Second thoughts about submission

As I said in my last post, my fears about Richard’s increasing aggressiveness were justified. Before we went to bed, he put me into leg chains for the night, “so I wouldn’t get away”. He woke me in the middle of the night as he unclipped one of my leg cuffs, then pushed my legs apart and entered me. I could tell from how wet I was that he had been playing with me while I slept.

I moaned, and he slapped a hand over my mouth.

“Shut up. Just fuck.”

I did what I was told. I could tell he was feeling very aggressive. Not good to argue with him at such times.

He fucked me for a while, moving his hands from my mouth, to my throat, to my breasts, and back again. Then he pulled out and shoved his cock in my mouth. His very hard, very large cock. I choked and he just pushed in deeper. Bastard.

He face-fucked me while I drooled and gasped and choked, and then he flipped me onto my belly, grabbed my hips and hauled my ass into the air. He kicked my legs apart and began to slam-fuck me. I could hear the leg chains, still attached to my right leg, rattle as he fucked me.

He grabbed my hair and wrapped it around his wrist and suddenly stopped, deep inside me.

“Where’s your collar?” he growled.

“Um. I don’t know. In the drawer?”

“Get it.” He pushed off me.

I jumped out of bed and starting digging through the dresser drawer in which my collar usually resides.

“It’s not here.”

“Well, where the fuck is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ll look in the bedside table.”

It wasn’t there. I could almost hear his annoyance.

“I just remembered! It’s in the bathroom.” I ran and got it.

He put it on, roughly yanking it closed. “What kind of slave doesn’t know where her collar is?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” (meekly)

Then he fucked me some more, and he was NOT gentle. When he was done, he put the second leg cuff on himself and said “Now you won’t be going anywhere.”

But he didn’t cum, so I knew I was in for it. I behaved like a saint all day yesterday, “Yes sir” and “No sir” about everything. When he said “Jump” I said “How high?” (Not really, my father used to say that lol.) We did a photoshoot, OUTSIDE with me NAKED, and I DID NOT COMPLAIN ONCE. I definitely earned the title “Good Girl” yesterday.

Jeez, I’ve done it again. I haven’t gotten to the part in the title, but I really have to do some work now. More later. Promise.

Advertisements

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.

My torture fantasies

We’re in San Antonio for a couple of days. For business, but I booked us at the closest hotel to the city’s annual Fiesta. Fiesta, as far as I can tell, is a giant street party (hence the name), with food booths and lots of beer and margaritas, carnival rides, and great bands. The atmosphere is remarkably like Bourbon Street in New Orleans, where we were just a few weeks ago on business, except for a larger Latino presence and more kids running around.

Richard has talked about enjoying exhibitionist women, and I’ve talked about being about as far from an exhibitionist as a woman can be. I decided that while we were here, away from home, I would try to be a little more relaxed about how I look in public.

This morning, as we dressed to go out for breakfast, I pulled my collar from the suitcase. Richard didn’t know I had brought it. I asked him to put it on me and his face lit up.

I wore it to breakfast. I wore it to the Alamo. I wore it along the Riverwalk. I only took it off when he wanted to take a picture to send to his family.

(Who wants to have THAT discussion? “Richard, your new girlfriend – she’s wearing a dog collar.” “Yes, Mom, that’s right.” “It’s a nice dog collar, but why would she wear a dog collar, Richard?” “She likes wearing a dog collar, Mom.” “Richard, does she eat Alpo, too?” etc)

Richard was teasing me when we were walking along the Riverwalk. We were in front of a big group of people, and he suddenly grabbed me by the waist and pushed me up against the wall of the underpass and kissed me passionately. I could see all of the people staring at us as they passed, so of course I flushed bright red.

He had been saying that he was going to make me take off my panties and give them to him, and a little later he pulled me into an overgrown area and raised his eyebrows. I was so scared he was going to make me take them off! But then he just laughed and pulled me back onto the path.

After we’d been walking for a while, I went into a public bathroom (with permission, of course). When I came out, I slipped my panties into the back pocket of his jeans. He was thrilled.

