It was quite the experience shopping for toys for Him…knowing full well that I am the recipient of any selected toy. Picking your own torture device is quite the head trip! I told Him I didn’t think I was brave enough to purchases the most extreme toys, yet I found myself fascinated by them and wondering what they would indeed feel like.

I’d “wrapped” the gag with an undershirt I’d also purchased for Him. (He opened the undershirt gift first, then I asked Him to take the undershirt out of the box where He found the ball gag.) Interestingly, I was infinitely more comfortable shopping in the adult toy store asking, “Where are the ball gags?” than I was asking, “Where is the men’s underwear?” in the high-end department store.

He said He got hard just looking at it! He was a bit surprised this is what I got. I’ve always expressed an aversion to breath play, and early on in our relationship I shared how uncomfortable looking ball gags looked. I worried that I would panic and not be able to breathe.

That aversion has definitely been subsiding, though. I love burying my face into Master’s chest while He’s fucking me and feeling that moment of suffocation. I’ve grown more fascinated with ball gags while watching kink.com videos. I’d started fantasizing and longing for knowing what being fucked while wearing one felt like.

I went to the bathroom before He fucked me that day. As I wiped, I realized I was already sopping wet. He was hard, and I was wet…obviously we were both turned on by the thought of me being gagged!

I wondered how I would ask to cum while being gagged. Turns out, mumbling in the context of being gagged is quite understandable.

He warmed me up with some nipple play. He slapped my breasts hard, and I almost came just from that! I begged Him to let me cum, and He withheld permission momentarily. I wonder if I would have been punished for cumming just from having my breasts slapped. It took all of my energy to wait for permission.

With the gag on, I was surprised how quickly my level of surrender deepened. I felt myself open up to Him in a way and to a level I have not felt yet. I had the wherewithal to ask permission to cum as required but wave after wave of orgasm came over me. Instead of fearing being out of control, I relished the shift – where His movements and His commands controlled my body.

Interestingly enough, I have now been working out with a personal trainer for six months now. In the past couple of weeks, I noticed that I passed a milestone I didn’t even I know I’d hit, and that is I feel so much more in control of my body. I notice it when I walk, when I go to sit down and even when Master is fucking me. My strength to hold positions has greatly improved.

What’s even more interesting and curious to me is that just as I feel more in control of my body, I have a deeper experience of surrendering to Him.

In the early days of a D/s relationship, it’s playful and fun. “Oh, you want to tie me up! Sure!,” you agree and take your first baby steps into giving up control. The flush of tapping into a dormant, unexpressed part of yourself is exhilarating. It’s such a thrill you begin to think you’ve hit the pinnacle.

Play then evolves to be more intense. A skilled Dominant eases you into it. Nervous butterflies in your stomach create an illusory feeling of giving up control, when really He still needs to hear the word, “Yes,” to push your limits.

Pain starts equaling pleasure, and the line between the two is so blurry you start to wonder if they ever really existed separately. You plead, “Yes, I want to be your slave,” as you crave more intensity and more control.

Now, the “play” starts taking forms you don’t feel like in the moment. “I want to masturbate now!,” you say to yourself yet He’s pre-occupied with something else at the moment and not focused on granting you permission. You’re excited to have His cock in your pussy, but He wants to fuck you in the ass…and you don’t feel like it today. You want current life circumstances to be different than they are, yet He’s the one in charge of the path.

“But what about my needs?,” you cry to yourself as you punish Him with your silence, aloofness or lashing out. “He’s so selfish to not think of me!”

And then it hits you like a 2×4…who’s being selfish? Who’s the one who wanted to relinquish control? Who was the one who wanted to serve Him and His needs?

And then you realize that throwing a tantrum (even an internal one) is acting like a toddler. Maybe that’s an appropriate stage for a sub to go through on her way to slavery. But it would be just that – a stage…one that she needs to grow out of…

An e-mail I sent to Master sharing more of what was going on inside my head during sex recently…

So, I’ve been thinking about how to articulate the experience of crying yesterday during sex. Clearly, the pain from the one whip pushed me over into the crying territory. But the experience of having you fuck me in the ass is what pushed me into emotional territory.

As you lubed my ass, I worried about the fact that I have not stretched in a while. Would you just use your fingers? Or one of my toys? Or would you fuck me in the ass? If you did fuck me in the ass, would you go slow? Would you stop if it hurt? My mind was racing with the consequences of the possibilities…all with me just wishing you wouldn’t do anything with my ass at all.

And then you plunged into me…and it hurt…and you didn’t pull out knowing it did hurt. My mind was racing with, “Is this what I get for not keeping up my stretching?” I was going to say that out loud, but I knew that if I let any words out I would no longer be able to hold the crying in. I didn’t want to cry. I felt your weight on me, and your face pressing into my back. It was comforting and painful at the same time.

