How Submitting to a Dominant Daddy Allows Me to Inhabit my Body

For the longest time, Michael has been openly calling me his baby girl, and referring to himself as my Daddy.  He is able to say the words with an unabashed confidence that I cannot yet match.  Most often I still call him “Daddy” only under my breath, barely audible.  Oh, I call him Daddy in my mind continually, no problem, I write it here in this chronicle with ease.  But I still feel silly when I say it out loud in the space between us.  Well, unless in throes of sex, when the word bursts out of me, as if tired of being pent up.

I don’t know why this hesitance, this embarrassment. It seems to be a common enough longing in women.  I look up “Daddy Dom” in Amazon, and come up with hundreds of books, erotic novels in which a stepfather (usually) is the romantic hero, and teaches his curious teenage stepdaughter about her body, about her sexuality.  I wonder if this triggers some sort of universal archetype in our minds.  It is definitely the mental framework we have built for our particular expression of dominance and submission. Michael is my stepfather figure, and I am the girl who needs him to sexually teach and care for me.

In so many ways, I feel that this is what he is literally doing for me.  While I had a definite model for sex as good clean fun growing up (Thanks, Mom), I did not have a good model for sex as an expression for love.  And for most of my life, sex and love have never been very well-connected.  Blog35Quote1I was plenty sexually adventurous, but I also remained distant from the act, and from my own body’s participation in it.  It seemed like a game I’d play on occasion, a grown-up game that made me laugh.  But most of the time, I’d feel so disconnected from my body that I’d pretty much never let my lover see my body naked if I could help it.

In our first relatively vanilla year together, Michael helped my body learn to experience sex as the full expression of love.  Through his loving care and acceptance of my body, he helped me shed inhibitions, open up to him, and trust him deeply.  But that was only the first part in a much bigger journey.  Now, in handing my body and sexual will over to him as my husband and looking at him as my dominant Daddy, I feel like he is literally teaching me how to inhabit my body, inhabit my sexuality.

In tying the rope around my breasts – especially when it is so tight I have to stay aware of them sticking out so bare and vulnerable at every minute – he alters my perception of them.  In his constant pinching and sucking of my nipples, he is giving me no choice but to feel my own breasts in a sexual way for more than just brief moments.  After hours in that harness, I am achingly aware of the sexual purpose of my breasts, my body.  And for the first time in my life, I feel I am finally connecting to myself as a sexual creature, someone designed by nature for the purpose of sex and love.

In giving myself sexually to my husband, he is giving me my sexual self back to me.  And now I understand why that first day I submitted to him, I was so rocked by the feeling of ‘this is who I really am.’  I’d assumed I was feeling that way about being submissive, but now I believe I felt that because submitting to him makes me feel so sexual, so alive and present in my body.

Paradoxically, in this dynamic that seems like such a game on the surface, I can finally stop looking at sex as a game.  I don’t think this ever would have happened for me in a normal marriage of equal partners.  My own strong-willed version of myself, my culturally induced hostility to my body, and my disconnected relationship to sex all got in the way.

Now, several months into D/s and power exchange, I am for the first time ever in my 51 years, walking around comfortable with my body, comfortable being without clothes, even preferring to be without clothes when Michael is home.  It feels miraculous, this change, as if I have finally been granted permission by a loving generous father figure to own my sexual nature, inhabit my true self.

The question that has been lurking at the back of my mind is:  Am I too caught up in this discovery to interpret it correctly?  Is sexual submissiveness the only way for me to get there?  Is that truly who I am underneath it all, what I need long term?  Is it even possible to live it long term?

It takes true effort to keep the dynamic alive, the 50/50 relationship is so much a part of us and our default way of relating.  We are pretty high on the D/s dynamic at the moment, but we are burning very hot, the intensity is overwhelming, and I can’t help but wonder:  Will we burn each other out before we figure out how to keep it alive in a sustainable way?

Last night I got a little bit of an answer to my questions.  After several days of being distracted by ordinary life and work and kids, the D/s dynamic sort of faded away, and by the weekend, we had drifted into our ordinary husband and wife way of being, doing not much on a Saturday, having dinner at the lake, watching a funny movie.  It was 9 o’clock at night when he surprised me by saying it was time to lay across his lap.  I laughed, a little uncomfortable.  I was not in the submissive mindset at all, and it felt suddenly silly to pull off my pants and lie across his lap.  That feeling of silliness gave me a moment of worry, oh shit, this isn’t really me, is it?  I am a grown woman, an intelligent person, am I really going to go through with this absurd ritual every night?

