Soul Submissive

S loves to pleasure me. He loves to make me writhe in ecstasy, moan with pleasure, cry out and cum good, long and hard. My pleasure is his reward. This makes me a very, very fortunate woman.

But my approval is not a part of this equation. S often pushes me beyond anything I would do, just for his pleasure. As he always knows me better than I know myself, he knows difference between my true limits and my self imposed limits that he wants to shatter. This is why trust is so crucial in our relationship. I must trust, implicitly, that he is taking care of everything for me, has my best interests in mind, and would never put me in jeopardy.

Every time I am with S, he brings me incredible pleasure. He takes complete charge of our time together, and I don't even suggest plans to him, unless he asks. Being completely in his hands always pays off for me, so every moment with him only builds my trust in him, reestablishing that my Dom is truly meant for me.

Yes, a very, very fortunate woman, indeed.

To me, there is something so erotic about the mouth. What goes in my mouth is just as vital as what comes out of my mouth. If my Dom's cock is in my mouth, if he cums in my mouth, and I find this deeply erotic, shouldn't everything that goes in my mouth matter? If my words are the words of a submissive woman, shouldn't all of my words matter, whether I am in his presence or not?

My mouth is a sexual, sensual, and accountable place. So what I put in my mouth affects my entire body, and that body belongs to S. So shouldn't he be making the choices of what goes in?

When we are together, he decides every bite I eat and every drop I drink. He orders my food and drinks in restaurants. I don't even look at the menus anymore. I have no opinion, as I know he knows what is best for me. He is so kind, he often asks me if I like items before he orders them, but he doesn't really need to. He just does it to be kind. He also feeds me in public, pushing the food deeply and gently into my mouth, just because he chooses to do so. It doesn't matter that I love it; he would do it regardless, for his own pleasure.

When I am not with him, I have a list of foods from which to choose, and I abide by that list religiously. There is no reason for me to stray, ever. He has taken care of all of my needs.

My mouth is his home, for his mouth, his tongue, his cock, his fingers, his hands, words of kindness for him, words of love for him, words of praise for him, cries of passion that he creates in me, and sobs of pleasure.

Last night, as I was forced to the floor after being stripped by S, he pushed me gently but firmly flat on my belly. He grabbed my hips, pulled them into a position that suited him, and plunged his hard cock into me, thrusting over and over, pulling the orgasms from my soul. I cried loudly with pleasure and was overcome with passion, wailing with the feeling of being completely overwrought.

Fucking me hard, grasping my hips, this normally very, very quiet man yelled at the top of his lungs, "Cry, Goddammit, Cry!!!" I had the deepest, hardest, most wrenching orgasm of my life.

Throughout the day today, I've thought of this moment from time to time. My panties are soaked, have been soaked all day, and will remain soaked as long as I relive this incredible moment.

After an incredibly fun date last night, when walking back to the car in a busy nightclub district in a neighboring city to ours, S spoke to me of fucking me in public. I knew his wish was to tear my clothing off, right on the sidewalk, with cars passing by, and to lay me on the sidewalk and fuck me, right there, right then. I also know that he is likely to do anything he desires, so if I submit, I must be mentally prepared to follow through. Of course, I would never, ever say no, and he knows this, so he assumes that responsibility quite seriously.

By the time we were 5 feet from the car, when I thought we may make it out of there clothed, he grabbed me and pulled me in to kiss. I love, love, love being kissed by S, so much so that I often cum just from being kissed. We kissed, standing in this parking lot, with club-goers passing by, as he partially undressed me and groped me unrelentingly. I came twice, just from the thrill, the passion and the intensity of it all. He was driven, and I was submissive, because I wanted nothing more than to please him and be pleasured by him.

In the car, as I drove home doing 90 mph, I massaged his gorgeous cock through his jeans and sang to him. After just a few minutes, he began undressing and was completely nude long before we got off of the highway. I drove carefully but briskly, so we did not get pulled over and he was not arrested. I realize that there was little chance of that, but I would never put my Dom in jeopardy. Part of my duty to him is to protect him, and I would protect him with my life.

When we arrived at the house, he walked into my home nude, and looked so beautiful doing so. I don't know if any of my neighbors saw, and I don't care. They mean nothing, and he means everything. Never would I inhibit his wishes for another.


