No sex please, we’re submissive: orgasms and The Sub’s Paradox

The Submissive’s Paradox is a name I gave to a phenomenon that must be familiar to many subs, particularly those in F/m relationships. It involves dealing with one of the toughest, and nuanced, aspects of being Submissive: denial of orgasm. It the most potent and powerful tool in the Domme’s armoury and the underlying dynamic to most D/s F/m interactions.

I should point out here, I am not talking about long term chastity, which is entirely a different order of magnitude. This is the short-term denial of orgasm for unspecified number of days to exercise control and, in the case of my Domme, to achieve her arousal at my frustration. Because I know she also enjoys the conferring of permission to come, it is unlikely to stretch into weeks. But double-digit days would not be unheard of.

So why the paradox? Well, the denial itself obviously causes me frustration at my inability to come when I want. But the fact she has ordered it means, by abstaining from coming, I am pleasing her. This in turn pleases me, as a submissive. So the act of orgasm denial simultaneously pleases and frustrates me. QED.

I realised quite early on that I needed to master control of this paradox if I was going to get the most out of being a submissive for Her. If you simply gnash, wail and howl at the moon at the cognitive dissonance, then being submissive will be hard work for you. You have to learn to ‘lean in’ to it. To manage it. Even, yes, enjoy it. At least if you want to have a normal life outside your D/s role play.

Figuring out how to do that was quite an emotional journey that made me discover depths that I didn’t realise I had, levels of control I’d assumed were beyond me and improved the quality of the orgasms I did have. I found denial was like a wild horse – it would throw you off a lot, but eventually you learned to ride it. Some days I was so sure I was on top of it, only to find myself reduced to a gibbering wreck at the prospect of unexpected desire. Because for the most part it is like sitting next to a big red button that says DO NOT PRESS. At first you learn to pretend the button isn’t there, then you reach a point where you don’t see the button. Until you reach the stage where you say ‘Look at that button. It’s so much more fun not pressing it until I am allowed to’. Passing through denial and acceptance into enjoyment.

How does that work in practice? Most days I’ll wear a cage, which is a symbolic reminder of Her control. (I self manage the lock, so it’s not a physical deterrent – see my post on cock cages for more.) What the cage does is to provide a very physical reminder of your commitment, and is a physical weight to carry around as much as a psychological one. On occasions when I feel strongly the urge to come I’ll sit quietly and relax, legs apart slightly. I’ll concentrate on the weight of the cage and ring, feel it increasingly heavy, as an immobilising force and how that represents Her authority and control. Pretty soon it feels like I’m bolted to the chair – like a steel beam has pinioned me in my place. I’m helpless. I can’t move. My only choice is to submit. I close my eyes and mentally utter a submission, and feel a physical falling away of the desire and the need, almost trance like. If practised this can also transform into a form of arousal, though without necessarily all the symptoms presenting, though some may. And then you can carry on with your day, slightly floaty. It’s nice.

Which brings us to the second aspect of the Sub’s Paradox – if orgasm denial is nice, doesn’t coming ruin the enjoyment? Self evidently not. Orgasms are ALWAYS nicer in my personal opinion. (As I say, this is NOT about chastity living, which gives a different take on this altogether.) Because if they weren’t, then there would be no need to manage denial. They’d stop being a tool of control for the Domme. Nevertheless there is a kernel of truth in this nut of nonsense.

When permission to come is granted, there is, of course, an overwhelming desire to release hastily, like a hungry man gorging on his dinner. But, equally, it is delicious to savour the moment. I can come, but I’m holding out, I can enjoy arousal with no consequences. Edging then becomes a source of extending that pleasure, not denying yourself in frustration. As you build towards climax that feeling of ‘I want this to end / I don’t want this to end’ becomes even more intense. To want to come and not want to come at the same time. Schrödinger’s Orgasm.

But of course you do. And it begins all over again. Denial and control of the Sub’s Paradox gave me the skills to enjoy the spaces in between the coming. That, in turn, transform the orgasms into more intense experiences. Because the light has no meaning without the darkness. Yin and Yang. Denial reinforces the orgasm, making all life richer in the end.

