I met my Dom three years ago on a dating app, and we officially started our relationship two years ago.
I am indecisive and have struggled with depression for years. He, on the other hand, is a self-made man, a boss who I never thought I would cross paths with. He is twice my age, not very tall, not particularly handsome, and has a rough demeanor with a constant scent of smoke.
But, I love my Dom.
01
I repeatedly declined to meet him, and he suddenly became very serious, saying for the first time, “I want to train you, play with you, f**k you, and make you feel a sense of belonging to me.”
Naturally, I felt a bit scared and thought it was absurd, remaining unmoved.
“I know you’ll be unable to leave me in the future.”
Of course, I didn’t believe him at all since I’ve never trusted anything associated with words like “forever” or “promise.”
I clearly remember it was November 22, 2018. After much persuasion, I finally agreed to meet him, feeling certain I would be punished as a way for him to vent his frustration.
Dressed all in black with a stern expression and a smile that sent shivers down my spine, that was my first impression of him.
I must have been so nervous that my mind went blank. I don’t recall much of the conversation from the elevator to the room. However, I do remember him offering me a mint right after picking me up, much like a dubious uncle luring a child. He talked a lot about his past in the BDSM community and some recent interesting experiences until he laid out a bed full of tools, making me suddenly tense again.
“No matter what happens, do not resist.” He grabbed my chin, looking into my eyes as he issued his first command.
My first experience with a vibrator was when he pressed it hard against my most sensitive spot. I soon lost almost all awareness, only able to hear my increasingly uncontrollable moans mixed with sobs. I don’t know how long he played with me, but I remember coming to and seeing him carefully watching me, his large hands that had just tortured me now wiping away my tears.
Then, from my abdomen to my chest and thighs, he gradually poured red wax all over me. Each drop signaled an unknown sensation. I wanted to struggle or scream but feared the next drop would land somewhere even more painful. So, all that remained were waves of trembling and moaning.
I realized I no longer belonged to myself, or rather, I felt accepted and completely let go of the dignity I usually held so dear.
“Get on top and f**k yourself for me.” There was a large object on the floor, one I was sure I couldn’t handle. I don’t know how I managed to sit on it; my mind was filled only with his command, my dazed eyes only seeing his shoes and the white smoke from his cigarette.
When he finally pressed down on me, I was trembling uncontrollably, the bell attached to my collar ringing chaotically. Amidst the loss of control and confusion, I felt like a Picasso outline dyed with Van Gogh’s vibrant colors. My eyes were brimming with tears, but I obediently stuck out my tongue, accepting and swallowing.
We intertwined until dawn. Feeling like I hadn’t slept all night, I curled up in his arms, and now it was my turn to recount my short, mundane life to him. To my surprise, he listened attentively to my illogical narrative and occasional sighs, responding and comforting me from time to time.
Half asleep, I cautiously asked him, “Can I acknowledge you as my Dom from now on?”
“Yes.”
02
Later, he planned a trip for us, but because I felt I didn’t know him well enough, I suggested we meet more often before traveling. During many of our encounters, I would be shackled, my collar slightly tight to restrict my breathing, my buttocks red and numb from spanking, only to be gently stroked afterward.
Most of the time, I would be cornered on the bed, defenseless and unable to resist, crying and moaning at the same time. The most time we spent together was by the window or bed, chatting and hugging. He would let me cling to his shoulder and take in his unique scent.
When the day of our trip finally arrived, it felt less like an escape from family and friends and more like a homecoming for our souls. Every day, we wandered around until exhausted, returning to our lodging to shower and collapse, too tired for any BDSM play. We followed a simple routine, rising with the sun and resting with its setting. Each night we cuddled in bed watching movies, a different kind of relaxation and happiness.
During the trip, he liked to photograph the flowers and buildings along the streets while I enjoyed secretly snapping pictures of him, focusing intently on his photography with a slight belly protruding. He loved local delicacies and made sure I ate plenty, indulging in both meals and midnight snacks, feeling a sense of accomplishment when I gained five pounds over the four-day trip.
One day, while strolling on the beach, he kept grinning at me. I thought he remembered something funny, but he said it was my infectious laugh that made him smile. He even imitated my laugh (though he couldn’t surpass the original).
In the afternoon, we visited a cat café. Though I was initially excited to see the cats, I soon found his enthusiasm for petting them more captivating.
“You can touch me, scratch my neck, stop petting them!”
I also discovered that this typically expressionless, seemingly abstinent man avoided bathing with me because “I wouldn’t be able to resist…” (Maybe my chubby figure is quite tempting, hehe).
“No matter how much sorrow follows, as long as I can experience one unrestrained joy in this life, I will have no regrets,” wrote Japanese author Osamu Dazai. I, however, am someone who tries to control my joy, hoping to avoid suffering.
I never anticipated that the overwhelming joy would wash over me without my realizing it, only to leave behind a massive debt of despair when it receded.
The night before our return, I inexplicably began to cry. He wiped away my tears and asked why.
I told him I didn’t want to face the month-long separation during winter break.
In truth, my sadness wasn’t about a temporary separation but rather the fear that this spring-like dream would end, and tomorrow, with the boat docked and the journey halted, I would lose the chance to relive this simple happiness.
The school, my family, and numerous problems awaited me. That’s why I initially resisted him, believing someone as unstable as me wouldn’t be liked or deserved to be loved.
At the train station before heading home, we took a photo holding hands, a simple happiness that remains our chat background today.
