhythm in our D/s life, finding pleasure and joy in daily “keep me in a submissive mindset” rituals:  Me on my knees to suck on his cock when he gets home from work.  A sweet spanking after dinner.  I’m now asking for harder whacks.  I love the instant calm that goes through my mind as heat tingles and spreads across my ass.   I lie there so peacefully as my body absorbs the blows.  The last few whacks are very hard, they make me gasp in a flash of resistance, but then, oh yes, a much better burn, deeper into submission I go.

Tonight, after spanking me, he puts his fingers in my mouth one at a time so I can suck each one which turns him on enough that he tells me to get on my knees and suck him.  Blog21Quote1I spend fifteen minutes lavishing love on his rock hard cock, licking and sucking and humming, oh what a wonderful thing to partake of him.  I don’t want to stop, he is delicious, but how long can a man take it?

We lie on the couch afterward in a blissful state, talk about how we’re feeling about the Daddy dimension of it all.  How does he really feel about that, does it ever sound weird to him?  He assures me it doesn’t, he loves it.  He says this is who we really are, it has been evolving all along.  He makes it feel natural, and it feels joyous to me, so rich and right and safe safe safe.  I feel known and accepted and appreciated, it is strange magic.  Then he holds my head still and slips his tongue into my ear and my body shudders with an unexpected orgasm.

Later, after he falls asleep, I lie in the dark beside him in astonishment.  I have a Daddy.  Growing up, I barely knew my father, and the few occasions I did see him, he certainly didn’t offer me love.  I had no experience of warm male approval and acceptance.   Meanwhile, my mother’s love was fickle, sometimes enveloping, but often punishing.  I developed a shell to protect myself.  “You’re so cold,” she’d tell me.

As I took men into my life, and embarked on rickety relationships, never did I perceive man’s feelings for me as unconditional love.  I could always feel their agendas, their desire for me to be feel a certain way, say certain words.  Of course, I’d try to give them what I believed they wanted, but then feel lost from myself.  I admit the love I offered those men was not unconditional either.  I was trapped behind my shell, a cold girl, with a cold, walled-off heart.  Despite my great longing for romance, I could never sustain love for a man beyond the infatuation stage, I could only conjure little dribbles.

Meeting Michael changed all that for me.  From the moment I met him, I could not sense any agenda coming from him other than to love me.  I trusted in that love, and yet, the feeling of being loved by him was very airy and abstract.  It seemed to float somewhere outside and around me.  It touched me, but did not penetrate me bodily.  Perhaps my shell was more intact than I knew.

Now, with dominance and submission, everything has changed.  Michael’s love for me has broken through my shell and moved into me.  Part of it must be my willingness to surrender, followed by the surge of energy from sexual polarity.  No walls can stand against that kind of energy.  But I think it is more than just that.  A new dimension of security has come with all his Daddy talk, and it is a brand new sensation to me.  There is a grounding weight to it, a warm solidity.

In truth, it feels as if he is going back into my past and rescuing me from the cold walls I shut myself inside at the beginning of me.  It’s a paradox, because I am submitting to his sexual agenda, yes.  But like a real loving Daddy – or at least my image of what a real Daddy should be – his only agenda is for me to be me, for me to be happy.  He sees me, and knows me, and I feel like I am becoming the real me for the first time ever.

It should be impossible to have a Daddy now, to be a girl, at the age I am.  It should be absurd, and maybe it is a little.  Blog21Quote2Yet, somehow he makes it feel simple and natural with his easy acceptance of it all.  I don’t know how he does that, makes the impossible possible, turns absurdity into perfect sense.  And now I not only feel loved, but I feel oddly innocent again, as if I have never been hurt, as if I have no idea what hurt is.  I suddenly feel confident that nothing could ever hurt me, I feel so safe and free and light and loved that I just want to laugh and play with my big handsome Daddy, with his firm confident hand, and his big wonderful cock.  I want to give him all-over kisses and lick and suck on him, and thrill when he holds me down or spanks me, or opens me with his fingers.

