The Making of a DomiNOT!bydominot©
My husband wants to be dominated.
Well, it would be a scary prospect in itself, and it surely would break up a marriage or two. Mine is already breaking. We are hanging by a thread here. And one of our biggest problems is sex.
Lack of it.
I am a slut. Really. I am still, for all intents and purposes, a closeted sub. I had a medical fetish before I had a lover. I swooned on episodes of Rescue Squad. My very conservative parents idea of sexual education, was handing me a complete sex encyclopedia, with entries that ranged from Bathory to golden shower. I had found it years before anyway, so it did not matter. It also taught about toys, which I did not have access to, so I lost my virginity by my own hand, to a perfume bottle. Large one at that. If you think about it really, it was sort of an accident.
Got too carried away, for the first time.
My first lover was a college teacher, in my very first year, which dumped me after the first time, my first time. It hurt. Six months later, he proposed we go back by making a threesome with a former student, five years my senior. And all it took was playing footsie in a school meeting room.
I must tell you it was a disaster, because the other girl simply broke down. I guess in my youth I assumed she would be ok with it, because she was older. It went too fast for her, and in truth I felt somewhat responsible at the time, for I had not thought about her at all. So, here I was, still quite virgin, despite having almost been in a threesome, giving psychological advice to a woman I formerly admired as the strong one. It was a mess.
It then turned out that she had been his lover for quite a few years, and when I told her my own story, she was very repulsed.
He blamed us, and made us chase him for even a shred of an explanation.
Which did not stop him from going back to her, and me at about the same week. I actually convinced him by sucking his cock and swallowing. Encyclopedia was very handy, I told ya.
It lasted a long time, where I grew increasingly tired of him. I angered him a little, because I was a brat. I am a brat. While I did love him deeply, it was obvious to me that he could not be trusted, and that my life was not with him.
He would not use a condom no matter how I insisted. He actually favored some sort of cream contraceptive which in retrospect only irritated my sensitive tissues and made me even more at risk for disease. I started suspecting he was doing every girl who fell for his good looks. He kept telling me about his friend that had AIDS.
When college was over, so was the relationship.
He kept insisting I go back, and I did a few times, I did love him, and I was soon to know that most men don't fuck for forty minutes straight like he could, and it is not a skill that is easy to learn. But I get ahead of myself.
The former tough guy tricked me into his house when it was finally over, and actually knelt before me, begging me to stay. I was disgusted. All that talk about being in control, and he just – wasn't.
All I could think about was how threatened I was to be tricked into this, and I decidedly hate to feel stupid, let alone afraid. I was very apprehensive.
I have to get out of here now!.
"Come on, lets get into the bed, make peace and love, the way we do best."
"Sorry. I have someone else now."
"Who could it be?"
"He is in another country."
"You are kidding me."
"Nope. I showed him the pictures you made of me. He liked them a lot."
He got really upset for a while, then he composed himself, and ...
... he tripped me into his floor. I was by now really looking for an exit. I knew how small framed I was. I did not stand a chance.
"Look into my eyes, tell me you don't want me."
"I don't. Let me go."
I got out of there real fast, and I never saw him again. If you are thinking I got lucky, I knew it even then.
I certainly know it now.
I did move to that other country, where I met my husband to be, who was a virgin. Sweet it seemed. The problem is, that now, ten years later, it has not improved a lot from there.
Let me skip his part on this. He knows I am on Literotica, and he gave me no right to his story. At least not until he asked for me to show him a bondage video. Now his story is mine to tell. And I will tell it here, because if I manage to catch the attention of you boys and girls that actually understand anything of this, and you find my story worth your trouble, I trust that you will find it in your heart to help me.
You will soon see why I ask.
I had a religious phase Let me sublimate my ways with prayer. Let me not think about my morning missed orgasm in the prayer house. Worked poorly. It is hard to concentrate when you have cum in your panties.
As you see, that did not last too long.
I was always good with fantasizing, and when my sex life as a married woman did not take off, that is what I did. I really am not into cheating and I was getting desperate. Did I mention that Mr. Lover Teacher could do it for forty minutes? Well, I took it for just as long, and I had sucked him off beforehand.