Later, I wore a VERY lowcut, red wrap dress to dinner, with matching strappy sandals. Richard was appreciative, as were some of the locals when we walked around the Fiesta site after dinner.

 

So, I’m doing my best. And he knows I’m doing my best, although I know he’ll keep having me do more. This is challenging for me, but it’s worth it when I see how much he enjoys it. Plus I’m expecting payback tonight (as soon as I get this posted hehe).

And I was forewarned. When I was looking through old emails a few days ago, I found Richard’s reply to me, when I asked him what it was he wanted to do when we got together (two weeks before we met for the first time). He said:

I want to fuck you, to torture you, to strip you naked and display you to the world and say you are mine.

Fair warning.

A good girl in the hands of a bad man

I sleep with danger.

She sleeps beside me now, breathing softly. A few moments before, she lay against me naked under the duvet, her head on my shoulder, one soft breast pressed against my chest, and one smooth thigh open and over my leg, her dampness pressed against me.

She laughs when I call her “dangerous.”

“You’re the dangerous one,” she tells me. “The Bad Man.”

Her innocence is charming. She sees herself as very boring, just another woman, nothing particularly shocking. Good at her job, a good mom who loves gardening and a good girl who has spent her life doing good things.

A good girl in the hands of a bad man.

“You just came across the room at me,” she said today, wonderingly. “You didn’t say anything, you didn’t kiss me, you didn’t touch me. You just entered me and started fucking me.”

Yes. This morning. She has it partly right, but not completely. Understandable, because she wasn’t there for all of it.

I took her to bed last night, both of us feeling distant due to work and family pressures. That afternoon we had walked on the beach, and she had wandered off when I stopped to photograph things.

I noticed.

I caught up to her, and told her to stay close.

After that, she stayed close.

We joked about putting a leash on her. She said I couldn’t use the training leads, there was a six foot minimum leash requirement. I said six feet would be long enough, and I intended to keep her on a shorter leash than that. She said people would not allow her to be on a leash. I was unconcerned. Funny, though. Let her wear a leather belt and no one would notice. Loop that same belt about her neck, and suddenly you get everyone’s attention.

Especially Amy’s.

“Ooohhh, just a little bit dangerous”

She has pushed off the duvet now. She lies on her belly, facing away from me. Naked from the knees up, the smooth curves of her ass just visible in the light from the laptop, a dark cleavage shadows her most personal entry point. I think briefly about fucking her ass.

I took her to bed last night.

We talked, as I held her from behind. After 10 minutes, she began falling asleep.

I began to play with her breasts. She whimpered. Tired, Amy needed to sleep.

We both need sleep. But we need something else more. As long as we have been together, Amy and I usually fuck several times a night. Some nights only once. I have no plan to fuck her tonight, but I intend to own her fully. We will see what happens.

To be honest, in the fog of exhaustion and arousal, I’m not entirely sure what happened. But two days ago, I made Amy masturbate, and she imagined me sitting in the chair in the bedroom making her fuck someone else, as I have threatened to do.

Amy doesn’t want me to make her fuck someone else. It scares her.

And yet she knows I want to use her, to make her fuck someone else, to be cunt, to obey every command.

She imagined me ordering her to fuck someone, directing her into different positions.

Amy continued to masturbate.

Then she came.

Hard.

She couldn’t confess it until the next day, and even then she couldn’t look me in the eye as she told me what her thoughts had been.

So now as I fuck my tired whimpering girl I take the fantasy deeper, and vividly paint a word picture as we fuck. I talk about her being forced to fuck someone else. About being used. About being wild.

I threaten to play with her tits while she fucks someone else, and Amy begs me not to do it. Play with Amy’s tits long enough, and, well…she loses control.

She goes wild.

Feral.

Dangerous.

She bites, she claws, she scratches. She loses the ability to form words, let alone sentences.

Amy fucks with her teeth sunk into my shoulder. I have many bruises left by her teeth, long rakes down my back from her nails. I wince often when I fuck her, when I have led her to the place of wildness.

She never remembers.

She looks at the bruises, the bite marks, the long scratches, and asks wide-eyed in the morning “Did I do that?”

