I Let Go of Control for the First Time in 20 Years — And It Happened in a Sling

by Jack Mercer

I spent most of my adult life pretending to be in control.

At work. In relationships. In bed. Especially in bed.

I was the guy who always had a plan — spreadsheets, gym routines, dates that ran on time. Control was my kink, even before I knew what kink was. It made me feel safe, powerful, maybe even lovable. Until it didn’t.

I Let Go of Control for the First Time in 20 Years — And It Happened in a Sling

Because somewhere between being “the dependable one” and “the guy who never breaks,” I forgot what surrender even felt like.

That changed the night I found myself strapped into a leather sling in a stranger’s apartment in Berlin.

The Setup: From Dom Energy to Nervous Wreck

Let me back up. I wasn’t exactly “the sling type.”

Or at least I didn’t think I was. I had dabbled in kink before — a few blindfolds, some rope, a bit of spanking that felt more like theatre than therapy. But this was different.

This was full surrender.

I met him — let’s call him T — at a party where the lighting was low and everyone smelled faintly of latex and sandalwood. We flirted, danced, and somehow ended up talking about control. I joked about being “too Type A to ever bottom,” and he looked at me like he already knew the truth I was trying to dodge.

“You don’t need to be overpowered,” he said. “You just need permission to stop performing.”

It landed like a punch. Or maybe a prayer.

The Moment of Letting Go

When he invited me over, I expected something cinematic — mood lighting, playlists, a glass of wine.

Instead, he offered me water, a safeword, and a quiet kind of attention that made my skin hum.

The sling hung in the middle of the room — black leather, metal frame, intimidating as hell. I stood there overthinking every angle of it, calculating escape routes, worrying about how I looked.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said. “You just have to let it happen.”

That sentence broke me open.

He guided me into it — straps at my thighs, wrists relaxed, breath shallow. My entire body screamed this is wrong, this is unsafe, you can’t let go like this.

But then something shifted.

The tension didn’t snap — it melted.

The voice in my head that always narrated every move went silent.

For the first time in two decades, I wasn’t managing the moment. I was inside it.

The sensations blurred — pressure, breath, surrender, the slow heat of humiliation and trust. He spoke softly, grounding me, not taking from me but holding me in that liminal space where fear and desire finally stop fighting.

And somewhere between a gasp and a sob, I let go.

I Let Go of Control for the First Time in 20 Years — And It Happened in a Sling

The Aftermath

I cried. Which, apparently, is not uncommon in subspace, but felt seismic to me.

He didn’t freak out. He didn’t gloat. He just wiped my face and said,

“Now you know what it feels like to stop trying.”

It was the most erotic sentence anyone had ever said to me.

Afterwards, I sat on the floor with a towel around my waist, drinking water like I’d run a marathon. Because in a way, I had — a marathon against myself.

Control Was Never the Point

I used to think BDSM was about pain or power. But that night, I realized it’s about presence.

For people like me — perfectionists, overachievers, control freaks — submission isn’t about weakness. It’s about finally feeling safe enough to be soft.

That sling wasn’t just a piece of gear. It was a doorway.

Through it, I learned that control isn’t freedom — it’s armor. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is take the armor off and let someone else hold the weight for a while.