You then started moving your hips. The pain had mostly subsided, and I was relieved. As you fucked me, though, I just kept thinking how I didn’t want anal sex. I was anticipating and wanting sex with you, but I didn’t want to have anal sex with you today. I was having a very hard time reconciling those thoughts. You were fucking me – in a way – against my will. As much as I’ve asked you to break my will, I was now here in a place where my will was secondary…and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

I was desperately trying to hold in crying as you fucked me. As I sit with the feeling now, I ask myself why I didn’t let myself just cry. I realize it is because I didn’t want you to stop. As much as I was struggling with the idea that you were fucking me against my will, I didn’t want you to stop…and I didn’t want you to interpret my crying as a plea to stop.

Then you told me to turn over. As you started fucking my pussy, I went into a head space I can’t even describe. I was trying to hold back the tears, but they were a dam ready to burst. You observed that I seemed ready to cry, which I took as permission to cry. And with my next orgasm, I did…and I felt so out of control. I kept feeling like I had to explain myself, and I couldn’t. I wanted to let you know I wasn’t in physical pain, and I felt relief when you said, “You needed a release.” That gave me further permission to just let it out.

For as much as I struggled in those moments on the bed, I have felt quite calm and at peace since then, although I’m still digesting the experience. More than anything, I realize how in those moments where I was desperately holding it in and trying not to cry I was trying to control your reaction to me (i.e. not to stop) and in general to not surrender control. Seems to be a succinct summary of the larger pattern in my life of trying to hold in what’s inside in an attempt to control my outside surroundings…

He entered me without any foreplay. “You’re wet,” He said. Maybe it was from going to bed horny; maybe it was just the act of watching Him undress; maybe it’s just when I see Him, my body responds.

My first orgasm was quite the gusher. It ran down His leg and went outside the cum blanket I like to lay down to ease the washing requirements that come with being a squirter. I care about those things when I’m doing the laundry afterwards, but I really don’t care about them with Him inside me.

It’s not unusual for me now to have several (upon several) orgasms. Master counts them. I cannot keep track after the first one or two…I have lost all executive function after that.

I am required to ask to cum. I have messed up before and cum in the heat of the moment without asking. Nevertheless, I have a pretty good track record in the asking department. “May i cum?” gets repeated over and over again. Hearing His deep voice whisper, “Yes,” in my ear sends me right over the edge.

There comes a point, though, where it is not just multiple orgasms but truly one immediately after another. When this happens, it is like being on a roller coaster and just as I come over the edge of one, my body picks up momentum for the next one, and the next one and the next one. The sensation is very surreal. It has happened before, but this time was different.

I felt the roller coaster start. My body was letting go. I wanted to let go of any thoughts, and let His rhythm dictate my pleasure. I felt not only the tingling in my body but the butterflies in my stomach. I both cursed and welcomed asking permission to cum. Having to ask intruded on the flow. Yet it did help keep me from wandering into this unknown frontier. I lingered on that blurry edge between His control and my control, conflicted about letting go.

Now my clit is pulsing as I write this, and I crave getting back to that edge. That blurry edge can be frightening, and yet all I can think about is how to get back to that edge…and to surrender.

I giggle softly out loud as I remember turning to expose my neck to Him and asking Him to bite me. In response He gave me a peck on the cheek and paused – before sinking His teeth into me.

The smell of sex lingers. I inhale with my eyes closed, remembering His hot cum filling the back of my throat. I sucked His cock until right at the last when He started fucking my mouth. My own motions were incongruous with His until I stopped mine and focused on keeping my throat open and forming a sphincteral opening with my lips that allowed Him to use my mouth as He would my pussy or ass.

I lie in bed reflecting on the day before with my wrists crossed above my head as if He were holding them there Himself. I spread my legs instinctively. The cool air brushes my nipples as I imagine His lips and mouth doing the same.

I drift to sleep with a smile and think about how happy I am to be owned.

On the surface, it might seem very odd (especially to vanilla folks). I am a grown woman running her own business perfectly capable of taking care of myself. In fact, dependence of any sort has been something I’ve mostly avoided. I grew up with the message that dependence is bad and will only lead to hurt. So, starting to feel dependent on Master sparks anxiety and fear.

The thing I’m most tangibly dependent on from Master at this time is permission to masturbate; however, there could be many solutions to that for a week including asking permission before He leaves or simply knowing I can’t ask for a week (I’ve gone a week before, it’s not that long!). So, when the panic rose and I cited asking permission to masturbate as an example of my need to be connected, I knew that even as I uttered those words it was about something more.

This post from Sir J’s A Dominant Character blog helped me tremendously. Even though he was talking to dominants, I appreciated it purely from the submissive’s point of view.

