45 Days In…

…and next week, when I see my wife for the first time in a month, she’s going to write her law on me.  I love that phrase — Gene Wolfe used it in “Soldier of Sidon” to describe a spouse being disciplined, and while it was supposed to represent a bit of archaic misogyny, in this case, I think it’s appropriate.

 She’s going to write.  Her law.  On my flesh…  With a belt.

 45 days ago, my wife and I were basically your average vanilla couple, and I mean vanilla in the best possible way: vanilla was good.  We liked it.  But I had come out to her about the fact that I’ve had this deep-seated, long-denied and mortifying submissive instinct within me, and after several months of us being too timid to do anything, she finally dominated me.

 Two weeks later, she was sodomizing me with a strap-on while pulling my hair and calling me her bitch.  Ten minutes after that she was pissing on me in a shower.  Twenty minutes after that she was having me ride her while she smacked my face and played with the clamps on my nipples and uttered the sweetest curses I’ve ever heard.  And as soon as I came, I was up against the wall with my hands above my head and my legs spread while she smacked my ass until her hand got tired and her shoulders hurt.  So much for vanilla.  Vanilla was good to us.  This is better.  I feel owned.  I feel like property.  And I love it.

 I can’t explain it.  My wife is one of those sweet, unpretentious housewives who rarely curses and who likes baking in the kitchen when she isn’t taking our daughter to church.  She’s in the choir there.  She used to feel guilty about talking dirty to me.  Now, she calls me her slave and her dog and her whore and she makes me wear a choke-collar with a little tag that says “Property of XXXXX.”  There were these unknown depths that even she knew nothing about, and now I’m lost in them.  She was the first person to call what we did S&M.  And every limit we’ve put on what we do, she’s made us want to cross them.

Me, I’m a man in a career where submissiveness is verboten.  I’m aggressive and dominant and pride myself on being the center of attention.  I don’t want to submit to anyone or anything but her.  In my heart, all I want to do is curl up at my wife’s feet after she’s whipped me until the welts rise, all I can think of is her towering over me and pissing on me after pegging my ass, me showing her just how strong I am by taking every blow, every curse, every indignity, and being rewarded with those two little words: “Good boy.”  When she picked out a collar two weeks ago and put it on me, saying that I was hers until she said otherwise, that I was fucking property, I nearly came.  I was trembling.  It was one of the most powerful experiences of my life — all those buried submissive feelings just reached this perfect fruition, the fantasies about being hypnotized and enslaved by a girl in my third grade class when I was seven, all of them led to this moment, where I gave myself to another person to do whatever they wanted with.  No aggression.  No thought.  Just obedience.

 This blog is about us trying to figure out what we’re doing.  We have no clue.  We’re running on autopilot.  It’s been 45 days since two vanilla spouses decided to try a little D/s, and now a month and a half later, all I can think of is how it will feel to have a strap used on my ass and thighs and back for the first time, how I can’t wait to be marked by her piss and to feel that strap-on in my ass again while she smacks my thighs and pulls my hair as she rides me.  How it will feel in December when I get my Christmas gift, a tattoo with a stylized claddagh, a heart grasped by hands, wrapped in chains with the word “slave” in the middle.  And how nobody has a fucking clue about how the seemingly obedient Christian wife everybody adores is secretly my lord and master and owns me in every possible way.

 Next post: Coming out and finding your way as a male sub when you have no clue what you’re doing.