After being fucked for hours, my Dom directed me to walk out to my car nude, while he moved is bike from my garage, and for me to move my car into the garage. I would do anything for him, and I take great pleasure in pleasing him. I did so with my head held high, strolling to my car with pride. I would do anything he ever asked.

As I tell him often, it will be done. You only need ask.

If there is one thing I have learned in my 45 years of life, it is self discipline. If there is anything my loving, beautiful Dom has learned in his 45 years of life, is that he does not have any desire to manage anyone. This is another example of why he and I are a good fit.

My gorgeous Dom has instituted a diet and exercise regime for me. This came about when I complained about being a size 18, and expressed my great desire to look better. He heard the words, but he looked into my heart, and knew that I meant it. These were not just the whines of a woman who wanted to gripe about, but not solve, her weight problem. This was a plea for help.

S looked into my eyes and asked for a commitment from me. For me, once that commitment was made, there would be no bickering, no negotiating, no bargaining, no pouting. He didn't set these parameters down for me, I set them for myself. This is obedience to me. Do as I am told, without question, even in my mind. If he says it, I do it. Period.

Occasionally I will receive an email with instructions about my diet. He has broken me of at least 10 foods and drinks that I was addicted to. I had no idea I was addicted, but as always, he knows me far better than I know myself. This is why I love him so. He knows me, what I need, what I am capable of, and how to propel me in the best direction.

S simply emails me, and does not follow up. If I make an error in my food choices, he informs me that I have faulted, and it never, ever happens again. For example, I sent him a photo of buffalo wings and ranch dipping sauce. I believed I had made a good choice, so I was proud to show him how well I was following instruction. He reminded me that all fat filled condiments were on the list of forbidden foods, and that meant ranch dip. I nearly broke down crying at the table with my unsuspecting girlfriends, and begged his forgiveness. I had the sauce removed from the table immediately, and apologized to him profusely.

Two weeks later, I forgot, truly forgot, once again, and had ranch on my salad. When it hit me what I had done, I texted him, confessed, and apologized profusely. I was forgiven because he knew I did truly forget, was truly sorry, and because I confessed so rapidly and openly. He informed me that I need to disassociate myself from ranch so this doesn't happen again. We have not discussed it again, and I know that it will never happen again. His approval means everything to me; absolutely everything. To let him down broke my heart. But being dishonest was simply not an option for me.

Had I not confessed, he would not have known. But my obedience is MY responsibility, not his. If managing my behavior his burden, how is that pleasurable for him? Isn't it my job to make his life more pleasurable, more fulfilling, more joyful? My obedience is the best gift I can give to my darling Dom, who has been so very, very good to me. I want to give him the best of what I have to offer.

In about 6 weeks, I have dropped down to a size 14, close to a 12. I want to be completely beautiful and healthy for my Dom, because he deserves no less.

Asking for permission is new for me. Because S owns my body, he has instituted a diet and exercise regime for me that has already had great results. Being very educated on how the body works, what foods are best for me, and how to exercise properly, S has me on a rather strict diet and I work out with him at a Fitness Bootcamp three days a week, where they thoroughly kick my ass. On only 3 occasions have I violated the food guidelines, and never out of defiance; always out of lack of thought.

So if I'm out, or grocery shopping, I must get permission on certain foods if we have not discussed them. I love seeking permission, and relish his input. The decision is often not the thrill for me; I will do just as he says. It is the relinquishing of power that thrills me, and how willing I am to conform rather than be defiant. In Bootcamp I push myself as hard as possible because I want to provide for him the best body I can. This is his property, afterall.

Occasionally, in the heat of passion, I ask for permission to cum. Because I cum so often and so quickly, it is nearly impossible to ask everytime. But if I can feel it on the horizon, I ask permission. He orders me to cum, to CUM NOW, and my body explodes at his command. He has called me, instructed me to rub my clit, and demanded I cum and I do, right then, right there.

I love seeking his permission.

I never knew how thrilling it could be to be penetrated by a man. Oh, I've had plenty of intercourse, but never the type of penetration to which I am referring. I mean penetration, of my heart, my mind, my soul, as well as my body.

