Scary Surprises.

I have no idea what awaits me this weekend.

Normally, I worry about “topping from the bottom,” if I understand the concept right. My wife’s complained — “It’s not very submissive if you tell me what you want and then I do it.” She worries about the power-exchange getting all mixed up. Given that it’s our first few months into this, I feel like communication is essential — “I’d love it if we could get the strap-on out early, because you get into dominant-mode extra well with it.” “I’d love a golden shower.” You know, I feel like I’m being a good sub by laying my wants on the table….

But this is like, our fifth vacation together where BDSM will be involved. So I’m assuming we’ve got it down. This trip, there will be no new toys — okay, I tell a lie, I just bought a Nexus Sr Feeldoe, and I would have bought ankle cuffs if I’d had the money — but really, we’re relying on the tried and true: the strap-on, ballgag, collar, handcuffs, flogger, crop, belt, and shower-curtain.

So this Friday, I’ve surrendered totally to her. No comments. No wish-list. No hints about what I hope will happen. She’s gonna do what she wants, and I’m fairly sure I’m going to like it.

It’s neat to not know what’s in store. It’s…scary. Because my wife is scary. It feels good to say that: My wife scares me. And she scares me because I don’t understand her. I’ve asked her to explain what goes through her head when she’s being dominant, when she exercises her sadistic impulses, but she can’t. “It’s a drug high,” she says. “It’s the greatest rush I’ve ever felt in my life. And I mean the drug reference — it’s addictive. I count the hours until I can hurt you again.”

She told me the other night, “Do you know what I want to do when I piss on you? I want to laugh. I mean, I want to laugh, because it’s so strange…I’m peeing on the man I love. He’s laying underneath me and I’m pissing on his face and his chest and his cock, and that’s so humiliating, and it’s not what you’re supposed to do with somebody you love, and yet I feel so powerful…that this man wants to sit under me and let me cover him in my pee and I’m doing it because I own him.”

What’s really weird is that she has a hard time sometimes reconciling herself, alone and up there by herself, with the person she is when we’re together. She read a chat log I’d made with her, and she told me, “I’m reading this woman order you to touch yourself, and telling you you’re her slut and whore and ordering you to lay on the ground, here comes the shower, rub it in, and I think, ‘Who the heck is he talking to? Who is this crazy bitch to talk to my husband like that?’ And then I realize, ‘Holy…it’s me.’”

And I don’t know what’s coming. I don’t know what this woman is going to do to me. I’m totally in her hands this time, and she may just leash me and lead me around the room, she may tie me up, she may hurt various parts of my body with different toys — it’s all up to her.

This time I’m simply a pet. (That’s what she’s been calling me lately…) She calls, she orders, and I answer and obey. Brr. I get shivers thinking about that. I mean, I cannot wait to see what’s going to happen.

What makes it more scary — more interesting — is that we’re trying to get pregnant. So the forced celibacy for the next few days until I see her is going to be for a purpose other than just making sure I don’t overload when I see her next. Nope, it’s so that the first shot across the bow, so to speak, is going to get knock her up. And that’s scary.

And hot. Because pregnant sexy mistress wife is a collection of adjectives and nouns that just turns me right the hell on. I mean, how sick must I be to think a pregnant dominant is hot? So sick. But as crazy as it is, the idea is hot. I’m going to have to look up what the risks are to a woman who beats her husband while pregnant. Are there any? I mean, I’m the one getting hit, right?