When I first started exploring my submissiveness, I took an online course from the Powerotics Training Academy (which is no longer in existence as far as I know). One of the assignments was to look at various pictures – mostly of woman in bondage positions – and share my reactions to each.

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.

It’s easy to think of a submissive as selfless. She (or he) submits to a Dominant and opens herself up to do with as He will. Wouldn’t that be the very definition of selfless?

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…

He didn’t leave bite marks, but my flesh is sore. I turn my head, and I feel the zing of pain – an aftershock less painful but just as pleasant as the initial bite.

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.

When Master recently announced plans that He would be away for a week – to a place where regular communication would be difficult – I panicked. Many emotions went through me. Some were particular to this trip but one – anxiety about being separated – is the emotion that seems to grow rather than diminish as I move closer to slavery.

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.

“Are you crying?” He asks. We’re on the phone, so He only has the sound of my voice to go on.

“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 heard his name. I was preparing for a job interview. The hiring manager was briefing me on who might be some of the people on the team who would interview me. She said he could ask tough questions, so be prepared.

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.

“Surrender means that you open to your lover every aspect of self for their exploration. It means that you can allow yourself to be taken on a journey without knowing the destination. Only in sharing every part of self, even the parts or secrets you are ashamed of, and especially the parts that hurt, can you truly surrender.” - Anonymous

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 long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated with the idea of polyamory. It’s not really a fantasy. I see it more as a practical solution in our modern day society.

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?

I lay on the couch as He inspects His newly shaven pussy. “You did a good job,” He says as He rubs my body.

He sucks on my nipples, then asks me what I’m thinking. “How I feel so at home,” I reply. He’s a bit puzzled…since we’re on my couch in my house. “With you,” I add, feeling a bit of disappointment that I’m not conveying very well the deep feelings I’m having for Him in this moment.

I suck on His dick. I want Him in me…deep. I practice taking His cock deep into my throat. I gag a little, but I try not to stop or take my mouth away. Oh how I wish I could take His dick into my mouth so that His balls touched my chin.

He removes His dick, and I whimper. He says His dick is the Pied Piper, and I should follow Him to the bedroom. I smile. How gladly I follow Him -not just in this moment – but always.

When He enters His pussy, I cannot even explain how absolutely fulfilled I feel. The physical sensation of being filled up with Him reverberates through my whole being.

I love having His dick inside me. He’ll do a combination of shallow and deep thrusts. Sometimes He’ll tease me lightly just at the opening. Sometimes He’ll stay still inside me as He fondles other parts of me. Sometimes He fucks me deep. He’s observed before that I am quite happy in all those scenarios…and I am.

Of late, though, I have such a strong urge to have Him deep inside me. Each orgasm makes me hungrier for Him. I feel His weight on me, and I just want to feel Him completely envelop me. I start deep, guttural moaning after a few orgasms. I gasp for breath a little as one orgasm ends and another begins. It feels very primal. I find myself hugging Him, with my hands at the small of His back…as if I could push Him deeper inside me that way. I want Him in so deep that you can’t tell where I end and He begins. I bury my face into His chest. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I want Him to smother me, overwhelm me, consume me.

Afterwards, I stand, but I’m wobbly. We hug, and my legs are shaking. I tell Him my ears are ringing from all the orgasms. He turns my head to the right, kisses my ear; then turns it to the left, and kisses the other ear. For a brief second, the world is silenced with each kiss. He shuts out the noisy world, and I feel…so at home.