C is for Control
The level of control Master has over me is most visible during sex or play. Of course, these are the times when no one else is likely to witness our dynamic. For him, the greatest power is found and exerted in the bed or playroom. There he is the true Master, he has my undivided attention and I find myself compelled to follow his lead. My submission doesn’t disappear during the working week when we are not together, but it is certainly hidden from view. Submission is an undercurrent to my life, is makes me think about what I do and say. But in general no one is ever likely to notice.
Out together our M/s dynamic is only likely to be noticed by those who know what to look for. Subtle signs of my submission exist in the way I check his preferences. He often chooses and orders food, he always picks the wine. He phrases his questions in such a way that for me they are statements I am compelled to follow. But I doubt others notice.
Control during sex for us is at another level. He is always in charge, even if I take the initiative, or am on top. This is the time and place when I am stripped to my very core, whether naked or clothed. He is my Master, my Lord. I am his slut, slave, bitch. Something comes over us during foreplay and sex that I can’t quite put my finger on. It is as if my anxieties slip away, I lose the need to be someone I am not and can just focus on him. To be the real me, his slave.
From the very beginning of our relationship he took control of my ability to choose when, where and how I experienced an orgasm. He has never prohibited me from having orgasms when I am along, but I do have to thank him. Even when he is absent. This is a rule that I have never broken.
When we are together I am not allowed to cum until he tells me I can. Last weekend it became apparent that even during immense amounts of stimulation I am able to control my orgasms until he allows me to cum. For Master’s birthday we went to stay in a house that has been converted into a dungeon. I have always wanted to try mechanical sex machines, and last Friday I got the chance. Vibrating, whirling and moving dildos provided an amazing amount of stimulation to my body. But it wasn’t until afterwards that he remarked that I didn’t orgasm until he granted permission.
This has me thinking about control in a different way. He does control me, but surely I must have developed control over my own body so that he can control it?
Or is it just conditioning?