I sat down as she had asked, most certainly with a fair amount of fear given that I felt like I had been discovered, which understandably gave me anxiety about how she was about to react, but also because she created immediate fear as I had just been backhanded twice by her, which is something she had never done before. I know it was reactive on her part, driven by the shock of having been bitten by me during my struggle to shake her away from me, but it was another example of how she crossed the line with me. In retrospect, it was quite impressive how those two hard slaps served to end any interest I had of fighting her. They had power and momentum behind them consistent with the size and heaviness of her arms and shoulders, and they were a reminder of everything that I had learned over time, and maybe just a little bit forgotten during my eight days of independence, about how her power and strength could be used to her advantage in so many different ways, in ways I could never hope to return to her. So my fear grew, as I re-realized that if she chose to do more than a couple of backhands she could do some serious damage to me. I became quiet and reserved, as she had trained me to become in her presence, and in a way that I had been hoping to excise from my psyche.
There was only one chair in the apartment I’d rented; I didn’t have time to furnish it yet, so there was one chair and a side table in the living room along with a television that was on when she walked in. I was in the chair, and she dropped her bag and walked over to turn off the TV and then returned to me, carried the side table over next to the chair and sat on the table. The table was lower than the seat of the chair so she was looking up to me, and my naturally-lowered head gave me a good view of her slightly below me. She reached her arm up and started to caress my hair and head.
I don’t remember exactly what she said, because my memory of the exact words is faint beneath the feeling of fear that had overcome me. So I won’t try to make up the words, I’ll just give the content. She started with an apology, telling me she knew that she’d really screwed things up when she disciplined me so publicly at the wresting studio. She said she’d been trying her hardest to make things better but she understood that perhaps that event was too much to get past, and surprisingly she said that she accepted that. She told me she wouldn’t make me stay with her if I didn’t want to. My fear started to fade at that point, replaced by incredulity and surprise. From then on, I remember everything like it was yesterday.
“But I still need you,” she continued. “Wait,” I replied, “you just said you wouldn’t make me continue our relationship. I think we need to end this, move on.” “You heard right, I won’t make you. But I need what we have, I need what we do. And I think that maybe you need some of it too, am I right? If we’re not together, is there a way that we can still see each other and make each other happy from time to time, until either our needs start to change, or until we find other people to fulfill them? Am I right that you have been needing certain things the past week or so while we haven’t been together?” I admitted to her that there were times when I was anxious and I thought hard about how good it would have been to have her there to calm me down, but of course that would have been against the point. She continued, “but if we’re not, you know, together, then wouldn’t it be ok just to have that, in a different way that doesn’t make you feel trapped, which I assume is how you’ve been feeling?” The logic behind this was sound, and I thought to myself how much I would want to continue feeling the way I sometimes felt with her, even though at the same time I admonished myself quietly for having been so thoroughly trained by her over the course of our relationship such that I had the desire for it at all. I asked a question that I had wanted to ask her for some time, but for some reason the moment never seemed right. It did at that moment -- “I need to ask you something. I’m sure you understand my need for you, after all you helped to create it…” She interrupted me. “I didn’t create it, sweetheart. It was always there for you. I just helped to unlock it and helped you explore it. Don’t you agree that when we started dating, you knew I was strong, and that was exciting to you?” I thought a moment. “Yes, I guess you may be right, maybe there was an element there from the start. So we both understand my need for it. I guess I don’t entirely understand your need. What is it?” She smiled and sat on the arm of the chair next to me, so that now she was looking down at me, with my face even with her chest. I ceased lowering my head and looked up to her as she explained. “I thought you understood me by now. I guess I hadn’t been as open with you as I’d thought. I didn’t enter this relationship with you expecting the dynamic we have. But once it happened, it felt right, it felt natural, it felt normal for me to take the more masculine role, you know what I mean. And quite honestly over time I realized that I love the sense of empowerment that I gained every day from my dominance over you. I love the sense of self-worth I get from seeing how you submit yourself to my, physically and psychologically. I love the feeling of being in complete control, not only of whatever situation I’m in with you, but also of you as an individual, of a human being, that I can make you do whatever I want you to do. Before I met you, I knew I wanted control over things, I was a total control freak, you know that, but with you I’m able to express it so differently and completely. I need that. I don’t want to give it up. It takes every fiber of my being to stop myself from controlling you at this moment. It’s hard not to, I want to so badly. It makes me want to control something, anything, but I don’t know what that would be. Do you understand all that?” I looked up at her. “Yes, I do.”
So she went on and proposed that we break up, but continue to periodically see each other. I told her that wasn’t a good idea, that I felt like I needed separation from the whole situation, that I needed to move on and try to re-establish my own identity, and end my reliance on her and my susceptibility to her suggestions and commands, of every type.
