Sex and surrender (and why submissives always have the best sex)
Someone once told me that in order to bring a woman to orgasm, she has to submit, even if for just for that moment. I think there is some truth there. Orgasm is the point of letting go at the end of all that building tension. At least, it is for me. I can’t claim to be in control at the point of orgasm. I definitely should not drive a car, or operate heavy machinery whilst having one.
I’ve been thinking lately that sex - good sex, anyway - is an act of surrender. I’m not talking about surrendering to another person necessarily, but more to the moment. To the act of sex itself. Unfortunately, however, I’m not sure surrender comes terribly naturally to a lot of people. And so I wonder if there are hoards of people out there missing out on really good sex.
Surrender comes easily to us submissives. We are well practised at abandoning ourselves to the moment. Whatever shame we have left was most likely left at the bedroom door, along with our dignity, our underwear and soiled clothes. When you’ve spent the evening in tears and your make-up is smudged down your cheeks, your hair sticking in all directions, held up by snot and semen and gods know what else, it’s sort of hard to worry too much about what you’re doing or what you look like.
I suspect this is where many people fall down.
People are so obsessed with image. Hollywood does a lovely line in missionary, with the starry gazes and gentle rise-and-fall of crisp white sheets. And that looks like perfectly nice sex to me. Just not good sex. Not earth-shaking, back-ripping, tonsil-tearing sex that leaves you shuddering and unwilling to stand for fear falling down again.
Good sex is dirty. There’s sweat and body fluids and stupid faces. There’s ridiculous noises, grunts and squelches and wet-skin rasps. Good sex smells. In a good way. A deep, heavy musk that sticks to your fingers for hours after. Good sex is primal. It’s the things you do by instinct, because they feel good. Not because you should. Perhaps because you shouldn’t. Good sex is no holds barred, no limits, no self consciousness.
Of course, I’m prejudiced. I like my sex rough and dirty.Though I’m not for a moment suggesting gentle, loving sex doesn’t have it’s place. It’s just… different.
I believe sex is a spiritual act. Again, not always, but it can be. For me, sex is often a mediation. It allows me to be completely in myself, completely present, aware of nothing but the thing I am doing and the thing I am. Good sex equals good orgasms, and a really good orgasm is a little slice of enlightenment. One-ness with the Universe.
You may be thinking orgasms are always pretty good. And I guess they are. But what I’m talking about here are the earth-shattering ones. The ones that switch your brain off for a little while. Temporary blindness, inability to speak, brief catatonia, these are the symptoms of a good orgasm.
If you’ve never experienced this, you have my sympathy. And I would suggest you’re not doing it right. Go away and try again. And this time, try surrendering. Letting yourself go with the moment. Don’t worry about the shopping or the chores you have to do. Don’t worry who it is making that noise that sounds like a cow in labor. Just be in the moment. Feel the orgasm roll over your body, notice it in places that you never normally notice - from the tip of your toes to the roots of your hair.
You don’t have to surrender yourself to anyone else in order to do this. But you may need to let go of control for just a moment. But it is just a moment! Surrender to yourself. To the act of sex.
Sometimes, I watch my Master whilst I’m fucking him or sucking him or some such. And I can see the moment he lets go. Stops trying to control the scene, or me. When he just rides the pleasure and lets me do my thing. I love that moment because I know it means he’s just about to peak. It’s the moment we’re closest, when we have something close to true Union.
Last night I had a dream. The usual, random shite (snow, a bird in need of medical attention, my best friend dressed in a lemon ballet skirt, Marilyn Manson coming to visit, and a wood fired kiln on the doorstep).
But then my boss turned up. He was showing me some weird rice-cake things he’d made, and it was all very sexual. His hand trailing over my arm, lots of sexual tension and flirting. Then my alarm went off.
I’m relieved, really, as disappointed as I was in that first moment I realised I wouldn’t get to discover where the dream was going. I *don’t* fancy my boss. He’s a Lib Dem!
But I find myself craving that excitement of something new. That frisson of excitement and fear when you realise something is going to happen. The vulnerability, the self consciousness. The will-we-won’t-we, quickly turning into oh my gosh, did we??
if you don't mind me asking, how did you two meet?
I don’t mind you asking at all. Please, ask whatever you like. Don’t ask, don’t get…
We met via a UK based BDSM community website called Informed Consent. I’d been on there a while and, at the time, was a pretty active member. He had just joined and put a profile up talking about kink and therapy (he’s a therapist).
I had a friend who was struggling with therapists who kept seeing kink as part of the problem and trying to get her to give it up in order to get ‘better’. So I was rather taken with his Lordship’s more rounded approach. I mailed him to tell him so. He looked at my profile and presumably liked some of the things I’d written about, and we mailed back and forth a while.
We met quite soon. I remember a vague feeling of disappointment when he walked up to me. We’d talked on the phone, exchanged pictures etc, so I knew what to expect. And he stood nearly a foot and a half taller than me. But I think I half expected something BIGGER. He had made such an impression, you see.
The disappointment was short lived. It feels odd to remember it. I’ve spent every day since trying to live up to him…
That first date was punctuated by a rather odd incident. We had just sat down to dinner when my former boss wandered over. Turned out, she was also his Lordship’s baby sitter, many years ago (as in, she looked after him when he was little). Before she left, she put her hands on my shoulders and told him "E is a very hard worker", then turning to me said, "…and W can do no wrong."
