I discovered MRP about three months ago. I have been working on internalizing the sidebar and owning my shit ever since. It's not very long, and I still make plenty mistakes, but the early results have been good. One of my goals was to learn to be more sexually dominant. This FR contains some notes from my progress.

Background

I knew that roleplay had long been a desire of my wife's, but I never acted on it. I explored some D/s power exchange earlier this year and my wife loved it, but I couldn't really engage. I would happily break out the bondage accessories but could not bring myself to start an immersive roleplay. Every time I tried to be dominant my lifetime of bluepill cultural conditioning (chivalry, romanticism, feminism, and nice guy-ism) kicked in, started my hamster, and prevented me from fully enjoying it. My head would fill with contradictions like, "This isn't you. You don't know what to do. You're hurting her...." and so on. Time and time again I fell back into the intolerable rut: vanilla comfort sex. Validation seeking. Negotiating desire. Weekly duty sex.

Cue MRP. Influx of new ideas. I'm the prize? My sexuality is a gift? As I worked on integrating these ideas, my own desire to revisit the D/s role play reasserted itself. I decided to grow a pair, try again, and let it all out on her. Whatever happened couldn't be worse for my marriage than five years of chronic Niceguyism.

Setup

I found the right opportunity. My wife was out of the house in the evening and I was at home with the kids. I had barely seen her all day. Our few interactions had been sexually charged. After the kids were asleep I had time to get ready.

I planned the scene. My wife gets off on a fantasy about being fucked in at the office by the man in authority, so I decided the scene would be an interview. I prepared my home office and the bedroom. I planned who my character would be, what he likes and dislikes, and how he would test an applicant. I wrote down a bunch of ideas and picked the ones that were the most hot, twisted, or funny to me. I was having fun.

I made the invitation. I sent my wife a text in the style of an old classified ad: "Wanted: secretary, typing and computer skills required, walk-in interviews today..." She didn't reply for a long time. She was trapped at The Olive Garden for Grandma's 95th birthday, probably going HAM on breadsticks just to remain conscious. Meanwhile, I was doing laundry because my 3 year old threw up on me. Twice. Not ideal circumstances. I started to worry it wasn't going down after all. I prepared myself emotionally to abort and try another day. OI right? But after an hour or so, I got the heart eyes emoji in reply. It was on. It was getting late when she called to tell me she was finally on the way home. "Are you still taking interviews?" she asked. I told her yes, if she hurried in, an exceptional candidate might still be considered.

The Scene

When the applicant arrived I seated her at my computer. "I haven't much time. Let's kill two birds at once. We'll do the typing test and go over workplace expectations. Take a dictation for me." I started reading from a list of rules I had chosen for her to observe, each of them meant to contribute to the DEVI of the scene:

"I shall address him only as Sir." (D)
"I shall explore who I want to be without judgment." (E)
"I shall be open to new possibilities and experiences." (V)
"I shall not discuss personal business except in case of emergency." (I) And so on.

My applicant was giddy and visibly nervous, forgetting at first how to open MS Word and find homerow on the keyboard. When she got behind on typing she was flustered. I placed my had on her offered my reassurance. "It's natural to feel anxious in your first interview. Relax and breathe. You are doing just fine." I watched her emotions racing from anxiety to comfort and back to anxiety again. I knew I had her, and my fear of leading the scene evaporated.

When she finished typing I had her print a copy and fetch it for me. She gave it to me to look over. I handed it right back. "Read it back to me."

She took a breath and started to read. "I shall address him only as Sir. I shall explore who I want to be..." her voice caught in her throat and trailed off. Tears came to her eyes. She gathered herself and continued reading in a whisper. "Without judgment. I shall be open to new possibilities..." I felt the urge to comfort her again but let it pass.

When she finished reading she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She was a mess. I told her she had done very well with the typing. I asked if she had any questions about my expectations. "No," she said. I hardened my face and stared at her contemptuously. "No, sir." She squeaked. "Good. Would you care for a tour of the work location?" "Yes, sir." I told her the dress code for the rest of the interview and sent her to the bedroom. "I'll knock at five after."

When I came to her she was ready. I put on her blindfold and took a moment to enjoy her beauty. She is not so young anymore, nor as perfectly shapely as when I met her as a teenager. It didn't matter. When she knelt there waiting for me with perfect obedience and a hunger to be dominated, she was a perfect 10 in my eyes.

"I put out an ad for a secretary, but that wasn't entirely honest. What I am really looking for is a submissive little bitch. Would you like to be my little bitch?" She grinned from ear to ear. "Yes, sir." I turned up the music. Wouldn't want the children to hear any more of this.

Reflections

When I finished with her she was physically and emotionally spent. "I didn't know how badly I wanted that. Thank you," she said. Thank you? These were not words I was accustomed to hearing after sex. Normally sex was a way I demanded my wife to validate me and make me feel accepted. Instead I had given her what she deeply craved: masculine sexual leadership. That freed her up so that her feminine submissive instincts could take over. "Thank you." She had received the scene as a gift.

I started this year a nice guy, frustrated, addicted to pornography, habitually masturbating, emotionally needy, whiny, pathetic, scratching and biting to get laid once or twice a week. I hated these things about myself, but repressed those feelings and instead projected blame onto my wife. I also blamed biology, the culture, God, and everything else for her apparent lack of desire. All along, the problem was me.

You're reading MRP because, like me, you've experienced sexual frustration and confusion in your marriage. I feel grateful I stumbled into this place and found the knowledge I needed right there in the sidebar. Special thanks to /u/ragnar_Daneskjold for the well deserved two week ban that woke me up from my stubbornness and excuses, and to /u/HornsOfApathy who has superhuman patience for explaining concepts to autists. I share these notes not to make myself into "someone" in your eyes, but only in hopes they might help other men. Life is an adventure that calls you into becoming something more. Open your eyes see that your marriage and woman are instruments for your betterment. If they frustrate you, take responsibility.

Tips for the interview scene:

  • Make up your own rules in advance. I purposefully left most of mine out of the story because they're particular to our relationship and personal kinks.
  • Remember DEVI and avoid crass nonsense. "I shall always distend my butthole on command" might add to D but subtracts from E and I.
  • Don't skimp on the dress code. Women are usually more attuned to clothing than men. Wearing a hot pencil skirt vs. her normal blue jeans might take the scene to a whole new level.
  • For the scene to flow naturally it's more important to know "who you are" than to know exactly what you will do. Try these writing prompts: "When I am dominant, I am..." and "When I am dominant, I want..."