Who’s your daddy?

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
…I got a bad desire
…I’m on fire
 – Bruce Springsteen

I’ve always loved the menace of those lines. And I love the way it showcases the Daddy/little girl dynamic that Amy has posted about.

She and I have been finding our own way through an unusual relationship, one that isn’t part of the mainstream, and yet in so many ways sits squarely astride classic Middle America values. There are days when I’m Ricky Fucking Ricardo bending Lucy over his knee for a good old fashioned spanking.

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Seriously, how far back does the image of the husband commanding his wife go back? And yet, it’s not exactly who we are.

Amy doesn’t need discipline.

So we aren’t exactly Ricky and Lucy.

And do we need to define ourselves at all?

Will the thought police show up and drag me off as a perv if I call her “baby”, and if she calls me her “stallion,” will they round her up as a potential horse fucker?

Daddy/Little Girl.

It’s a dynamic, not literal.

Amy posted about how Master/slave didn’t capture the dynamic; nor did owner/owned. Neither does husband/wife.

Amy has two other nicknames for me – “The Boss,” and “The Bad Man.” On a good day, maybe “The Bad, Bad, Baaaaaad Man.”

But our relationship involves a more nurturing role for me. And Amy is not a pain slut who craves constant discipline. Amy is eager to be a very good girl. Disobedience is simply out of the question for her.

So.

What kind of relationship has a woman very eager to obey her partner, without question, and have him make the decisions and care for her needs?

For us, it’s a Daddy/girl dynamic.

It’s the most accurate descriptor for how the two of us interact.

In some ways it feels VERY vanilla. I mean, it’s a common theme in mainstream culture, from music to books to sugar daddies and typical flirtation between couples. For me, I grew up in an arch-conservative evangelical Protestant religion. We had an elderly couple in our church, pillars as it were – easily the most influential couple in our little community. He was on the church board, an elder, etc., and his wife, a white haired beehive fashion plate, led out almost weekly in some part of the service, and often referred to her husband.

She called him “Daddy.”

On formal occasions, she would add his last name after the word “Daddy.”

Maybe they were kinksters.

I think of the deep south. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof – Big Daddy. I see the Daddy/little girl dynamic almost everywhere – it appears to be timeless.

That will reassure Amy. She’s still convinced she’s vanilla.

But for now, who’s your Daddy?

Amy, I’m your Daddy.

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How to be daddy’s little girl

This is a hard post to write. It’s taken me several months to become comfortable with being sexually submissive. I’ve written about how I’ve wrestled with the term “slave”, as well as the reality of being one.

This is harder. I’m afraid I’m going to squick some of you out. I could squick myself out if I’m not careful.

Richard has forced me, over the last few months, to face who I am, to look into the dark parts of myself and, rather than run and hide, to look harder. This doesn’t come naturally to me, and it has been scary. But, as I said to the silent male, it is incredible how easy everything is once you open up to who you really are, instead of trying to hide it or ignore it. So here goes the next step in that evolution.

Richard and I have talked about how the Master/slave dynamic doesn’t feel 100% right to us, nor does “owner/owned”. One of my problems is that I feel much more nurtured by Richard than those terms seem to imply. I feel like I have a more exclusive and intimate relationship with him than a slave would have with her Master. After all, a Master could have several slaves, yes?

Richard has called me “girl” since he’s known me. Recently he’s been calling me “little girl” and even “baby girl”. I LOVE it when he calls me that. It feels so completely right. It says to me: he’s in control and he will take care of me. All I need to do is be a good girl and do what I’m told. Heaven.

I told him that I wished there was a good word for who he is for me.

He said “What about Daddy?”

I said I felt funny using that word. Wouldn’t that mean I had serious unresolved issues with my own father? Wouldn’t that mean I was a screwed up freak? He didn’t think so.

I tiptoed around the word. I tested it out a couple of times during sex, mumbling it into Richard’s shoulder as he fucked me. It felt weird. Not good.

I realized that calling Richard “Daddy” made me feel more vulnerable and more submissive than I was yet comfortable with. I couldn’t believe that he could still love me and be attracted to me if I were that submissive. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that, the more submissive I am, the happier Richard is. I guess I’ve been around men who’ve wanted to be dommed for most of my life.

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To put this in perspective: just a year ago, I learned that many men like women to shave their pussies (yes, I’ve been living in a closet). I thought that men who like this must be closet pedophiles, since young girls have bare pussies. Uh, no. Richard, at least, loves anything that lets him see more of me (remind me to tell you about my new micro bikini. Gulp.)