Not long after our first sexual interlude, S and I were kissing deeply. He then pulled away a bit, and began reaching his fingers in my mouth. Not to be sucked, but to probe me. He felt each of my teeth, one at a time, and touched every part of the inside of my mouth. He looked in my mouth, and pushed his fingers deep inside. I came almost instantly, and I couldn't figure out why. Later, I asked him why he did that, and he said, "Because I own you, and I wanted to."


Being probed for his pleasure excites me beyond all reason. I happen to be a very lucky woman, one of only 5% of the women in the world, who has high numbers of multiple orgasms. I have over 25 or 30 during a 5 hour span with S. My orgasms are deeply intense, and occasionally I almost stop breathing. I can orgasm by a touch to my skin, a bite on my neck, or with his arms wrapped around me while he whispers in my ear. S is my perfect match, because for me, penetrating my mind and bringing about an orgasm is just as good as penetrating my pussy.

But being on top of him, feeling that gorgeous cock deeply inside of me, staring into his eyes, and rocking back and forth brings the best orgasms. He is not just penetrating my body at this point, but he looks into my soul, and masters it. The incredible weakness I feel inside of me when I am in his grasp, on his cock, with him in my soul, is the best feeling I have ever known.

In submission, I am free. I no longer have to think, no longer have to control, myself or anyone else. There are no decisions to make, as they are all being made for me. My entire being has been handed over, and I can escape my mind, that never seems to shut off, and allow my Dom to choose everything for me. He determines how he wants to use my body for his pleasure, where to put his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and I willingly submit.

In this, he has penetrated far more than my body, or mind, he has penetrated my soul.

I come from a long line of dominant, hard-headed bitches. My Great Grandmother ruled the roost with an iron fist, sending my Great Grandfather running with just the howl of his name. My Grandmother and Mother have both preyed on weaker men, except for one of their 4 husbands each. I believe they both are attracted to stronger men, but their dominant side made staying married to a dominant male impossible. Both settled on very weak men for long term partners. My sister and niece married absolute wimps, and my sister abuses her husband on a regular basis. Even my one and only child, my daughter, has hooked up with a long term boyfriend who has zero backbone. 


To be submissive in a family where female submission is deeply frowned upon has caused great dismay in my family. When I serve my partner food, the other women attack me in the kitchen, trying to pry the plate out of my hand and tell me not to do it. When my sister's husband asked to be served like my husband, my sister slapped him, right there in front of God and everyone. Then she slapped me. I gladly handed the plate to my husband, and smiled. In my family setting, one must actually be defiant to be submissive. 


My dom, who loves to email me, recently wrote this in an email:


You're submissive and dominant at the same time.  It seems you want to be
submissive, need to be submissive, enough so that you demand it.  Perhaps
you're consuming weaker men until you find one that you can't dominate
yourself.


I am sure this comes as a contradiction for some, but this is entirely true. I believe the only way to determine if a man is "truly dominant" is to push him to his limits, and see who wins. 


S is so powerful, in mind, body and spirit, that he never wavers. No matter what I impress upon him, if this is different than his desire, I relent. Period. He is kind enough to listen, until he has heard enough. He then informs me that we are done discussing, and I willingly conceded. This is me pushing, and him dominating. 


I have never understood how a man could feel good about dominating a weak woman. That's like going to the fair and riding the carousel, and leaving. Why not try something with a bit of a challenge? Perhaps those men know their limitations. I certainly know their limitations. I also know that S is steadfast, and no matter what I do, he holds the power.


This unwavering dominance wets my panties at the sight of him. I see him from across a parking lot, and if he has a smile of pleasure on his face, my panties become soaked! If he is frowning, my heart drops, and I rush to him to see if I've displeased him, and how I can fix it. My greatest desire is to please him. My greatest reward is being pleasured by him.

When I was in my late twenties, and separated from my Starter Husband, I met Joe. Joe was interesting, so I wanted to get to know him more. He invited me to lunch at his home after a few dates, and I gladly attended. After lunch, as I was washing the dishes for him, he crept up behind me and grabbed me by the throat. He then tenderly kissed my neck. I was excited by this, and confused as to my own excitement. A week later in his home, when we were getting a bit intimate, he began beating me as he tried to rape me. He pummeled my face, bloodied my nose, tore out chunks of my hair, and I eventually escaped. He was arrested and I never saw him again. It took a week to see out of my bruised, swollen eyes, months for my hair to grow back, but I will never forget.