03
After returning home, I struggled with long-term emotional depression and insomnia, frequently having fevers and nausea. However, I couldn’t change my environment or family issues, and my physical weakness wasn’t understood (it was somatization caused by depression). I felt a mix of anger, despair, and guilt. The metaphorical last straw was added to my already weak mental state.
I hid in a secluded corner of the library and wrote him a long letter. I was grateful for the peaceful sleep he gave me, waking up to see him beside me, pretending to sleep and waiting for him to wake me. I was thankful he accepted and appreciated my flawed personality and imperfect body. I appreciated his unwavering determination when choosing me, his strong embrace, and how my happiness made him happy. My tears blurred the words on the paper, leaving them smudged and pitiful, much like myself.
I booked a high-rise hotel room at a train station midway. I often thought that no one would genuinely like someone as sensitive and timid as me. Besides fear, living brought me nothing.
One day, after a snowfall, I felt melancholic while walking on a deserted path in the suburbs and took a photo of the scenery for him. He said the weather was nice, though the surroundings were desolate, and asked how I was doing.
Instantly, my eyes welled up, and my throat tightened painfully. I leaned against a dusty wooden bench, unable to reply for a long time. Later, he mentioned picking me up from the train station when school started.
Suddenly, I longed to see him one last time, to be held tightly by him again. When forced to leave, besides regrets and unfinished business, only the warmth I experienced would linger in my heart.
I endured the endless days until the end of the break, and after saying goodbye to my family, I got on the train and canceled the ticket for the midway stop after seeing his message asking about my arrival time.
04
When I saw him again, I ran to him with my heavy suitcase nearly crashing into him. My prolonged depression and physical weakness made me feel dazed and slow to react, but he just rubbed my head, calling me “silly kid.”
I knew I was saved.
We hugged for a long time, long enough for me to feel I could sleep leaning on him. After a short rest, he said he wanted to make up for our first missed New Year’s dinner (though he ended up watching me devour meat).
After dinner, we intertwined, and every command he gave and every touch made me feel secure. He still pulled me close when I instinctively tried to pull away, not giving me a chance to catch my breath or plead. But now, I was overwhelmed with sadness, enjoying the pleasure and pain, gazing at him through tears, afraid this might be the last time I felt such happiness.
For the next six months, I
became like a sugar addict, craving more of that sweetness, wanting to see him again and again. When I couldn’t see him, I put on a brave front, telling him, “I understand, we can meet when you have time,” but inside, I was desperate for his embrace and salvation. I didn’t know how to express my childish need to see him frequently or how to tell him I feared he would hate me like everyone else.
I suggested we break up.
Under his questioning, I confessed my past self-destructive behaviors before meeting him and the true reason I cried on the last night of our trip. I saw his eyes turn red, unsure if he was angry or sad. He said, “No matter what, always tell me. You’re not a bother or a burden. Everything will be okay.” (I won’t bother him often; those words are enough for me).
After that, he started taking me out for drives on weekends. With his support, I finally pursued my long-cherished dream of learning painting and began a regular exercise routine, which helped my school performance improve.
A simple “I miss you” text from me made him realize something was wrong. He gave me the utmost respect and understanding. In one conversation, I learned that on the last night of our trip, after I fell asleep, he secretly cried in the bathroom. I knew we had truly given each other a sense of belonging.
I know I am his submissive who can be pinned against the wall and kissed passionately, but I am also his cherished child; he is my Dom who can grip my throat and use me as he wishes, but also my warmest and most adorable elder.
05
This February, my dad passed away after battling cancer for years. The constant conflicts and the forever broken family filled me with greater fear and emptiness, plunging me deeper into despair.
During this time, his business faced severe setbacks, leaving him exhausted and overwhelmed. I didn’t want to worry him but needed care. In my struggle between survival instincts and a mental obsession with purity, I made many mistakes to lessen my pain and became increasingly dependent on and suspicious of those around me. I sought his shadow in others to find a moment of peace. I suggested we break up several times, cursing myself while missing him.
His guilt outweighed his reproach. I worried countless times about our relationship—if it was sincere, lasting, or if there was betrayal or irreversible damage. But these worries were unnecessary. He continued doing everything to help me heal.
“As long as I’m here, I won’t abandon you,” he said during his business downturn and emotional breakdown.
“Although you acknowledge me as your Dom, if I can’t persist, then it’s over,” was his next sentence.
He’s such a bad guy, isn’t he? Making me fall hopelessly in love with him, then causing me joy and heartbreak, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
When I couldn’t reach him these past few days, I felt devastated, ashamed of my helplessness, and fearful of a future without him. But then I calmed down and realized I needed to wake up. My Dom wants me to be happy and healthy, pursuing my own dreams. He believes in me, and I shouldn’t disappoint him but strive to improve myself.
As I ended this semester’s counseling session, my therapist said, “You are in the phase of rejecting those who have negatively affected you. This is a necessary stage, and your healing or transformation might be linked to that important uncle. The outcome is still unknown.”
I always thought she meant I would be healed if my Dom got better. But now I realize my transformation won’t depend much on external changes. During my time with him, he gave me hope and love early on. No matter what we face or how long this hardship lasts, the persistence and resilience my Dom taught me will protect me, and I will always wait for our reunion.
“After all, you still owe me two birthday gifts. I haven’t finished the painting I promised you, and we haven’t played basketball together. I need you to try my massage skills. We still have many places to visit, and you haven’t made me the cola chicken wings you promised. You must be eager to discipline me again… You truly became my sense of belonging. Remember to give me a big hug when we meet next.”
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