My Dark Side

I am tired of living apart from my Mistress. I’m tired of getting punishment and domination in 48-hour doses once every month or two. I know I should be grateful for what I have — for what a lot of submissive men apparently want but don’t get — but dammit, I’m frustrated.

I had planned on writing a long, honest post about why male domination scares me, to open wounds long thought healed — about why letting myself dominate my wife when she wants to switch is so hard for me, even when her need is so raw and honest and my own urge to control is so powerful. But I’m having a rough night, and I’m feeling down, and when I’m at my emotional nadir like this, when my self-loathing is at its peak — or lowest depth, so to speak — what I want is to be obliterated before Her Will. I want her to make me strip and then to collar me and then to smack my face. I want to be tortured. I want to be told to lick her feet, to kiss my way up her legs, to eat her out until she comes sloppily in my face while she absently watches porn or fucks my face with her hips, of both. To rest my head on her thigh while her orgasm dries on my face and to feel her relax and to sigh as she runs her hand through my hair and calls me a good boy.

I want to fuck her while she tortures me, her nails tearing at my chest, her thumbnail and forefinger trying to pry my nipple off, her hands scratching my stomach and my shoulders, punctuated with blows to the face that burn with pain, then ache, then numb up until the next blow. Slaps, punches, all of it, nothing is too much. I would happily wear a black eye into work, happily wear a split lip, that’s how deep my need runs. I fantasize about being forced to lie about it, to say that I fell or that I was clumsy, to cover up my dirty secret.

Thanking her for every abuse. Her cock in my mouth and then my ass, while she chokes me with a leash or with my collar, pulling on it as she grinds into me, my airway closing as I rejoice in the knowledge that I’m just a fucking object — literally, a fucking-object, something for her to use, something to put her cock in or to put into her sex, something to be used to get off. A knife on my skin, scarlet flowing into her lips, my head hazy in the glow of being food, of being something she can drink.

Floggers, crops, belts, and the switch, all used on my thighs, my ass, my back. Pain, pain, pain. Red lines that show she loves me. Clamps and blows to my balls and my cock, each one obscenely making me hot and hurt at the same time. Then, the finale, me laid out on the floor, while she pisses on me: warm, liquid disdain.

I want to be ground down into nothing. I want to be hurt and fucked and to serve and pleasure her, for my own desires not to matter except insofar as they coincide with hers, for her wickedness and cruelty to make me into a victim, a slave, a nothing.

But I can’t have it, because we’re apart. And we’re apart because of mistakes I made, bad decisions that led us to living a thousand miles from each other. This is my punishment: the discovery of BDSM, the discovery of her sadism, the discovery of her nearly divine power over me.

Divinity. That’s what dominance is, and I don’t care how ridiculous it sounds — to be like a god to the person you’re dominating. To be worshipped. To be the only thing in their world for a few brief moments, to know that you can hurt them and they’ll cry for more, that you are the only source of pleasure or love for those minutes while the scene lasts. To be everything. That’s what I want — for her, for my Mistress, to be EVERYTHING, and for me to be nothing. To be a flyspeck in her glory. To be a dustmote in her presence and dance and whirl in her wake. Yes, it’s cheesy. Yes, it’s overdramatic. But nights like tonight, when I’m alone and my need is a physical ache, where it’s a fog of depression that won’t lift until I’m hurt and humiliated and that hurt and humiliation is always out of reach — that’s what it’s like. To be unhappy and miserable and to know that it would all be better if she were only here, to hurt and control and dominate and annihilate.

Nights like tonight, I hate myself, and I know that only she can exorcise that emotion from me. Only she can wring it out, along with everything else, until I’m nothing, and then reborn as she holds me in the aftermath of the scene.

–B