The Art of Reluctant Submission

So here I sit, naked in the dark, my hands cuffed behind my back, waiting for Her to arrive and do whatever She wants to me. It's not really a situation I'd ever pictured myself in. I've never seen myself as a submissive. I like to let the woman take charge every now and then, but for the most part I prefer to be the boss.

At least, that's what I had thought.

I shift, trying to get comfortable. Sitting naked on a cold linoleum floor makes you very aware of your nakedness. It's not like lounging comfortably nude on your couch; it's quite clear that you're not naked by choice. My balls keep touching the floor and making me jump. Sure, I could stand up, but eventually I'd want to sit back down again, especially since it's dark in here, and it's a lot harder than you'd think to sit down on the floor without the use of your arms.

I can hear Her, outside the bathroom, getting ready. I can't tell what She's doing, but the noises make me nervous. Is She building something? How long have I been waiting?

Anyhow, I never thought I'd choose this sort of situation, but I've been dealing with some sexual issues, and this seemed like a possible solution to try that might help me center myself.

My ex-wife never wanted to take control. Sex with her wasn't a two-person experience. It was me abusing her for her pleasure, with very little feedback from her about what she liked or wanted. When we first started playing BDSM games, it was awesome. I was so excited about all the naughty things we were going to do with one another. But the excitement slowly died as I realized WE weren't going to do anything WITH one another. No, I was going to be doing things TO her, and she was either going to love it or hate it, but either way, I'd probably have to figure out which one it was on my own.

It wasn't just sex where I had to figure out everything on my own. That responsibility bled into every aspect of our lives. Finances. Relocations. Job hunting. Raising our child. Going back to school. Eventually I realized that I didn't have a partner; I had a follower, one who chose not to share with me the reasons why she followed. I hated it. And eventually, I grew to hate her. I never told her I hated her, though. That would have felt like telling your dog it's a bad dog when it hasn't done anything wrong lately. I know, I know, it was cruel of me to try to hide this, but I didn't know what else to do. We were married. We had a kid. I figured I'd simply deal with my issues on my own, as that's what I'd been doing all along. Sure, I hated her, but I also still loved her.

I'm starting to get a little cold. It's funny how you don't really worry about being cold most of the time. If it gets cold, you put on a jacket, or slide under a blanket, or adjust the temperature. It's not that often that you're in a situation where you can't do anything about being cold. I wasn't freezing, but the fact that I couldn't address my chill served to remind me of what I was doing here.

What was I doing here? Why on earth did I think it was a good idea to do this? I mean, it's not like I'm submitting to a stranger; we're friends. We've even played around a bit, so it's not like this is completely unexplored territory. But seeing as how I've never really submitted in regard to anything in my life, my decision to give up all control still confused me.

Sex with my ex-wife eventually became mechanical. Insert tab A into slot B, then pull tab A partially out of slot B before sliding it back in. Repeat. We finished having sex and she immediately went to the bathroom to clean up. No snuggling, no talking, no "Wow! That was awesome!" Every now and then when I fully let my lack of respect for her slip out in the bedroom, we had awesome sex. And immediately afterward I felt like shit. It wasn't that she got off on the brutal things I was doing to her. I could deal with that. It was that we only had awesome sex when I let my negative feelings toward her guide our sexual activities. I realized that on some level, I really enjoyed hitting her, shaming her, and using her body in careless ways because I was finally being open with how I felt about her. I wasn't enjoying it because she enjoyed it; if anything, her enjoyment made it less fun for me. I started to hate myself almost as much as I hated her.

Eventually I had trouble even getting excited about sex, especially vanilla sex. We'd reached the point where if I wanted sex it was expected that I would take it. And yeah, that's fun every once in a while. But it can also be very tiring, and very frustrating, especially when I wasn't feeling like playing rapist. If I wanted to have sex, I'd need to go watch porn first, cuz there certainly wasn't going to be foreplay. And I'd need the porn so I'd have a strong enough erection to last through the struggle. Apparently I don't get off on the struggle, or at least, I don't get off on it when the struggle is simply a requirement I have to complete before I get to fuck.

And now, almost two years after the inevitable divorce, I still have intimacy issues. I get anxious when sexual encounters and play sessions require me to make most of the decisions. I seem to have trouble getting sexually excited when there's an actual person involved, as if the requirement of dealing with that person puts me so on edge that there's no way I'm maintaining an erection. I push people away, rather than take a chance on learning to enjoy sex again.

I'm terrified that my new-found sadism will forever be linked to actual negative feelings toward the target of my sadism, and that the only people I'll ever be able to get off with will be people I hate.

I back out of dates at the last minute as my stomach clenches and roils and gurgles ever more intensely as I get closer and closer to date time. I want to connect intimately with another person. I really do. I just don't know how to do it. I can't figure it out. Which is why I asked my friend to dominate me. Just once, just to see if giving up all control will allow me to, at least temporarily, give up all my anxieties as well.

Now I'm having second thoughts. My dick is shrinking in the chilly bathroom air as sweat pools in my armpits. How can I be hot and cold at the same time? I'm starting to worry that my friend is going to feel the same way about me as I did about my ex. I'm seriously considering calling it off, which is a pretty awkward thing to consider doing while naked and cuffed, crouching in a dark bathroom. I can't do this. I can't do this. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I realize that I haven't heard any noise outside the bathroom for a while. Did She leave? Relief floods through me at the thought, even as I realize that if She did leave, I'm kind of in trouble here. But at least if She left I don't have to explain why I don't want to do this anymore...

And the door opens. She stands framed in the light, a tall silhouette in high heeled thigh highs and a corset, a riding crop in Her hand. Curly dark hair frames Her face, the cute bob contrasting starkly with Her pierced nipples and breasts spilling over the top of the corset. She steps toward me, Her heels clicking on the linoleum, and plants one of those heels on my shoulder. It hurts a little, but I don't really notice.

She's so close and so strong and I'm on my knees and I can't do anything!

I strain against the cuffs instinctively, metal scraping and pinching across the tender skin on the inside of my wrists. It hurts a little more, but nowhere near enough to bother me. Not now. Not as Her naked pussy stares me in the face. The only time pain doesn't bother me is when I'm scared or turned on, or both...

On the verge of panic, I pull away from this vision of carnal perfection. She corrals my head with the crop, placing it behind my neck with a hand on either side. I have no leverage. I have no power. The only control I have left is in submission. She pulls me forward as She whispers one word: "Lick."

My cock is rock-hard, almost painfully so, getting in my way as I lean forward, leading with my tongue...