30 Days Of Submission: Day 6 – The Root Of My Submission

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Due to the sensitive and controversial nature of the details within, this post won’t be available for pingbacks. I am, however, willing to answer questions on my unusual introduction to this lifestyle via email.

What do you feel are the roots of your submission? Do you think it has something to do with childhood? Is it a relationship management tool as in the practice of domestic discipline? Is it a sexual thrill or something else?

It all started around the first year of secondary school, the first time that I laid eyes on Carl. Carl was barely a few inches taller than me, with tanned skin, dark brown eyes, mousey brown hair and always a white, half-done-up shirt. Carl was charming, and after working with him in one drama class, I was smitten.

For many months, Carl was the subject of my fantasies. There was something about him, something different, something that I couldn’t quite place my hands upon. The one thing I could do with my hands, however, was to imagine alone exactly what Carl would do with his, and I did – often.

In sex education, I remember never being particularly enthused about the mechanics of sex. I was unphased at having to draw an A4-sized penis in my science book and I was completely nonplussed as I coloured in the deeper pink parts of the uterus. I drew a sperm cell with ease and I copied down all of the labels, and after that we watched a video about sex and pregnancy. While all of my class mates were left giggling, I left the classroom thoroughly bored. When would the good sex start?

Sex like I want with Carl.

Family Fitness

I still remember the day I worked out with my family, it was a routine we had every day after school. “Body conditioning”, that’s what we did, a series of exercises designed to maintain suppleness and fitness to help manage chronic pain. I remember working out to Ronan Keating’s Life Is A Rollercoaster on at least a dozen occasions.

What nobody tells you about fitness with chronic pain, is that sometimes, you have to do things a little differently. For me, press-ups were one such occurrence, and I would have to perform the motion against a wall or door instead of the floor, thus reducing the weight on my pain site and preventing me from crashing myself on the floor in a painful, crumpled heap.

I can’t remember why my relatives felt that we should know in that particular moment, but they decided that now was the time to tell us. As I turned away from the wall, the hidden truth finally came out.

“She’s a pain junkie” he said softly.

A pain junkie? What the hell is a ‘pain junkie’, and how the hell could anyone be addicted to pain? I was confused and didn’t understand it. My brother, meanwhile, was horrified and ran up to his room.

After that conversation, all of the pieces gradually began to fall into place. A pain junkie! I understood it now, but I lived with pain and hated it, so why would on earth would anyone want pain?

My New Beginning

For a long time, I flopped between thinking that this all sounded heavenly and thinking that there was something definitely wrong with my relative. The more I tried to fight it, though, the more it turned me on. I couldn’t deny it anymore, I loved the idea of being tied up and punished. I’d try not to think about it, but each time the thought would consume me.

Once I made a run of it with Matt, he became my long-term partner. I opened up to him about my desires for more “traditional” marriage roles and my tastes and interests in BDSM. I’d seen my Nan and mother have traditional marriages, and I wanted more of the same, but with added bits on top. I had no long-term experience and no idea what I did and didn’t like, but heck, I was willing to try. Aside from the handful of spankings that I had to go by, we would be very much learning together.

For us, the most important thing now is to put our marriage first. Matt and I are a husband and wife duo first and I am his submissive second. I am his equal and his partner in crime, and even if he’s wanted to haul me and my smart mouth across his knee on more than one occasion, he doesn’t. To him, the fact that I can express myself freely is far, far more important.

Because of my family, BDSM is now a passion of mine. Far from just being something that I’m into and care about, I am truly honoured and very lucky to have a wonderful family who supported me on my first steps and by continuing to support and educate others who are interested in this lifestyle, I like to see my efforts as sort of their sort of legacy. Owing to our special connection and my random tidbits of other general knowledge, my relative now calls me “wonderfully weird” and to be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way. My whole family is weird and wonderful, but I wouldn’t swap them for the world.

 

 

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