“I Want A Man.”

My wife arrived in town two nights ago, my daughter in tow, and due to the layout of our hotel suite, privacy has not been the problem I thought it was. Nice separate rooms, soundproofing, and an early bedtime have meant that we’ve gotten to play Mistress and slave a couple of times without having to risk exposures.

And play we have, albeit with some serious discussions sprinkled throughout. My wife has taken total control this trip — she’s the final arbiter of where we go, what we do, how I do everything from get showered to go to work. This is probably as close to a preview of what a total exchange of power would be like as I’m going to get. And she’s clearly happy with it.

And the thing is…

And the thing is, I’ve been working my ass off to be strong, and driven, and successful while alone down here, struggling over the last couple years of having to live apart to become the man I want to be — dominant, intelligent, powerful. And I’m getting there. And now, all of a sudden, the wife is holding out this prize: submission. Total submission, everywhere but when I’m at work. The final arbiter of decisions is her, but in exchange, all my submissive buttons get hit. And my worry is, all she’s asking for in return is everything I’ve been working for for the last two years.

Yesterday, when she got up, she took a shower and called me into dry her off. I happily did so. She admitted to me she’s been getting off on objectification lately, watching porn and envisioning the submissive or bottom partner as nothing but an object, just a sex toy or a servant. And without hesitation, I dried her off, not touching her except in ways she gave explicit permission before. She turned to me when I was done and said, “Kiss my feet.”

Our daughter was two rooms away, watching TV, and with no risk of being caught, I dropped to my knees on the cold, uncomfortable floor and proceeded to lick and kiss her feet. When I was done, she said, “Good. Now lick my ass.” And I did. Without hesitation, in the presence of that Voice and with her looming over me while I struggled on my knees, I placed my head by her ass proceeded to rim her until she was satisfied.

“Good boy,” she said. Then she told me exactly how she wanted me to shower — which washcloth to use where, and for how long, and what shampoo to use — and left me.

And the entire shower, I’ll admit that for the first time since we started our BDSM relationship, I was worried. I was scared of losing the “me” I’d worked for so long to achieve, the strong, driven, dominant male I was working to become at work and amongst my friends. Here I was, a man whose entire job revolves around conflict and being aggressive and strong, and with three words I unhesitatingly dropped to my knees and submitted. I licked her ass on command and got off on it, reveling in my own debasement, the ease with which I unquestioningly obey every order. Just the night before, she pissed on me and I begged to be allowed to taste it. For the first time, I sensed a nascent conflict between the man I was out of the bedroom with the happy little pet I was inside it. Because now she was talking about us moving back in together when my time down here with my job was up and living BDSM full-time, not all ballgags and collars, but just a quiet, low-key, total submission on my part. Can I reconcile being a cutthroat in my day life with going home and being weak?

And so I talked to her about it, last night. I admitted my fears to her, opened up about my worries, told her about how I want to be weak, want to be dominated, want to be pulled along in her wake. How when she offers out that prize, a very large part of me wants to take it. But I don’t want to be castrated — metaphorically speaking — and I don’t want to be nothing all of the time. I don’t know how I can reconcile those two parts of me, how they seem like they might come into conflict when we do our Mistress/slave roles more often than during our quick little rendezvous.

And her response was simple. (I’m summarizing a half hour of conversation into two paragraphs, so forgive me, but the words are hers, just strung closer together.)

She said, “I don’t want you to be a sissy. I have no interest in a weak man. I get no pleasure in dominating you because you’re weak — in fact, I want you to be stronger. You’re strong now, but I want you to be more powerful. You could be stronger for me. Because I get no pleasure from breaking a man who’s weak. I want you to be as strong as you can be, but when I want to, I’m going to bring you to heel, and I’m going to keep you broken. It works because there’s a part of you that needs to be broken, but you can’t break somebody who’s weak…there has to be something there to be break, some steel.”

“So you want me to be stronger? You don’t want me to be weak all of the time?”

“Right.” She pointed at my cock. “You have that… weapon there, and it’s fucking marvelous. You’re working hard to get your life to where you want it to be, and I want all of those things to make you stronger. I showed you how big your cock was because I want you to know you’re a big man. I want you to know how sexy you are, how great you are at work, how much people like you. I want you to be strong and cocky and powerful when your career hits its stride. I want you to have self-esteem and a backbone. But I also want to break you. I want to be able to objectify you. I want you to be strong, and yet still submit to me, and let me carve my name into your back or tattoo my mark on you or piss on you and have you beg for it. There’s no conflict between you submitting to me and being the man you want to be — in fact, if it’s up to me, you’re going to be even stronger and more dominant. Everywhere but with me. Because here, here’s where I get to break you.”

There was more talk, about playing with knives and electrostim and there was sex and pain and orgasms, but the end result is that she knows what she wants, and how to reconcile it with both sides of me, the submissive and the public man, and she has it all figured out, even if I don’t.