Category Archives: d/s

Original Fiction: “Beat”

“Beat” 
The intense bass line of the music pounded into her skull. She could feel it deep inside her, pulsing and pushing her blood through her veins at a rate usually reserved for other activities. She had come here because she knew she could find him there, stalking the club for his next prey.
She had first been lured here by friends, and she had come completely unsure of what she’d find. She preferred quiet evenings in her apartment to social events where she’d have to talk and meet new people. That evening she’d caught glimpses of him and every time he’d entered her line of sight, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was like.
At the time he had seemed tame enough, but she could tell there was an undercurrent of ferocity laying dormant. The lithe moves, the sharp eyes and the strong, capable hands. She was a student of male anatomy in general, and a student of male hands in particular. She had a theory that you could tell a lot about a person by the way their hands looked. His hands told her that he enjoyed his work, whatever it was, and that those hands could bring about destruction and happiness at the same time.
A couple of times she’d caught him looking at her with a curious look in his eye, but she brushed it off, not yet ready to admit to herself that she wanted something. Denial had always been her strong suit.
Her friend had given her knowing looks that whole evening, but she’d brushed them off like everything else in her life. Not now. Not yet.
Months rolled by and she almost forgot about him. Almost. Happenstance pulled her back into his world and she once again found herself in his territory. This time though, things had changed. She’d changed. She wasn’t the shaky, scared little girl she was before. Or at least that’s what she thought.
It was a cold night, but she’d picked a short skirt and very tall shoes. She knew every man in there had his eyes on her ass and she made sure to shake it just enough to titillate them. Eat your heart out, she almost was saying.
He was there again that night, lurking in the shadows and coyly enjoying the sport of the whole thing. His manicured nails tapped on the table rhythmically, polished in a deep mahogany shade. Most men would call it a bold choice, but for him it was second nature. That ass of hers called to him, a siren song amidst a sea of other sirens.
She didn’t dance like most girls, instead choosing to enjoy the scene more in a social setting. In many ways she was still unsure of her own body and how it worked, mostly because it often betrayed her. It tended to give away her secrets when she wanted to keep them secret, but as it so often happens, her body always had a way of knowing what it wanted even when her mind didn’t.
The bathroom was calling her name, and her kidneys were in desperate need of relief. On her way in she caught him looking at her and she bit her lip, ducking into the crowded room and she sucked in a deep breath at the thought of him.
Her panties were damp when she came out, as if the scrap of fabric could be called panties in the first place. She looked down for moment and ran into what felt like a brick wall. Only this wall had arms and she quickly looked up, seeing him right there in front of her. The pit of her stomach dropped out and once again her body started betraying her.
His eyes were dark and bored a hole right through her soul. He didn’t even say anything, just smiled coyly and wound his long, slender fingers around her neck. He could feel her pulse there, beating uncontrollably. It made him excited to feel the blood coursing through her veins. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and while the flight or fight instinct should have been kicking in, once again her body decided differently.
Those strong fingers curled around the base of her neck and grabbed at the hair there. The height difference between them became readily apparently when he pulled and her head fell back with little resistance. Her breath was coming quickly now and she was embarrassed at her reactions to all of this. Normally she’d be fighting and protesting, but there was something about him that made her want to give in. To submit to him.
With his fingers still wrapped through her hair, he led them through the space, through the people, to a little door just off the main floor. Ever gangly on her feet, she stumbled and bumbled, knowing she should be screaming but instead wondering what he was doing. This felt dangerous. This felt different. This wasn’t her safety zone. And the surprising thing was that she liked it.
The air was cold outside, much colder than when she’d entered the building. Immediately her soft little nipples pebbled up under the thin top she wore and he roughly grabbed them, twisting and enjoying the gasps she was making. Out here in the cold, the beat of the music could still be felt from inside the building. The whole time, he kept his eyes on hers. Speaking without speaking and telling her that she was his, even if just for this short time.
With his hand still at the nape of her neck, he pushed her into the cold brick wall of the building and she turned her head just enough so that he could still see one green eye from the side. The look of abject terror was overlaid with curiosity and intrigue in that eye. That was the look he dared to bring out in her. That was the look he was hoping to see and the look he had risked claiming her for.
