I Was a Domme Once (Part Três, as in, strike three, get your ass outta here)

So there I was, straddled on top of him while he was finger fucking me, and I felt nothing. He was trying to please me after the funeral, but my body just wouldn’t allow any pleasure. I pushed off him, opened the door and got out of the car to straighten my skirt. I leaned against his car and didn’t say a word. I didn’t have any words left. My cheeks were raw from crying. My eyes burned. Then he opened his mouth and out came something that made me want to rip his face off. He complained about how long the funeral procession took. I had no idea he was going to follow after the service. I really didn’t care. I was in the limo with my family and I was glad it was an hour drive to the cemetery.

I turned to leave my father’s gravesite and get back in the limo for the miserable ride home and there he was, in his stupid fucking car, up on the hill overlooking the gravesite. This was wrong. He was wrong. He shouldn’t have been there. He didn’t belong. I told my family I was going back to the house with him because I knew he would get lost driving. They were all in too much of a fog to care what I did. We drove in silence and I made him park down the street in a secluded area near the causeway that crosses the reservoir. Here we were, in the same situation as on the day we met – me barking out orders, him going soft, then a finger fuck that led nowhere.

Our relationship lasted about eight months. This was never something that could have amounted to anything because it started out in such a bad way. My initial aggressiveness didn’t last long because it’s not who I really am. We agreed to meet at the same club the following week and I apologized for my behavior. He didn’t mind at all and said he liked assertiveness. I still don’t know why I didn’t leave it at that and move on with my life, but I decided to continue to see him. Maybe because I saw myself in him, the eager puppy following selfish boy-men. Maybe because I was lonely. Probably both. Our big problem (in hindsight) was that I was a submissive and I kept trying to get him to lead in some way. I would ask him to please make plans, but he always wanted me to do it. Basically, I used him for sex the whole time and the sex was always aggressive, like I was trying to get him to take me, but it was I who had to do all the taking in order to get my needs met. After a while I got bored and I should have broken up with him months earlier. On that sad, grey day in November, I told him to leave and that it was completely over. I walked up the long, steep hill to my house, breathing in the cool air deeply to clear my head. The house was filled with relatives and I immediately went to work serving and trying to please. I needed to serve someone, to please anyone.

A week later I started dating my ex and you can probably guess why. He took charge and I craved that. It was initially bliss, but I didn’t see the warning signs. The pendulum swung the opposite way with a powerful momentum. Of course that relationship couldn’t last long either. I was deemed much too needy and he wasn’t willing to invest in me. It would take Coach to come along and get me to work through my feelings. The question he would ask over and over was, “What do you really want?” No one had ever cared to ask. He wouldn’t have a relationship with me until I was sure of what I truly wanted and he was (still is) a patient man. I was allowed to feel whatever I wanted to feel, cry or laugh as much as I wanted, and was never thought of as too needy or too independent or just too much. I was allowed to be me and that’s all he ever really wanted. He would support me, no matter what, encourage me, no matter what, love me, no matter what. He’s remained true to his word for over 27 years and still asks me the question, “What do you really want?”

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35 thoughts on “I Was a Domme Once (Part Três, as in, strike three, get your ass outta here)

  1. What is challenging for me is that when I ask the question (regardless of the syntax, word ordering, the thesaurus-draining alternative words, etc.) and the response is always the same, “I don’t know” followed by, “I guess I think things are fine the way they are.” However, as I introduce new things and nudge Mrs. WC into new directions in order to experiment and see what she might enjoy, she responds positively. I am not lamenting or challenging anything but rather noting that so much of what we discuss is very subjective and individual while in a constant state of flux. Even my wife’s indecision, to me. demonstrates that she wants to try new things. Her desires are shapeless – undefined – at the moment.

    I can work with that. 😉

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    • And it sounds like you do. What I’m hearing is that you understand how she needs to be drawn out and introduced to new things. It sounds like she wants you take the lead in those introductions and then she makes her decisions as to whether or not she wants something. I can understand that. We all have reasons we hold back. Mostly it’s fear or rejection or fear of how we’re viewed.