My heart grows full as I contemplate these thoughts, and I press up against Michael’s smooth back in the dark, wanting to tell him how grateful I am.  But he is asleep.  Sigh.  I try to lie still, but I cannot hold it all in, I am bursting, restless, with this change in the experience of being me, being loved by him.  I slide out of bed, then go sit on the couch with my laptop to write him words that he will be able to read in the morning:

I am so happy with this secret, I love being in our own secret world, it feels like a dream.  And if it is a dream, please don’t let me wake up, please keep me in this trance, please keep me as your sweet girl, please control me, condition me, hypnotize me, take my mind, own my pussy, fuck me into submission, dominate me, use me, own me completely.  I have never felt so good as when you show me so viscerally that I am yours.  I have never felt so alive, so in love, so full happy, oh you are such a good perfect Daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Amen.

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.

Sexual Polarity in Dominance and Submission: David Deida Explains it All

Ten days into being seized by D/s fever, my sweet Daddy and I are determined to better educate ourselves in all things BDSM.  We had, of course, been scanning the internet, picking up ideas and inspiration here and there through many helpful websites.  But now we are going to study it.  Books arrive in Amazon boxes:  SM 101 by Jay Wiseman,   The Ultimate Guide to Kink by Tristan Taormino.  And my favorite:  Screw the Roses, Send me the Thorns: The Romance and Sexual Sorcery of Sadomasochism by Philip Miller and Molly Devon.  (Love that subtitle).

I delve deep into the vocabulary of D/s, concepts like “scenes” and “safewords,” and “sub-drop,” and “aftercare.”  Again, I find this immersion into a well-known structure both comforting and off-putting.  It is helpful to know so many people have gone before us and made a map of territory.  Blog17Quote1We’d be completely lost and strange without that map.  The books validate our desires, warn us of pitfalls, and give us ideas of things to try we might never have come with on our own.  But the books with their similar themes and words and descriptions also make us feel like we have joined some kind of fetish cult, and are now being pushed to participate in an elaborate game full of rules and protocols.  In trying to establish a structure to free our lust and journey of discovery, it sometimes feels we are trapped within it.  Suddenly, there is “right” and “wrong” way to go about it.  And we are comparing ourselves with others.

There is also one important thing I am not finding from the books I’m reading through:  A deeper explanation of why we have found ourselves in this territory at all, and why it is impacting us the way it does.  These how-to books are wonderful at explaining the effects of BDSM – as in greater communication and trust – but not the deeper cause of our urge to go there.

Sexual Polarity

I finally recall the lecture Michael and I heard several months earlier on the work of David Deida, and the idea that equal 50/50 relationships tend to drain the passion from sex.  At the time, I had been ambivalent on the content of the lecture, yet intrigued enough to order one of his early books, Intimate Communion: Awakening Your Sexual Essence.  By the time it arrived, I’d lost interest and stuck it on my bookshelf and forgot about it.  Now I go looking for it, pull it out and open it up to read what Mr. Deida has to say.

Three hours later, I am still reading, hand over my heart in gratitude.  While nowhere in the book is BDSM mentioned, I find such a precise explanation of what has been happening to us, that it is almost as if Deida has been sitting in the orange chair in the corner of our bedroom to study us.

The basis of all Deida’s books is his theory of sexual polarity, which he describes is something very different from love or romance.  Love, he says, is about opening one’s heart and relaxing one’s sense of separation.  There is no limit to love, it is inclusive: one can love anyone and everyone.  Romance, however, is something else.  It is very exclusive, focused on one person and feelings of familiarity, or “at-homeness” with the other.  It is the soulmate feeling, the I-feel-like-I’ve-known-you-all-my-life feeling.  (I feel both an open-hearted love and an exclusive romance dynamic with my marvelous Michael, which is why I married him.)  But sexual polarity, says Deida, is a third way of relating, and it is impersonal.

Sexual polarity is the “arc of energy,” or the essential magnetic pull, between the masculine and the feminine.  Deida describes it as working like electricity or magnetism, which is generated between a positive and negative pole.  Blog17Quote2This sexual energy generates itself effortlessly when the conditions are right.  One might call it chemistry, or the “energetic juice” of passion and sex.  One can experience a jolt of sexuality polarity with a stranger.  (I have always wondered about the occasional flash of instant attraction I have felt with certain men who cross my path.)

“We are affected by sexual polarity from head to toe,” Deida writes.  “A natural and energetic force flows between the masculine and feminine poles, and your body-mind is reoriented just like a compass.”

