Soul Submissive

After reading countless blog posts, never have I understood the purpose of humiliation in the D/s relationship. I understand the feelings it brings, but I never knew why that would be necessary. When I feel submissive, it seems that it is usually by choice.

These last few months I've pushed S to discuss emotional issues more than he is accustomed to doing. I wanted to discuss each hurt feeling as it came up, so as to work out any issues and get them behind us, before coming to haunt us later. I wanted a clean slate, perfect canvas, to display my love for him.

While realizing how painful this was for him to be scrutinized so often, I believed I was doing the right thing, for both of us. I assumed this was some sort of housecleaning, and we would both grow from this.

Today, after one of these discussions had occurred before bed last night, we were gently talking about how he felt. He shared that often I say little things, or do little things, that hurt his feelings, but he just assumes I never meant to hurt him, and let's those things slide by. He understood that I'm not that sort of person, and he asked me to just be more gentle and loving when I find such fault in him.

Then came the reality of how wrong I've been.

I realized in a momentary rush that I had been so arrogant in thinking that my way was the only way. I had been trying to eliminate future issues by "managing" his behavior. So terrified that I would let something go that would somehow come back to hurt me, as I had done in my failed marriage, I had been pushing, instead of being understanding.

Humiliation filled me. I was awash with guilt, shame, and dismay. I couldn't look S in the eye, and felt so unworthy of his forgiveness, love, and touch. He reached for me in spite of my flaws, and wanted to comfort me.

Then came the connection between us. Passion consumed us both, and I threw myself open for him. Gently, firmly, he took me, and made love to me, while I whimpered "I'm so sorry," over and over. When he finished, I asked him if I could cum for him.

He sucked one breast and squeezed my nipple on the other. I rubbed my clit furiously, feeling the humiliation wash over me and submitting to him in a way I had never done before. The climax was cleansing for me and the best gift I could give to him. I wanted so much to bare myself completely, to submit, to relent, to bow down and give him all I had inside willingly. I had nothing to hide behind; no intelligence, no clothing, no arrogance, no virtue, no piety, no righteousness.

He held me as my body shuttered and shook from the orgasm, enjoying the gift I had presented to him in my humiliation. Through his grace, I have found the ability to bare my soul to him, and still be forgiven.

Grace is not earned. It is a gift.

On one of the first mornings sleeping with S in my bed, I had a dream shortly before waking. I had dreamed of walking with S on a beach along the Pacific, hand in hand. He pulled his hand away, turned into a seagull, and began to fly. I stood locked on the shore and watched him glide about freely. He flew back to me.

"Why aren't you flying with me?" he asked.

"I can't fly," I replied sadly.

"Yes you can. Stretch out your arms and fly with me."

He seemed so certain, and I trusted him so, that I did as he said. I reached out my arms, turned my face upwards, and suddenly I was a seagull and began to fly.

We gleefully flew up and down the coast, side by side, occasionally touching our wingtips. Then, after some time, we flew over the ocean together, into the sun.

I think of that dream often, and how I awoke, telling him of the dream, sobbing in his arms. He held me close, and seemed to be quietly understanding everything I was trying so hard to explain.

During those first few months together I often told S that I had his hand, and I was pulling him to the other side to our future together. He was so stuck in his relationship with his needy wife, tied down by obligation, commitment and promises made from insecurity. He wanted to fulfill his duty, his vow, and somehow retain a shred of honor to his word he had given at such a young age, so many years ago.

I told him to hang onto his wives hand, and that I had his hand, and that I had the strength, determination, and sheer will to pull us all through this to the other side. The side where our lives go on, and we all find peace with this decision that he and I had made to be together.

His divorce will be final soon. His wife will be taken care of financially for the rest of her life, and compared to most divorced women, she has been one of the very, very lucky ones. Every need has been addressed, and the only thing she has lost is her caretaker and friend. But even she has found peace with this decision, and is finding comfort in a life of her own.

Now S and I have our life together, and we are ready to leave the coastline and soar out over the ocean.

