I don’t (usually) call him that. That’s never been a part of our dynamic.
At least not overtly.
If I think about our relationship, though, I can definitely see aspects of it. It’s less about control; more about following his lead. It’s less about domination or dictatorship and more about influence and authority. He can be stern, and is always firm, but never tyrannical or demanding. It’s less about rules and obedience; more about compliance when he asks for it and accepting his guidance. Sure, there are rules, but not many, and I feel like most of them are in place because I want or need them – just as a father figure might employ them. All things that, yes, I might expect to be part of a DD/lg relationship. A way that a Daddy Dom would be.
So maybe I am wrong in this. He has told me that, for the most part, Daddy Dom has been his role in past relationships. He is comfortable there, it is how – in the past – he has expressed his dominance. But…what does that make me then? I’ve never wanted a Daddy. And I’m certainly not a little. I’m a grown-ass woman, damn it! If you want me: take me or make me. Bend me to your will, command me, use me, abuse me. That’s where I have always lived.
But sometimes it happens: I say that word in my head. “Thank you Daddy.” “May I cum for you Daddy?” I’m not sure why, or where it comes from. It makes me squirm when I do, in that slightly uncomfortable, yet pleasurable way.
It makes me squirm now, writing about it.
Long ago, I teased W about it. He was very distinctly uncomfortable with that title. I poked the bear with it, bratting about it a time or two. But his discomfort with it was palpable, and obviously not in the good squishy way, so I only did it a couple of times, because, at my heart, I am a good girl and a good submissive. Hmm…giving that relationship a deeper dive through this lens: he never actually even liked “dominant” and “submissive.” As he said, he dominated me, he owned me, but he never used “good girl” that way. If he used “girl” it was more as a…as a designation that stripped me of identity, the same way he would use “slut,” which was his preferred term for me. It all worked very well, in the context of our play and sex.
Also: he was not the Daddy Dom type. Outside of play he wanted an equal: a strong, independent, decidedly not submissive woman. (That I was all those things and yet also submissive to him was, I think, a revelation to him and eventually broadened his own view of what D/s could be.) In play though he was harsh, and could be cruel. I had to teach him that he could be all that, and yet also be a loving dominant. That domination did not always have to be brutal. Or rather, that after the brutality he could be loving; that we both needed to come back to our humanity, to find the humanity in ourselves and in each other. It’s what made the harshness, the brutality, able to be borne, indeed what made it hot (aside from just satisfying the masochist in me.) But also, it gave very distinct lines to our relationship. Although we had what I would call 24/7 D/s, the D/s only happened in play for him, while for me it was where I lived.
With V, he used the term Daddy – or rather had me use it – it to elicit feelings of shame, and to generate the kind of heat that shame-play creates, forcing me to use the term with him during sex and play on a couple of random occasions. Was it hot? Fuck yeah. But it wasn’t about who he was to me, it was about how I felt in using that term in the middle of degrading or humiliating acts. I was thinking the other night about the kind of scenarios he created when we had sex, actually, and shame was the defining factor in them. It always turned me on, almost unbearably so, but afterward it was hard to think about, and gave me discomfort to have been aroused by whatever perverted thing he had made me orgasm to.
So where does that leave me with Sir? Our D/s is softer than mine with W, certainly, but also – since he has been clear that he does want authority, does want a woman who submits to his will – more pervasive. It is easier to live in that space with him, because he wants it, he appreciates it. And he enforces it: the other day he was telling me about something that had happened. It was a topic that I am passionate about, and in my excitement I interrupted him more than once, and he finally gave me a sharp rebuke, “Stop interrupting me, Jade!” I sat back on my heels, chastened, and apologized profusely. There are rules of behavior, however unspoken, between us, and I revel in both the having of those boundaries and in his enforcement of them.
So does having thought in those terms when referring to him, if only (usually) in my head, have some significance? Does it presage a shift in attitude, or is it merely an alignment with what was already a reality? These are the things I am pondering today.
