I’ve Got a Golden Ticket…

…in my pants.

If the reference seems a bit nutty, follow my logic. The Willie Wonka reference will hopefully come together.

My wife told me the other night: “When I dominate you, I feel like a superhero. I feel like I spend my days as an awkward and fumbling girl in glasses, and then when I get around you and you submit, I am all powerful and completely self-assured. Nothing can harm me, and I can do anything. When I read about what we do — when I think about it — it’s like hearing about the exploits of a different person. I can’t believe it’s me. It’s the superhero. My life without you is a secret identity I wear so no one suspects I’m who I am when I’m with you.” That’s what this post is about: Her power.

Last night my wife and I were chatting and I joked about how she’ll get to torture my cock in just a few days. And she sighed and said, “Oh, no, I’ve got better things to do with your cock than torture it.”

“You don’t mind clamping it…” I said.

“No, when I’m clamping you all over, your cock makes a fine place to put one. But I just don’t understand cock torture. I mean, I have so many better things to do with it — kissing it, sucking it, feeling it inside me…” She sighed, wistfully. “I love your cock. Love it. No matter what else we do, your cock is for fucking, not for hurting. Women who want to hurt penises seem to be missing the best possible use for them, which is my satisfaction.”

She’s like a spoiled kid with my cock, and I like it. On the one hand, it feels wonderful to have somebody so into my penis that they just sit there and get a faraway look in their eyes when they think about it. She’s like Veruca Salt — “I want it!” — and there’s no denying her.

She’s reconciled what would normally be “switchy” instincts with her desire to be dominant. She has no shame in sucking my cock on her knees or me spanking her, because she commands it — she’s self-assured enough with her place in the relationship where sitting in what would normally be a submissive position with my cock in her mouth is still about her, not me. I’m getting pleasure, but we’re there — me, moaning, her, on her knees — because she wants to taste my cock. She wants facials, loves the idea of my come coating her face, but she doesn’t see it as disrespectful or paradoxical at all. (Honestly, I probably wouldn’t think to do facials if she didn’t want them — and so even her getting a pearl necklace is about her, not me. Her desires. Her wants. Not mine.)

“If I want to be spanked,” she told me the last time we spoke to one another about our shift from my dominance back to her dominance, “then I’ll tell you to spank me. And it will be an act of submission, because I control it. You’re a spanking object. I get off on the idea of being humiliated, being hurt, but make no mistake — I’m in charge.”

And so it is even when we have sex in a way that anyone else would view as male dominant — me on top, thrusting down into her. She makes it about her — hitting me, striking my face as hard as she can. Ordering me to come. Torturing my nipples. Scratching my chest. She’s the only woman I know who can make fucking from her back into an active, dominant position, my weight and power turning into nothing but whatever she allows. All-powerful superhero, not awkward Clark Kent in glasses.

“There are going to be days,” she said, “where I’ll feel like getting come on — my face or my ass. Maybe even a golden shower. Getting tit-slapped and spanked. But it’s about my pleasure, not your power. You don’t have any power.”

How the fuck can you argue with that? Any power I have from the mere position we’re in is illusory — it’s about who controls the scene: what happens, who does what, who chooses, who ends it. And the power is in her hand. I could fuck her doggy-style and it would mean nothing about my power, because doggy is her favorite position. (She calls it “porno-fucking,” and loves the angle and the feeling of getting just achey and bashed in her sex.) If I do her doggy, it’s not because I’m dominating her, it’s not like I’m a bull, all power — it’s because I’m a very effective, lovable and cuddly fucking machine. It lasts as long as she wants it, and it happens because she wants it. Occasionally, she may give me a choice — especially when she wants me to come, but even then, it’s because she wants me to come, and she feels like letting me choose from a menu will get it there faster.

At first I rebelled at this — facials were equated with submission. Golden showers with being property. Ass-fucking with powerlessness. But not for her — the ability to have a submissive man give her those things while in her thrall takes the submission away from them. She can revel in the trappings of submission and bottoming and it’s no threat to her power.

This is the real lesson to our switch — that what she wanted, the come on her face, the piss on her breasts, the spanking — she can get that and still be dominant. She can get whatever she wants, like a spoiled little brat, like Veruca Salt all grown up as a curvy and luscious soccer-mom. “I want it!”

And so she’ll get it.