This was not my first beating, but it was my last. The only other man who tried to brutalize me after this incident ended up with a gash in his head that required 13 stitches to repair, and was also arrested. In the time since this occurred, I had learned how to protect myself. I have no interest in being brutalized; it holds no sexual arousal for me in the slightest.

I am interested in My Dom because he out-thinks me. He knows my thoughts, reads my behaviors, feels my desires, and uses them to please me, and himself. He sees my need to be led, even though I am fiercely strong, and gently guides me. This, to me, is dominance. Any moronic Neanderthal can brutalize a woman, if he is physically stronger. And any man who thinks he can brutalize me may get away with it in the moment, but I will spend the rest of my days seeking vengeance until I am satisfied. My Dom is sweet, insightful, and fully aware of the power he wields over me, and uses it properly. He has a purpose when he is with me, and he has a mission. He is in charge, and he is man enough to lead. I am woman enough to follow.

A year after Joe attacked me, he had his legs broken and to this day, walks with a cane. The only cost to me was a few crocodile tears to the right person, who handled the entire situation for me. If a man cannot dominate me, I will dominate him. For me, there is no middle. He is either man enough to dominate, and I am free to be the woman I was meant to be and submit, or I will do all of the dominating.

We had made plans to meet at my home, having blocked out an entire afternoon together. We both knew what we were planning, but I had no idea what I was in for.

Once we were in the bedroom, and clothing removed, I was astounded at the beauty of his nude body. Lean, strong and toned, his form was the most pleasant thing I had ever seen. His skin the color of beautiful beach sand, smooth and soft to the touch of my fingertips. Usually, I am quite shy about my appearance, as I have been overweight for sometime. I was frightened he would be unhappy with what he saw, but instead, he was pleased. His pleasure made me heave with desire, as he stroked my skin and plunged his tongue deep inside my mouth.

The entire five hours is a blur of orgasm after orgasm, with his cock deep inside of me and his tongue and fingers plunging in every opening, probing and searching. He penetrated me everywhere, at will, and I so willingly relented I shocked myself. The delight was excruciating! When he grabbed my legs, thrust them over my head, and plowed his face into my pussy, I couldn't catch my breath. I squealed with pleasure, over and over, gasping for air between orgasms. I wanted more and more, to be taken, to be licked, to be penetrated, to submit to my own ecstasy.

He knew what I needed, even when I did not. He knew what would please me, even though he didn't do it for that reason. He took my entire body for his own pleasure. He probed me, penetrated me, fucked me, licked me, made me cum repeatedly, all for his own pleasure. I was his orchestra, and he was writing the symphony. Every note I hit in my cries, every moan that emanated from my throat, every gasp for air, all made the music to his ears. I was the instrument, he, he was the composer and musician.

To be pleasured in such a way was entirely new for me. I found that once one walks into the Promise Land, there is no way to ever leave it willingly. Now I am enslaved by my own desires. To see his smile, to know I have pleased him somehow, to comfort him, support him, protect him, be owned by him, to relent to him, to be directed by him, to be trained by him, to work for him, to be broken down and rebuilt by him, to be touched by him, both physically, emotionally, and spiritually, these things all make up the purpose of my being.  This is all I crave, all I desire. This is where I belong.

I once was a woman who fought everyone and everything. A wild horse that was unbreakable. I could not find what I had sought my whole life, because I didn't know what it was. Traveling down wrong road after wrong road, I came to nothing but dead ends. Until I met him. To be broken was my greatest desire. I could not break until I could trust. His tenderness, his charity, his kindness all taught me to trust. His dominance then broke me. I have never been happier.

I have spent my life dating and being married to men who have strong personalities. Oh, I dated a few weak men, but not for long. Breaking them and taking their money was too easy. One man I was engaged to was worth over $2 million when I met him in my early twenties. When I kicked him out just over a year later, he had less than $10,000 in the bank, he whimpered and begged when I told him it was over, and he was a very broken man.

The realization that I was deeply attracted to strong men was not new to me; it was the difficulty in finding one who didn't want to extinguish my fire inside. Both of my husbands were drawn to me as a moth to the flame, but their own lack of composure filled them with fear, and thus, they lost control. Many strong men are attracted to strong women, but they believe they must break them. I was out to prove I could not be broken. I played their game to suit my own purposes, because I knew I was not only smarter, but stronger. Stronger in my soul.

