Soul Submissive

Submit: 1. To yield or surrender (oneself) to the will or authority of another. 2. To subject to a condition or process. 3. To commit (something) to the consideration or judgment of another.

Succumb: 1. To submit to an overpowering force or yield to an overwhelming desire; give up or give in. 2. To die.

When I felt down his relaxed belly to his groin and found his penis limp, I became aroused. His beautiful, firm body now lay relaxed in my arms, his face pressed into my bosom, seemingly ready to be taken. I pushed his hip gently to reveal his cock to me, and began rubbing firmly the mound around the cock, being careful to avoid the cock itself. His cock must wait.

After a few moments, and realizing through his open posture that he was giving in to me, I grasped his cock. As I suspected, it was hard, smooth and ready for attention. Now his entire body was limp, except for his cock.

I positioned him and then rode him hard, kissing his sweet face, telling him how he was mine. I showered him with praise and kisses and power, and he consumed all I had to give.

"Succumb to me, give yourself to me. Now, doesn't that feel good? Don't you love to give in to me?"

"Yes," he muttered weakly, "Yes. . ."

He told me he was nearing orgasm, in a pleading way. Giving my permission, I demanded he give his cum to me. He did happily.

To submit to my fierce power is one thing, and I have found some pleasure in that. To succumb to his own need to be touched, taken and controlled by me is far more pleasurable. I did not need to cause him pain, nor punish, nor make him feel guilty. All things can be accomplished through love.

The way I see it, this is what he already wants for himself. I am just the vehicle with which he finds that freedom. I clear the path, show the way, give the nudge, lead him along, to get him to the place where he already sought to be. He is not submitting to me; he is succumbing to his own desires.

"I love you Mommy. I love you Tina. . . Mistress Tina."

Lost in the ebb and flow of the ever-changing landscape of our relationship, S sometimes becomes flustered when he speaks. I answer to all three names, Mommy, Tina, and Mistress Tina, with the same demeanor, as in my mind, they are all equally interchangeable. While in this frame of reference, I am the Dom, he is the Sub. Period.

He needs me. He needs my love, my guidance, my strength, my certainty, my comfort. And I need him. I need his tenderness, his innocence, his sweetness, his purity of purpose, his simplicity. He is so incredibly precious to me, in every way, that I love him with an undeniably deep love; so much so it shocks me sometimes. I look at him now, working at his computer, nude, deep in thought, ready to jump to meet my needs at anytime, and I just want to kiss him. I think I shall.

After rising from my seat to kiss him sweetly on the lips, he responds with affection, then turns back to his monitor, and continues to work. His mind is far away, developing a project, building his company, working. I have learned the importance of giving him space to be himself, to grow as a man, to come into his own. Nothing means more to me than the look of pleasure and satisfaction on his face when he has achieved something for himself.

He is my friend, my business partner, my lover, my cohort, my companion, my boyfriend, my confidant, and my Sweet Boy. Our life together encompasses so many aspects, all blurred into one place and time, that to try to divide and define would be impossible. I love the ebb and flow, the give and take, the metamorphosis of it all.

What I know is true, throughout it all, is that we love one another. We adapt, grow, change, learn, expand, all together. Staying open to the changes is sometimes hard, but worth every sunrise beside him.

What can be shared, and what cannot, as a Dom?

Suddenly, sharing my fears seems inappropriate. Sharing my thoughts openly seems unacceptable.

I must provide leadership, guidance, and answers. I must know the direction, and delegate.

To whom do I turn?

I feel so alone now.

When I saw the red welt began to rise from his right ass cheek, I felt sick to my stomach. I knew then that this had taken a wrong turn somewhere.

I had S purchase the crop for me earlier that evening. We had then gone out with friends, and while out, S had done something to irritate me. I told him it was time to go home, and as soon as I had him home, we discussed what had happened. We resolved our issue, but apparently, I was still harboring some aggression. When we started our sexual encounter, the tone was sensitive and loving. Before long, I felt my aggression beginning to rise. I had him bent over, taking my strap-on cock in his ass (which he enjoys), and I reached for the crop.

SMACK!

"Don't you know that I'm in charge?"

He whimpered agreement.

SMACK!

"I don't want you to argue with me anymore. Understand?"

". . . yes, Mommy. . . " he whimpered.

The welt began to rise, as did the vomit in my stomach. I had promised to never hurt him. This is not who I am. This is not what I wanted. I let the power go to my head.

I has since spoken to S about this. He had obliged my indulgence obediently. He is nothing if not obedient. Filled with shame, I told him how awful I felt, and that I would never use the crop again. He didn't say a word.

My goal is to dominate with strength, to train with love, to influence with kindness, to meet his emotional needs of comfort, security, and belonging. Fear doesn't fit in there; nor does pain.

It won't happen again.