So what to do about this issue of what to call Richard? I’ve been calling him “Sir” when he gives me an order, Richard in front of others, and basically avoiding the issue.

Richard doesn’t like to avoid issues. Richard doesn’t like for me to avoid issues.

A few days ago, I woke up to him playing with my breasts. When he saw that I was awake he began talking to me.

“Daddy’s girl has beautiful breasts.”

I moaned and tried to pull away. He clamped down on my nipples and pulled me back against him.

“Be a good girl. Daddy wants to play with your breasts.”

He wrapped one arm tight around my waist so I couldn’t move and roughly tugged and pulled and pinched my nipples. I struggled weakly, but I was still groggy and he had a strong grip on me.

“Does that feel good? Tell Daddy how it feels.”

Oh god. It felt incredible. It felt so good, and I was still so groggy, that I wasn’t capable of answering. He kept playing with me and talking to me and when he flipped me onto my back and entered me a few minutes later, I was so wet it startled him.

“Oooooh, Daddy’s girl wants to fuck, doesn’t she? Are you a slut, little girl?”

Gah.

Afterwards, we talked about it. He had decided to push me on this, because he could sense that I had a lot of feelings around it. It turned us both on. A lot.

Today when he was fucking me, he told me that I wasn’t allowed to call him “Sir” anymore, only “Daddy”.

I’ve been calling him “Daddy” all day. It feels really hot. And really right.

Ownership, sharing and monogamy

Richard has discussed in an earlier post his interest in MMF threesomes, and his decision NOT to pursue them in our relationship. His decision was based on my very clear, very loud concerns about them (basically having to do with the potential physical and emotional dangers of bringing another man into the relationship), which led him to feel that it would be psychologically harmful to me to pursue them.

Mia, who posts here sometimes and has a great blog “What We Did Last Night”, posted about a MMF threesome she had recently. I loved her post and it helped me to understand what Richard meant when he talked about what turned him on about them: the woman’s over-stimulation and loss of self-control.

And for him, it is the ultimate sign of ownership, to share what is yours with another.
Amy – owned by Richard
I have always been monogamous. I think maybe I fall in love with anyone I fuck. I actually read something recently that supported that idea; oxytocin levels rise after fucking, oxytocin is a “bonding” hormone (grossly oversimplified), I figure I probably have the world’s highest naturally occurring levels of oxytocin. I am so completely focused on Richard that it is hard to imagine being attracted to another man, much less fucking him! And fucking him while Richard watches! Or joins in! Ack!

However, I’ve been thinking about threesomes a lot lately, because I know how erotic Richard finds them. I think maybe they are his biggest turn-on. I wonder if maybe I feel secure enough in our relationship to try this. It scares me, but maybe being scared can be part of the eroticism, like it is with being blindfolded or handcuffed. I really don’t know.

Richard says that every fantasy he has acted out/lived has turned out much better than he expected. I’ve always felt that fantasies are just that, and don’t need to be lived to be enjoyed. But now I’m living a life that I didn’t even know enough to fantasize about, and it’s WONDERFUL. So maybe this would be the same.

After we had been talking online for about a month, Richard sent me the following short-short story. (I had to dig and dig through my email to find it. I LOVE reading our old emails. The yearning!) I found the story very hot, but didn’t seriously consider it as something that could or would ever happen. I still find it hot…

Answering Richard’s call, Amy entered the room.

A man she didn’t recognize stood talking to Richard.

“Stand here,” Richard said. Then to the man, “show me what you meant.”

Amy, barefoot in a delicate t-shirt and sarong, waited as the stranger deftly untied the sarong, letting it drop to the floor.

Naked from the waist down, Amy stood shyly as the man used her lower body to illustrate some complex tattoo he had once seen, turning Amy around once to show exactly how it had risen over someone’s buttocks.

The demonstration over, Amy waited quietly.

“Beautiful woman,” said the man, almost as an afterthought.

“Yes she is,” answered Richard. “Listen, why don’t you stay for dinner?” With a nod indicating Amy, “We can sit up later with whiskey, and take turns fucking her by the fire.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Richard turned to Amy.

“One more for dinner.”

One year in BDSM

Richard pointed out to me that our play or interactions in which he ignores me or uses and discards me may be “edge play” for me, given my past bad experiences of being neglected and taken for granted in relationships. Edge play, for the non-kinky people out there, is play that skirts dangerous ground, either physically or emotionally. So, for example, knife or needle play is considered edge play by most, although one person’s edge play is another’s yawnsville of course.