Sir J talked about how “any separation from her owner will be painful.” I guess I think of separation anxiety in vanilla terms and beat myself up for having it. Knowing it is normal for a sub/slave was comforting.

Sir J also said, “You have your work, your entertainment and your friends; her world is you.” I heaved a huge sigh of relief upon reading this. I often feel a small part of His world (which I’m realizing I probably distort to be much smaller than it is). He does feel like my world, and sometimes the disparity jolts me. Again, though, that is looking at the D/s and M/s world through the lens of the vanilla world. When I shift my point of view back to our world, I appreciate my place in His world rather than wishing I was His entire world.

I’m not sure what I’ve been thinking as I move toward slavery, but I didn’t anticipate the feeling of dependence. It seems silly to write that out because wouldn’t that be core to the definition of slavery? My dependence on Him is highlighted in times of separation like this. I know where I’ll end up is an interesting mix of independence within dependence, but I realize I’m still struggling with them as being competing states rather than synergistic ones.

“No,” I swallow. Obviously not very good at hiding.

Sometimes my feelings can turn in an instant. It scares me actually. Probably scares Him, too…or at the very least catches Him off guard.

I feel like I’m in an emotional fun house where everywhere I turn there is some distortion or illusion to play tricks on my mind. I’m trying to keep my bearings and distinguish between what is in the present and what is the past intruding on the present. But sometimes I really can’t tell the difference.

I feel like I’m doing the right things: going to therapy, taking my medication, journaling, etc. Nothing, though, seems to be the right tool to extract this pain.

Master has known at a high level what has been going on – or an inkling I should say. Old habits of minimizing a pain I’ve lived with for as long as I can remember kick in. I share a little, but I haven’t shared more (until recently) for several reasons.

One is that I’m embarrassed. That might seem like an odd reason – to be embarrassed by my pain. There are many nuances that contribute to that embarrassment, but they all add up to embarrassment.

Another reason is that I’m angry. I feel like if I let it out that I will go psycho bitch on everyone around me. Years and years of anger are built up behind an arrow, and I’m afraid of letting go of the bow and forcing that pain on others.

The last reason is that I just feel hopeless. I’ve let this pain out before only to have nothing really change. What’s the use? It’s better just to keep it inside and try to figure out how to cope.

He inadvertently steps on these landmines. Present day events taking the energetic shape and form of my past. Here I am in the fun house. I can see the pattern. I’m aware enough to know what from my past is coming up. But that’s as far as I can separate the two. The feelings come up, the panic sets in and I want to run, hide, escape…anything to not be in pain.

I feel him pull back. He’s probably trying to give me the space to deal. I’m pulling away, but I want him near so when he pulls back the panic gets worse. I want him to take control of the situation, to pull me out of my corner and just not let me push him away. Don’t let me get away with it. Don’t let my petulance rule. Don’t let my distorted view win. Tell me what is real and what is not. Help me understand the difference.  In the absence of this, I’m left trying to interpret what is going on in your head and the situation that brought us here. In the vacuum of silence, I conclude that it is me who is broken and that however I reacted drove you away. I watch you move on, creating a life that doesn’t include me. I’m never out of the picture but always in the background. The pain hardens into beliefs that I’m not worthy, that I’m not lovable, that I’m not good enough. Throughout the years, I beg to find evidence to the contrary. My vision is blurred, however, and I see everything through the lens of this pain.

I spiral downward and land in the next, present moment. I have moments of lucidity. It’s in those moments that I decide to clam up. It’s not fair that He has to deal with all of this. I try to focus on us and the light He brings into my life. I try to use it as a beacon, something to get my bearings and stay focused in the right direction. The fog rolls in, though, and everything gets blurry again.

I remember the first time I saw his face. I’d been invited to the work holiday party for the job I was about to start. He was one of many people I did not know yet. (He didn’t end up being one of the interviewers.) He was there with his girlfriend. He caught my eye, but it was the briefest of moments…the kind of moment that we have many times over with any one person and think nothing of at the time.

A couple of years later, we were talking more. He seemed to go out of his way to talk to me. Again, one of those things one might not notice at first but then suddenly catches on that it is different than usual. I’d furrow my brow resisting wandering thoughts about him. No, he’s a co-worker. He’s just friendly. Back to work.

We went out for drinks. Tequila tasting. The fine stuff. He opened up a whole new world teaching me about the various types of tequila, the ones he’d tried, the ones we should try that night. Casual. People go out for drinks all the time. I had fun. We hugged good night. See you Monday.

He shared a newspaper article featuring another place that served fine tequila in the City. I glanced at it. It sat on my desk for a long time. Busy. I’m busy with work, you know.

He told me randomly one day that he had a dream about me. Another fleeting moment. What? That jarred me. Really? I’m not making this up in my head?!?

