I had an awful day. I feel terrible. I won’t go into the details, but today was just a heck of a bummer, and I think I saw one of my dreams go down the tubes today. (It’s weird, segregating my real life from my sex life for my blog out of privacy, because they’re not segregated in my life. They feed into each other. But I can only go into so much detail.)
It’s okay. I’ll heal, turn the whole thing into a learning experience and move forward. Ever onward or whatever.
But I sat there in my office, depressed as hell, and I picked up my phone, and I started texting my wife about my fantasies. And she started getting wet. And I told her to get up from her desk, go into the bathroom, look in the mirror, and think about serving me until she was incredibly wet. And then to take off her panties and put them into her pocket and go about her day, soaked and aroused and pantiless in her skirt, knowing she’s my slave.
Then I told her I want her to be an object. Now, objectification gets her off. We’ve talked about it for a couple days now, and a new blog I discovered has an entry that just about made her come thinking about it. She wants to be a table. She wants to be a footstool. She wants to be reduced to the status of inanimacy. (She masturbated on my orders to the image of her as a table for me to eat sushi off and came pretty hard this morning.)
And my day turned from bad to very, very passable. Maybe even good. The idea that I could control her, could tell her to do something she would never in a million years do — go pantiless and wet at work — made me feel good. And her desire to be a thing gets me off. For her to be rigid and motionless and to exist solely to please me…very hot.
And then I got home and told her I wanted really rough, dominant-sex-with-me-as-master phone sex, which she stole away and gave me.
That’s the difference between subbing and dominating for me: availability. I spent a lot of time when I had a bad day in a fog of need — wanting phone sex, wanting to be hurt, wanting to be dominated or ordered, even if it was only the phone. But everything was about her. She could say “no,” and did. She didn’t leap to respond to my needs — although she did, in her own way, eventually take care of me 90% of the time — but now…now, she has to. Now she’s the servant.
Now, she won’t say “no.” And it means that my bad days don’t last the way they used to. My need doesn’t go unanswered. And that’s nice. I’m not insensitive — if there comes a day where she doesn’t want to or can’t respond to my needs instantly, I’ll be understanding. But right now, it’s wonderful to think that my whims become her orders and it gets her off to perform them.
