The vital ingredient

My husband's desire for BDSM containment practices waxes and wanes. The times he binds me in some way are rare and tend to relate to a time when I am "used". I'd prefer it otherwise. I love those evenings when he comes into the bedroom and I am already in bed and he ties my wrists together for the whole night, for example. He might go back to his study for a few hours but the benefits for me are considerable, even when I am alone. I sleep extraordinarily blissfully when constrained in some way and I get the pleasure of being sexually aroused all night but without anything that I can possibly do about it (sort of). For reasons that can't be well explained, the fact that he has chosen to do this for me and to me fills me with a deep sense of being loved.

Every now and then, he ties my wrists together and then my ankles and then some rope between my wrists and ankles. In this way, I am in the foetal position on my side, my left hand side if you prefer more detail, and in this position and after several hours, I am not at all comfortable. Yet, I am entirely comfortable really, comfortable in my discomfort and I find this position deeply, deeply arousing. I sleep well but fitfully. I drift in and out of a sexual sort of consciousness whereby I am aware of every fibre of my being. My head is full of sexual sensation but not a thought can really be produced. I am simply, a sexual object.

Maybe only a handful of times, he has bound my whole middle section of my body, just as Popeye did for Olive Oil, round and round my body with the rope. This is quite marvellous. I get to watch him at work, which I love. From a farm and an able seaman he is perfectly at home handling rope and I find watching him quite hypnotic.

Busy as he is, occupied with many business projects at once, I rather doubt that he has much notion that I would dearly, dearly loved to be tied up and that tonight would be good. I don't think that thought has entered his radar. I know, and I know full well that I would only need to walk into his study later this evening, or mention to him on the couch when we have a cup a tea after dinner that I would love to be all tied up in bed this evening and he would do this for me. If I were to ask nicely...not complain that it has been a while or anything vaguely closely to any sort of criticism...I feel almost certain that he would do this for me. My happiness is something that he wants for sure.

And yet, I cannot guarantee you, sitting here at my desk in amongst making the dinner that I can do this. It seems agony to have to ask for the things I want. I can't think of anything harder. What's hard about it, you may well ask.

May I please have a spanking?
Would you please bind my wrists together tonight?
Could you please come to bed and use me?

They are simple sentences. I don't think he would say "no" especially since he knows how hard it is for me to ask him for these things.

But, why? Why is it so hard?

As irrational and just plain dumb as this is going to sound, I am going to say it anyway. The reason I find it almost impossible to ask for anything is because in my heart of hearts I believe that if he loved me enough, he would do these things for me without me needing to ask for them. He would be aware of the distress it causes me for him to not do them and he would come to me of his own volition and contain me; correct me; love me. When he doesn't come to me to do those activities that I associate with love and care, I feel abandoned and rejected. To come to him is to acknowledge that abandonment and intense vulnerability that it is to be me.

Yes, those feelings would disappear the moment he resolved the situation by responding to my request. Yes, I can resolve non-compliance by "getting off my bimbo haunches and executing", for example. But, I often feel on my own and on my own it can be easier to wallow in a sense of lack of love than it can be to solve the problem. I like to be forced to do things because I interpret the force as love and care. He cares enough to enforce the requirement. I matter. I matter to him.

On the weekend my husband spanked me quite firmly and shortly after that in the car on the way to do an errand together he said, "You really liked that spanking, didn't you? It has settled you." I am not great at talking to him about my responses and I simply said, "I haven't made a secret of the fact that spankings make me happy." The spanking did indeed carry me through the day happily. Even being told to mind my manners makes me feel loved (so long as he is not angry with me. I deplore anger directed at me.)

This incredibly profound sense of vulnerability inside of me has roots so deep within my psyche that I can tap into them but do nothing to alter them. I am capable of feeling enriched; loved; adored; wanted but at the same time I can question what is lovable about me. It is a horrible sense of being unworthy; different; not good enough that I fight with most days.

Then, I am used or corrected or contained; loved; and the sunshine comes out. I beam with pleasure; find love and light in everything I see and touch; feel an immense sense of love inside of me and surrounding me. I feel worthy of the attention and love.

This 'asking' business is that important; a skill I must hone. Nothing could be more important to my state of mind.