I think a part of me was hoping, once he pointed this out, that he would say “So I think it best that we no longer do that sort of thing.” But he didn’t.

And that got me thinking.

I started exploring BDSM online less than a year ago. Up until the time that Richard and I first met in real life, part of me thought that D/s would always only be a part of my fantasies, NOT my real life. If it became part of my life, as I’ve said before, I thought it would be in the bedroom as sexual play, not permeating my entire life. Not 24/7. Not Master/slave.

This year (24/7 D/s M/s) has been incredible. So erotic, so exciting, so thrilling. At the same time, life with Richard is so…easy. We get along so well, we’re so compatible. It’s a luscious combination of new relationship excitement and old relationship comfort.

I’m so spoilt! For the first time in my life, I’ve had as much attention and snuggling and affection and nurturing and fussing over as I could wish for. I’ve also been spanked more and slapped more and bitten and pinched more than ever in my life.

And ordered around! Constantly! But, hey, that’s still attention. And it appears that all attention is good attention for Amy.

I’m taking a long time to get to my point. Sorry.

Richard’s post “Disposable Girl” and the following discussion made me realize that (wait for it): it’s not all about me.

Not that I mostly think that, but at some level I have been loving all the attention and feeling very special and precious and adored and not facing the fact that: I am a slave and it’s not about me.

This is real. This is not role play. This is not acting out fantasies. I entered into a relationship in which one of the critical agreements is that I give up all control to Richard. All control.

Sure, I can always change my mind. But that would be monumental. Telling Richard I no longer wished to submit to him would be comparable to saying that I realized I am a lesbian. It would be more than becoming sexually incompatible, because this is about more than sex. This is about intimacy and this is also about how we “run” our lives.

You might say “Yes, but you don’t have to say you don’t want to submit *at all*. You could just say you didn’t want to submit to a particular thing.”

That would be the same thing. I agreed to submit to him completely. I can’t say “I submit to you completely…except for X”. That’s not submitting.

So. I don’t get to say “I don’t want to play *disposable girl*” anymore than I get to say “I don’t want to play *nasty-pinchy-clothespin-thingies*”. (Richard would be quick to point out that of course I can say that, it just won’t have any effect on what he chooses to do.)

Bottom line: I am still learning the reality of being a slave. I am still coming to terms with having handed over all power to Richard. It feels wonderful to have done, I trust him completely, I don’t regret it, but I’m still adjusting to it. Stay tuned.

Owning your girl with more cum

What I did was…get up and get dressed and go downstairs and have coffee and get on with my day.

I have some ambivalent feelings about what Richard posted last, and I thought the best way to become more clear would be to write about it. We’ll see if Richard agrees; if this post disappears it’s because he doesn’t lol.

So. On the surface, his post is very hot to me. And being used is hot to me. I love it when Richard takes what he wants, ignoring my protests and pleading.

In fact, I think part of the reason our sexual relationship is so satisfying to me is that I KNOW Richard won’t do anything he doesn’t want to do. Which allows me to relax and enjoy myself; with past partners I was always so concerned that they weren’t doing what they wanted or that they weren’t happy that I couldn’t relax and have fun.

Also, Richard likes to do things that make me feel good. This morning he was playing with me, licking and sucking and teasing for probably an hour. When I came, I thought my head would explode (thankfully, not a migraine this time, just pure bliss).

And he doesn’t just do things for me sexually. Right now he is downstairs making dinner. He sent me up to take a nap because he could tell I was feeling a little tired. He’ll come get me when it’s ready, probably with a glass of wine for me in his hand.

So why am I feeling ambivalent about the last post? Well, I’ve spent most of my adult life in relationships in which I was taken for granted and more or less ignored. This comes a bit close to that for comfort. I don’t ever want to feel taken for granted again. Nevernevernevernevernever.

Richard doesn’t make me feel ignored or taken for granted, so I know this is just me being over-sensitive. But how do I deal with that?

As we’ve discussed in previous posts, it’s also been a crazy busy couple of weeks and we’ve had a lot less sex than we’re used to, because of Richard’s surgery. So I think I’m already feeling a tiny bit distant from Richard, a bit less connected, a bit less owned. Maybe I wouldn’t even have blinked at his post a few weeks ago. I don’t know.

