In this past year with Mac I have given my submission a lot of thought and revisited old relationships with a new taint on the memories. For a long long time I denied the existence of the way I felt. I was taught to be independent. I was taught to stand on my own two feet and be responsible for myself. I struggled with it, constantly torn between my need to submit and my belief I should be strong. I put on a dominant front, and men would think they were getting involved with an independent woman. I would fall in love with any man that showed signs of strength in their character and they would adore having this seemingly strong woman fall at their feet. They couldn't cope for long though, not with someone who actually needed them, who devoted herself to them and who loved them so intensely. As each relationship fell apart, I knew that I had failed.

There have only been two relationships where I have felt my submission was acceptable. Funnily enough, they were my first relationship and this one, my last. In the first, we were both in our teens and neither of us knew what submission was and if we had I doubt either of us would have cared. It has only been in the past two years of searching for whom I really am that I have begun to understand.

James and I started our relationship when I was almost 15 and he was 19. It is actually a huge age difference and, at the very beginning, one he was unaware of. I didn't look 15, I didn't act 15 and the night we started sleeping together we had been out to a nightclub (legal drinking age here is 18). James assumed I was underage, he thought I was about 17 and it come as a shock to him that I was a virgin that night and as a bigger shock later on when he discovered my age. By that time we were already entwined.

I don't remember exactly when we started playing games with ropes and blindfolds and such, but I do know that I really enjoyed it when he would tie me up and 'pretend' to force me to do things. It could hardly have been real force considering I wanted him to do anything and everything to me once I was tied.

I went to his place one afternoon and he was in a playful mood and I teased him and was cheeky to him until he told me I needed to be punished. He tied me to the kitchen table, each of my ankles tied to the bottom of the table leg and my hands stretched out to the other side. My feet remained on the floor. He had already removed my panties and as I lay there bent at the hips, open to his inspection I found that I was completely calm. He slapped me playfully a couple of times but his real intent had been on fucking me and it was only a minute or two before he did. He held my hips and pounded himself into me with little care for my comfort and I think I may have been whimpering while I was being fucked. I remember wanting him to come, wishing he would come, trying to wriggle back against him so that he would come and when his hands gripped my hips and he pushed into me harder and grunted as his cock spurted inside me I gurgled with happiness and slipped further into a world of peace while my cunt squeezed at his cock. He started to soften and slipped from me, walking to the side of the table so he could see my face. He leaned down and kissed me and asked if I needed anything. I smiled at him and said I was fine. He grabbed himself a drink and then sat behind me to drink it. I knew he was watching me and I felt no shame at all. I was proud that he was looking, happy that it was me that had made him come, and I was enjoying the feeling of his semen running down my thighs. I was watching the clouds pass by the window outside and all I could think was HE had enjoyed me, HE was enjoying me and if I were lucky HE would enjoy me again.

Eventually he stood behind me again and thrust himself into me and I remember I was begging him to come for me and he did with even more force and more noise than the first time. He untied me from the table and tucked me in his arms and he held me and loved me until I had to go home.

We were together for over two years and I fell apart when we broke up (as all women do when they lose their first love). I think now though, that through all other relationships I have been looking for a grown up version of James.

I have to grin now just thinking that if it was Mac that tied me to the kitchen table you can be sure it would not be for some feigned punishment. He would do it simply because He felt like it. The slaps would not be playful and the sex would be much rougher and I doubt I would be untied after He had come only twice. The peace would be much deeper and my love for Him would grow and I would know I was exactly what He wanted me to be.

I really can't ask Him for more.