Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Wonderboy

Radical Acceptance

It occurred to me today as I was making my way home from another part of the country. I sat on the bus, excited, my stomach fluttering with anxiety. I was looking forward to meeting Wonderboy again after just three days. And I was giddy as a school girl.

I don’t want to be tied down. I want to be tied together. 

That’s what I thought. It puts together what I’ve been feeling. How I’ve been feeling about this thing we do. It’s not so separate anymore. It’s not just sex or just anything. It’s a part of who I am. What is between us is love and a relationship that can fulfill us both in a way we need it to. I don’t really have any qualms with it anymore.

I expect to grow old with Wonderboy. I see it happening already, the receding hairline, the changes of skin, the aches and the problems we didn’t have even five years ago. With a sexual relationship like this, with a desire like this I see a way to the future as fulfilling, or even more, than now. There’s so much to explore and every step always takes a step or two back.

It’s never ready, there can never be perfect certainty. We change and the relationship must do so too. We have learned how to communicate, and this blog, all of the friends out there reading and commenting and writing experiences of your own have helped me learn to speak. But I’m not done learning and I doubt I ever will be. It’s exciting. I doubt that will ever change either.

I will always feel butterflies in my stomach when I make my way back home. Because it’s scary. Love. Not being ready. Having to learn everything all over again, every time. And that’s what makes all this worth it.

BDSM, Fantasies, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Sex stories, What Women Really Want


Helpless. That’s what I want to be. Helpless.

Make sure I know what to do. Plan ahead, make arrangements, prepare everything and show me that you cared, that you thought about it. I want to see the rope on the bed. I need to find the brush and rags, the water bowl with the soap on a little plate on the side on the bathroom tile floor.

Guide me.

Let me know how you feel. Let me feel what you feel. Give me your words.

I am here to serve you. Don’t let me let you down. I need guidance. I need instructions and strict guidelines. What time, where, what, how, with what and why?

I need to know this is what you want. This is important to you. This is exactly what you want.

I need to not worry. I need to know.

You give me good instructions on how to lick your cock. Where, how, when to stop and move on to other things. Treat this as as important. It is to me. Don’t let me let you down. Let me know how to serve you. It is of paramount interest to me.

Do not make this into sex. Do not make this into a light thing, a thing to joke about. I do not joke about your sexual preferences, the way you like me to lick your ass or toy with it. Why are you not seeing my needs as needs? Why is it still this hard?

Why do you not tie me up every day?

Where is the rope now?

Learning to negotiate, Love, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Outside the Bedroom

The Story of The Contract, first part

So the story begins.

I was reading 50 shades of Grey. It was sweltering hot at the place we were staying at and we were lying on a bed under a fan. The purr of the fan weighed more than words most of the time.

Look, I said. I showed Wonderboy the contract they made in the book.

What do you think?

He laughed and said something to dismiss the subject. But I didn’t give up that easily.

You want to do something like that?

A contract?

Yeah. We used to do a lot of stuff like that. You sometimes even ruled out outfits. Once you made me take off your socks and shoes when you came home. I liked that.

But we haven’t been doing it anymore. And I know it’s been too hard with the infertility and everything. Maybe a contract would help.

Would you like that?

Would you like that?

I might. I have to think about it.

We danced around it. We came back to it on many instances. We were both obviously drawn to the idea, but neither of us had the guts to go for it, to really suggest it. We had so many uncertainties. What would it entail? How would we keep it up? Does s/he even want it?


We were having drinks in a trendy hotel terrace bar. The tall and colourful coctail glasses sweated as we did on the plastic couch. We could hear the sound of the waves or maybe it was just the cars passing by. We could see the sea glistening in the night.

Before I would’ve never agreed to a contract like that, I start. I couldn’t have accepted that physical part… about doing workout just because you say so.

He got more vigilant, straightened himself up.

I’m listening, he said and encouraged me to keep on going with his waving hand.

I don’t think so anymore. I mean. I want to be pretty for you. And I have already been doing the butt workout because of you. It could even help for me to keep in shape. And I don’t see it as such a power imbalance anymore.

Why? he asked.

Well, for once, I’m not an example of feminist agenda, I said and laughed. I’ve just been so tangled up with the idea that I can’t jump into this, I can’t even like it, because I’ve been granted the freedom to choose. I don’t have to follow the man’s lead. I’ve known that I can, but I’ve just felt too… threatened by it.

