In the beginning, we were two skeptics. I talked a good game but you had been fooled by men who talked a good game in the past. Would I vanish as soon as I got my dick wet? Was I the kind of “Dom” who was going to beg for you to peg me? Maybe I was going to ask if I can call you Mommy as you spanked me. But I had my doubts, too. Was I going to invest all this time writing the things I imagined doing to you only to wake up to a deactivated account? I have these writings in the darkest corners of my computer. They’re about my parents and my failed marriage. They are about my heartbreak. They examine every agonizing failure in excruciating detail. If I let you read them are you going to slowly back away on your tippy-toes?
So we moved so slow. Little by little I became willing to give you more and more of my time until I became an addict getting high off every new detail I learned. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted to find out about the boy who pulled your hair in the third grade. I wanted you to tell me the story about how you got food poisoning at prom. You told me about the first time you got your heartbroken. We bonded over the things you could only whisper. They hurt too much for you to speak of them loudly. And even though there is nothing I can say to take away that pain I stood my ground and didn’t turn away. I needed you to see that there was nothing you could tell me that was going to make me flee.
There is nothing safe about these kinds of relationships. It’s vulnerability on steroids. It’s a high wire walk without a wire. It’s jumping out of a plane with a boulder on your back instead of a parachute. That’s why I’m not here looking for playful submission. This isn’t about blindfolds and binding your wrists behind your back with satin ties. The kind of submission I want is fucking fierce. Can you feel it? Do you really feel it in the bottom of your stomach? Well, that’s not enough. Dig deeper and find more to give. I’ll rip it out of you if I have to. I’ll keep pushing until I’ve shown you there is no such thing as a breaking point. I want my dominance to feel like a breath of air two hundred feet underwater. I want it to feel like a first kiss after one thousand years of being asleep. When you wake up you’ll know that you’re in the real world. You’ll realize everything before you gave me your submission was a simulation. It was the prelude to the life you needed to live.
I don’t think it’s too much to hope for but it is a lot to ask. Imagine a world where the person you trust most is also the person who has all your power. This should only terrify you if the wrong person owns you. This should only scare you if you’ve yet to meet him. He has your submission every day, 24/7. He makes decisions you live with whether you like them or not. He doesn’t do this because he’s a tyrant. He isn’t some insecure control freak. He knows you so well. You hide nothing from him. And he happily takes some thinking off your plate.
My dominance isn’t your prison. It’s your freedom. Allow me to put some of this weight on my shoulders and carry it for you. And then you can just be. You can be a sub or a slave. You can be a little girl or a masochist. You can be a rope bottom or a slut. Whatever role you want, disappear into it. Disappear into the one that shuts your mind off the most. Exist in one perfect moment after another with me. Let’s create something kinky and fun. Let’s make it intense and memorable. I want the marks I leave on your body to pale in comparison to the marks I leave on your mind. Show me it’s safe to be the real me. Prove that this is as meaningful to you as it is to me. I’m still a skeptic. I know you’re one, too. But if we both know this is a long road with a lot of hurdles we can take them one at a time together.
The Cerebral Sir 