In a way, it reminds me of how I felt when he posted about possibly exploring orgasm denial further. Ugh. I felt like “Wow. Orgasm denial. Gee, I’ve experienced that with partners for many a year.”

You know that saying “Welcome to the new boss. Just like the old boss.” ? That’s what I was thinking.

We talked about it and I think he understood how I was feeling. Hopefully he’ll understand how I feel about this. Maybe I just need a little petting and assuring. Sigh.

Her body is mine

Amy’s body is no longer hers.

I woke her one night, and played with her nipples as she struggled to understand what was happening to her. She wanted to sleep. I wanted to make her cum.

She came.

For now, I have chosen to control when she pees, when she masturbates, when she cums. I enjoy the luxury of owning her body, and using her for what I want. Sometimes I want to fuck her, to explore the sensuality of her body, and sometimes I like hurting her, feeling her whimper and moan under a much harsher touch.

And sometimes I just throw her away.

I started playing with her in the morning, stroking her and slowly arousing her. Time, however, was not in her favor. I had Amy whimpering and struggling as I held her wrists with one hand and played with her breasts with the other. I made her masturbate, and watched, but there were other things I wanted to do.

I got up and told her to keep masturbating.

She did so.

I moved about the room, getting ready, getting dressed, as Amy masturbated quietly and intensely without my attention. An occasional glance over showed her obediently playing with herself, although I no longer cared to watch. I was done with her.

Fully dressed and ready to leave, I laid a hand on her cheek. Men fantasize about walking in on a woman like Amy masturbating. The way she is right now. Aroused. Excited. Ready to fuck.

“I’m leaving. You can masturbate until you cum, or I will make you cum later tonight. Your choice.”

Then I closed the door on her, and left.

How to fuck more often

In the three months I’ve been (real time) with Richard, I think I’ve had more sex than the rest of my life put together. Three times a day adds up pretty quickly to the same amount of sex in a 5 year, once a month whether we need it or not, kinda marriage.

(OMG! I just busted out my calculator, cuz I’m a geek like that… 12×5=60 times having sex in marriage, 3×90=270 times having sex with Richard! I’ve already had 300% more sex with Richard than I did with my ex! Approximately.)

And that’s just talking about quantity. Quality, well, there’s no comparison. Richard is an incredibly thoughtful and creative lover and of course, finally recognizing my kink and having a kink-compatible lover makes a world of difference to my own interest in sex.

But. As Richard said in an earlier post, we are in a short-term period when he’s not supposed to have penetrative sex. Although two weeks reeeeeally doesn’t feel short-term right now.

He’s been using the time, as he said, to force me to masturbate to orgasm repeatedly. Evil creative genius that he is.

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Amy, unaware she is about to be fucked.

We’ve also cheated already, with the girl-on-top position. Not a favorite of either of ours, and Richard had never cum in that position. Before yesterday. Who would have thought that a guy could be so dominant in the “female superior” position? Here’s how it went.

We’re lying on the bed, taking a “nap”. We’re snuggling and kissing and Richard starts playing with my breasts. After about 30 seconds (really) he says “Get on top of me.”

I start to argue “This probably isn’t a good idea. We’re supposed to wait two weeks, you know.”

“Get on top of me. Now.”

He’s using the no-nonsense voice, so I get on top of him. I thought I’d have trouble, since we’ve only been playing for a minute or so, but the combination of pent-up desire and Richard’s no-nonsense voice has me wet and ready to be entered.

We both groan as he enters me. How could we have gone a week without this? It feels so sweet, so good I can almost taste it.

I move on top of him gingerly, concerned not to hurt him. He reaches up and cups my breasts in his hands. Then he begins to play with my nipples, and it becomes harder for me to control my movements. He is lying still, letting me do the work.

“Keep moving. Don’t slow down.”

His hands don’t leave my nipples for a second, the tugging reaches all the way to my cunt.

I can feel him moving gently with me. I let out another moan and, without noticing, slip a finger into my mouth. I’m sucking hard on it as I’m being fucked from below.

His hands leave my breasts and slide down to my hips. He begins to guide me up and down on his cock.

I’m trying hard to control myself. I really don’t think we should be doing this and I’m worried Richard will get hurt. But it’s getting harder not to buck and claw and bite. I fall forward onto his shoulder and steady myself by biting down.

He’s able to change where his cock hits inside me simply by changing where his hands hold me. He moves from my hips to my waist and then my lower back. Each movement is so intense I can’t stifle a moan or exclamation.