I was married to Husband #2 for 13 years at the time I met S. Compelled to get to know S, to please him, to just be near him and soak up the radiance of his presence, I worked hard at the position he hired me to do. I confessed, to my chagrin, my feelings for him, more than once. He rebuked me, and made clear that he was not interested in me. S called me one Saturday, in response to an email I had sent in which I had confessed my devotion to him. When S spoke the words of rejection over the phone, as I sat next to Husband #2 watching television, I had to leave the room. The tears began to flow, and I found it impossible to reconcile my life. How had I come to this; needing the approval and affection of S, when I am married to another?

A couple of months later, over a business lunch, the ice broke. Our conversation turned more personal, and I reveled in the thought that he may truly be attracted to me. Days later, he came to my home when I was alone, working, at my request. He touched my skin for the first time in an embrace. We both trembled with emotion. The power in the connection was so great, so forceful, that when we looked into one another's eyes, we knew this would change everything.

I decided the next day to divorce Husband #2, and began to plan my course. Once S had shown me that he wished to be close to me, even if only for a short time, I knew he was the only person that I wanted to touch me. Husband #2 cried, begged, pleaded and negotiated, and every word, every gesture, fell on a heart of stone. Anything I ever felt for him dried up and blew away years before when I realized he not only didn't have control of me, but of himself. He was out of the house less than 5 days later.

The realization for me in all of this was not just that S is my Soulmate, which is what I initially thought.

S is my Soul Master.

I have always been quite the talker. I became a writer because I love the power of words, and because I have so much to express. My Dom, S, is very quiet most times. Most people who see us in a business setting say we are a good fit. I usually respond with, "He's the brains and I'm the show!" That always fetches a chuckle.

Selling advertising on his websites for him, I work full time for S. He affords me the opportunities to write as well, because he knows that is my dream. There is an old phrase, "I can sell ice to eskimos" that I strive to apply to my position. As an honest, helpful and hard working salesman, I feel good about what I do. But few people know why I do it.

The only goal I have is to please my Dom. I work for him to make money for him by selling a product I believe in wholeheartedly, all just to earn his praise. Money is a necessary evil. I don't work for money; I work for S. That's it. His praise, his benefit, his pleasure.

Now, I have dedicated my life entirely to him. He owns me. As a good salesman in a small market, I am approached often by other businesses to sell for them. All of these people praise me for being vibrant, exciting to watch, enthusiastic, joyful and so convincing and passionate. They all seem to understand my loyalty to S, even without being told. Because of this, they ask me to "add on" their product when I see my clients. My response is always the same. "S owns me, so you will have to work it out with him. If he wants me to do it, he will tell me. But I only work for him."

I gladly served myself up to him and I am deeply honored he has chosen to own me. No matter what else occurs going forward, he owns my soul.

When he walked into the coffee shop for the first time, I felt his electricity. Within 5 minutes of meeting him, after exchanging very few emails over a 2 1/2 year period, I confessed my attraction for him. This would have been fine except for three important points.
1. I was married.
2. He was married.
3. This was a meeting to discuss employment, not anything personal.
Yet I found myself compelled to sit as close as I could get and feel his electricity. S is very quiet, as most everyone who has met him will attest to. He thinks about everything that is said, and evaluates it, before responding. On this day of our first meeting I hung on his every word as if I were hanging on a cliff about to plunge to my death.
I am a writer. I wanted to expand my experience base in writing, so in 2008 I approached a local blogger via email to ask if I could blog on his site about our very small city. A short, succinct email was my reply, outlining very little. Writing for the blog for a year, I received no response. After the one year period, I emailed S again asking if he was pleased with my work. He simply replied yes, and thanks. I wrote another year on just that praise.
The pattern was set before I laid eyes upon him, and before he laid hands upon me.

Contact me at my e-mail address below...

As our relationship has unfolded, I found that submission is not what truly lie inside me. I found that dominance was my calling. I possess this great desire to find love, compassion, acceptance and kindness as a dominant woman, who knows what a man wants and needs. No longer am I angry, hateful and sinister in my desires. Now I long to love and nurture my sweet little boy, S.