Yes.

The last thing she says before slipping into that space, before the teeth and nails find my skin, is a whispered frenzied begging that I keep fucking her, that she’ll do anything I want, just keep my cock in her and “please please please keep fucking me.”

You turn around
so hot and dry
you’re hiding under a halo
your mouth is alive 

Her mouth is alive this time. As I fuck her and tell I will force her into a threesome, I let her suck my finger into her mouth, and she fastens to it like a slut on a cock, hungry to suck out the cum. Is it another man’s cock, in her mind? Or is it mine, as I make her fuck someone else? It’s all the same; when the time comes she’ll be lost in the fucking, and I’ve already told her I’ll make her like it, whether she wants to or not.

We fuck for a long time.

At last, she overheats. She whimpers to me that she can’t fuck any more, she’s too hot. I roll off her, and turn on the fan, and lie back down beside her.

We both breathe hard.

Her body is slick with sweat, and she’s claustrophobic and overheated.

I am not done with her.

I kiss my way down between her legs, and lie there, my mouth nudging along her thighs and pussy. I tell her I will do this to her when I want to get her ready for a stranger to fuck.

She gasps a little. I begin to caress her puffy damp lips with my mouth. I’m not sure where she is, in her mind, but as she cools in the blowing air, I hear her cry out and coo, holding her breath and releasing it. Her belly tightens, her thighs flex and her pussy at times rises up to meet my mouth as I tease her.

Eventually, one hand with delicate fingers finds its way down to rest just inside her hip, near her bikini line, if she wasn’t plucked bare.

She wants to masturbate.

She needs to cum.

I tell her to masturbate while I straddle her, playing with her breasts, telling her how perfect her tits are.

I know her nipples are sore by now.

I know hurting her nipples can make her cum.

I hurt her nipples.

“she’s got what it takes to make ends meet
the eyes of a lover that hit like heat “

I know she is close to cumming. Her whole body is tense, and her hand makes the familiar sound between her legs.

Her body thrums.

I play with her swollen breasts, then I say to her, “God, imagine how sore your tits will be after you’ve had to satisfy TWO men playing hard with them.”

She cums.

I’m over her, and I immediately slip my cock into her.

All nerve endings, she fucks now like the wild woman I love, all claws and nails.

We fuck now, until exhaustion slows me. I pull out of her, and hold her in my arms, too tired to cum. The bed sheets are somewhere on the floor.

I hold her firmly in my arms, locked.

She asks for water.

I tell her “No,”

Her body slumps. I straddle her naked body, open the water, and fill my mouth. Then I kiss her, letting it flow into her. She takes it eagerly. I give her more.

I tell her I can’t cum right now, but I will fuck her after I get some rest, and I will cum in her then.

We sleep.

I awake a few hours later, and slide my cock into her from behind. Her pussy is very wet, and I force my way in easily, and fuck her from behind, and from above while she lies on her side, but it’s too soon. I’m still too tired to cum.

I let her drift off to sleep again.

I lie awake beside her.

An hour drifts by.

I hold her from behind, my hand cupping her breast. I shift, letting her soft nipple slide between my thumb and forefinger. Her nipple gets firm in moments. The slightest touch arouses her nipples; it always does.

Amy is still asleep.

I lay her on her back, gently, and begin to suck her nipples.

Amy is unresponsive.

Normally, she would be writhing and begging, or trying to get away, as having her nipples played with drives her into extreme arousal, but she is too lost in sleep. I enjoy the opportunity, and alternate sucking her hard nipples. I am thrilled, and grow very hard.

I seize my sleeping girl’s hips, and drag her startled into the center of the bed and open her thighs. I have my cock in her as her eyes are opening wide in surprise, and I fuck her.

Her breasts press against my chest. I can feel her wet nipples, still firm and slippery, against my body as my cock sinks home.

I imagine making her fuck someone else, a wicked, delicious pleasure that I have still forbidden myself to explore, and I spill myself in her belly, and come to rest in an exhausted slump as Amy holds me.

“Hold on tight
you know she a little bit dangerous”

She still doesn’t think she is dangerous.