He’s getting harder and he’s fucking me deeper. I grip his shoulders with my fingers. Later, I notice scratch marks there.

After a few minutes his fucking gets more erratic and I can tell he’s close to cumming. His eyes are closed and his breathing is ragged. For a second I worry that he’s going to get hurt, and then I’m lost again in the sensations.

“Oh God. Fuck. I’m cumming. I’m cumming.”

He thrusts deep and empties his cum into me. It feels…indescribable.

Less than a week to go.

How I became a dominant man

I’ve talked about how a few short months ago I was pure vanilla. I didn’t know I was sexually submissive, and I didn’t know that people lived the fantasies that I only…well, fantasized about.

I started exploring D/s erotica online last May, and through that managed to stumble onto an online kink community. For the first few weeks I lurked on the boards, reading posts and learning. I still remember the first post I made; I was so nervous that my hands shook as I typed.

One of the first threads I read was a woman responding to a flamer – you know, the kind who writes eg “How could you let a guy hit you? You must be really fucked up if that turns you on!” She was so open, so thoughtful in her response. She talked about how long it took her to acknowledge her sexuality, not just to others but to herself. About how freeing it was to finally do so. She wrote about the complexities and contradictions in a D/s relationship, and the depth of feeling and connection possible within one. I almost cried reading it. It felt so good to know that other people had the same feelings and urges that I did. Maybe I was a freak, but at least I wasn’t the *only* freak out there.

As I became more comfortable posting, I would regularly end up in the same threads with this woman. We developed an ongoing joke – she would tease and torment me, I would cyber-spank her, she would plot to turn me bisexual. Silly.

Now I talk to her every day, and we email several times a day. We live across the country from each other, and we’ve known each other for less than a year, but she is my dearest friend. Megan almost singlehandedly navigated me through my first experiences a) as a member of an online community, b) dealing with the attentions of predatory domly types, and c) coming to terms with my sexual submissiveness.

Here’s the thing. She is the most emotionally intelligent women I know. She has the sharpest, quickest wit. She is tooth achingly sweet to everyone, and ferociously protective of those she loves. She is scary gorgeous – tall, blond, blue eyed, cheekbones that could cut you. She could walk into a room, and walk out five minutes later with anyone in the room, man or woman.

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She’s a slave.

I remember one of the first times we were talking on the phone. We were in the midst of a serious conversation when she suddenly interrupted me “Oh! I have to go! Master says it’s time for bed.”

My jaw dropped. This was not fantasy. This was not theoretical. Megan was living it. She was (is) a slave. She has a tattoo on her thigh that says “slave” in kanji.

I chewed on that for a few days. At this point, I still saw myself as a vanilla person who had kinky fantasies. But my beloved friend, my most trusted confidante, was a…slave. What did that mean?

I decided that it meant a couple of things. First, I finally got it that you can be kinky AND be normal. If that makes sense. Megan is reaaaally kinky. She’s also reaaaaally smart and reaaaaally competent and reaaaaally emotionally healthy. That suggested to me that *I* could be kinky, and also smart and competent and emotionally healthy.

Second, it meant that I was in a relationship (albeit a friendly relationship, not a romantic one) with a kinky person, and I was getting a lot out of it. More than in my non-kinky relationships (friendly or romantic). This gave me hope that I could have other relationships with other kinky people that were satisfying and fulfilling.

Megan gave me the courage, both by her example and by her daily support and encouragement, to take a chance with Richard. To be open enough to get to know him, then to meet him, then to move in with him. She didn’t give me blind support and encouragement – she asked me hard questions and challenged me to think through each of my decisions. But that, of course, made her support infinitely more valuable to me.

I could not be here now, so much happier and in love than I ever imagined I could be, without her love and guidance.

My precious friend, my dearest sister slave.

A new position for fucking

I awoke in the early morning, and found Amy sleeping in roughly the position below, except nude of course.
With my erection already pressed against her naked ass, it was a simple matter to swing up and straddle her extended leg, press the other up and out of the way to open access to her pussy, and then force my way into her as she woke up.

With lovely easy access to her breasts as well, I found I could hold onto her thigh for hard thrusting, or lean forward and seize a nipple between forefinger and thumb, and gripping it tightly, rest my weight on that hand.

The net effect of gripping her nipple is to basically pin her to the bed by her nipple. A little pressure on her shoulder, pulling her as if trying to roll her onto her back, stretches her nipple in the most wonderful way, and gets an instant reaction from her.