I finally returned the newspaper to him some weeks later with a note that said we should go and check this place out sometime. Before I could blink, the note was back on my desk with a reply that said, “Anytime.”

The whole time I was driving to meet him, I thought that I would have sex with him that night. It wasn’t a giddy, anticipatory feeling. It was a knowing…the kind of knowing that makes more sense in with the benefit of hindsight than it does in the circumstances of the moment. I told myself, “If it happens, great; if not, that’s fine, too.” It wasn’t about rational thought, though. It was more like a magnet…an attraction operating at a level that I had yet to comprehend.

That was fifteen years ago. Little did I know the man I was sleeping with that night was my Master.

I spent last weekend with some girlfriends. We got to talking about how we handle anger and other strong emotions. One friend observed that I never seem to get ruffled and that I’m so even keel. I just laughed because that is usually far from the truth and that my reaction on the inside and behind closed doors is not even keel.

Master knows the “not so even keel” side of me. Because I feel safe with Him, I tend to let out my feelings and vent. Sometimes all I need Him to do is listen; other times He can say things to calm me.

There is still a part of me, though, that gets scared and pulls inward. It might appear as stoicism to everyone around me including Master, although to Him it might appear more like lethargy. When I’m in this zone, I’m usually struggling to figure out how I’m feeling. The words don’t come (it can even be hard to journal). I’ll tell people I’m tired or something, but really I just want to fly under the radar.

Transparency is key to any D/s relationship. In many ways, being transparent with Master has gotten easier since being collared. In some ways, though, I’m still struggling. I tend to hold back when I haven’t figured out what my emotions are myself. I don’t think I can share them with Him if I can’t be fairly articulate about what they are.

Sharing my confusing emotions feels like a leap – a vulnerable leap. It’s hard to think of handing Him my raw emotions – not because I think He’ll do something hurtful with them but because it is ceding a level of control.

If I hold back and ruminate on things, then I have a chance to shape the clay of my emotions. By the time I share them with Him, I’ve already exerted a certain level of interpretation that controls what comes out. What I share may still be pliable and open to His input, but I’ve already started to shape it. Sharing my emotions with Him in those early, inarticulate stages is like handing him the ball of clay that is me – with no shape or form – just me.

It’s hard to think of giving up that kind of control when I’m caught up in the feelings, but it makes it easier when I start to see it as another level of surrender.

For as much as our culture promotes monogamy as the ideal relationship path, it is far from what we see. Even in the mainstream, the divorce rate and multiple marriages has created “blended” families by circumstance. Sex may not (or may) be involved with ex-spouses, but we can’t escape the new family dynamics this creates. Very few families embrace this fully and instead use the “ex” to beat each other up and create divisiveness.

I guess it was my own experience of a blended family that prompted my thinking about polyamory. My parents divorced when I was quite young, and it confused me. My dad often said, “I still love and will always love your mother”…yet, he was living with someone else and another family. I couldn’t make sense of it. I started fishing for a solution and wondered, “Why can’t both of these women/families co-exist equally?” It was a solution that started to make sense for me.

As a young adult shortly out of college, I met a man who was married. I felt so connected to him. We never had sex, but I guess you could call our relationship an emotional affair. We went out to lunch all of the time. We talked about our dreams and our goals. We spurred each other on and supported one another in taking steps and risks toward our goals. I was friends with him and his wife. I liked her. It was hard to reconcile the feelings I had for him and for her. My views on polyamory resurfaced. Why was it either/or? Why couldn’t it be both/and?

Year later, I did have a relationship with a man who was married. I considered him a really good friend…with benefits. I enjoyed sex with him, but I also felt a deep connection to him emotionally. He had this knack for calling me at the exact moment I needed it and supported me emotionally in many ways. I liked him a lot but I also knew from the beginning that he was not a man that I would marry or have any sort of primary relationship with. I never wanted more with him than what we had.

At one point he pushed me away and shunned himself for “being bad” and flawed for cheating on his wife. He said he regretted our relationship. I wrote in my journal afterwards that – while I didn’t want to hurt his wife/his family – I did not regret the relationship one bit. I cursed the fact that our society would try to tell me or him or his wife that our relationship lacked value or was somehow wrong when it fed me in ways that were important to me (and I’d suggest were important to him as well). How could anyone make that kind of judgment from the outside?

I still struggle with this idea, though. Is it really a solution to life’s complicated relationships? Even if it is embraced among those involved, it is still counter to cultural expectations. If you’re open in any way about this kind of relationship structure, you open yourself up to criticism from the outside. If you don’t share this part of you with others to avoid that criticism, then it feels like you’re hiding and squelching a piece of yourself. Neither feels very good…which makes me wonder…what is the solution?