Yesterday, after writing my exhausting blog on BDSM Identity Crisis, I spent the rest of my day in a funk. I was sad, blue, and gloomy. My husband would never Dom me consistently and I would never be fulfilled. Ba Humbug and the like.
He got home and read the blog. We had dinner (he did BBQ chicken, corn, and potatoes, yum!) and talked about our days. He read the blog again while I read my book. I didn't want him to be mad about what I'd written. I told him writing is just a way for me to express things that I couldn't express otherwise.
Well, a little later, something changed. He turned to me and said, "This is what we're going to do." His voice had changed. It was stronger. He sounded firm and .... bossy.
Something in me, that feminine part of me that yearns to be dominated, was struck. Immediately, defense mechanisms flew into place. I was not going to be hoodwinked into temporary, pretend Dominance again! I want it too much and it hurts too much to lose it. Illogically, I fought hard against the very thing I said I wanted.
I went straight into "child mode." I wouldn't look at him. He took my chin in his hand and refused to keep speaking until I made eye contact. "Look at me," he said, his voice deep and commanding. I whined, whimpered, and tried (childishly) to bury my head into my shoulder. "Look at me," he kept repeating. Finally, I did.
"This is what we're going to do," he said confidently. "You're going to change clothes, do your hair, and we're going to go shopping. You have 15 minutes."
Well, I love shopping. But every part of me was fighting tooth and nail to not be dominated. I stayed in childlike mode. "No!" I whined (I'm surprised I didn't stamp my foot.) "I don't want to go shopping! I can't get ready in 15 minutes! I'm too tired! It's not enough time! You can't boss me around! You didn't even ask me what I wanted to do!"
Luckily, he rose to my unspoken challenge. He confidently told me, "Now you have 14 minutes. You're wasting time."
I kept whining, throwing every reason possible at him. He ignored them all and kept counting down the time. "You have 12 minutes left," he said calmly.
Huffing, I flounced to the bathroom and got ready, still pouting and whining under my breath. In my mind, I decided I would get ready too slowly and be a minute or two late. He would never notice, not punish me, and I would win. Inside, I was excited and happy he was doing this. But I wasn't through testing him yet. (I guess I was in a really bratty mood!)
We got ready and I did my hair and makeup. As I did, I started feeling better already. No wonder I'd been so mopey, sitting around the house in my PJs with no hair and makeup done. I turned before my eyes into an attractive young woman, someone my husband could be proud to take out. I childishly wanted him to be happy with me, to think I was pretty. Still, on the outside I pouted. "What are you going to do to me if I'm not ready?" I challenged.
"For every minute you're late, I'm giving you 10 spanks," he replied calmly. I thought about that for a minute. I wanted to push him more and test him, but he was being strangely confident. I was afraid he would actually do it, and I don't like being spanked. I decided I could let him win this one.
Ten minutes later, I was ready and in the car. I was dressed and looking the way he wanted me to. I was excited I was getting dominated, but my face still wore a pout and I was still tes0ting my limits. Would this new domination last? Or would I be able to push past him and "win"? Much as I wanted him to win, I didn't want it to be an easy fight. Like a true brat, I wanted to test his resolve. Would he insist on getting his way no matter what? I got poutier and poutier thinking about it, but I loved it. The relaxation of being told what to do... not having to make decisions... of knowing you're pleasing because you're wearing exactly what he told you to and doing exactly what he wants. Ahhhh happiness.
He put me in the car with the air running and walked to his car. He returned with one of my favorite headbands, a black sparkly thing with a huge crystal flower on it. "This was in my car, and I want you to wear it today," he told me, still sounding firm and calm and terribly sexy. I decided (sigh) to test this one, too.
"Whyyyy??" I whined, my lower lip actually sticking out.
"Because it will look pretty, and I want you to wear it," he said. Yum. I was getting everything I wanted. My clit gets tight remembering his confidence now, a day later. But was it real? Or some facade for my benefit after the blog? I pushed more to find out.
"You can't make me," I whined petulantly, sounding for all the world like a spoiled little girl and not like the educated, professional woman I am. "What will you do if I don't?"
In a voice firm as the earth, he said decisively, "If it's not on by the convenience store, I'm turning this car around and giving you 25 hard spanks." Part of me wasn't sure he meant it, but part of me was afraid he was. He seemed so... sure. I'm not used to such decision from him, but today he had it. Even on small things, like my clothes and what headband to wear, he had orders and he was going to get them carried out. If he had shown weakness, or not threatened to punish me, I would have pushed more. As it was, I whined and pushed the thing on my head. I was torn between a feeling of "unfair!" and "Oh yessss finally." I loved it but I hated it. He turned, saw the headband perched atop my hair, and laughed maniacally. He had won, and we both knew it.