It took a little persistent thrusting to open up her pussy fully for a good hard fucking, since she wasn’t fully awake when I started, but once we were under way this turned out to be a wonderful position to fuck her in. Plus, I easily rolled her over and fucked her the exact same way as she lay on her other side.

We will do this again.

Going in BDSM full-time

I’ve been meaning for a while to talk about how Richard and I got together. I mentioned in an earlier post that we met online, and that we IMed for several months before we finally met in person. Originally we interacted in a very vanilla way, and I thought he was fantastic. He was so smart and funny and articulate.

But stepping back, the first time I saw his avatar (the small picture that is attached to a post), I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. His face – he was magnetic. I had a gut level, primal response to him. I wanted him.

We flirted for a month, showing up in the same threads on a BDSM board, teasing each other, dancing around a more personal connection. Tease, retreat, watch, tease, retreat.

After a month, after being teased to a frenzy, I emailed him. Still very light-hearted, flirtatious. I didn’t expect a response; I felt like a freshman girl making eyes at the quarterback. He was so gorgeous, so self-assured, so charming. Why would he be interested in me?

He replied almost instantly. I answered; he replied quickly again. I told myself that he was a very friendly person, that he was probably emailing many women at the same time, in the same way. I had butterflies in my stomach every time I checked my email.

It heated up quickly. I read through our old emails yesterday, in preparation for writing this, and was surprised at how often we wrote over the first two weeks and how soon we were talking about serious things.

We began talking on the phone after a week or so, then began IMing a couple of weeks later. At least a couple of hours a day, talking to each other and, as I said before, most of that talk pretty vanilla. Any “kink” talk was more…theoretical. A bit about what each of us liked, but more of Richard answering my questions, since I’d never had a D/s relationship.

Then, one day, I was IMing with a friend and Richard wanted my attention. He sent me an email commanding me to perform a specific task. At first I thought he was joking, and I sent him a cyber-kiss back and said I was IMing with my friend. He sent a stern reply, basically asking if I knew what happened to girls who didn’t do what they were told.

Wow. I can’t explain it. It was like the ground shifted under me. We had teased a little before, about chasing and spanking, etc. (He’d sign his emails “catch you soon” – it always gave me a little thrill.) This was different. He’d changed the rules. He was commanding me. He was treating me like a submissive, something noone had ever done before.

I said goodbye to my friend and got right on my task. He was pleased but still stern, because of my delay. I didn’t sleep much that night. I was on fire.

After that, we would still have long discussions and joke and tease, but always there was the underlying current of his dominance and my submission. He began demanding more of me, first pictures and then more of me on cam. It would be hard to overstate how shy about my body I was then and how unlike me it was to agree to this.

He was patient, but persistent. A little more every day, and I never hesitated when he commanded me. It never occurred to me. Occasionally I would get insecure or sad after a session – what is called “sub drop” – but we would talk through it and within a day I was back on track. Richard wrote about this happening recently in an earlier post. Both of us were surprised by how unhesitating I was in my obedience. I had always thought that, if I were ever lucky enough to be in a D/s relationship, I would be one of those bratty, sassy subs, always challenging my dom. No way. I’m too invested in being a good girl, and Richard is way too scary to disobey. Occasionally I fantasize about it, but even when I make noises about disagreeing I back down really fast.

During one email exchange at this time, I had asked Richard some questions about the logistics of us getting together. He replied that he needed to complete some things over the next few weeks and then he was coming to get me, to claim me. It gave me goosebumps. I replied jokingly that I had thought we were going to have a nice vanilla discussion about logistics. His reply: “We are done with vanilla”.

And we were. More than I knew. As I’ve said before, I had really thought of myself as a bedroom submissive, and expected to be my usual dominant, assertive self outside the bedroom. And I am in all other relationships, but not with Richard. I submit to Richard, always and in all ways. He is unquestionably my Master.

And yet. I have never had a partner who was this concerned about my feelings and needs, so willing to share in the work as well as the pleasure of a relationship, so much a partner. I can talk to him for hours, about everything from politics to child rearing to science to literature. We laugh about everything and tease each other unmercifully. Last night he put me in chains and then explored my body with his mouth and hands for two hours. I came again and again. A few nights before he gave me a full body massage. Slavery – I can live with this.

I was going to talk about our first meeting here, but this post is already getting long, so I’ll save that for a later post.