So, what’s changed?

Well. This is what I want. I guess I was uncertain of that for long. This is what I’ve been trying to get you to agree to for the longest time. So if this is what I want, why couldn’t I give it to myself?

He smiles.

Things are really gonna change, he says in a sinister voice, pressing his mouth to my ear.

Days later I have to make sure, I need to know, becauuse it gnaws my innards not to know.

Do you only like it because I will get thinner or do you like the control? I ask in a small voice.

I feel like I’m fat and ugly in his eyes, if he needs to change me. I need to know this to be able to go on on the contract.

Well, both, he says. But mostly the control, he adds and takes my hand as we walk.

Me too, I say.


We sit facing each other in a restaurant cellar. The stone walls are brusque and grey, but the table cloth is linen and every dish more delicious than the one before.

What do you want? he asks when he slices down his cheesecake in a small cup.

There are men sitting across from our table, the only other people down at the dim lit cellar, but they have their own conversation in a different language and can probably neither hear or understand us.

I want… you to tie me up. I want you to tease me more. I want you to focus on me, touch me more. Don’t just touch my places, touch me everywhere. Tie me to the ceiling and keep me standing there for your pleasure. And it doesn’t have to always lead to sex. I think we would do well to give that thought up. Just play and see.

His face lights up. He sips his white wine with his lips twisted in a smile.

That sounds good, he muses and I’m happy.

But then I begin to wonder.

What about you? What do you want?

First he doesn’t answer and I’m afraid he’ll say what he always does. I don’t know. But he doesn’t. He says:

I want to get you handcuffs.

I shriek just a little shriek of joy.


We start with an empty page. We write all the things I am expected to do.

45 minutes of exercise 3 times a week. 3 butt workouts a week at home with the ankle weights he’ll buy me.

No snacking with the exception of fruit. Healthy meals. I can’t buy any kind of sweets, not even diet coke, without his permission.

He will decide when we have sex and what we do… but I can always ask.

I have to ask his permission to change my hair or makeup style and at home I have to wear what he chooses for me.

I have to obey his direct orders, but he has to take my wellbeing into consideration.

And if I disobey… Well. He already spanked my once because I did something he didn’t approve of, I can’t even remember what it was. And it wasn’t fun. It hurt. It just hurt. But it felt right.

And now. Now we have a flogger! It’s purple and it’s pretty and it stings. We also have pink suede restraints for me (because why should they not be pretty as well?), false eyelashes with sparkle, different kinds of stockings… and a pink jelly dildo. He didn’t tell it to me before hand, but he plans on using it on my ass when he fucks me from behind.

But how it came to pass that we even got to talking about this?

To be continued…

Ps. Sorry for the delay. I was suffering from a stomach flu and got a fever to boost.  I’m fine now, though.

BDSM, Male Lead Relationship stuff, Volatile bodies, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

Don’t You Try To Take Away My Orgasms

Since all my orgasms come from Wonderboy or have to be done only after his permission, I’ve come to notice how my orgasms have many meanings and jobs. I read about enforcing total orgasm denial on a female submissive. When I read the text I was flipping through my mental notebook at the same time. I’ve read many tales of enforced chastity. I’ve read Thumper’s denials and Tom’s and Maymay’s and many others. What I thought was would it be different because of our physically assigned gender. I thought this because I’ve heard many women tell how it was impossible for them to have a healthy life and be in orgasm denial. I know it would never work for me.

Let me explain why I think it wouldn’t work on me.

I have a hard time sleeping. It’s one of the main concerns of my everyday life. Having no sleep or sleeping at the wrong time can really turn your world upside down. The most effective way for me to try to lure sleep is to masturbate. It’s no big deal, just pure maintenance of the body that’s all. It usually helps, though not always.

Sometimes I have pains, due period or some other form of physical torture, especially now on the hormones, that are quite hard to deal with. Sometimes painkillers help, sometimes they don’t and other times I just try to avoid them. Masturbating sometimes helps with those pains. I’m feeling ovulation pain right now. I get it a lot, the ooh, you’re probing your feelings, because you want to get pregnant (and are obsessed with it), so you say it’s a pain. So, I’ll tell you how it feels. Wonderboy slapped me on my butt today, a lot of times, real hard. The pain is more painful than that. I hit my foot on the table leg and chipped my nail. The pain is more prominent than that. So no. I’m not feeling it out. It hurts. I try to not let that pain get me down. I do things. Things that help. Sexy things.