“All the variety, the charm and the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow”

Tolstoy, Anna Karenina.


Sinful Sunday 335: Obey

This week’s Sinful Sunday comes from an order from Her. I was visiting a client site all day Thursday, conducting Focus Groups with some very senior stakeholders in a project. The prospect of sitting around the big corporate table, with all that power in the air, made her think of giving and taking orders.

She gave me an order to carry out that day. From her, it doesn’t matter what it is, but any act of obedience is a turn on. This was a little something to wear. Quite little, in fact. I took the opportunity to capture the moment, below, during a break at their offices.


They say it’s important to bring some of your personality to work. But sometimes it’s good to keep it below the surface.

See who else is breaking the rules this Sunday by clicking on the kisser below:


Sinful Sunday


Wicked Wednesday 275: Eye Contact

Look me in the eye and let me tell you my true desire.

You fill me with a thousand fierce longings. To know and touch each intimate part of your body’s wet recesses. To feel the soft give of your muscles in smooth handfuls. To taste the inches of orbed pale splendour, drawing slowly at each pink and tender tip with my teeth. These are the desires that fill my mind in the hours in between. But they are not what I really want.

When I look you in the eye, I can see the need to uncage that rabid beast. And I feel your trembling hands that start to stroke, pull, placate and pressure. Positioning me precisely until it is right. I’m prone, lying restless, waiting for your work to begin. Our faces nearly touch as you fix my shoulders, grab my wrists and wrap them roughly with a rasping old rope. But your eyes are fixed on the detail of the ritual. I watch you as I lie, waiting for the point when you can tell me your lusts through the movement of your body and the instruments it wields.

Is it a broken desire, this need we share? The entropy of your energy that brings chaos to this place where we meet. Your need to break me down and my need to surrender. To offer all my parts completely. To be rearranged. To feel your tearing at me and then to give you the cries you need to take more and more. The cane, the paddle, the belt and the hand. Accessories, after the fact.

When my need to look is too strong, you blindfold my eyes, shutting out my right to know. It’s not my privilege to see what you are planning. Only to feel its force and your power when the moment comes. Because you know my real desire can’t be reached through this physical compulsion we both feel. So you avert my gaze to keep it at bay.

And when it is over, the first thing I see is your face. Calmer, brighter. A distant look as you tenderly touch my aching limbs. Cracked lips, sticky skin, a generous smile. A kiss for the wounds.

We sit in silent repose, your fingers idly tracing the evidence on my body. I’m feeling the freedom of release. Unburdened by the raw hunger that weighs down my belly on the days when I need to feel you take me.

Look me in the eye and tell me what you feel when that striking hand meets skin. Not after the moment has passed, and your ire is down. When my welted flesh has melted back from fiery red to blushing pink. And your healing fingers have touched the pain you loved me with.

Don’t use your words, only your eyes. Because I need to see that flame. It hurts me more than your hand that, when you force that desire from my body, I cannot see your face. When the flat of your hand smashes into me, I want to be looking at you. Seeing the longing in you to beat and beat and beat me until I cannot quiver any more, only subside, crying, into your lap. Face down, the liquid shame that fills my eyes, and I cannot see straight.

Can I truly look you in the eye?


See who else has been wicked this week by clicking on the rings below.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Guest: Sinful Sunday 334 – Blue

The lovely Grace O’Malley (@GraceOM1967 on twitter) is in the process of reviving her blog, but wanted to take part in this week’s Sinful Sunday. So I’ve given her a berth on mine – the words and pic are her own:

She lays naked
She touches herself
Hoping it will
Feel like his
Her fingers are just
Not the same
His were rough
Hers are gentle
His were rough
Her heart is
Sad &


See who else is feeling blue this week by clicking on the lips below:

Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday 334 – Red, white and blue

For this week’s ‘blue’ theme, I’ve chosen an image from last Tuesday, when I spent an idle hour pleasing my Domme, while she pushed my submissive buttons. She had the distinct advantage that I was wearing a cock cage. But I did have one thing. I know she has a BIG thing for scratch marks. A little bit of broken skin can provoke a big reaction.


She who else has been on the mark this Sunday by clicking on the kisser below.

Sinful Sunday