“Crying,” she said. “Sooner or later, There’ll be begging and crying”
“It’s not like there won’t be pleasure,” she said. “There’ll be plenty you enjoy along with suffering. And there will be things you don’t enjoy. And sometimes…”
“Sometimes, it will be a mixture of the two,” I said, completing her thought, “Sometimes it will be impossible to decide which is more intense. I know, or, at least I think I know. It’s different every time, Ma’am”
“Yes, that’s true, boy,” she said. “But sometimes, I’ll just want to hear you sob.”
An interesting dance we engage in – questions and responses from both sides, navigating preferences and compatibility. There’s nothing foreign about this kind of conversation at the beginning of any relationship. However, when it comes to the dynamics of lifestyle Dominance and submission, the stakes are much higher from the start.
Discussions like these are like negotiating the terms of my surrender. Because when you anticipate being owned and used by an experienced Dominant like V, someone who’s invested in knowing, breaking, and remaking you, it often seems to not be a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when and how.’
But that’s not really true.
Because no matter how hard things click with a Dominant, one nagging question remains: how much will I need to trust this person before I truly surrender?
The amount of trust cannot be quantified, at least by me. To make things worse, I have built in trust issues that V will be ‘lucky enough’ to inherit. It doesn’t matter that I come by them honestly, nor that they kept me alive in a former life. What matters is trust gets in the way long after it should’ve ceased to be a problem. What matters is these holdover survival skills stand as an obstacle between where I am and want to be.
Of course, I’ve told her what to expect. She responded with the following:
I get to see a side of you that no one else sees. Not just because you’re willful and independent with everyone but me, but because you already trust me enough to show me that side of you, and you will eventually trust me enough to let me in completely, let me know parts about you that you’d never dream of telling anyone else. And I’ll be the only one allowed access to that part of you, because you are so vigilant at keeping everyone else out.
What I perceive as a flaw, V perceives as something valuable. I don’t think my cynicism or trust issues are something we’ll ever agree on, but that’s hardly necessary. What’s necessary is that I work to be as obedient, sweet, and honest as possible. Secure in the knowledge that all my doubts and fears will sort themselves out. But – honesty – now there’s a point worth meditating on.
Honesty and candor are key. Especially, because the desire for intensity and rawness are points where V and I are obscenely compatible. We both want sessions that transcend the word ‘play’ – we both think safe words undermine a D/s dynamic – we both want this to go somewhere farther, deeper, darker than prior relationships while remaining mindful of just how treacherous this path can be.
Sadism, masochism, dominance, submission, control, humiliation, worship, obsession, co-dependence: all these words exist as mere abstractions until you actually engage with someone. Moreover, they change with time and experience, until they’ve become something different than what you anticipated.
But that doesn’t mean the conversations, probing questions, and writing assignments are any less important than experience. Honest responses are the foundation. The ground rules, expectations, the details – all of them a means of mapping the terrain of desire. They serve to inform and enrich the experience as well as ensuring I’m clear on what I’m entering into. They’ve also served as reassurance.
I’ve spoken on the phone with V damn near every day for the last two weeks. The topics of conversation are wide-ranging and interesting, but inevitably circle back to D/s dynamics and kinks. And I’ve been encouraged to ask her anything, anything that pops into my head with, “No filtering allowed.”
So the other night, I, reluctantly, brought up a topic, that’s been a point of contention in D/s relationships. I couldn’t help but hope for some reassurance on: sexual aggression.
It’s just that damn near every dominant I’ve been with has wanted me to be sexually aggressive at some point. No matter how much they enjoy a sweet, compliant boy, it has been a ‘thing’ that they somehow want to be pressed and pursued, for me to take – or try to take – so they feel wanted. For some it’s been “Throw me on the bed just once,” with others it’s been as simple as being more aggressive with kissing. And I know this may seem trivial, but when it comes to a D/s dynamic, sexual aggression is something I’m profoundly uncomfortable with being expected to preform regularly. Of course, I’ve always complied, but it’s both difficult and disturbing to preform like this with any enthusiasm and then switch back.
It runs counter who I am as a submissive, and it fucks with my head.
This is a shortened version of what I told V, all of which she listened to patiently until I’d finished. There was a moment of silence before she chuckled.
“No, that’s not something I’ll ever want from you,” she said. “If you want attention, be sweet, compliant and slutty. That’s it. Sexual aggression is not something I enjoy or want. In fact – it’s the exact opposite of what I want. And if you ever start grinding against me or even try to possess my mouth with a kiss, I’ll reintroduce you to my strap-on, single-tail, and ball gag. I’ll put you right back in line.”
“Well, goddamn” I said sighing, relieved, and utterly smitten. But, even then, felt the need to reassure her somehow as well.
“I could be the big spoon now and then,” I offered, half-joking. “I mean sometimes. I don’t mind…”
“No, boy.” she said. “You won’t.”
That conversation ended the same way nearly all of our conversations have ended: with my feeling flushed and achy, all wet and wanting to curl up naked and collared in the palm of her hand, imagining her thumb pressed to the small of my back. These feelings, that image, forever causing the same words to catch in my throat.
“Oh…” I said. “Yes, Ma’am…”