I’m not sure she could have chosen her words more perfectly, given the circumstances.
Woman:I got pregnant because I didn't have birth control and I don't want the fetus. Can I have an abortion?
Woman:I gave birth to my child but since I wasn't expecting it, I can't afford daycare. Can I have help paying for it?
Woman:Well, why can't I have birth control?
Government:Because. Sex isn't for recreation.
Woman:It can help regulate my period and benefit me in other ways.
Man:For no reason other than for recreational sex, may I have birth control?
Government:Do you have a penis?
Man:YES, YES I DO!!
Government:WELL HOWDY, VALID CITIZEN. You can buy condoms by the dozens. Here, here's a pack of special condom for "His Pleasure." Oooh, these come in different colours and flavours. Here, try these. They have ribs on them. And this one glows in the dark!! LOL OMG DICK LIGHTSABER!!
Government:But seriously, you're a man. You can do what ever you want.
Government:Shut up, you sinning, freeloading hussy.
…can you please stop pretending Rick Santorum is a viable Presidential candidate? You really got us there. For a moment we were all afraid you’d completely lost the plot and were actually serious.
You’ve got to know when to quit. Ridiculous views on gender, sexuality, religion and education are amusing enough… but the whole package? Seriously, how can we believe one person can be so horrendously wrong about EVERYTHING?
I’m growing tired of this game. Now, how about we all move on, and you go back to being the mildly right wing, only-a-little intolerant, and teency bit misogynistic superpower we all know and love. There’s a good nation.
I have also had been questioned twice if I was a woman for my explored mind. And also if my Master was existing at all, before we were taking pictures together. Be sure that I love what the both of you do. No little Anon should be daring to question anything in the two of you <3
Thank you for this lovely message. I was more amused by the insinuations than anything else, and really they were a compliment in disguise - intended or not!
I also have to admit to feeling a little sympathy for the doubters. Either they are submissive in dire want of meeting a decent Dominant, or they are Dominant in the very meanest of ways. Such poor, unenlightened souls. How could I not feel sorry for them, when I am so lucky?
The fact is, I belong to a remarkable man. He is intuitive and empathic, and so, so smart. He understands the plight of the submissive because he has taken the time to listen and observe. He has asked the right questions, and he is ever vigilant.
Yet he is also the most sadistic man I have ever met. He has dark, twisted desires that others would describe as positively broken, and which could easily land him in jail. He breaks all convention on how men should behave. And yet is simultaneously the kindest, gentlest, most generous and loving soul I have ever encountered.
In most people, such extremes of emotion and proclivity might render the individual unstable. Yet in him there is no contradiction, no swing. I feel safer with him, this man who would so enjoy blacking my eyes and cutting me to shreds, than I have ever felt with any man who has treated me like a princess.
He is relentless. He is ruthless. And he is smart enough, and loving enough, to be so safely. He is, quite simply, amazing.
(I do apologise for this little rush of love. I’ve just been for a run on sore feet, so I have endorphins flowing and am glowing from the reminder of last night’s trials. Such chemicals induce gushing, apparently.)
We talk so often, sometimes I think I’ve said everything I need to. You know me so well, I forget to tell you the obvious stuff. Remind me again… you *can’t* read my mind?
What I want is really very simple: more, harder, further.
You are my Master, my God, so I look to you for the answers. And yes, I admit, I become frustrated when you say you don’t have them. You are my answer, so how can you claim ignorance?
When you ask what I want, I give you the top-line answer, the end destination. I want union. I want total annihilation of the ego. I want complete acceptance. Subservience to your will. I want to be a tool. A vessel. I want to embody your Goddess.
I’ve always trusted in you to lead me there.It’s never occurred to me you might be asking for something a little more… immediate.
I was never asked before. Being asked ruins the fantasy a little. If I give you a list of things I want to try, a menu of the flavours I crave, I’m in charge. I’m bending you to my will. At least, this is how it feels to me. It’s that old dichotomy: who is serving whom? It is perversely easy for the Dominant to serve the submissive. She gets the attention she craves, the pain she needs, her fantasies rolled out for her. And if it is too much, she holds the ultimate power to stop it all.
But that’s not what I want. Not what I’ve ever wanted. It’s why I won’t use a safeword, and why I struggle to say I want X.
Of course I have fantasies. Things I desire, acts I would like to indulge in. What I want won’t always be novel, completely new, because I’ve done too much for that. Yet each experience is fresh in itself, because I am different every time, as are you. Nothing is ever the same. So please, don’t shy away from the tried and tested.
I will probably never be able to say please do X. It just doesn’t work that way for me. But I can show you. I do. Through this blog, through my artwork, through all the things I say.
I’m strong. I’m manipulative. I test and wheedle, and , being as smart as I am, can justify my objections. I need you to be relentless. Ruthless. I need you to take from me and force me to remember who I am. Then, when I’ve remembered, I need you to ask me for the things you so forcefully took. Only when I’m cowed do I remember to give.
I know. I’m difficult. I’m a bitch. I demand to be broken.