“I know you better than that. I know what you need. Maybe better than you do. Maybe more truthfully than you’re willing to admit. You miss this.” And she stood up and struck a double biceps pose that made me shrink in my seat. “Do you want to take your pants off or am I going to make you orgasm in them? You have five seconds to decide. One…two…” I knew she was serious. I scrambled to remove my pants and when she said “five….NOW” they were around my ankles while I was leaned back in the chair and I let loose an emission that was eight days waiting, spraying all over me and the room, longer lasting than I could remember and of an intensity that when it was finished I was so aroused I jumped up and grabbed each of her biceps in one of my hands and pulled myself up to her, wrapping my legs around her waist and starting to kiss her arms, and said to her “again, please” and she said again “Now” and I came again, and the intensity caused me to suck on her biceps so hard and nibble slightly, just holding my mouth on that source of extreme and dominating power while I once again sprayed, this time on her shirt, and when that was done I kissed her lips as passionately as I ever had and said “again, again, please” and she complied with a laugh and a “Now” and I orgasmed yet again, still strong and still intensely and as I could no longer control my desire I blurted out “take me, take me” and she wrapped her arms around me and ripped me from her body, holding me around the waist jackknifed over her left arm while she walked over to her bag and took the implement out of it – why was I not surprised she had brought it, and why was I so happy as well? – and over the next hour took me in every conceivable way given the lack of furniture in the apartment. I was exhausted when she finally stopped. And I didn’t want her to leave but knew that I needed her to. She carried me from the kitchen – the last position was over the sink – into the bedroom and laid me down, thanking me and telling me how much she needed to do that. Then she said she’d be back in three days and left.
And this was my life for about 8 months. She was no longer my girlfriend. My friends thought I had broken up with her. Her friends thought she had broken up with me. We no longer went out to dinners, or walked along the river, or had dinner parties, or had any outward appearance that we had any ongoing relationship. We were, to everyone else, done.
But in reality she was very much still part of my life, and I continued to serve her needs. And to be honest she served mine. There’s a half life to any level of training, and mine was no different. If you’re trained to be a solider in war, you come back and it takes a while to get out of war mode. If you’re trained to be a car racer, then when you’re off the track you tend to speed on city streets. And when you’ve been trained to be a submissive partner, and have physical and mental elements trained to do specific things based on certain commands, that doesn’t go away overnight.
I still lived with fear that she would return to some sort of public display of our arrangement, either public domination or discipline, or public humiliation from being made to orgasm out and about. I still lived with the lingering need for her presence, for her touch, for her control to keep me centered and real. I still lived with the physical effect of her appearance at the door – the racing heart, my immediate need to strip in her presence, the understanding that I would be accepting of anything she would put up on me.
So as a result of that continued feeling of fear and need, I was still hers. In private I demonstrated by complete subservience and pliability; if she came over with a need to use the implement, I would get in her favored position and be ready to accept it, if she came over frustrated and needed to lash out I would be ready to accept punishment from her as a means of venting, if she needed sexual release I would follow her every order without any thought for my own release. In public it manifested itself by the fact that I had great difficulty starting to date again. In fact, I didn’t go on a date until about 3 months after the break up, and for the next 3 months, every single date I went on ended the same way --- I would text her and come to her door with a request to be calmed down and then given release; in order to earn these, however, she would extract a price, whether my best effort at wrestling or chores or some form of her own sexual release.
