The idea of sexual submission is not at all new, especially now that Fifty Shades of Grey has opened peoples' minds. As a middle-aged, mainstream, mostly Type A woman, I was pleasantly surprised to meet a man whose wish was to make me submit. Through a series of emails over several weeks, he not only set up our future sub-dom scenario, but also controlled my sex life leading up to the Big Night. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Degradation: A Type-A Confesses
I met Michael (not his real name) when he and his wife contacted me and my husband through an adult swingers website. We met for drinks and our first play date happened shortly thereafter. My interest in Michael's dominating ways was sparked when he invited us to get together with a third swinging couple. Near the end of the evening’s activities, he stood me in the middle of the room, with my legs spread, and proceeded to show the others how he could make me squirt, something I was pretty sure I’d experienced. But I had never been on display while doing it. And squirt I did.
Our next adventure with Michael and his wife was dinner and dancing at a blues bar. I made a point of sitting beside Michael. "Would you rub your pussy right here and now if I told you to?" he asked. I hesitated. This was a bar where I might see someone I knew. But I put my hand between my legs and started to rub, slowly. "Oh, man, I’m getting hard," he said. I was enjoying it quite a bit myself. "Would you go up to that guy and ask him to fuck you if I told you to?" he asked. "Well, no," I said. I wouldn’t do that. We’d hit a boundary.
A few months later, I contacted Michael by email. I’d always been a sucker for boyish good looks, and although he was in his late fifties, Michael was very attractive. Despite the way he dressed whenever we met, in relaxed-fit jeans, a T-shirt and skate sneakers, I knew he traveled in several high-powered business circles in our city. He was a guy who was so used to being in control that he could be casual about it. I admit, that turned me on.
Michael’s reply to my email ended with a question: "Will you do what I tell you to do?" My reply: "Why, yes, I will."
Over the next few weeks he emailed me instructions about when and where to have sex with my husband. He told me to give my husband a blowjob every day for five days, and report back to him each time. One night, my husband and I drove to a nearby bar and parked outside in a shadowy area, as per Michael's orders. As my husband unzipped his pants, I realized he was into this too!
Michael also told me to masturbate every day leading up to the Big Night but to stop right before I climaxed. Hard as it was to deny myself the orgasm, I did as I was told. He also asked me to describe my orgasms in detail for him. He asked about specific things, like whether I had tried nipple clamps and if I liked them. (OK, so my dominator was the sensitive caring type.)
Two days before the main event, we arranged a phone call. I was to call him on his cell phone while he was at his office. I was delayed in calling him and I caught him just as he was driving out of the parking garage. He pulled over to the curb and told me he needed a minute to put up the roof on his convertible so no one could hear his conversation. I admit I felt a little flushed and weak in the knees.
We—or rather he—finalized the details. I was to wear a short dress, no panties, and a dog collar. A dog collar! Oh, and a butt plug. On the drive over to his house, I was to keep my legs spread apart and ask my husband to rub my pussy.
I went shopping for a dog collar a few hours before the play date. I already had a brand new butt plug in my purse. Michael told me to wear the dog collar as a sign to him that I was ready to submit. No collar, no domination. As I walked to Wal Mart’s pet section I thought: how degrading is this? I’m shopping for an pet accessory that will be the symbol of my own choice to submit. I felt a full-body flush that was a mix of sexual arousal and good old Catholic shame.
When we arrived at Michael’s, I felt like a package being delivered by a very sexy courier. Michael’s wife commented on my choice of dog collar, which was brown with a brass buckle. We started out by having a few drinks upstairs. Then, Michael gave me our prearranged signal, to spread my legs and start masturbating while the others watched. Soon after, he led me to a downstairs bedroom, stripped off my dress and told me to get down on all fours so he could check that I was wearing the butt plug. Then he gave me the OK to go to the bathroom and take it out. When I came back, he blindfolded me and tied my hands loosely behind my back. What followed was a muddle of touching, kissing, oral sex and penetration. At one point, Michael tried to use the nipple clamps on me but when I yelped loudly in pain he stopped. Between my shriek and his profuse apologies, the spell of domination-submission was interrupted and perhaps somewhat lost for good.
I ended up lying on a massage table, face-up, knees open, as Michael stood over me with a monstrous vibrator that looked like a white microphone. I’ve seen them in porn movies. He called his wife and my husband in to watch, while he used the vibrator to give me my long-awaited orgasm.
By then it was late and we didn’t linger long. After I had showered and redressed, we said our goodbyes at the door. As we parted, Michael's manner was abrupt; he left the foyer before my husband and I had made our exit. The next day, I emailed Michael to thank him and his wife for the play date. He didn’t reply. I suppose that’s the dominator’s prerogative.
Looking back at the experience, I realize I actually enjoyed the lead up and all the preparations more than the Big Night itself. It was easier and more fun to imagine giving up control than actually doing it. The Big Night felt a bit awkward at times, as if neither of us could abandon the roles that came most naturally to us—he’s a woman pleaser and I don’t like to give up control. Nonetheless, if Michael called me today and told me to come over wearing a dog collar, I confess that I would.