Masturbation is also the one thing I can do to make myself happy that damages absolutely no one. I don’t get fat or hurt myself or anyone by doing it. It’s only a plus on the scales, if I relieve myself, when I feel like it, because honestly – without orgasms I get pretty angry, frustrated and also a little unstable emotionally. I get depressed, okay? And if haven’t been depressed, and if you don’t understand why this isn’t just a thing you have to weather through like any other little annoyance in a d/s relationships as a sub, go read this immediately. Not only is it perfect as a description of depression, it’s also insanely funny.

Orgasms are mandatory for my body and soul to function.

For me my sexuality, my orgasms, are not something just related to sexuality. I need an orgasm like I need to eat. If I am so sick I can’t have an orgasm, I feel the hole in my heart where the need is supposed to be. When I was taking antidepressants, I sometimes couldn’t orgasm and it was hard all the time. The need wouldn’t go away with the ability. I remember bursting to tears on top of Wonderboy, because I felt empty without them. I felt there was something essential missing from me even though I was emotionally sedated and didn’t get anxious. I felt I was just floating around and had nothing to cling on to.

For me  orgasm is the thing that releases all my tension and actually makes me feel love. When I go without for whatever reason, I feel distinctly and unavoidably that something is missing, and it is also emotional not only physical. Orgasms are the glue of my love to Wonderboy. If I wouldn’t get any out of him, I would inevitably go looking for them somewhere else at some point. I’m not saying this would happen in a time of months, but years. And I would be truly unhappy.

It wouldn’t work anyway. Completely going without orgasms. It’s a myth that women somehow don’t need the release and can just go without. Some can, some can’t. When I was in high school, and masturbating about every day at least once, I would routinely wake up to an orgasm. I hadn’t touched myself and I was sleeping. I’ve never heard anything encompassing the fact that also women have orgasms while they dream, not only men. I’m pretty sure this would kick in again, if I was left high and dry.

Once I went a week without masturbating and without sex for whatever reason. It was a deliberate decision on my part. I think I felt guilty of having orgasms a lot without my then partner. I was sitting in the bus on my way home from work, when I realized the bus was humming and throbbing quite… seductively. I would have come then and there, if I’d just pushed myself a little bit harder against it. Throw a couple more weeks in the mix, and I wouldn’t have had any choice.

So, I don’t really believe it’s an option. Living without orgasms. They are a way for my body to function. They have meaning beyond what we can decipher from the measly research done on female orgasms. I certainly know now that whenever I go without orgasms, it’s a sign of bad things. Either abstinence will cause these bad things or the bad things cause the abstinence. I don’t feel it’s wise to tamper with them and my mental health.

But I still remember how we tried out orgasm control and denial. It didn’t work in the long run. Wonderboy couldn’t handle my emotional turmoil, which was not healthy, and I could not handle it either.

So, now you’re wondering what about our present arrangement? It’s orgasm control, is it not?

Yes it is. I have to ask for Wonderboy’s permission to have an orgasm. The goal of our sex, whenever we have it, is for both of us to come, so I don’t have to ask, if we’re having sex. But I have to ask, if I want to pleasure myself. Wonderboy has never once said no. But I’m obliged to put my faith in him and ask. He’s obliged to think about my well-being and decide how I’m doing and if it’s good to me. It’s about the power. He has a say on my orgasming no matter what. Most of all, though, this is to unite us. He knows every time I need an orgasm and he gives it to me.

When I hadn’t asked him for a permission, over I think 3 to 4 days, he though I’d been playing without his permission. I hadn’t. It was the hormones acting up. At one point I had struggled hard not to play, because I didn’t want to ask him for a permisson so frequently. I was revolting! When I confessed this to him, he said he had already expected me to ask. He knows exactly how often I’d like an orgasm, and he can handle it.

The most remarkable thing for me is that he is perfectly okay with my far bigger need than his. He is in no way threatened by my libido. I feel a great relief, even though I didn’t know this was a thing I was worried about. I’ve felt bad, I guess, for needing it so much more than him. I’ve worried that he might see it like he couldn’t satisfy me entirely, if I have to masturbate too.