I tended to avoid women who had any muscle, any athleticism at all. Been there, done that was my mentality. But the date I remember above all others was with someone who violated that principle; she was athletic and tall – not muscular but fit, and taller than me by a couple of inches. The evening was wonderful, but I noticed that my ex was following us as I walked her home. We ended with a kiss, and the fact that I had to reach up to kiss her at her doorstep was wonderfully comforting to me. I hated myself for feeling it, but it felt vaguely submissive to be shorter than my date. I kissed her longer than I should have, maybe because I had the feeling that my ex was still watching, but my date didn’t mind. When I got home, my ex was there waiting for me, and she directed me back to her house, clearly upset and annoyed. Arriving at her house, after my required shedding of clothes, she went into her room and emerged wearing 6” heels, towering over me by 5” or so. She walked right up to me, thrusting her chest towards my head. “So you like tall girls? How about girls who are taller than you and stronger?” She reached her head down and kissed me, and similar to earlier with my date I reached my head up to kiss her and it felt right. I wrapped my arms up around her neck and felt her traps, which were so incredibly dense and defined. She reached her hand down and cupped my crotch, and then straightened up, picking me up several inches off the ground using her one hand. I instinctively raised my legs and wrapped them around her waist. She reached around with her other hand and removed my legs from their clasp, and then continued to lift with the hand grasping me intimately and raised me up until I was nearing parallel to the ground, still continuing to kiss her and embrace my neck while elevated almost 6 feet off the floor. She adjusted her grip on me so that she held my testicles firmly while my penis was pointed downwards, incredibly hard, and clasped between her fingers to keep it in place, and squeezed me a few times to let me know she had me held there. I couldn’t help myself but give a soft moan into her mouth while she kissed me and explored my mouth with her tongue. While she held me there she started to talk to me while kissing, saying things like “you like being held in my hand, don’t you wish that I could handle you like this every night, how much does it turn you on to be held up like this by just a single arm, how desperate are you for me to allow you to orgasm, come on can’t you just have an orgasm on your own, doesn’t this turn you on enough…” and other talk designed to make me feel like I was too submissive to have control over my own body, and then when she’d had enough of the talk she started really teasing me, saying “you want me to say the word, don’t you – you’re desperate for it – but I won’t say it until you beg me to” and the more she teased me the more I begged her to say the word that would let me orgasm, I was desperate for it, she was right, and because without her I was still unable to masturbate I needed the release more than anything, so I begged her in every way I could conceive and complimented her in every way I could conceive until finally she said “now” and within milliseconds I was spewing towards the ground while groaning and gutterally screaming uncontrollably, and she locked her lips on mine but still I was unable to kiss while I groaned louder and louder into her mouth until she was forced to adjust her hand on my crotch so she had me in a firm grip and calmed me down so I stopped my groaning and relaxed in her grasp and on her mouth, and she lifted me up higher so I became perpendicular to the ground, being steadied by the crotch upside down straight above her, still kissing her but my legs up in the air such that I had to bend my legs when my feet hit the ceiling, and my semen was still dripping down from my penis which had finally stopped its aggressive emissions. I felt fear, but I felt free. I reached my arms down to steady myself and grabbed onto one of her arms, and took a moment to feel the girth of her biceps which my hands could barely wrap around, just barely, I had to stretch my fingers to make it happen, and the hardness that I felt on my palms was the hardness of power and dominance that had over time demonstrated its superiority over me. She slowly lowered me and while doing so twisted me around so I was facing away from her, still held by the crotch but with her other hand, and she walked with me over to the bed where she kicked my torso out a bit and lay me on back; I was lying on the bed with my head just barely off the edge, and she stepped forward and widened her stance so that my head was between the roped muscles of her thighs and I looked to my sides in amazement at the raw power surrounding my head and looked up anticipating that I would be required to service her in that position, but instead she reached forward and grabbed my ankles and pulled them over my head, pulling further and further until I was in an uncomfortably bent position and instead of servicing her I was expecting to receive a spanking, but she continued to pull further and then she reached under the bed and to my extreme surprise pulled out an implement, and even in my unusual and uncomfortably bent position I noticed it was larger than the one she had used on me during the course of our relationship. While she strapped it on to herself, she told me that this one was the new one she was going to use with me, because now she felt more comfortable giving me more discomfort, now that we were no longer officially together and therefore I clearly spent time with her to fulfill my needs, so I should be more willing to be taken more aggressively. I let out a “but…” however I was quickly silenced by the feeling of the much larger implement entering me from an angle I’d never experienced. My torso was compressed but I could see everything that was happening, unlike normally when she would take me when I faced away from her. She reached around my waist while thrusting into me and held me by the penis, holding it tightly while tickling and teasing my testicles and while after several minutes of this, accepting her dominance in a new and more assertive way, I let loose an incredible orgasm which shocked both me and her because I hadn’t been given any command. The orgasm wasn’t a reaction to prior training. The orgasm was a reaction to what she was doing to me. I knew it at that moment – after all my time with her, it wasn’t just that she had trained me to accept the things she did to me. I still liked it, it still turned me on to be so helpless with her. She wasn’t happy with me; my demonstration of orgasmic independence wasn’t acceptable, so after releasing my penis she began to discipline me at the same time she was taking me --- a thrust, and then several incredibly hard slaps to the rear, then another thrust and more spanks, and back and forth, so that not only was the entry point reddening with soreness from the larger implement, but the external skin was reddening from her open palm. And at the point where the pain from her palm slaps became too much, I became incredibly aroused once again and orgasmed a second time, which ended the evening. She yelled at me, packed up and left.
And after that I saw less and less of her for a long while, but she popped by from time to time and I accepted whatever she dished out. I'm slowly tried to put my life back together, finding ways to date, to forget her, to feel normal again. As with anything it was a long process, and I came achingly close to success, but she never really let me get closure. but one I need to go through if I am to get closure. Especially the time, several months later, when she showed up at my door to re-engage...
