Nicolette Hugo

I’ve been asked the classic D/s $64000 question a hundred times and it’s never a short answer. It took me years to work it out myself.

Growing up I remember once fantasizing about tying my naked girlfriend up in some extremely restrictive pose and just enjoying the view. The confronting bit is that I was about 8 years old at the time. Before any form of sexual awakening and way before puberty, my imagination was already playing a D/s video in my head.

Through my teens and the discovery of sex and sexuality I became both disturbed and afraid of my own desires. I liked the idea of hurting a woman; or more to the point, of a woman devoting herself to me enough to let me hurt her. I hoped I’d outgrow the idea and chose, for their sake, not to get too romantically close with anyone.

At 18, things changed…

After a few weeks of being fuck buddies with a sophisticated older girl of 21, I dragged out the “got any interesting fantasies?” line. She wordlessly got up and opened her wardrobe to reveal a truly impressive collection of whips, chains, handcuffs, collars, hoods and other stuff that I had previously only associated with either stables or medieval law enforcement. She was a sub – pretty hardcore – and saw the dominant in me before I even knew what that was.

From there, I was introduced to the clandestine and underground D/s community (pre-Internet) where I immediately found my own kind. People who lived totally normal lives and happened to have power exchange at the centre of their significant relationships. I was a young-in-the-head smart ass now surrounded by mature, experienced and very generous people who put up with my stupidity and mentored me into understanding myself and the women who would gravitate towards the type of man I was becoming.

This is where I found out why I’m a Dom…

Being a dominant man isn’t about the props. The fact that I’m a good shot with a flogger and I know where not to land it on a human body doesn’t qualify me. It’s not about how many knots I know or whether my partner calls me Sir. They’re the symptoms, not the disease.

The fact that I LIKE using a flogger on the right person doesn’t make me dominant either. It does make me a sadist, which I am.

The fact that being called Master or Sir or something similarly deferential does actually move me probably just makes me a conceited prat, but it is what it is.

No, I am a dominant man because of the aching beauty of submission.

In whatever form it takes, a woman’s choice to submit to my will, to go to that length to please me, to put that much trust in my honor, is intoxicating. It brings the sweetest intimacy into the relationship and inspires me to look after her with everything I have. It’s an incredible gesture to be on the receiving end of, and the most telling expression of love anyone has ever shown me.

It transcends the bedroom…its so much more than the sex, the pain or the latex.

When my girl and I cross the road, she has to hold my hand. She’s done this, almost without exception, at every street we’ve crossed in the last 11 years. Holding just the last two fingers of my hand as we walk. It’s a tiny thing but I love it. She doesn’t look for traffic. She doesn’t second guess me. She hands over the reins and gives me 100% control, literally putting her life in my hands. I decide when we cross, how, where, how fast we walk. And she trusts me completely.

That’s the essence of a D/s relationship. The dominant partner makes decisions, the submissive partner trusts what has been decided. The toys, the sex, the rituals, the costumes are all part of the flavoring but that’s not what matters.

Having a man you can trust that deeply with your welfare is a submissive woman’s sanctuary, and having a woman who shows that much deference to you is a dominant man’s inspiration.

It’s enough to make me insist upon this type of relationship. It’s enough to make me demand it of my partner, and myself. Does life get in the way? Yes. Some of the props and the party tricks take a back seat, but the mindset is always there…always on my muse, my slave, my object. Always on my girl.

– Lewis