My first act of submission

His hand wrapped around my throat pulling me against him, as his strong chest granted me strength when I leaned back. He began quietly whispering in my ear, reminding me about our agreement. After a few moments, he asked me for my safe words. Two were required: One for slowing down something that had become too intense and one for a full stop of all activities.

I answered with a shaky voice, “Yellow. And red.” I intentionally chose words that would be easy to remember in the middle of something that might be wonderfully mind-altering. Yellow. Red.

He took my hand and led me over to the lounging chair in the corner of the dark hotel room. After settling himself in, he told me to remove my dress and I hesitated.

I had never stood on display for a man before. Not like this. Part of me screamed to run away. But I’d waited for this for two months, so with trembling hands, I whipped my dress over my head in one rough motion and dropped it on the floor.


It took everything in me not to fidget. My pretty bra and panties didn’t hide all the parts of myself I hated – my sagging tummy, my uneven breasts, my stretch marks, my hefty thighs.

He studied me, drawing the moment out, and all I could do was close my eyes and remind myself how to breathe.

“Turn around.”

I obeyed. Relief flooded me now that I couldn’t see him watching me.

Gently, he found my hips and pulled me backwards until I was sitting in his lap. The voice in my head screamed that I’d crush him with my weight. But his insistent hands continued guiding me until I was laying all the way back against him.

He massaged my bare shoulders, and then he cupped my breasts. He could see down the length of me as my head rested on his shoulder. As much as I loved his touch, I fought all of the thoughts racing through my head.

“This is your last chance. From this moment forward, you will do everything that I say. This is the moment. You choose to stay or you choose to go. Take a moment before you answer.”

Frankly, I almost got up, grabbed my dress, and left. The fear of what was coming next, the scene we’d negotiated, overwhelmed me completely. My first submission.

In the end, I stayed. He was firm, unyielding, patient, and completely in control. He blindfolded me and bound me in silk ropes that made me nearly immobile.

Never before had I trusted someone so deeply. Never had I been more physically vulnerable.

We’d spent months getting to know each other. I screened him carefully. Hundreds of emails. Hours of phone calls. At some point, the game we were playing turned into something real, something we craved.

On a business trip to my city, we consummated our kinky little fantasy: my complete submission to his glorious dominance.

The things that happened that night are forever burned into my memory. From the welts he left on my ass from his riding crop to the mind-bending orgasms as he took me over and over while I was held captive by his ropes.

He pushed me to my boundary, and then nudged me beyond. Fear and nervous anticipation governed much of the evening, but at some point something incredible happened. My always-active brain turned off.

Instead of thinking about how I looked, what he thought of me, what came next, worrying about the time, feeling embarrassed over the wobbles and missteps, and whether I was doing things right, I surrendered and a blissful quiet settled over me.

I had no decisions to make. I had nothing to concern myself with. He was the strength we both needed. He was the voice of reason. His hands guided me from place to place. His words transported us into a dark world of pleasure and pain and release.

My only task was to respond with “Sir” whenever he asked a question. If I forgot to address him properly, which I did a few times, he’d remind me with a sharp spank or a quick whack of the riding crop.

The night wasn’t perfect. I stumbled a few times because of the rope. Once, he put me into a position and I started panicking. His firm, loud voice cut through the panic and stilled me instantly. I forgot myself at another point, and let a playful and sassy quip escape. His chilling reprimand felt like a slap across my face.

We both craved intensity and intimacy. It’s what drew us together, two strangers. What we created that night was exquisite. He wanted me to spend the night with him in his hotel and it was my first time ever sleeping over with a lover. He was worried about the emotional fallout (known as sub-drop) following my first scene. He pampered me, held me, and kissed my forehead as I fell asleep.

In the morning, he took pictures of me naked as I woke. I hated every second of it, feeling fat and exposed. But now I treasure those pictures for the gift he gave me.

Submitting is not something I take lightly or do often. I’m extremely selective in who I play with because I know the risks that come with being tied up or beaten. Surrendering to someone, being vulnerable, takes deep trust for me.

I’d spent the better part of a decade feeling I wasn’t sexy enough or beautiful enough to explore my sexual desires. I’d internalized a dialog that told me I was too fat, too old, too inexperienced to live my fantasies.

He not only found me desirable, but he devoured me. He showed me that when I face my fears, I’m rewarded with incredible transformation. He taught me that a little bit of pain can release me from the constant noise of my thoughts.

Though I’ve dabbled in the kink community off and on for ten years, I’ve only started actively participating for the past year. Things that used to terrify me are now completely normal. People who used to seem scary or incredibly bizarre are now friends or lovers.

I’ve thrown myself down the rabbit hole of my own sexuality. The most incredible lesson I’ve learned is that my sexual desires, my sexual expression, are in a constant state of change. Rather than trying to fit myself into narrow categories or labels, I’ve decided to claim my never-ending evolution as the exciting gift that it is.

The morning after that first submission, I found myself ironing his shirt while wearing only a bra and undies. A few hours earlier, wearing so little in front of this man had felt like a humiliating punishment. But as the sun crested the horizon, we settled in a sweet, comfortable routine. He made coffee for us as I helped with his tie. He patted my ass as I was brushing my teeth, and I gave him a soft kiss on the cheek as he packed his bag.

When we walked to our cars that morning, it would be the last time we ever saw each other. We gave each other one glorious night of self-discovery. And for me, at 35 years old, it was the first step of a journey that will last a lifetime.

*Originally written for The Scarlet Orchid.

  • Dawn
  • March 1, 2014

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