If any of you ever went from that to zero with no hope of respite, you will understand my plight.
At first it was vampires. Let me be helpless under his powerful arms... So what if those particular vampires did not have sex. Mine did. I made them do it.
I went into depression as soon as I was married. My life was over. Mr. Lover Teacher - the selfish - was going to be the sexual experience I would seek in my dreams. I dreamt of him constantly, and it made me feel so empty.
Add masturbation. Well, I always done it, and I must tell you I was not so good at it. I did not know any better at the time. It gave me relief, sometimes it did not work. I really liked those objects, and I bought cosmetics by the look of the container, by the way would feel like inside me.
So what, if the encyclopedia said that women don't penetrate themselves with their toys? They did not ask me. I was the five percent. The freak that was wet all the time and would not stop thinking about sex. The one that would fuck herself long and hard if she just knew how, and had the proper equipment. I think the cosmetics companies are on to me, and to you. All those bottles being removed from unsuspecting colons on the emergency room got their attention. The good bottles just cannot be found anymore. Thank you lawyers!
Yep. I said colon. We will get to that in a minute.
All the while, my relationship with my imaginary vampire was getting really good. At first I felt unworthy of the night Master's attention, but I improved myself. I imagined this persona that he could love. That he would be proud of. I became that better person, and I am not sure it would have occurred otherwise, this improvement. I am successful at a personal level. I don't always have to make that extra effort.
I can't tell you when exactly I the light bulb lit over the vegetable counter. I don't eat any vegetables, so I don't go there a lot. Someone gave me that idea, it was not one of mine. It should have been.
I was in heaven!
Now we had vegetables in the house. Thick nice long ones. My husband started asking me which ones he should eat, he was leaving the good ones for me back in the fridge. He is sweet like that. Which is why I was patient with him.
I was a repressed slut still. My desires were too numerous to admit. The vegetables went anywhere a cock would fit. Smaller stuff went elsewhere. I was still not so good at the orgasm part, I could get them readily, but they weren't so great.
Well, the book said something about that.
Women are unhappy because they expect fireworks. I expect them, and I am a woman. I am unhappy. My desire was nothing like it was in those early years, I hardly wanted any sex anymore. Actually, it became increasingly painful, and the puzzled doctor, who really tried to help, could not think of a cause.
Most sexual happiness books seem to sponge orgasm by penetration as well. I am a big fan of that, and I like other forms of pleasure a lot less. So maybe that was why I was unhappy. I wanted the one thing that does not work. The book said it. It was not my fault, or my husband's fault.
My wants needed major fixing.
The book did commit a major faux-pas however, in its quest to kill my libido for good. It mentioned something called an A-spot. A spot on the back of the vagina, which some 5% of women, seem to have. Now, you will not find A-spot readily on Google, but cut and paste "anterior fornix vaginae", you will get the spot I have.
The freaky one.
The one you need a really long penetrating device to get to.
Orgasms were about to get better.
Obviously, I was reading the wrong stuff.
Back to my husband.
By now we knew had a problem. I was using the vegetables more openly, despite fears that by openly "substituting" his cock, and causing him great psychological damage in the process. It was not easy to hide that habit anymore, when he already started grinning at the supermarket checkout line.
He asked me for my help about then. I was to tell him what to do, what I wanted, how he could change. I could not do it them. For reasons I do not care to elaborate here, it was very hard for me to tell another what to do. In a general a level it is fine, but a blow-by-blow instruction session? I am not a Dominant, right? I am a closeted sub, slave to the Master in my head.
I bought him books, special condoms. Whatever I could think of. But that thing he was asking, direction, control, in bed ... it was not me.
We saw a sex shop on a seedy location once, and entered. Sex shop was really the cover for a sleazy video rental store. It was a traumatic experience for me, and the toy selection was really meager.
Vegetables it was.
For a while. I overcame my shyness and bought two dildos on the internet, though one of them was a Doc Johnson replica, you really can't tell the size by the thumbnail, right? It was not something I could take at the time.