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      • You are spot on with the fear or rejection or fear OF rejection. My wife has NEVER been rejected or criticized by me for anything. I find criticism (rather than critique) to be loathsome and ineffective and have avoided giving that to my people (wife, kids, employees, colleagues, etc.). She has nothing to fear with me, but the wounds of her past are unhealed and rear-up in the most improbable situations.

        To counter one thought, she easily rejects introductions regardless of presentation or preparation. So, sometimes I have to “sneak” it in so that it become HER discovery rather than me leading her to it.

        If I seem to be in a bit of a funk today, I am.

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        • I’m sorry you’re in a funk today. We all have those days.

          If it works for the two of you to sneak it in so it becomes her discovery, then more power to you. You need to do what works for the both of you, as long as you understand her limits.

          Liked by 1 person

        • Wounds can take a long time to heal… or even be recognized for what they are. It’s good you know this. It’s taken me 20+ years to finally trust my Sir… and I had every reason to trust him. As for rejecting new things– it’s another natural defense mechanism for many wounded people. Most of us fear being vulnerable.

          Liked by 1 person

          • Some of us dive in, head-first (vulnerabilities-be-damned) and then end up getting hurt in the process. When that happens, I tend to keep it to myself (it is my problem, after all) rather than burden my wife with it.

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  2. Sometimes you have to go through a process to learn about yourself — going through the Ugly allows the Beautiful to shine through. You need the rain to see a sunny day. XO

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    • Beautifully put! I’m glad you made that observation and somehow I knew you would 🙂 I saw a side of me I didn’t like at all. Yes, it’s a defense, but I didn’t and still don’t want to live my life defensively. I chose a few years ago to finally take the offensive if I offended.

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  3. This tale could have been written by so many people, people who aren’t quite sure what they are, aren’t quite sure what their partner is, and struggling through until one or both figures it out and changes are made (or not made). I’m happy for you this all happened earlier in your life and you’ve had Coach for the last 27 years. Some people your age are just figuring it out now.

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    • So true. Some would say we had only just figured it out, but the truth is that we finally admitted it to each other. I’m thankful we’ve had each other for so long, but we suffered greatly for many of those years because we had that last piece of honesty to share and couldn’t bring ourselves to share it. Downright miraculous that it even finally happened.

      The other part of this is that I sucked at being a Domme! Why hasn’t anyone called me out on that?

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          • I feel like I’m having a debate with a young teen going out at night wearing far too little for her dad’s comfort. 🙂 At some point, when you’re wearing so little, whether you’re technically naked or not doesn’t matter. From the boy’s perspective, you were naked, or close enough to it as to not be worth the distinction.

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          • No, I don’t agree. You weren’t terrible, at least not on the outside. On the inside you were all turmoil because this wasn’t a natural role for you, but on the outside I’m sure you seemed like you owned it. It’s easy for you to call it terrible because you knew how the inside felt too.

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            • You can only fake it for so long. I treated that relationship like I was in play; with him I was a that character. I was waitressing at the diner at the time so now you know why I gave so much waitressing.

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  4. Brava, Elle. Loved the denouement. DH pretty much has been asking me that same question for most of our marriage. It was very hard for control-freak me to admit I didn’t know the answer, but it may have always been an underlying fear that no could give me what I want– to just be safe in my vulnerability. What an epiphany that’s been!

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    • Thank you. Wasn’t really sure how I was going to bring all of it together, but I’m glad I was able to wrap it up. I didn’t want it to be just some salacious sex story, although I’m sure everyone thought that’s where it was going in the beginning.

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  5. I really like the ending, though it talks about a funeral.
    I’m glad you found Coach. Or Coach found you…

    However, what happened to “Fuck, the cops”? I really wanted to know *that* story 😉

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    • Here is the brief version, since you asked. Light shining in the window, but the windows are fogged up. Jump off him and pull down my skirt and quickly and haphazardly button my blouse. Roll the window down and he shines the light in then asks for license and registration and wants to see my ID, too. We climb over each other to change seats. He looks at my license and says, “Hey, I know you. Aren’t you XXX’s little sister?” I’m sure I turned a shade of red unknown to man. He lets us go with a warning to not have sex in a public place.

      Liked by 1 person

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