The very thought of going back to vanilla after knowing firsthand the emotional rawness that accompanies dominance and submission is like eating McDonald’s after dining at Spago.
No fucking thank you — I’d rather starve.
What I didn’t realize until afterward, was that once you dive entirely into D/s, everything else looks like a wallpaper adjacent Van Gogh’s Starry Night. You recognize the depth you can possibly go within yourself and realize your worth is far greater as a result, so settling for half-ass when it comes to passion becomes an impossibility. You find out, at the deepest level, what you are capable of giving.
“How’s the weather?” type conversations become a fucking chore with anyone when you’ve spoken the words, “I’ve never loved another soul anywhere close to what I do with you,” and you fucking meant it, which is mind-boggling. Hearing in return that the world is powerless without me in it becomes fuel to me, and knowing in my bones that you mean it enables me to see how much further I can go.
How deep can I push myself to open up more of me?
It causes me to tell myself, “I want 100% submission and I want nothing less. Everything short of it is a disappointment.” Unlike many dominant men apparently, I believe earning it is a critical part that makes it special, and I sure as fuck know how to earn it. Earning it – is the cornerstone of it all.
Saying “I Love You” and “I Miss You” always carries meaning, but saying those words as your Dom carries so much more substance because it accompanies a reflected vulnerability of mutual reciprocation. It means I am naked and exposed in the most personal parts of who I am; it means I am defenseless, in the only way that scares the fuck out of me to be defenseless.
Your most personal parts of who you have become mine. They cease to be yours and yours alone.
Your orgasms, secure in my back pocket. Your deepest thoughts and vulnerabilities journaled, now act as my morning ritual to read through and give feedback on. I hand over all of myself in exchange for this, opening up a level of exposure in each other not found otherwise unless you lay all on the line, knock down every wall, sink into each other, and dive as deep as two humans can possibly go.
D/s is the only tool I know of that gets me there, but getting there is the only place I know I can settle now.
Hot sex with some random person, after knowing what is really possible, would feel like watching a commercial on TV, just waiting for the good stuff to fucking kick in already, but knowing it never will on par with what D/s offers. Hot random sex is now McDonald’s. It’s a conversation about the rain; it’s floral wallpaper.
No fucking thank you.
There is no middle ground once you’ve spilled your entire soul into another, and everything short of it becomes a futile attempt to pretend you somehow are content with bland and reserved when all you really ache for is to find a way to dive deeper than you ever previously had.
Nope – I want to dive deeper. Deeper is the only direction I want to go now.
I want to write you loving musings every night to make you clutch at your heart and remember, really fucking remember, why the fuck I’m not like anyone else you’ve ever met in your entire life.
Musings, that flood your pussy with the memories of the taste of my salt. Musings that send your mind to a place where you recall the feeling of when my mouth is summoning orgasms from your soon-to-be tender pussy.
Musings, that make you reach between your legs, feel your wetness, taste yourself because you know Daddy wants you to. Words become brushstrokes, painting vividly into your mind mental images.
Images of my hazel eyes that you’ve come to know, spotting in my demeanor of an evident craving for everything about you, as my cock beats the deepest recesses inside your holes and my hand squeezes your neck. All while you wonder, just wonder, how the fuck this man could be the same man, that wrote you those loving musings, as he currently choke-fucks the orgasms right out of your now broken-down body.
The D/s is what makes the magic happen. It’s what makes the difference of it all.
It’s what makes Van Gogh’s oils so vibrant.
And you lay there, with a throbbing pussy, spilling my cum out of you with no ability to reach for a towel, and you remember every word I crafted was not an exaggeration, but the realization sets in, that a man who worships you at your very core, can do marvelous things to your body, and you ache for it more and more
No exceptions; no half-assing it.
I want to stare down into the mascara-soaked eyes of tears with my cock, fully-erect filling your pretty little mouth, but above all, I want you to call me Daddy when you swallow me.
I don’t want kinda sorta. I don’t want partially-engaged.
I want it all.
All or nothing.
Also published on Medium.