But I didn’t say any of those things out loud, I just obeyed, lay across his lap.  And then came his hands pulling my panties down…  Then came that vulnerable feeling, and the building anticipation…  And then came the hot smacks of his hand…  Blog35Quote2And my mind went quiet and still and peaceful, as it always does.  It did not feel absurd at all, but necessary to me.  It felt essential.  And when it was over, I thought yes, yes, yes, this is who I am, this is what I need, Daddy knows what I need, I am so lucky to have him.

I was elated to have my moment of doubt so decisively chased away, to have the grown woman who lives only in my head brought back to my body and put back in my proper place.  I spent the rest of the evening tight against him, held in his arms, floating in the feeling of submissive serenity.  And knowing I have given my trust to the right man.  And feeling the most amazing relief that I don’t have to worry about how to sustain it long term, that is his job.  My only job is to submit to what he asks, no matter my mood of the moment, and he will keep liberating my true self.

Daddy will take care of me.

How Becoming Daddy’s Submissive Girl Made Me Feel Safe – And Full of Lust

My life has become an erotic novel.

This morning, still full dark, the first thing I feel is a hand rubbing my back, then grabbing my breast.  My husband pulls me close to his warmth, then whispers to me that he wants me to kiss and suck and lick his body all over.  Which I do, without question.  He is my dominant, I am his submissive, and I will do anything he asks.  Anything.

I run my tongue over him, tell him he is delicious.  He tells me I am Daddy’s good girl.   And there is that word again, “Daddy.”  I cannot help but notice it still portends silliness to me.  I don’t know how he is saying it with a straight face.  Yet as we linger in bed, light starting to fill the windows, I find myself more and more happy to hear it, because I melt, I melt.  And when he says, “Daddy is going to slide inside you now,” I am grateful, yes Daddy, yes.

I keep saying the word in my mind as he fucks me, and somehow I feel myself connecting with my younger more innocent self.  A girl.  Yes, I feel like a treasured girl being taken care of by her powerful Daddy, and I feel joy bubble up in me, and I wrap my legs around him in delight.  Blog14Quote1This is new instinct for me, have I ever wrapped my legs so playfully around him during sex?  I don’t think so, but now I cling, a girl safe in her Daddy’s arms while he gives her thrusts of pleasure.  He holds me still, hand on my neck and I feel so taken, so transported.  Sex isn’t just sex anymore, it is a journey somehow, a journey through different layers of love.

Afterward, we lie together for a long while, he holds me so close, so gently, whispering I am good girl, he will always take care of me, and I feel as if I am being enfolded into some kind of cosmic protection. I have always felt loved by Michael, hugely, but this Daddy dimension gives the love a new heft and shape and sweetness.  A new sense of safety that is palpable – it wraps blanket-like around me, holds me, shields me.  Finally, I can drop my guard and just be.

All at once, I understand the nature of the difficulty I’ve felt in seeing him in the role of “Daddy,” even as I’ve been craving him to be that for me.  I had assumed it was because I was so accustomed to seeing him as Michael, my romantic partner, lover, boyfriend, new husband.  I’d thought it too difficult to reconfigure my image of him, or the way I relate to him.  But now I see it is less how I look at him than how I look at myself.  Or rather, it is about how I feel inside myself.  When I feel tired and middle-aged and guarded, looking out from cynical eyes, I cannot get in touch with the “girl” inside me, and thus, cannot relate to a Daddy figure.  But when I let go, drop my preconceptions of myself, step out from behind my defenses, then I am open, easy, just me-in-the-moment.  (I’m pretty sure this is what Buddhists call “beginner’s mind.”)  The barrier to seeing him as sweet Daddy dissolves away.  The word slips more easily out of my mouth.

From this different mindset, I am no longer a guarded woman carefully managing a relationship with a man, continually analyzing my feelings in reaction to his behavior, continually judging how the relationship going.  I am instead a carefree girl who effortlessly accepts her Daddy’s love as a given.  I get out of my head and into my body.  I laugh more easily.  I love more easily.

Hypnotic Love Dream

Later, after we have settled into the big easy chairs by the front window in the living room with mugs of coffee, I ask him to tell me how seeing himself as Daddy changes how he relates to me.

He tells me it is very powerful to feel protective over me.  He tells me that when I am curled up next to him, he loves the feeling that he has a cherished girl to take care of and please and show deep love for.  I smile and try to describe how it adds to the dimension of safety to me, how I feel like a carefree girl again…

Suddenly I become choked up, in tears.  It occurs to me this might be the first time in all my life I have known what a carefree girl feels like.  When I was young, I did not have a father around, my parents divorced when I was two.  My mother worked, she was an actress, and the house was full of people, actors and musicians and druggies, and it was all so unpredictable, I did not always feel safe.  I was known as a “serious” child, internally guarded, and I often remember feeling hard and cold and cut off from what was happening around me.  But now here is a Daddy for me, all love and warmth and protection, and I am overwhelmed at the gift he is giving me, the way he is opening the door to healing the child I was.