Masculine energy, Deida goes on to say, is active, purposeful, assertive, directed and focused.  Feminine energy is free-flowing, open, yielding, receptive, definitely more passive.

I feel a definite sense of recognition as I read him describe how a yielding, receiving woman increases the strength of the feminine pole, and thus increases the flow of sexual energy.  “Radiating feminine energy magnetizes masculine energy.”  And, deep submission to a man allows a woman to experience her own “uninhibited sexual essence.”

It seems clear to me that practicing dominance and submission is a direct way of cultivating polarity between masculine and feminine.  It encourages each person to align almost exclusively with their respective poles.  And this explains why Michael and I have been experiencing such a great surge of sexual energy and passion.

Deida adds that “to encounter the opposite of what you are is healing.”  And oh I feel that too, it feel very healing to me when Daddy penetrates me and takes me and invades me with all that thrusting energy.  Or maybe the healing part is that I can fully experience my own feminine energy?  I wonder if it feels healing to him to be able to sink into me while I am being so open and receptive.  Or maybe the healing part for him is that it allows him to fully experience his masculine energy?

Reading all this is so revelatory to me that I have to put the book down and take a brisk walk to burn off energy.  Finally, someone has provided a philosophical – even spiritual – framework to help me understand why I have felt so thrown into a new sexual universe by what has been happening between us.  And, if Deida’s theories are right, then Michael and I are not just having hot kinky sex, we have headed into a whole new evolutionary stage.

Twists and Turns on the Road to Becoming a Sexually Submissive Wife

Monday morning, Michael has an early meeting, and I let him think I am still asleep as he kneels on the bed to kiss me goodbye.  Even if we had time to talk, I don’t know what I’d say.  I have no idea what happened to our determination to establish a D/s relationship, it seems to have drifted off.

I think maybe it would be wise to let it go.  I have no interest in fooling ourselves and pretending something is real if it’s not.  I feel I need to be honest with myself about whether we are better suited to enjoying power exchange in roleplay fashion, when we are both in the mood for it.  Would that be so terrible?  Isn’t that pretty much how most people dabble in BDSM stuff?  They “play” with it?

But, I think as I roll over to his side of the bed, if we honestly do want to try to live a D/s relationship, then maybe we should educate ourselves on how to better do that dance.  Maybe read more BDSM books about how a submissive can learn to let go of control, and how the dominant stays in control.

Then again, that backfired the other night, when Michael tried to follow advice he’d read online about delaying a submissive’s orgasms.  Following someone else’s way of dominating me only irritated me, jolted me out of the spell, and sent him into doubt about what he is doing.  So what is the solution?  I don’t know.  I get out of bed with no idea what I really want.

Childishly, I feel that the gift of my submission was found wanting and rejected the other night, and it hurt.  Even more childishly, I want to take my ball (body) and go home.

Woozy and Wobbly

The irony is, Michael is my home, I have now experienced him as the Daddy I need/want to go to for comfort and understanding when I am feeling hurt and lost.  I want to tell him about the storm in my head and heart, and isn’t that what a submissive is supposed to do, share everything?  Blog16Quote1But at the same time, I feel like if I impose these thoughts on him, that would be a very un-submissive thing to do.  It would feel like trying to control the situation instead of letting him take control.

I make coffee, trying to decide whether to share my disquiet with him.  I go to my computer and find an email from Michael, which he must have written as soon as he got to his desk to let me know of his own disquiet.  He tells me he is feeling “woozy and wobbly,” experiencing some whiplash over the “speed of our recent exploration over all things sexually edgy.”  Then he asks me how I am feeling.

Well, after that email, I’m even more uncertain about what I want, what to do.  I shut my computer and head outside to walk around the block.  I feel foolish for getting so swept away by the game, for taking it too seriously.  No, it’s worse than that.  Feeling foolish eventually fades without lasting harm.  My fear is that we have made a terrible error with our D/s exploration, and now have left ourselves open for lingering disappointment that might never go away.  How can we possibly go back to our 50/50 relationship and consider that to be deep enough?  We have tasted a way of relating that feels much more profound, we have seen ourselves and each other in a radically different light.  We can’t possibly go back.  And yet, I do not see an easy path forward either.