Fucking great. I kept trying, and for the time being, I enjoyed the smaller one I bought with it.
Vampire books. Anne Rice.
Well she writes other stuff too.
Cry to Heaven.
Exit to Eden - oops. That book is really silly. It sounded really hot then, before Literotica that was.
Marquis de Sade. Disgusting. Sorry, not into the stuff. The first book I ever threw away, though I am very respectful of books, specially the forbidden ones. Sorry, Marquis, my kid could grow up and find that.
The Academy, or another book of the same series. Not a good read. It is about a training Master who goes sub, and uses everyone really badly before he gets there. Proof that even in BDSM, I would find the same men which Mr. Lover Teacher represented. The selfish kind. When he got it from the other Master in the end, I really cheered. He deserved it.
Besides, that was an anal sex scene. My favorite fantasy.
The story of O. What a shock. What would make a woman do that to herself? A guy? Please. The guy does not even stay with her in the end. Doesn't all that beating bruise? Hasn't O heard of UTIs? I have. I get one every time my husband gets near me. Though definitely that was more anal sex, descriptions of which were rare to find.
I was miserable by then. Well and truly a mess.
Now that I was ordering smut from the internet, reading it there was not such a great step. I was afraid really. Putting all my desires out to air. I was afraid of what was there. I could embarrass myself. Shock myself.
Pregnant dildo delivery was about now... I gave myself a birthday dildo, when I was five months along. The nice story owner brought it himself. I don't think he sees that everyday. The smile on his face told me. I made his day.
By then the fantasy world in my head was going sour. Vampires are not so good a fantasy with a baby expected in the house. Back to medical fetish then. Surely I was having as much specula up there - in my high risk pregnancy - as I will ever want or need ...
Then it turns out that, between the meat restaurant and the mall – did I mention I eat no vegetables? – there was a sex store. A BDSM sex store. Welcome larger butt plug to the collection.
And I was all wet again. Reason why? Not butt plug. I was off the pill. No pill means libido back. Wet all the time again.
No way I am getting back into that.
More books. Jack Morin. The pain I was feeling was likely psychological, he pointed. I followed some of the instructions in his book. Everyone should read Dr. Anal. He could change your life too.
The first Internet Stories site I found, had things I did not agree with. I thought that if I was arguing with myself whether some of that stuff was even legal, then maybe I should not be reading it.
I found Literotica about then. Actually, I found it because of the How-To section, for my husband.
Yup, I was still trying, though by now, ten years had passed, and it was obvious something was seriously wrong. Husband would not read the How-To section, but I got to read the most amazing stories. Nice categories, so I don't have to read what I don't like.
I was in heaven again.
The next step was to write some of my own. Yup. My own sick fantasies. At first I thought myself so dirty, submitting others to my warped personality. The stories I read were nicer. The stories I chose were nicer.
Mine were really twisted, or so I thought. Shame on me.
One of my stories got rerouted into the BDSM category because of the word Master.
I removed it. I thought the BDSM folks voted low for it, because my bad story went into their category. A quick read of the Literotica forums showed my mistake. While my BDSM stories are bad, the trolls don't care. I don't think they read the story at all.
I also got very rude invitations for role playing in the email. While it is polite to answer to all feedback on my stories, I don't answer rude emails. Don't send any.
It has not been that long since my first story was posted. They are not a smashing success, those stories, but they do OK. I swore off BDSM for a while, because my interest in Tantra sent me from mooladhara to anahata quite quickly. I could not write stories where people get hurt. I can write stories where I get hurt. I can write about myself what I like, and my main character, she is me. The closeted sub.
Not that I tie her up either. Her fans complain!
Something entirely unexpected happened this very month.
My sister in law, younger than me by a few years, informed me that she had some weird friends. They were into the kinky sutff. I wondered if the kinky friends were us, and this was a covert hint. I probably had forgotten to clean up the browser properly after I checked how my stories were doing on Lit, and she caught on to me.
Yup, probably that.