Also, after we started doing this, I just stopped worrying about him masturbating and then having no energy for me. I actually don’t know, if he masturbates a lot or not, but I’m not worried about it. Somehow, now, I’m at peace. I know that he’d rather play with me. I know that he’d even wake me up, if he was really in need all of a sudden.

This was proven when come Saturday morning he woke up earlier than me and after he’d spent some time on the other room I just had to get up and go and tell him that he shouldn’t play, because of the ovulation happening. He laughed gently and kissed me.

I wouldn’t do that! I’d come and wake you up! he said. Ooh, poor baby, couldn’t sleep until she was sure, he added and sent me a kiss. You can go back to sleep now.

But it wasn’t always like this. He used to fall back on masturbating whenever he was feeling angry, frustrated, sad or feared that I might reject him. He’d rather play alone than try to fix things with me. It wasn’t fair to me and it wasn’t good to him, either. It has helped immensely that I have fallen to the submissive role a lot more firmly. He knows I’ll never deny him. He knows that it’s okay by me, if he doesn’t come, if he only wants to play a little. He doesn’t have to perform perfectly every time.

Controlling my orgasms has clearly given him a better stance. It’s under his control. And byt extending his power to cover my orgasms, my lonely orgasms aren’t lonely anymore. He is part of the sexuality I have with myself, too.

Now I really feel like an orgasm, so I’m going to go and ask him, if he’ll let me have one.

BDSM, Craving for more, Fantasies, Love, Outside the Bedroom, Submissive tendencies

The Big Guns

This has been crazy. Realizing that this is something we both enjoy and need has lead to drastic changes around here. I wish I had time to write about all the sex we’ve had now, because honestly, nothing’s the same. But really, words don’t do it justice. Some readers might think the Best Sex Ever was the same as it ever was, and I can’t argue with that. The change comes from inside. There is no proof.

But talking about kinks, bondage or pain can be one little kink, discipline could be the reason why they fit so well together, like a parent category, but this, this is the mother of all kinks. This is what ties all we need together, this is the sense in all d/s. Everything else, everything leading to this, every impact play or breath play, rape play or bondage seems like a little trick that only tries to catch some meaning, some light. From The Big Guns.

If I really think about it, I have to say that we still have sex with the same kind of power play intact, in the same positions, with most of the same impact plays. Still, the change is drastic. This is an open door for communication. We both feel more free to express what we desire, and also to go after it. And it’s all because we’ve found the base assumption, the power play, the game, the structure for our relationship.

I don’t know what to call it, this new life altering thing I keep referring to. Once again I find the names and labels distasteful, inappropriate or just unapplicable.

He calls me his handmaid. (Yes, it’s an allusion to Margaret Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale.) Everything I do these days makes him say what a beautiful, good handmaid I’ll make him with some training. The happines is like a viscious loop. I get happy, when I make him happy and he gets happy and remarks on it, which makes me happy. Same goes for sexual experimentation and tension.

In ways we dabble with what is called a male lead relationship or a Taken in hand relationship. In ways I just am his and he mine in a way that encourages a certain dynamic, a power imbalance if you will, in certain actions and reactions.

We’re in no way very good at this. He took me to dinner, but when I ordered lobster, he got anxious, because it’s so expensive at which point I offered to pay for the drinks. The egalitarianism is much more than a thin film of etiquette between us.

I, on the other hand, drove us home, because he doesn’t like driving (and the car is mine) although for me it really is sexy if he drives, because it’s not the norm for us.

I see a pattern here. Because we strive to be equal in every way, and have been brought up to be, it has a certain meaning to us that we act like we aren’t.  It’s a lot taboo and a bit ridiculous and terribly hot. It most certainly is a game, but it’s very close to real, because I honestly want to please my Wonderboy more than anything, and he wants me to surrender to him completely. He also wants and needs to please me. I think this is the thing that many people criticising consented non-consent, which this also is, truly miss. He is trying to fulfill my desires, sometimes by not heeding to my word and sometimes having to use extra effort to make me happy.

