The Winter of My Discontent

Aggression. Fervor. Passion. Anger. Rage.

As a twenty-something, I dare not introduce these emotions into the bedroom. Looking back, I remember being disturbed as the porn landscape began to become rougher and I internally shook my head in disapproval. Just seemed mean, I thought, and how could you be mean in intimacy.

This is the paradox of D/s sex.

With age comes wisdom as I have said before. And as anger was introduced into my bedroom, things became far more fulfilling for her and I.

Her orgasms. The enigma I tried so hard to achieve became commonplace. This one critical piece became the goal, every time. The more, the merrier. The more intense, the better. The more devastated she was at the end, the better it became.

The gratitude that follows in her after a hate-fuck orgasm-laden wiped-the-fuck-out experience is the cornerstone of it all. I don’t care how I get there. It’s all that matters. Her. Wiped. Out.

So anger and dominance became the toolset. Great. I feel comfortable and at home in that type of sex. But the truth is this: I’d do just about anything though to reach that finish line.

So I carry anger. I carry rage. I carry whatever will motivate me to throw the fucking kitchen sink at her. The ego boost that follows is well worth the burn in the lungs.

If you are on the fence about rough sex and BDSM. Give it a whirl.

You will never look back.



Originally published at The Romantic Dominant.