He let me pick where we went shopping, and he held my hand. Instead of taking it like he normally does in public, like a vanilla husband, he took it possessively, like he owned me and was parading me around for his pleasure. I shivered inside with happiness. It is often a problem in our BDSM relationship, that I want to be bossed around on all the small, tiny things that happen all day, whereas he only wants to enforce the big things. To me, having my choice taken away on all the millions of small things a day is a heavenly release. I have an anxiety disorder in the worst way, and even small decisions like what to do, what to wear, how to wear my hair, and how to serve him a beer worry me. When he commands me a certain way to do it, and punishes me when I don't obey completely, that takes so much worry and anxiety out of my life. I can melt into his strength and have those decisions taken care of for me. It's like a guarantee that I'll be pleasing, since I'm doing exactly what he says. What a relief!
We went shopping, and he didn't do anything terribly bossy. He let me pick the stores and what clothes to wear, but he also was involved and picked out a few pieces he wanted me to try on as well. He carried my bags and paid for my purchases. I thanked him. When I was tired, he led me back to the car, opened all my doors, and started the engine. We drove around forever, trying to find a tropical snow stand. We finally found one. I let him order for me (Tiger's Blood, medium) and pay for us both. I love when he orders for me at restaurants and stores. It makes it clear to everyone that he is in charge, and it takes so much anxiety off my shoulders when I don't have to deal with strangers. It was a beautiful summer night, and I was happy.
I started getting a bit cocky, since he hadn't done anything overtly "dominating" for a few hours. I thought perhaps he'd slipped back into regular vanilla space for us. I got mouthy and hit him. Immediately, he grabbed my hand and pushed hard into the pressure point where my sunburn is. None of the families around us had a clue what just happened, but I was adequately punished. I smacked him again, and he did it again. Still trying to "win," I smacked him and then quickly hid my hand. I thought he would give up eventually and stop trying to punish me if I could wear him out.
He didn't.
Finally I had to give in. I sulked a while, and my hand hurt, but I loved it. I felt so controlled and loved. He hadn't let me get away with anything, even when it was difficult and more work for him. I felt boundaries closing in on me and relaxed. We enjoyed our Tropical Snows and the beautiful weather. We drove home and finished them on the front porch, then went inside.
We read a bit of an article I like that describes the 5 levels of subspace. We talked about me in subspace... first I get defiant, then whiny, then obedient. Once I hit the dreamy, obedient stage, he knows I'm in subspace. I hadn't been there in so long, maybe a year, and I missed it! It is so relaxing and wonderful. I told him I felt he never let me stay there long enough before bringing me out. In that mindset, I feel so needy and clingy it is ridiculous. He is my world and what he thinks is all I care about. I am deadened to pain and feel completely relaxed, almost disengaged from my body. I want to please him. I am nothing but relaxation and horniness and submission. He said that he's noticed when I get there, I don't speak, and can only handle yes or no questions. I guess that is true, because I just get so dreamy.
There is a spot on my neck that makes me relax and slip into subspace. Having it bitten or sucked makes me limp, like those tigers you see on the nature channel who bite the back of the female tiger's neck to keep her submissive while he takes her. He bit me there, again and again. I moaned and I lay there. I started to worry I would get annoying or too heavy, laying there with all my weight in his arms, head hanging off to the side.
He picked me up and pushed me against the wall. He kept biting me, and I was afraid to let go and slide to the floor. I didn't want to annoy him, so I tried to keep enough presence of mind to stand up straight. He bit me, kissed me, and savagely pushed me against the wall. I moaned and moaned. He pushed his knee up into my groin and I felt myself get wet all over my panties and pants. I longed for him to dry hump me there against the wall. I wanted it so much I was whimpering, but I didn't have the words to tell him what I wanted.
The rest of it is a bit of a hazy blur for me. We went into the bedroom, where I slipped out of my clothes and lay there, expectant, feeling the cold sheets bite sharply into my skin. He joined me and bit me some more. My neck started to get tender and it started to hurt in a bad way, jolting me out of subspace instead of sending me further in. He stopped and started touching my body. He rolled me over and fingered me from behind, with me laying flat on my stomach. Ohhhhh. He touched a spot deep within me, it was so wonderful it was almost too much, and I thought I would die if he kept doing it. Which he did. I spasmed around his fingers, and he kept pushing into me. I was his. Oh, I was his.
We finished off with the vibrator, which was good but not as wonderful as his fingers inside me, stroking me into oblivion. Nothing beats the emotional pull of skin-on-skin contact. I lay there, trembling, and he held me for a while before commanding me to give him a hand job. I did, even with my sunburned hand, because I was so hazy and deep that the whole thing seemed a blur. It seemed to take him forever, but finally he came, and we washed up and headed to bed. I was worried for a bit that he was bored with my orgasm and that's why he wanted one, but he told me it wasn't because he wanted one, but because he wanted to see me give him one. That made me feel even more controlled and dominated, and I drifted to a happy sleep, where I had dreams that we were having sex and I was grinding on his cock, always wanting more.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'd like to order more of that, every day, all the time. Domination = happy sub. Thank you.
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