'I can't orgasm without being dominated. I'm worried my fetish has ruined my sex life.'

The first time it happened, I was with my very first Tinder date. Declan. 

A nice Irish boy from a big catholic family. 

He was tall, slim and incredibly sexy, but most of all he just seemed like a really nice guy.

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I was new to the online dating game, freshly single after ending a three-year relationship during which my ex went down on me precisely one time.

To say our sex life was unimaginative was putting it mildly. 

He was very much an ‘inside the box’ kind of man, with a synchronised rotation of exactly three positions.

It was love, but it was vanilla.

Yet I didn’t know any different. 

Until I met Declan. 

It was the second time we slept together, that I noticed the fire in his eyes. 

A burning desire that left me feeling more wanted than ever before. 

By the time he had me pinned underneath him on the bed, my heart was racing in excitement and exhilaration. 

Sliding his hand up my leg and past the hem of my black dress, he tore my lace underwear to the side, before slipping his fingers in. 

Warm and wet, I strained against the pleasure, twisting and turning as my hands grabbed at the sheets.  

Suddenly, he pulled out, and in one swift move ripped my dress off before tugging his own shirt over his head. 

Rippling abs and muscular arms towered over me, as beams of streetlight bounced off his chiseled body. 

Laying there, naked and trapped under him, I felt the power balance shift. 

He was in control now.

And I had no say about that.

All at once, his hands went for his belt, pulling it promptly out of his jeans. 

Then he asked for my wrists. 

Offering them up instantaneously, I responded without question or hesitation, desperately eager to explore where this was going. 

After three years of predictability and mediocre performances, Declan felt like my entry to a whole new party.

I woke up the next morning with marks on my skin. 

Red splotches around my wrists. 

Darkening bruises on my arms. 

His hand print on my bum. 

I smiled to myself as I covered up in a blouse that day, hiding my naughty night between the sheets and feeling intoxicated. 

Declan was my first experience with BDSM – bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism.

One of the top sexual kinks in the world. And my undoing.  

After him, it was a year before I met anyone with the same exclusive tastes. 

By then, I was in New York City. It was Halloween. I was dressed as a dirty cop. And he was a boy Scout. 

Even in his real life, James exuded more purity than most. 

He was a pilot, a doctor and even a teacher. 

And treated me like a princess. 

Until he didn’t. 

Pushing me backwards onto the air mattress, James landed on top of me, before reaching down to unclip the handcuffs off my waist. 

“Good girl,” he smiled, as I offered him my wrists. “Now I am going to own you.” 

After tightening my restraint, he leaned down to tear my black g-string off, before rolling it into a ball and ordering me to open my mouth.  

After easing it between my lips, he unbuckled himself and sprung out in front of me.

My eyes widened as every thick inch of him pulsated in response. 

Pushing my arms above my head, James held me down as he began to drive into me. 

Harder, faster, rougher than I’d ever experienced before. 

I took it all, getting more and more excited with every thrust. 

“Who’s my naughty little whore?” he grunted in my ear, before flipping me over. 

I gave up all control that night, screaming in pleasure into the pillow, as dirt streamed from his mouth. 

“Do not come without my permission,” was the second last thing I heard him say, before I gave in to the biggest orgasm of my life. 

Since then, my fetish has grown, my interests have developed and I’ve tried more things than not. 

From spanking to choking, handcuffs to cable ties, silk bonds to nylon ropes, collars, chains and sex clubs.  

It’s been a wild ride and I’ve met many men who’ve flexed their penchants on me. 

But it’s also allowed me to discover what I like, what I don’t, and what really gets me going. 

Along with where my hardline sits, and what areas I’m willing to explore.

Yet this kind of sex is not for everyone.

And my encouragement for him to be rough with me is not always met with enthusiasm. 

Which is more than fine. 

Except it’s not for me, because I’ve unknowingly set a new base line for myself. 

Without him taking control. Without playing the submissive. Without fingers on my neck or a strong hand pinning me down. It just doesn’t do it for me anymore. 

I need to be dominated to be able to orgasm. 

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And if I don’t meet that side in bed, I lose interest very quickly.

It makes me feel broken. Like something is wrong. How could I possibly desire this kind of behaviour?

I judge myself, harshly, and feel like a whore.

But then I stop for a moment and realise I am a total control freak. 

And at all times, I need to be in control of every aspect of my life. 

I’m aggressively organised. Everything, always, has to be just so. 

I have set expectations and if they aren’t met, I get disproportionally disappointed.

I am an overthinker, I’m over the top, and I’m always just too much. 

But in bed, I’m none of that, if someone else is in control.

By relinquishing any power over actions or outcomes, by having someone else for once take the lead, I’m free to experience, what I consider, the greatest sexual enjoyment. 

Feature Image: Getty.