I tell her, “Imagine a woman that you can do anything you want to. Explore any desire. Make her do anything. And, imagine that what this woman wants is to do these things, to do whatever she is told, to give up all control to the man who commands her. This woman is dangerous. A man could destroy himself, with a woman like that.”

That woman is Amy.

Before we got together she had some concerns – she didn’t want to be branded, tattooed, or made to fuck anyone else. She agreed she would do them if commanded, but felt that they could be emotionally damaging to her. I decided then that I had to take the responsibility of not exploring these things that I liked, for her protection. And she laughed when I said I would make her my anal slut, or that someday she would beg to be physically disciplined.

She believes now that I can, and will turn her into an anal slut. That she admits. She also admits that she would enjoy being branded or tattooed because it would please me. And while she doesn’t want to fuck anyone else, being forced to do it to please me is hot. And she has already asked for spankings.

So where do I take her now?

I have thought also of making her pregnant. Not in a loving, check to see if she is ovulating, let’s get the timing right kind of way, but taking her, forcing her thighs open, and spilling my sperm within her as she begs and whimpers. Making her have my baby.

Can I resist the pleasures I have set aside? I can take Amy down wicked paths to dangerous places. But there is risk. I can’t promise safety. All I can promise is adventure. But she is more than willing now to go wherever I lead. I begin to imagine her now with the pleasures I forbidden myself to explore, for fear of damaging her.

I can see her now, branded, tattooed, pregnant with my baby and lying beside me naked in bed with another man’s cum still held between her lips.

Oh, and I see her content.

Sleeping peacefully.

“Hold on tight
you know she a little bit dangerous
she’s got what it takes to make ends meet
the eyes of a lover that hit like heat
you know she’s a little bit dangerous
she’s armed and extremely dangerous…”

I am the Bad Man.

I like to do bad things to my good girl. I like to make my good girl do bad things.

My good girl is learning to love everything I do to her; everything I make her do.

She turns over and pulls the duvet under her chin. I slide my hand underneath and play with her nipple. It hardens, and I see her hand slide down to her pussy. She is not awake, but she holds her pussy. Her breathing is slow and deep. In a few moments, I will finish writing, and I will fuck her. She has no idea, but she will be whimpering and begging very, very soon. She will tell me that she will do anything, just “please please please keep fucking me.”

Afterwards, I will fall asleep.

With a woman who loves me to force her to do anything I can imagine.

And as she lies innocent and completely obedient, I will know what she does not.

I sleep with danger.

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.

hiddendirtysex-shoot2

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.

Orgasm denial for my girlfriend

I had fucked Amy like a stranger in her chains the previous evening, and didn’t let her cum, despite her obvious need.

In the night, I removed her chains, and when morning came, began to play with her again. I fucked her from behind for what seemed like a gloriously long time, then flipped her onto her back so I could make her masturbate. I like her to cum while masturbating, then I enter her still pulsing body to finally empty myself into her as well. Amy is a delicious fuck while she is in the afterglow of orgasm.

This time, I forced her to masturbate, and knew that her frustration from the night before would make her need intense.

I whispered in her ear as she masturbated, and played with her nipple roughly, and ordered her to play with herself.

I could feel a difference today – she was very aroused, but some sort of frustration was holding her back, keeping her from cumming. She kept coming sooooo close, and then losing it, and then finding it again and sending herself close once again.

I love watching Amy masturbate, I love feeling her movements, but I wanted to fuck her now. I was tired of her masturbating, and I wanted in her. I took her hand, and pushed it harshly to one side, and moved between her legs. Amy cried out in frustration, but I entered her, and began fucking her. She whimpered, and I could feel how much she wanted to cum, but instead I fucked her, came in her, and then I was finished with her.

She can cum later.

Maybe tomorrow.

I got chained by my master

I came in from work this evening, showered and changed into a sarong. Richard likes me wearing just a sarong, tied around my hips, when I’m at home. He put on my collar.

Later I tied on my new jingle skirt (I call it) that I use for belly dance class. I looove how it sounds when I move.

Then Richard brought out some new toys that he got yesterday. (He wouldn’t tell me what they were and I have been squirming about it for 24 hours straight.)

