Doing that assignment, I learned (and Master learned) that I had this fear of not being able to breathe. I had the strongest reactions to those pictures that showed the women with their mouths covered. At the time, it seemed that breath play might be a hard limit.

Over the past several months, I’ve had the experience of having my face buried in Master’s chest while he is fucking me. I just started naturally pressing my face against his flesh, creating the sensation of my breath being cut off for a moment. Master noticed this one day and noted the shift in my desire. It’s something that has just been incorporated as harmony to our usual, sexual melody.

Lately, though, I’ve really wanted Him to smother me…to have that sensation of not being able to breath for more than a moment. In fact, I asked Him today, “Please smother me and tell me when to cum.”

He commented, “I thought you didn’t like breath play,” with that devilish smile on His face. Without further words, He covered my mouth and nose…and made me cum.

My perspective on breath play is indeed very different now, although I’m not sure it is a newfound interest in breath play in and of itself. I certainly like that sensation of not being able to breathe for a moment (or two or three), but more than anything I like the idea and the feeling of being at His mercy.

In an attempt to control the world around them, most people will hold their breath (and make it very shallow). I know that for me I definitely hold my breath when I am trying to hold back saying something (anger, hurt, sadness, etc.). It’s not a conscious decision, but certainly a reaction borne of not trusting how life is unfolding in that particular moment.

When I think of Him controlling my breath I start to feel a deeper sense of surrender. In a moment like that, I don’t get to decide anything. There is no stop along the way in my brain where I think, “He told me to do something, now I am going to do it.” It’s controlling me at the most basic, survival level.

I close my eyes, and I imagine Him grabbing my throat to strangle me. I look up into His eyes with a “take me, I’m willing” look. He squeezes until I cannot breathe. Instead of panic overtaking me, I imagine trust flowing from me. I will breathe again…at the moment of His choosing.

—————
Try and describe what your most fargoing fantasies are about. Think about them first – don’t mind whether or not they are realistic, feasible, just fantasy or something that you would really like to see happen, just let your mind wander off and describe what really turns you on.

Well, since discovering/acknowledging my own submissiveness, I would say my most fargoing thoughts have been around being a complete and total slave. I’ve noticed that sometimes when I am feeling overwhelming stress or out of control in a situation, my thoughts sometimes turn to being a slave locked up in Master’s “dungeon” and completely at his mercy (sexually and otherwise). Knowing my own desire for achievement and independence though, I realize that is mostly a fantasy. I have, however, expressed a modified fantasy to Master of being locked up in his house for a weekend. He comes and goes as he pleases while I am bound and waiting for him – ready to please him whenever he chooses.

As I think about my own independence and ambition, my fantasies take a turn. This time I am not a complete and total slave – I am a sexual slave. By day, I am a strong, independent, accomplished leader who’s well-respected and well-known. In business and most personal interactions, I am the one who has a commanding presence and I (seemingly) am the one in control. Yet, what everyone doesn’t know, is that my control lies completely with a Master. He can command me at any moment to do his will sexually. I may get a phone call, message, or whatever with instructions that I must carry out immediately. Master and I experimented with this fantasy a little while back where for 1 week I was restricted from masturbating except when he said I was allowed to. My permission to do so could come at any time (and it did!). If I was not able to masturbate when he said I could (because I was in a meeting or something), then I would miss my opportunity and would have to wait (and suffer from the build-up of sexual tension!). This taste of power exchange left me hungry for more.

I fantasize that the permission or instructions are not just around masturbating. Perhaps he asks me to sleep with another person (man or woman)…maybe he asks me to sleep with one of his friends – or one of my friends…maybe it is to approach someone while we are out together while he observes…maybe he asks me to wear a remote-controlled vibrator that he controls…maybe ??? – it could be anything sexual.

As for specific sexual fantasies, it would probably be easier to list things I’m not interested in trying rather than things I want to try. Basically, I’d like to continually experiment and try new and different things. I do remember that as I was growing up, I fantasized about my husband being someone whom I never got bored of sexually. I wanted to find a person who wanted to try as many things as I wanted to. It was also hard for me to imagine sex not being an integral and ever growing part of our relationship – by which I mean I see so many couples start off in the “honeymoon” phase where they can’t keep their hands off each other, but they eventually get caught up in their lives and beginning families that sex is occassional/rare/not as exciting, etc.

I guess the last fantasy that I can think of right now is around being an object. I imagine myself belonging to a Master who spends much time training me and teaching me new things. He then shares me (or even “rents” me) to people he knows to show them how wonderful I am and to give them a time they will never forget. Even as I’m being passed around, fondled, used, etc., my Master always owns me and I know I belong to him.

