Punishment

One of the best parts of our Dom/sub relationship lies in the way He pushes my limits. I wasn’t very experienced when He got me, you see. I was scared of anal sex – it had hurt the one time I’d tried it. If he hadn’t pushed me, I’d never know what “hurts so good” really meant – that wonderful pain when his cock first enters my ass, balls deep on the first thrust. And now, ass fucking is a special treat for me.

But pushing limits is also something I’ve struggled with. It took me a long time to make peace with the concept of sucking strange cock. It took time, a better analysis of the risks, and a huge amount of journaling to minimize my internal slut shaming. I made it so complicated. For Him, it was easy – suck what I tell you to suck. And He was right – all I needed to do was worry less and suck what he tells me to suck. And gargle with Listerine immediately after. Hey, don’t laugh, it works!

Recently He had the occasion to push my limits again. I was once again going on a solo vacation to the beach. And He had one request – pick up a guy at the hotel bar, take him upstairs, suck him off, and take pictures.

Wait, you want me to do WHAT?!! My panic alarms immediately went off. I’m very introverted. Before my divorce, I was extremely inexperienced, sexually speaking. Almost developmentally delayed, you might say. I had never been picked up by a stranger anywhere. Even going to a bar alone was a difficult thing for me to do. Picking up a guy at a bar was panic-inducing.

And that’s exactly what happened. I let the panic take hold. I let the resentment build up. I could have taken the time to better understand the sources of my fears. I could have just relaxed and let the situation unfold. Maybe try some different bars, take pictures of the crowd for Him. See what happened. I could have trusted that my Sir and I would figure it out together.

Nope. That’s not what I did. I let my inner redhead come out to play. I whined, I complained, I argued. I, um, told my Sir to go fuck himself. Something I will admit to having thought on more than one occasion. Once or twice I’d even typed it. But I’d never hit the Send button. And when I did hit that Send button this time, I crossed a line. Submissives do not tell their Sirs to go fuck themselves.

We made up. I apologized for crossing the line. But we both knew I needed to be punished. It’s important to me that I know that He’s really in charge. Otherwise, I will (subconsciously, at first) push back when he asks me to do something hard. Whine, complain, argue, knowing I can get away with it. And then, think of all the fun I’ll miss! All the cocks that will go unsucked. So sad. I don’t want to be in one of those relationships in which the guy says in a resigned way, “well, you know what they say – happy wife, happy life”. Nope. I want the man who looks at me sternly and tells me that I’m HIS whore dammit.

And so I drove an hour to his house. With butterflies in my stomach. I bent over and took the 10 hard whacks with the diamond paddle. And no buzzing to make it fun. This was BAD pain. This was wracking, cleansing sobs by the fourth blow that continued until it was done, until he stroked my ass and cuddled me and told me I was still a good girl. This was magnificent, colorful bruises that I wore proudly the whole next week.

I felt all happy and submissive again. I felt cleansed. And I learned an important lesson about the difference between being afraid and letting my fear control me. I learned that trust is something that is most important when it’s hardest to do.