I don’t know what to tell him.  I feel in over my head.  Dominance and submission is clearly a delicate balancing act for which I am too emotionally clumsy.  I can’t seem to figure out how to properly navigate the vulnerability of it all.

Finally, a comforting thought comes:  I am the submissive, it is not my job to figure it out.  My job is simply to have faith in my dominant Daddy, and the way he loves me, and the connection between us.  Yes, I think in relief, I just have to trust my husband.  Trust that he will recover from his whiplash, and I will recover from my trance-breaking panic, and the dynamic will reassert itself and unfold as it should.

How wonderful this thought, how wonderful to imagine letting go, to not have to figure it out.  How sweet to understand I don’t have to worry, because he is in charge, not me, and he will come home and tell me what to do.  I get back to my computer and write him my thoughts.  I am honest about my fears and reservations of the past few days, and tell him I am ready to turn the problem over to him.

But, I add at the end, “I wonder if we should be thinking through this more carefully, to realistically consider the challenge of what we are doing, rather than impulsively following the throb of cock and pussy?”

I nervously wait for him to get home from work.  The moment he comes through the door, he sets his computer bag down, walks straight toward me, then grabs my wrist and pulls me in the living room.

“Pull your pants down,” he says.  “I’m going to spank you.”

This is exactly what I wanted.  I wait for the trigger to kick in, wait for the urge to obey.  But… it doesn’t come.  Instead, I feel myself pulling away.

“I can’t,” I say, almost in tears. “I’m not in a submissive space anymore, I lost it.”

“Well if I spank you, it’ll come back.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” I say.  “I need to feel connected to you first. I need you to talk to me.”

I can see him considering, wondering whether to try to force me over his lap.  He is strong, it would be easy.

“Remember what all the web sites say?” I ask.  “The submissive first has to offer submission.  Only then can the dominant take it.”

He is irritated, tells me I seem to want it both ways.  I want him to act dominant, not let me squirm out of being submissive, but I also want it to be on my terms and conditions.  I tell him he’s right, and I don’t know how to reconcile that.

We sit down, start a real conversation, going over what happened the night of the rope panic, and my worry that it is impossible for us to do this in real life.

He says, “Well, we have to figure it out.  I’m not giving up on this.  I don’t want to go back.  I don’t think I can go back.”

“I know,” I said.  “I don’t either.  But I don’t want to keep going the wrong way and screw it up.”

He agrees that he needs to better understand the psychology of taking control of a submissive, and how to keep me in the submissive state.  I suggest we wait to try again until he reads more on the subject.

We agree to wait a week.  We actually shake on it, making each other laugh.  We will try to educate ourselves about the finer points of D/s and then start again.

I make dinner while he reads one of the books I had ordered the week before, The Control Book, by Peter Masters.

Afterward, we watch TV for awhile, and I lay with my head on his lap like I always did as “regular” wife, instead of face down across his lap as a submissive.  It feels sweet, but it also feels muted and dull compared to the heated frenzy of the week before.  And the whole evening I feel oddly fake.  I have my Daddy there in the room with me, but I am pretending I don’t know him, or who he is to me, or what I actually want from him.

I look up at him.  “Do you miss it?  The submissive wife?”

Yes, he says, as he plays with my hair, he misses it.

Later, when we go to bed, we talk in the dark, marveling that we both feel as we have been driven from the Garden of Eden and all it’s pure and primal uncomplicated lust.  Blog16Quote2We note the irony that it is the so-called “sin” of D/s that makes us feel like we are in paradise, and how politically correct sexual equality pulls us away from paradise, makes everything equal and plain and flat.  The difference is stark.

But we once again agree to wait a week to try anything D/s again.  He wants to be more prepared to “train” me, and keep me in a submissive state.  We are stirred up from our talk, hot for each other, but not yet ready.

In the morning, I miss him grabbing for me, treating me like his object, telling me what to do.  We both say we are craving to go back to the “real” us.  That we feel this way surprises me.  How can dominant and submissive be who we feel ourselves to truly be only a little more than a week into it, unless we have always been that on some level?

Before Michael leaves for work, he kisses me goodbye, drives his tongue deep into my mouth, which makes me groan.  Very effective trigger that.  And as he goes out the door, I know the D/s is back on.  And I know we aren’t going to wait any damn week.