I wake up with a low grade anxiety (although I’m sleeping OK). Master feels far away right now, even though he’s not really. We played Word with Friends this morning and exchanged a quick message about a game that just finished. He’s here, in my life and has never gone away, despite the times I push him away.

My eyes well up with tears…every time we’ve expressed that we’ve been on the verge of ending our relationship (i.e. no contact – I’m done), it’s been because I pushed. I expressed that my needs weren’t being met, and he gets to the point where he says what else can he do. My biggest fear is that he’ll go away and I push him to that point and he thinks about it but never does.

This is what happens…I explode and then I get to this point…where I feel incredibly guilty…guilty for all I put him through (or anyone through, really). I just want to curl up in his arms and say, “I’m sorry.” If only sorry were the magic word to make all this fear go away.

I just read kaya’s latest blog entry. She mentioned that her Master is traveling, and they are not in contact very often at the moment. When they do talk, he sounds displeased. She talked about her usual reaction to his displeasure (which goes to almost non-functioning), and how he needs her to function, especially while he is away. She ended the passage, “Who wants to own a bitch, right?” Yes, who wants to own a bitch.

All he’s ever asked of me, really, is to take care of myself. To treat myself with the respect and care that I want for myself. To offer Him the best of me. And I twist that around in my head to mean he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want me, that I am no good, that I am not worthy, that I am less than <insert some external measurement>.

He gives me so much, and it goes into a sinkhole…and I ask for more: more attention, more dominance, more reassurance. Pretty demanding for a submissive…

I comply, but I’m screaming, “No” on the inside.

He starts spanking me with his hands and with a brush I hate. It seems to hurt even more since I don’t want it. He then takes the riding crop and whips the shaft across my back and ass. He pauses at one point and says while looking at my ass, “You’ve gained weight.”

I raise up to 3/4 standing and blurt out, “You’re going to bring that up NOW?” He pushes my back guiding me back down to the bed. I want to get up and storm out of the room. Instead, I start crying into the bed.

He grabs my hair and says, “Remember the punishment you’re due? Should I punish you today?”

“No!,” I say emphatically. WTF? With all I’ve been through lately, He decides NOW is a good time to punish me (for an offense that is almost two years old by the way).

He enters me from behind and says, “You’re wet.” My body is saying something completely different from my mind, and I’m mad about that.

“Get up on the bed, face down.” He spreads my ass cheeks and makes a pleasing noise. I know He is contemplating fucking me in the ass.

“I don’t want to be fucked in the ass today,” I blurt out knowing I probably just sealed my fate. But at that point I start feeling like I have nothing to lose. I don’t want it! And I want Him to know it!

“What do you want?” He asks.

“To take a nap,” I reply.

He applies lube to my ass and then insert His fingers. He fingers me for a while, then slips another finger in my pussy and starts fucking me with His fingers.

I feel the orgasm well up inside me. I try to figure out if I can squelch it…not give Him the satisfaction of making me cum. I hold on until I can’t hold on any longer. I ask to cum. I don’t want to ask, but I can’t NOT ask. Something else inside me is overriding my will, and I’m so mad. He says, “Yes, cum” and I do…three times.

He tells me to turn over. I don’t want to face Him. I don’t want to look Him in the face. He drapes himself over me. My arms are raised above my head. “Put your arms around me,” He says. The wall I’m trying to hold up is crumbling, and I’m mad at Him about that.

“Why are you crying?” He asks in between soft kisses on my cheek, “Just to make me hot?”

“I’m just one big NO right now,” I whimper.

I am holding my breath in between shallow gasps. It’s a signature trademark of me trying to hold it all in. He puts his mouth right up to my ear and whispers emphatically, “Let go. Let go.”

I fish for the words. I’d rather just run. He rises above me with a smirk on His face. “I want to rip that smirk off your face,” I say to start.

“Why? He asks. “This smirk isn’t what you think it is,” He continues.

“I want you to take me seriously,” I declare.

“And you don’t think I take you seriously,” He responds.

“I hate it when you’re right,” I add.

“Why?” He asks.

“Because I don’t want to be wrong.”

“My being right doesn’t make you wrong,” He states. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or more mad.

Whispering again in my ear, He asks, “Who do you belong to?”

“To you. To you, Sir,” I answer.

“And I will always take care of you,” He declares.

I want to believe that, and yet I have such trouble letting that sink in.

My resistance crumbles with every orgasm. I ride the edge of orgasm, begging Him to tell me when to cum for Him.

When we are done, I curl up to lay in the crook of His arm. “You may take a nap now,” He says.

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.