My husband and I went into a serious marital crisis. He was tired of my indifference, and I want to be fucked properly. I am not getting any younger. There is more to it, of course. But it is enough to illustrate what comes next.
In real life we are both very controlling people, and in the beginning he got the upper hand. He was bred to be controlling, and I was bred to shut up and not argue, though I was very rebellious from the start. I suffered some true personal losses at first, for my failure to stand up for myself against his will.
Yes, I know it from personal experience: if one gives his life for someone else to run, that someone better know what he is doing, or know how to ask for help.
Slowly I learnt to assert myself in this new land I chose as home. I overdid it at first, and people thought less of me. No matter. As the years pass I cared even less what people thought.
I knew who I wanted to be.
In my real life, I wanted to learn to exercise control without force. I wanted people to do what I want without feeling cheated or manipulated. I knew a few people, older, who could do that. I wanted Harmony, while getting what I wanted.
Real life started seeping into fantasy life, and soon my created character, the closeted sub who was a clone of myself, was standing up for herself too.
Back to sister in law.
It turns out that the funny friends were real. They were inviting her to a closed party with the local, close knit BDSM community. The real one.
Too close to home.
I had no interest to reveal myself to her, but I started to warn her gently of the dangers inherent in this. Not to scare her off, I am happy for her, but she is young, and before I was her age, I was tripped to the floor of an apartment, about to get raped by my long lost lover. BDSM can go wrong, because life can, I told her. Trust is everything.
It is all in the stuff I read.
Did I tell you I read a lot of stuff? I could get away with this, because everything interests me. It was only natural that I would know a thing or two about BDSM, right?
Wrong. Normal people don't know what it is. They know better than to admit it if they do.
What came next I was not counting on either: my husband had also heard of the new friends.
One late night I was writing away my latest erotic adventure, when he asked to see a sex video. Lit VOD has a large selection, you know.
"What do you want to see?" I offered, magnanimously, search engine open.
So predictable. "I want to see what you see."
Blacks on blondes? I don't think so. "No. You tell me what you want to see."
Ta-dah. Here it comes.
"I want to see men getting tied up."
See what am I getting at? Does he want to be tied up? And do I do what with him afterwards?
I am a closeted sub! I have a Master in my head for crying out loud.
Fire up search engine. My hubby the virgin. I have no more than a few minutes to select a movie on a subject I know little about.
Humiliation, all movies seem to have that.
Golden shower definitely out.
Medical bondage? Ah, don't do that to me. I click on a movie or two, try to judge by the thumbnails how bad the shock is going to be. Consent is a very big issue for me and one of the issues I have with bondage videos is that I cannot be sure where they come from. I understand nothing of them. I had seen humiliation videos in the past, and the screaming turned me on.
Not knowing the movie was not the newest work of some Mr. Priklopil in Austria turned me off.
My trolls are right.
With my husband, it was beginner's luck. Focus on wimpy guy on Jacuzzi, nice cock, and the Mistress. WHOA!
I did not know women could fuck men in the ass like that. She moved like a man. Where is her center of gravity for crying out loud? Did I mention that was also a bondage movie?
The guys cock and balls were nicely tied, so was he, as she used her strap-on to my heart's content.
Hey! Anal is anal.
My husband had enough rather quickly. Or so I thought.
When we went to bed, I fucked him.
No, not like that.
Woman on top.
I heard a lot about balls being tied after that, and I was not so surprised anymore. I knew the signs: he went through all the stages, fear, curiosity, fascination.
He wanted it.
Then two more things happened that changed everything.
One, is the story Culture Shock, by Sir Nathan. Thank you Sir!
I cried mid-way through it.
There I was.
That twenty year old. Virgin. Wet all the time.
But Elaine had more sense than I had. She had toys, she could afford them.
She did not meet Mr. Lover Teacher. She met Gary.
I am not sure if at twenty I would have the guts to do what she did, but you know.
I could have.
Unexplainably, at that very same weekend, sister-in-law came to visit. A private party. We try to be responsible older relatives, and we hope her parents don't think we are responsible for this, if it comes out.