First he put on my leather wrist restraints, and locked a chain between them. He gave me enough slack to work on my laptop. (Thank you, Sir.)

He put on new ankle restraints, and locked a slightly longer chain between them.

He locked a short chain onto the front of my collar.

He sat back to look at me, reached out and grabbed my collar chain, pulled me to him with a growl and kissed me roughly.

“It’s a short leash. I like you on a short leash.”

bdsmcouple-amy-underboobs

He handed me the packaging from the locks and told me to throw it away in the kitchen. The leg chain didn’t stop me from taking normal steps, but it was easy to trip on, so I had to walk very slowly and carefully. He watched me the whole way there and back.

When I came back, I curled up against him. I was a tiny bit scared he was going to make me sit at his feet. I was already feeling a bit overwhelmed by my chains, and when I’m feeling nervous or insecure I like to be as close to him as possible. So I nuzzled up against his chest quietly and hoped. But I think he was too happy looking at me and hearing me jingle to make me sit on the floor, so I’m still up on the couch.

Occasionally he reaches over and pulls me to him by my leash, then kisses me or fondles my breasts. I’m so happy to be next to him.

The only thing marring my happiness is the nipple clamps sitting in a heap on the coffee table. I’m hoping he’s forgotten about them…

I am his slave

One last look, for the moment, at the word slave, with definitions found through Google.

“Noun

1. slave – a person who is owned by someone

2. slave – someone entirely dominated by some influence or person;

“A person who is held in bondage to another; one who is wholly subject to the will of another; one who is held as a chattel; one who has no freedom of action, but whose person and services are wholly under the control of another.

“One who has lost the power of resistance; one who surrenders himself to any power whatever; as, a slave to passion, to lust, to strong drink, to ambition.”

As you have seen before in a post by Amy, she has some real problems with the word “slave”, and isn’t comfortable with the very harsh reality of slavery, as contrasted with the kind of relationship that we have.

I’ll leave it to you to decide your own feelings about the word “slave.” There is enough flexibility in the various definitions for me.

I see a state of mind.

Namely, that Amy has lost the power of resistance, has surrendered herself, and is entirely dominated and owned.

Works for me.

“A slave has no choice” African Proverb

How can I treat her like an object and still love her?

A rough morning yesterday for Amy. She’s been trying to imagine how one can be property, an owned possession, and still be loved. Her thinking is that you can’t be in love with something that you treat as chattel, and so she ended up feeling very vulnerable and in tears worried that I couldn’t love her, and own her as well.

Complicated. How do I treat her like an object, and yet still love her?

If I control her fully, can she still willingly choose to love me?

Good questions.

Even better: how can I love her, and yet deliberately cause her physical pain, for my own enjoyment?

Fortunately, I am pretty comfortable not trying to define this sort of thing. It seems like trying to warp an extraordinary relationship into the confines of a typically mainstream relationship.

I approach it like this: I love her, and with her as a partner seek to explore the natural extremes of dominance and submission in us both.

I’ve been with partners who did not want to be dominated. Emotionally, I couldn’t go to places as intense with them, because we stayed closer to the risk free boundaries of the mainstream. I always assumed that I could not do the extremes of domination with a partner I loved, because that love would preclude any desire to force, or hurt them.

Such is not the case.

hiddendirtysex-masochistbound-300x218

I enjoy forcing Amy.

I enjoy forcing her to accept sensations, both pleasant and unpleasant. I find security in knowing that she will let me choose what I want, and that she will find her pleasure in knowing that I am satisfied.

For Amy, as she has told me, she loves knowing that she doesn’t have to make sure I am pleased; that she doesn’t have to worry about guessing what I want, or fretting over whether she has done what I want. I tell her what I want. No sugar coating. And she does it. She does it, or there are consequences.

The consequences are important. Knowing that there are consequences lets her obey without questioning, because the penalties for non-compliance are worse than complying in the first place. As I tell her, “You can obey immediately, and with a smile, or you can obey upon reflection, ruefully rubbing your chastened ass. Either way, you will obey.”

