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Not the cage!
Tie me up, flog me, spank me, choke me, degrade me. Cane me, gag me, slap me—but don’t think for a minute I’m getting in a cage. I mean, what kind of girl do you think I am?
It wasn’t even a real cage. Actually it was an oversized dog kennel, proved by the small metal tag with a dog-wagging puppy on the side, and the name: Petmate. Even my boyfriend’s promise of putting a comfy, plush mini-rug in the crate couldn’t lure me in. Somehow, even though I was willing to explore so many facets of the S&M lifestyle, getting in a cage just wasn’t one of them. And thus began the raising of the red flags and the realization that as much fun as I was having, this kind of relationship wasn’t one I could handle.
It started off innocently enough: We were introduced by a mutual friend at a party and decided to go out to dinner a few nights later. I’d heard about his S&M tendencies, and as I’d enjoyed being spanked and tied up in the past, I was very curious about this dark and mysterious man. I pressed him about his lifestyle at dinner, which I could tell amused him greatly. He was somewhat of a professional at this game: He knew specifics of the way to tie a woman up properly, how to handle the flogger, how to cane a woman’s bottom in a way that the lines were perfectly even and straight. Later, back at my place (and a few drinks into the evening), I began to ask even more daring questions. Finally, he simply said, “Why don’t you stop asking and let me show you?”
What happened afterwards was absolutely the most exciting and unique sex I’d ever had. Since he was a practiced expert in domination, he knew exactly how to handle me and what to say. There was no mumbling over commands and no confusion over what he wanted from me. He was in complete control, and I was smitten.
We became pretty serious very quickly. He opened my eyes to a whole kind of sexual experience that I’d never known, sex that went so far beyond the actual act of penetration. It was more of a mental intimacy than a physical one, though of course it was very physical, and sometimes quite painful. For the first time I could completely let go of myself and hand the control over to someone else. And for someone who spends her life in control of so many things—namely a business—it was just the release I was looking for. Somehow being tied up was more freeing than anything else I’d ever experienced.
I don’t know where my tendencies toward sexual submission came from, though I do remember that there were hints of it from a very early age. Playing cops and robbers with the neighborhood boys, I always wanted to be the bad guy so that when I was caught (easily and on purpose) they would have to restrain me while they took me to imaginary jail. As I struggled against their grip, the boys would often let me go, thinking that I really wanted to be released. But that wasn’t the case, and it frustrated me that they would give up so easily. Another example: while reading a trashy romance novel in my pre-teens, I came across a story where a “bad prince” commanded one of the girls from his harem to his bedroom.
When she arrived he demanded that she disrobe and told her to: “Lay on the bed, you whore.” I was instantly turned on and immediately confused at my reaction.
Why do I enjoy being degraded in the bedroom? I wasn’t verbally abused as a child, and my parents didn’t even spank me. A friend of mine, who is coincidentally a professional dom, suggests that sexual submission on a woman’s part is a natural state of affairs deep within our primitive psyche. As humans are an intelligent race with the ability to think and act against our basic biological programming, this of course varies from person to person, but he said that even most professional dominatrixes he knows are submissive to their partners in their personal life.
As the newness of an S&M relationship wore off, I began to encounter problems with my boyfriend’s obsession with the lifestyle. First of all, he wanted to take me to clubs and spank me in public, and this was just something I was not comfortable with. As kinky as I may be, I’m not an exhibitionist. Next he wanted me to agree to be his sex slave—and I’m not talking just sexually, because I already played that role when we were intimate. He wanted me to be his lifestyle slave, which meant that I had to submit to him 24/7, in and outside of the bedroom. I could never say no to him, and I had to obey him no matter what I felt about his demands, or what kind of mood I was in. He tried to convince me that his form of power exchange was a beautiful, loving thing that would bring us even closer together. He promised that I would still be able to run my life as I do now, with my own hobbies, friends, and being the boss at work. But with him, I had to be acquiescent at all times. I loved this man, and though I desperately wanted to stay with him and consider this way of life, every instinct in me screamed no. My mother didn’t raise me to be a slave to anyone—not even a kind, loving, and intelligent man that I adored. Order me around during sex and I’m willing and able, but try to talk to me that way during our non-sexual, day-to-day moments and I’ll kick your ass. Seriously.
And thus we moved on. My experience with him is definitely one I will never forget or regret, but it was also a learning experience. I discovered not only my turn-ons but also my boundaries. I also found that the vanilla sex that I looked down upon during our relationship was actually something that I craved as well. I realized that good sex is not just a physical act but a mental one as well, for it is the intellectual connection with your partner that brings about the passion and the excitement that we all crave. Nowadays I find that I do not desire sex with someone unless we have a deep emotional bond, because otherwise it’s just a empty bodily act with someone you don’t really care about. Sex with the man I love is all I really want now, as cliché as that may sound. And if that man wants to break out the whips and chains on occasion, all the better. Just don’t even try to get me in a cage.