He sees me crying, says, “Come sit on my lap.”

I get up, and cross over to his chair, and for a moment I again feel the absurdity of a too-big middle-aged me plopping on his lap and being girlish.  But the moment is brief, banished by his sweetness, his tenderness.  I have never felt more exposed, and we look into each other’s eyes and kiss and kiss and feel so close.

He says, “Oh babygirl, you’re getting me excited.  You need to get on your knees and suck me.”

I laugh, and squirm off his lap to kneel in front of him.  The submissive position triggers that lovely trance, that liberating trance, that allows me to be fully in the moment.  I take him into my mouth and it is wonderful, my mouth full of his hard smoothness, I am crazy for this, in love with this.  I want his cock as far back in my throat as possible.  Blog14Quote2I kiss him everywhere, cuddle up to his pulsing cock as if it my favorite toy, feeling it hard and hot against my neck.  I worship him, and we are giddy.

Afterward he tells me he feels like he is living in a dream.  He is completely present, aware of everything.  We have no barrier between us anymore, I say, nothing between us, completely open and honest, everything revealed, allowed, safe.  The feeling of acceptance is extraordinary, hot, and so sexually charged.

For the next hour, as he cooks us omelets for breakfast, we cannot look away from each other.  We find ourselves just standing staring at each other, walking around the kitchen, eyes caught.  My chest feels swollen with warmth, with love.

We go for a walk by the lake, the water is deep blue in the sun, the hills around are eye-watering green.  We go down a trail through an idyllic countryside on this cool sunny day.   Butterflies flit ahead in the path, delicate yellow and purple wildflowers bloom alongside.

“This is the land of milk and honey,” he says.

We stop in the dappled shade of a tree to kiss, and kiss, mouths wide open, licking each other’s tongues.  I lean against him, head tilted back, everything glows.  This connection we are feeling, we are sure no one else in the world has ever experienced it.

“Can you see the hunger in my eyes for you?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say.  “Can you see the adoration in mine?”

He smiles.  “I can’t help but see it.”

I turn to keep walking, and look back and he is standing, not moving, eyes closed.  “I’m soaking you in,” he says.

Later, we have a picnic on our back patio under the bare, kinked branches of the oaks.  Cheese and crackers and grapes.   He leans to stick a grape in my mouth, then slides his finger past my lips after it.  I sit on the patio, sucking on his finger to the beat of the throbbing between my legs.

I am living in an erotic novel.

Becoming Daddy’s Girl When You’re No Longer a Girl

The morning after I first call my husband Daddy, it is Saturday, he wakes me up in the dark again by climbing on top of me, and I think I will lie there in peaceful silence again.  But I find out quickly that Michael is not in a peaceful mood, he is pure animal this morning.  He is strong, muscled, heavy, and he is a force on top of me.  I can barely catch my breath, caught in the storm of his lust, wave after wave of lust.  He pounds me hard, holding me tight by my neck.  Then he flips me over onto my hands and knees, and pounds his cock into me from behind, smacking my ass at the same time, hot jolts that ratcheted up the excitement in my body.  And just like in those little domination gifs, he shoves my head down as he fucks me, holding it hard against the mattress.

I know that if someone happened to be watching us at that moment, it would look alarmingly wrong.  I cannot believe how I like it, this thing that looks degrading from the outside, yet feels so kind.  To have my head pushed hard against the mattress is somehow a grounding thing, an anchor that holds part of me still as I am caught up in the wave of animal lust.  Then he grabs a hand full of my hair, pulls my head back.  I am wide open accepting, I am only vaguely aware of the pain in my scalp.  He is so excited by the pulling of my hair that he shudders to an orgasm.  After he pulls his cock out, I am lying flat on my stomach, his fingers shove inside my pussy, and he keeps finger-banging me, with little growls, then slides two fingers in my ass, it hurts a little, but I relax, keep letting go, oh wonderful.  It is all is raw pleasure, being held down, controlled, smacked.  Let go, no thought, just feel, here now now now, yes.

He flips me over and again, spreads my legs open, slides his fingers into me again, stirring me, opening me, so hot blood engorged open yielding.  He holds my head still, whispers in my ear, he tells me he wants all of me.  Then his tongue plunges into my ear, stiff and warm, it feels like sexual penetration of another sort.  I have never felt sexual excitement in my head, he is penetrating my mind almost, I am so hyper-excited that I come hard in an electric whoosh that I feel all the way into my feet.