Her nature is to obey me. I have not seen deliberate disobedience from her.

But I still hurt her.

I like to hurt her.

To take away her air, to spank, to slap, to cause her pain in all kinds of delicious ways lets me dominate her all the time, because she knows that I am quite willing to hurt her for my own pleasure, so to hurt her for a punishment for disobedience is not going to be a problem for me.

Amy is not a masochist. She hates pain. She does like the feeling she gets after I hurt her though, an emotional security of feeling owned, that I will do what I want with her, and not simply play at dominating her.

I am a sadist. I have been with masochists, and found it less than compelling. Why hurt someone that wants to be hurt?

I have no interest in hurting random people. I only want to dominate, to hurt the woman I love. I am not interested in the bdsm lifestyle some choose of multiple “slaves”, for example. I am entirely focused on dominating Amy, and making her mine.

Isn’t that a fairly mainstream desire? Making her mine?

Isn’t that what most people talk about doing in a relationship?

I want to make Amy mine. I do it two ways, by giving her both pleasure and pain.

And thus I own her. The same as any member of a couple owns the other, in their relationships. They just usually bond through pleasure, perhaps. Amy and I bond in additional ways. These are ways that suit us. They do not suit everyone. But the bond I suspect is much like the bond of love that binds any couple to each other.

Again, I don’t need to really define what Amy and I do with each other, although it is fun to try. I just love us together, in all our infinite variety and passion.

Am I a slave?

A year ago, I didn’t know about BDSM.

I had fantasies about being controlled, of being owned. But lots of women have those fantasies. I knew that people have fantasies that they would not really want to happen in real life – like rape fantasies, for example – so I assumed that this was the case with my fantasies. In fact, saying I “assumed” this suggests that I gave it more thought than I actually did. I just masturbated to my fantasies and let it go at that.

It boggles my mind that I am now in a 24/7 D/s relationship. And it’s getting more D/s-ish every day. And sexier.

When Richard and I started talking together online 6 months ago, I had been exploring BDSM online for a couple of months, reading erotica, visiting online communities, checking out blogs, etc. I thought I’d figured things out. I was a bedroom submissive, which meant that I found it erotic to be dominated sexually. Outside the bedroom, I was and expected to continue to be very dominant and outspoken in my work and personal life.

This pattern of submissive in the bedroom and dominant outside seems to be quite common. I’ve seen many online posts and discussions about successful career women who submit only to their romantic partner and only sexually.

I was just thrilled to know that there were men who wanted to dominate me! I had thought, and apparently this is quite a common misconception among submissive women, that everybody *really* wants to be submissive. I assumed I would have to “take turns”, if I were lucky enough to find a partner who was open-minded and willing to experiment in the bedroom. You cannot imagine the thrill I felt when I realized that I could be in a relationship where I got to be the lucky one (ie the submissive) every time!

Anyway. Neither Richard nor I were interested in a Master/slave relationship, each of us for different reasons. In his experience, M/s relationships tended to devolve into the M being a “service top” to the s. In other words, the alleged Master was actually serving the sexual fantasies of the alleged slave. An example of this would be a slave being sassy or disobedient, to manipulate Master into “punishing” her/him in some delicious way. A little of that, as light-hearted roleplay, might be fun. But it’s kind of the antithesis of slavery for the slave to control the relationship dynamic so blatantly, yes?

To me, as I said before, it seemed unrealistic for me to be anything more than a bedroom submissive. Furthermore, I had a lot of trouble with the word “slave”. Slavery really happened, and continues to happen in some parts of the world. It’s not sexy for the real slave. I would NOT want to be a real slave.

In contrast, how I feel about Richard is very real. I love him, I adore him, I worship him, and I feel extremely submissive to him. I want him and only him to control me. I want him and only him to dominate me. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. I don’t want to put a fake label on these very real feelings.

But what kind of name can I put to our relationship? What am I? I am now comfortable saying Richard owns me. But am I a slave?

The word is becoming more and more comfortable to me, as my submission becomes deeper and deeper and as his control over me grows. I wonder… where we’ll end up, who I will be, as the journey continues.