I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid.

See, a few weeks back, Sir and I were having a random conversation about spanking, whipping, and caning, in which He said something along the lines of, “I’m so going to make you safe word.” (Daddy so does not say say the word “so”).

Hmm… Now I’ve never truly safe worded. Once, when He was tickling me–non-sexually–and once during an argument. Never in bed. Never when it came to sex. The closest I came was the first time He fisted me and that was years ago.

Why?

Because I trust Him. With my heart. My body. And my mind. And I said such to Him… That there was never any reason for me to safe word become He would never push me past my limits.

He smirked.

And I faltered… Should I be worried?

The more I thought about this, I came to the conclusion that most of us fit within two camps. The ones who say a Dom should never deliver more than a submissive could handle. And then there’s the camp that says a Dominant’s duty is to push limits, to take a submissive where she thinks she can not go, to show her what she can truly handle.

Here’s how each one plays out.

With a first camp Dominant, He has His sub tied up, a stick of bamboo in hand. Her ass is pink, stripped with red welts and soft, barely formed bruises. He watches her breathing, her body’s responses, and makes sure He doesn’t push her beyond her preconceived line in the sand.

The second camp Dominant is in the same scenario. His submissive is strapped down. She’s floaty and her ass is showing the signs of His adoration. He, too, listens to her breathing and body and makes His decisions on her head space and responses. But this man… He pushes. A bit at a time. Little by little and push by push, He takes her further down the rabbit hole, past where she herself would go.

Now I’m not saying one is right and one is wrong. Nor am I saying that one is better than the other. I’m more interested in what your thoughts are… Those of you in the lifestyle, on either end of the spectrum, and those of you with no affiliation in either direction. Is there a duty of a Dominant? Should He (or She) respect all lines, or cross those that need to be crossed?

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The other night, I was on all fours, my knees spread wide as M fucked me from behind. His hand was around my throat and I was panting from want and lust. With each thrust into my pussy, His fingers closed tighter around my throat. Each time, I’d cum. He’d squeeze harder. And I’d cum again.

I was floating, already bridging between reality and nowhere, lost in the moments of Us.

Yet when His hand tightened enough that my breath lagged, I panicked.

Then paused. My mind going into calming mode. This was my Sir. He wouldn’t hurt me. Ever. And with those thoughts, my pleasure spiked again, His cock working my cunt, and my mind giving over to my unconditional trust in Him.

Until His hand pulsed again. This time tightening until I saw stars. There was fear. Terror. And in hindsight, the thought that the orgasm that wracked my body and left me in shambles, tears and cum spilling onto the sheets, was perhaps caused more by the fucking of my mind than that of my body.

I’m not sure which camp I belong to, but I’m pretty damn sure I know which one Daddy does.