My father once told me of his marriage to my step-mother that the secret to staying happy in a relationship is that you can't both go crazy at the same time.

Perhaps there are times when S takes the lead, and I must trust him, and simply follow direction when I am stuck in the sand of my limited understanding. Then there are times when he must be able to rely on my strength, and allow me to carry him to a place of peace.

He's very good at knowing which direction to head. I'm very good at getting us there.

The balance of power has settled, and it seems to lie evenly between us. At least for now. Neither dominant nor submissive, we both seem to be peaceful, relaxed, and joyful with this new horizon. The quarreling has subsided, and understanding has grown. Understanding of one another, and of ourselves.

For the most part, I don't feel dominant at all these days. My concern is that the dominance in me sparked my aggression, and anger, and fueled many of our arguments. I became demanding, intolerant, and petulant. S became frustrated and felt unloved. I came to loathe myself, unable to understand my behavior from moment to moment. Feeling lost and needy almost all of the time, I found that being the Domme was not necessarily the same as calling all of the shots. When I wanted love and affection, I demanded it. S became reluctant to give what was being forced from him.

My old issues of mistrust, fear, hurt, and disillusionment haunted me nightly. They hung about me all day, nagging at my heart, shielding me from the comfort of a loving relationship. I became suspicious, and found myself questioning all that I had once easily accepted as truth about S. He had given me no reason to doubt him; the doubt lurked in the darkness of my old fears, and peeked out when I least expected it.

If anything now I feel submissive again. But not often. Just when I see a disagreement on the horizon. If I hear the tone in his voice of anger, displeasure or frustration, I immediately submit, fearing a confrontation. Almost always it was my doing in the first place, the misunderstanding. S is wonderful in that he won't pursue an argument if I retreat. He steps back just as quickly, and it seems we both race to apologize first. Neither one of us wants the misery of the arguing, nor the fear of losing one another.

I can't imagine life without him now. If I am submitting to anything, it is my fear that I will drive him away.

Fear is a powerful thing.

It burns like a freight train raging along the tracks, coming from my groin, out through my risen chest, my upturned face, pouring out of my mouth agape, and through my fingers, up to heaven, or God, or whomever calls this passion from me. Upon his hips, my legs wrapped around his thighs, my back arched, his cock buried into my soul, I gasp as the force of his willingness and worship flood me on the way to the angels. His arms reach over his head, his hands grasp the headboard, his hips rise to meet my sucking, starving, voracious pussy, while his sweet eyes watch my inferno.

With a thunder, it all slams back into me, from heaven and beyond, the force and the fierceness, and I cum with a squeezing, piercing scream through my entire body. The tornado rips through my lungs, my head slaps back, as whimpers and cries emanate from my dry throat.

When I see his eyes, I know he is mine. I know he was designed, built, and born to bring me to this state, over and over again. I didn't see him one day and decide I wanted him to be mine; he was mine to own from the moment he was born. He belongs to me. I am his desire, his destiny, his Dom.

I am a girl with special needs. And to be frank about it, I am god-damned sick and tired of feeling bad about that. I have the need for attention, affection, and, dare I say, adoration. If I am going to participate in a relationship then it had better be worth my time. Love and affection are not two things that are negotiable. Perhaps my love quotient is higher than other women and my need for affection is greater than your last woman. I'm tired of being ashamed of that, and tired of being labeled as somehow flawed because of that.

My lover needs to meet my needs. Period. If he can't, or won't, then I don't want to be in half of a relationship. Been there, done that. I demand, yes DEMAND, a certain amount of attention, affection and respect. No one could ever say I don't give it back tenfold. In a relationship I am very giving, attentive, responsive, and considerate. Certainly I am not perfect, but I give 100% effort. Perhaps that's been my problem, being the aggressive perfectionist I am. Perhaps I expect others to give the same effort that I give.

Nevertheless, give it all, or give it up. In life, be a leader, be a follower, or get out of my way.

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.