If I can say one thing about this week and this weekend, it’s the fact that, if I’m all spent and can’t even muster up a few words here (I’ve been writing this post since Friday) because of my total fatigue, Wonderboy is ten times more out of it. He’s been really busting his balls to be a good dom and an owner. And, boy, has he! I’m so thoroughly played, owned, loved, fucked and mind-fucked that I actually started to cry after sex. Really cry, out loud. And he took care of me and later said that he realized I was overwhelmed and scared, as I was, and he saved me. But I was crying also because I never thought I’d deserve any of this. I’d hidden it so well, the need and the fantasies, I could never have thought that this would come to be reality for me. That I could get everything I ever wanted…

I don’t know, if you can understand how completely overwhelming that is. Wonderboy asked me, if I could’ve imagined us like this a few years back or having these things in the open and playing with them, and I had to confess that I didn’t even accept these needs, let alone think that they could ever be part of a relationship I was in. He said that his fantasies have always been the same, so he’s not as surprised as I am… but this thing about it coming alive… is as overwhelming to him as to me. My fantasies about submitting are still narrated through the dominant side. I fantasise from the male perspective, still, so it’s a lot more shocking to see how it all plays out in reality, when I am actually submitting. And then again. I rarely think about it anymore. I ask for what I want and submit to what I feel is Wonderboy’s will, and I don’t think about what it could mean in a different context, because this is the only context it will ever have.

I’m not sure, if I’m really ready to write about this yet. I don’t yet understand this dynamic, I don’t know how it’ll turn out for us. If we’ll start going more heavy duty and 24/7 or just keep it light and use as we see fit, mostly sexually. I’m sill a bit afraid to even write about it, and I can’t talk about it with anyone. We are just so happy, so extatic, that I feel the need to say something to someone about it. So, I write here even with everything still so fragile and new.

This has changed my life. I have a purpose.

BDSM, Coming out, Learning to negotiate, Love, Outside the Bedroom, Unanticipated Satisfaction, What Women Really Want, Wonderboy

Owned (The Slave Talk II)

Once I would’ve thought this web page called Taken in Hand was nothing more than some deluded wanker’s fantasy. I have changed thoroughly in the few days after The Slave Talk, and although I realize this has been brewing below the surface a long while, the change is still like a giant hand that dropped me suddenly through the rabbit hole. Taken in Hand has this to say about male lead relationships, and unlike before, I relate to it with my whole heart and soul.

Some women want and need to be brought into subjection. They crave the man’s control and respond positively to active control, but without active control on his part submission is impossible. These women cannot fake submission; it must be real. It cannot be a pretence, a role-playing game or a lifeless cardboard cut-out imitation. It must be from the heart and soul, no hint of artificiality, acting or mendacity. But when a man brings such a woman into subjection and thereby releases her delitescent submissiveness, the power and reality and unforced naturalness of her submission can be awe-inspiring.

I ask Wonderboy, does he like it, when I do what he commands.

Yes, he answers.

Then comes the harder question, I grimace and face down before I can utter it. Do you also like it outside the bedroom?

Yes, he answers. My cunt pulses, my heart heaves with a sudden owerwhelming feeling.

It is not him, who is making me do something. I ask him to make me do something. Everything. He’s taken to it a lot better now that I don’t really have any objections anymore. I don’t feel abused, because I now realize this is exactly what I want.

It cannot be pretended, it has to be real. Dear physics where I’ve come to. I used to be such a progressive feminist. I’m kidding, I still am. And now I have to face that in an egalitarian relationship I can give away some of my power, if I want to. I can surrender and it doesn’t make me a bad woman. It doesn’t make me a traitor to the subject of women’s libearation. I am not advocating anything – well, except for one thing.

Women have a right to whatever they desire. That’s feminism. That’s equality. That makes happy both women and men.

I know I’m not the only one, and it helps some that there’s someone pretty close who is also tackling the same need, and isn’t all too thrilled about what it seems to represent. Feministsub, who provided me with the link to Taken in Hand, has also written about a similar revelation. Go check it out too. There are as many experiences as there are women who want this or something to the effect. It used to be so hard to know what I want. I know now. This is like a door’s been opened in me. Happiness flows through my whole body warming my muscles and cradling my heart, when I think about this.