After two hours, my nervous system is overwhelmed, I am completely conquered into submission, and I cannot stop looking into his eyes as he lies beside me, facing me.  I feel hypnotized.

I try to say, Thank you Daddy.  But it comes out as, “Thank you, Da……”

I can’t say the word.  Although I had happily called him Daddy the night before, and made mental peace with the idea, I somehow cannot bring myself to say it in the light of morning.  It makes me swell up with some unnameable emotion that will take me awhile to unravel.

The Inner Battle

As we get up and get dressed, we are both overwhelmed by the strength of the storm between us. We wander into the living room.  But instead of heading to the coffee maker, we both end up sitting dazed on the couch.

He says, “I’ve never felt out of control like that.  I was in a frenzy.”

“Yes,” I say.  “Frenzy is a good word for it.”

We are both revealing our most basic animal selves to each other, and it is wonderful and terrifying all at once.  I am thrown off balance.  I do not recognize either him or myself.

We assure each other we are okay.  But even though I keep opening my mouth to say the word, “Daddy,” it stalls in my throat.  He, however, is saying it frequently, referring to himself in the third person as “Daddy,” and it gives me a little twist of annoyance each time.  I want to tell him to stop, although I don’t know why, when the night before it was so clearly what I wanted, what I felt was right.  Why can’t I say it?

As the day wears on, I fall into an uncomfortable funk.  We decide to go the movies, and I ride along in the passenger seat wondering what is wrong with me, am I just tired from being overstimulated, from being off balance from all the emotion of the past week?  I don’t want to admit it is because maybe I don’t like the Daddy Dom thing after all because he clearly likes it.  Then we get out of the car and he grabs me by the wrist, pulls me along across the parking lot.

And there it is again, this sudden letting go inside myself, this surrender to power.  And I realize this is also a submissive trigger, to be pulled along by the wrist, rather than walking side by side, hand in hand.  It is also is a very Daddy specific trigger, it takes me back to being a little girl, being pulled along by an adult.  Suddenly I am having no problem at all feeling like Daddy’s girl, and in the dark movie theater, I snuggle up against him, and I find myself taking his thumb into my mouth, sucking on it, and it feels soothing to me, like sucking on a pacifier.  He moans and whispers to me that I am a good girl, and I am so warm and pleased.  I would love to suck on his thumb the entire movie, but I am afraid other people will see.

I walk out to the car in momentary peace, but on the way home, the tension that has churned in my mind all day returns.  I feel pulled by the deep desire for Michael to be the Daddy, my Daddy, and yet also feel myself pushing away from it.  To call him “Daddy” feels like a pretense I don’t know how to make real.  I don’t want any falseness in this relationship, any silliness.  How can I think of myself – middle-aged me, so large and unwieldy – as his girl?  It feels absurd. It feels impossible.

Later, as I make dinner, the inner tension and tiredness makes me feel brittle.  He is practicing knots, so he can tie me up.  I feel a struggle inside me, I don’t feel like being tied up, I want to say no, and if I do?  This whole dynamic will fall apart.  It all suddenly feels fragile, and the tension in me escalates.  I am upset because I feel I need to make a choice whether to let him tie me up or not, and if I make the wrong choice, then this whole marvelous adventure is finished.  I hate this static.  I hate having this power.

This thought makes me laugh out loud.  Oh right, I remember now.  I have agreed to surrender power, I don’t have to make a choice, I don’t have to figure out this Daddy thing right now, I just have to do what Michael wants, that’s it.  No choice, no resistance, no struggle.  My mental tension falls away, I am instantly at peace.  It is stunning, how instant that peace.

Surrender Is Sweet

I make us some drinks.  And when I am good and buzzed, I stand in the living room, naked from the waist up as we follow along with our new “basic bondage” video.  His arms go around me, again and again, drawing the soft rope around me, wrapping me up.  I feel like a true object, still and peaceful as a statue, as he ties me in a beautiful rope breast harness, with my hands trapped behind me.

When he is done, I am amazed, it feels so good, the rope tight around my breasts, I feel held.  I walk around with my bare breasts jutting out, and go into the bathroom to admire his handiwork in the mirror.  Oh, I am beyond amazed by the waves of warm delicious feeling radiating from my bound breasts throughout my body, tranquilizing my mind.

I want to know if I can lie on his lap while I am wearing the harness, and he gives me permission.  I lie my head on his leg with the TV on and he reaches out to idly play with my over-pronounced nipples.  Dear God the sweet heat of it.  He gets turned on, and fucks me there on the couch.  And I still don’t say the word Daddy, but I think it, oh yes I think it, he is my daddy, giving it to me for my own good.