A Domme is born

I consider myself to be a natural born Domme. How do I know that? Well, I still have a kindergarten report card which says that I tend to be bossy towards the other children. And I suppose that was true then. I've always been quite dominant in my relationships with others. I grew up in a small village and had many friends there. Of course, we often visited each other's house to play. One of the favorite places we had to play, was in the backyard of my best friend. They had a shed there, where we had toys and things. We often "played house" and invariably I ended up being the "mother" of several boys and girls. And yes, when they were "naughty", "Mommy" would have to spank them. It was curious how many boys/girls went over Mommy's knee and were fascinated by it.
Because of this, I believe that I was born a Domme. Somehow, there's some gene in my body which makes me the way I am.

Of course, as I got older, less and less of my friends were interested in playing house. Curiously though, there was one boy around my age who continued to have an interest in playing house, or rather the spanking part of it. Slowly our play moved away from playing house and started revolving completely around spanking. Most of the time it was me who was spanking him but we also tried it the other way around. We started meeting secretly at his parents' house. They were gone a lot of the time, so that gave us ample time. Our games were very innocent and involved only the bottom being bare and just gentle spankings, but somehow we knew very well that what we were doing was "strange". Or rather, other people would find it strange. Instinctively, we hid our activities from everyone else.

Moving into our teens, we continued playing together. We also became more interested in other aspects of our body, of course. Our games reflected that by becoming more physical. Spanking on the bare bottom was still a large part of it but we expanded it with more nudity and sometimes bondage. By this time it was always me who was in the dominant role. My friend (I never considered him as my boyfriend though most everyone else did) became the "victim" of many of my early fantasies of domination. In that time, I devoured books and comics where there was some form of punishment, embarrassment or something similar involved. I would read them and get this strange, warm feeling which I did not yet recognize as sexual arousal. My friends arousal was of course more obvious than mine, all the more because he never got to see me naked, in underwear at the most. I became fascinated with his erect penis, since it apparently produced such intense feelings in him when I played with it. That fascination to tease and torment a penis lasts until this day.

Our games were cruelly interrupted when his family moved overseas. Despite promises to keep in touch, our letters became less and less frequent until finally our contact stopped completely. I have never seen him again. By mentioning the word "letters", am I betraying my age here?
His sudden departure meant the beginning of a long dry spell for me where it came to domination. As more and more of my friends became seriously involved with young men, I started feeling peer pressure to have a stable relationship with a nice guy. It was also the time where I left my parents' home to move to the big city for my education. Finally free of an obsessively concerned mother, I could explore my feelings deeper and more freely. However, I was still careful should anyone find out my secret. In an effort to learn more about my interest, I started frequenting the library (oops, another sign of my age) for books about the subject. I did not dare borrow them, instead I wrapped them in a magazine and read them in a quiet corner at the library itself. Strange, condemning words leapt at me from the pages: "deviant", "aberrant", "abnormal" and the worst one of all: "perverse". These words hurt me deeply. I was apparently a sick person. I was perverse. I was sexually deviant. Apparently, my illness even had a name: sadism. I felt branded.

Convinced that I somehow needed to be cured, I looked for a way to do that. The answer seemed obvious: I needed to find a normal man. I became convinced that if I found myself a normal man to fall in love with, that somehow these feelings would go away. And as luck would have it, I met a normal man. A very decent, caring, loving, strong and dependable man. The ideal son-in-law. Marriage material. And before I knew it, I was in the caught up in the stream of engagement leading to marriage leading to pregnancy. We had a son. We had a daughter. We worked normal jobs, had a normal life and my mother approved. I was happy.
Or so I told myself. But underneath it all lurked the monster. My perversion. Oh sure, I tried to suppress it. I tried to ignore it. I tried to run away from it. But I could not. It was as much part of me as my arm. Every now and then, it popped up its ugly head into our sex life. I loved to be on top (and hubby loved me to be on top too) but when I suggested to experiment a bit by tying him to the bed board, he refused. He said that it wasn't for him. He did want to tie me to the bed though, but I didn't feel for that. I didn't realize it then, but I think this was the end of our marriage. My monster went unfulfilled and became more and more hungry. As the years passed, we grew apart, each leading our own lives, caring for our children, holding up the appearance of a marriage.

By this time, we had the Internet in our home as well. And like it or not, the monster compelled me to look up things about it. At first a little but it became more and more. There was a wealth of information out there. And slowly, I became less convinced that I was in fact sick. Maybe the monster was not so much of a monster after all. I read stories, saw photos, discovered that there were many, many more people out there who were like me. That there were men who wanted to meet women like me, desperately.
However, not being very technical and unable to cover my tracks (not even aware I was leaving them), it was only a matter of time before my husband discovered what our computer had been used for. At first he thought it was our son, but the poor boy was hardly old enough to have developed such a profound interest already, let alone grasp English. I confessed that it had been me. And for the very first time in my life, I openly told someone face to face about my deepest, hidden desires. My poor husband, shocked as he was that his wife had such a dark side to her, did his best to comprehend. We talked, we laughed together, we cried together and slowly reached the conclusion that our relationship had reached a point where we didn't have much of anything in common any more. We weren't angry, just sad yet somehow also strangely relieved. We divorced on good terms shortly afterwards and fortunately to this day, we have remained friends.

And there I was, single again, though a mother of two. But this time I was more confident and started to explore my feelings more openly. My resolve strengthened by the things I read online, the knowledge that there were others out there like myself, I joined a web forum about BDSM. I also knew more about computers now and knew to be careful with my identity.
When I came out of the closet as a Domme on this forum, I was swamped by messages by men who were looking for someone like me. The desperation of some of these men, the way they addressed me, shocked me to the core. I was called things that I never even had believed I would be called in my wildest dreams. "Goddess", "Mistress" or "Lady" were common, as was the term "Madam" or "Ma'am". I allowed the use of the latter since it is more a generic way of addressing someone, although polite. Many jumped me, telling me what they wanted me to do to them. That was just wrong to my mind. I was the Domme. Shouldn't I be telling them what they should do for me?

On this forum, I met a young man (I say young because he is almost 10 years my junior) by the name of Robert (which is not really his name, of course). He seemed very different from many of the others. For one, he seemed very interested in pleasing me, not himself. He seemed open to the things I told him I enjoyed or would like to try once. We chatted privately more often. And before long, we decided to meet (we weren't that far apart, fortunately). Incredibly, we got along amazingly well. We share our sense of humour, we like many of the same films, the same type of trips, everything. Plus, we are a perfect match when it comes to the type of play. Little more than a year later, we got married. And for the first time in my life, I can say I am complete. I am truly happy and do not have to try and fool myself or deny who I am. I am a happily married Domme and wife (yes, in that order). Life as a Domme has so many perks for me. For one, imagine the looks of murderous jealousy I get from the other ladies at the office Christmas party when I proudly strut in with a man almost ten years younger than me, who takes my coat, fetches me something to drink and things like that. When they ask me how I managed to do that, I just give a wink. If only they knew how I keep him in line...