It’s not enough for me to be dominated in bed. I want to be held in hand. What a beautiful way to say it. I need to feel taken care of in a most intense kind of way. I want to surrender control, slowly and step by step, to my husband. I don’t yet know what that entails. I’m not ready for a lot of it, and some of it might never be willing to explore. (Him fucking other women would probably be a thing like that.)

But even financial autonomy seems a possible token for surrender now. Yes, this freaks me out too, so you don’t have to jump on my throat for saying it out loud. I made a small test while we had guests yesterday. I left my wallet at home. I never do that. Correction, I’ve never done that. I’m determinedly equal about paying, even so that I’ve ended up treating a lot more than my partner. I felt so loved that I probably never have. I don’t actually know, if Wonderboy realized why I did it, but I have a hunch that maybe he did. Because he owns me.

Once I got the words out of my mouth, he stepped to the plate without hesitation. This is what happened after The Slave Talk.

I did the dishes naked in high heels. You know what I felt? I felt content, exhilarated, pleased, being cared for, being loved… and I felt dominated. I was in a sub state of mind (cue old jazz here) and it felt weirdly right. He drank wine and played guitar in the other room and I rushed the dishes, but I was paying more attention to detail and the cleanliness of the kitchen than usual. I needed everything to be perfect, because… I was scared of him? No, not quite. I wanted to please him so bad.

When I was ready, I stayed in the doorway of the music room and said I was ready. He commanded me to kneel in front of him on the carpet and wait once he’s finished. He’d go to check on my work, when he was good and ready. Gowd, I ate that up and stumbled in front of him in those heels I can barely walk in, probably with eyes like saucers. He’s were too. He wasn’t indiffirent, his breath was tense, but he was making me wait.

Finally he went to the kitchen and stepped on water that had escaped from the sink. I honestly breathed in loudly, when I saw it. His irritation was palpable when he commanded me back in the kitchen, and he didn’t stand aside while I wiped the floor naked, but stood there watching me grovel at his feet. I did it as well as I could. He opened his fly and took out his cock. It was already hard as rock, which made my heart jump, and he put it straight to my throat only to move my head aggressively against it from the base of my skull.

He then after a while of choking on his cock commanded me to the bedroom. I don’t remember the spesifics, but I got a permision to go to the bathroom. Maybe this was making me nervious, but I most certainly needed to pee before this hard, commanding presence did whatever he meant to do to me.

Okay, so I was on the bed, he was on the bed. There was this huge electric current between us I’d never felt before. He handled me with assertive hands, but I don’t actually remember how we fucked. In the end he was thrusting in me from behind and he kept talking me through it. It was… intense. He was so sure of himself that he made me completely submit without the slightest hesitation.

Moan like a porn actress, he commanded me, and I did. I looked back at him, threw my hair and moaned, sighed and did all the nasty implausible things the women in porn do to fake enthusiasm and pleasure. And I could feel him getting harder and harder, his voice stumbling over words with big gulps of air and saliva.

Later he tells me that he got off on it, because it sounded so fake. His twisted desire was to make me fake pleasure for him, because, really, what could be more humiliating and degrading? What could prove his ownership over me more piercingly? He did a lot of things to me, all of which felt new although most of them were familiar. He came violently, but like recently I didn’t, so he decided to lick me teasing me and denying my right to come. I did, though, but he gave me a permission well before. Today he didn’t.

The days after that have been full of negotiating, revealing new things and fucking – but also talking about emotions. This is not something you can do lightly, or when you’re tired. And that became the next problem.

After we’d had the scene and the sex and everything was eerily extatic, we talked about it. Him owning me.

I’d never thought I’d say this, but… Wonderboy’s going to buy me a collar. A nice, necklace like black collar with maybe a small cross on it. He will put it on me and then it will be his decision. I’ll be owned in no uncertain terms.

I can’t wait.

I’m so out of the closet, I can’t talk to any of my friends or family anymore of what’s happening with me. Why am I so happy, content and extatic? Because I’m owned, goddammit! I’m owned.

This I wrote on Feministsub’s blog,

This is a good thing! I feel such freedom and peace of mind. Everything I’ve had such a hard time voicing, everything I’ve been so torn about, all the things that just didn’t make sense, all the needs and desires I couldn’t get met whatever I suggested or whatever Wonderboy did. They are all here in me being owned by him.

It makes my heart sing.