The tiny skirt of hers was first to go, pulled up over the round, plump ass he had long admired. Each ass cheek was pale, too pale for his liking. Her skin was ivory white compared to his mocha tan and he spread his large hands out on each round globe. He pulled and kneaded them, his nails raking each time and leaving bright red streaks. The contrast of red to white was lovely and he knew that her ass looked better with his marks. She’d have more before he was done and probably would carry them with her for days after, a reminder of where she’d been and what he’d done.
He leaned into her, pressing his hard cock still securely behind a straining zipper into her ass and she gasped. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she’d feared this but also wanted it. Yes, she’d wanted it for a long time. It was something she’d denied many times. She craved the violence. The brutality. The taking.
He traced his fingers along the string between her ass cheeks, and he saw her puckered little hole clench and relax. It knew what was coming and while he knew he’d have to work for it, the end result would be more than worth it.
With deft fingers he pulled the little fabric aside and traced her lips, noting that she wasn’t protesting the invasion. In fact, her breath was becoming shallower and that look of terror was being replaced with one of pleasure. Pleasure mixed with pain and desire. That was ultimately the goal of this whole thing. There was a innate beauty when those things came together, a feral beauty springing forth from deep inside a person’s soul.
She felt his finger press into her and her nipples grated against the hard, cold building through her top. A plea escaped her lips and he growled at her, his other hand again wrapping around her neck and tightening ever so slightly. She felt like a common whore, in the alley behind a club with his fingers inside her ass and her skirt around her waist. A beautiful, used whore. This was what she was searching for all along. To be used for another’s pleasure was pleasure for her too.
He released her neck and she gasped, her vision clearing. Something cold and slithery dripped on her asshole and those lithe fingers worked it in with skill. She knew what was coming and she shook her head almost to say no. But for the third time that night, her body betrayed her and her found herself saying yes.
Firm hands grabbed her hips and strong thumbs pulled the round cheeks of her ass apart, giving him room to slide the head of his hard cock between warm skin and flesh. She groaned as he pressed into her, her body resisting at first and them ever so gradually giving into him.
A slow entry with a fast withdrawal followed by a slam, slam, slam over and over again. She moaned and cried, her hips arching back into him as his fingernails dug into her hips. She cried not because she disliked it, but instead because something inside of her was breaking. The long held belief that she was always to be strong, always to be independent, always to be the one in control. Here in this alley way with her ass being invaded, she felt herself changing.
His marks would litter her body the next day, the day after that and the day after that. He had made sure of that. He wanted her to be reminded of his will and how it was stronger than hers. How while there were no winners and losers, there certainly were more powerful and less powerful. Her tiny body would bear the result of his power.
His fingernails dug sharply into her hips as he came and his larger body fell into hers. He molded himself to her, kissing the back of her neck and brushing the sweaty hair from her forehead. Her eyes sparkled and spoke volumes to him. He whispered his thanks and kissed her temple. She smiled and giggled at his now sweet actions compared to the animalistic actions of only a few minutes previous.
When respective clothing was back in place he took her hand, his larger hand swallowing up her smaller hand. He led her back inside the club and checked to make sure she had enjoyed herself. The light he saw from inside her told him she had and that something had changed inside her. It had been an experience filled with growth.
They parted with a hug and whispered promises of next time. They were both sure there would be a next time, even if when that next time would happen was in doubt. It was a only a matter of time, you see. Planets take time to rotate. Bodies inevitably come back together. Flesh always seeks out flesh. It was a truth of the universe, one they both acknowledged.

Frustration (AKA the post in which I rant about personal responsibility)

I posted previously at my blog about how amused I was at the endless tirade of self affecting posts I’ve seen on Fetlife but I think I’ve passed the amusement phase and now have moved into my frustrated phase. While I haven’t read every comment and every piece people have had to say (mostly because I, you know, have a life, a job and a desire not to gouge my eyes out), I have stumbled through the highlights and lowlights.

Let me be the first to say congratulations. My fellow Chicago kinksters have started a serious and necessary open dialogue about an important topic. You’ve caused us all to stop and question ourselves, our actions and our interactions.

That’s about where my congratulations end. Here’s where my rant begins. When I first “joined” the kink community, I felt like I was wearing a scarlet “N” for newbie. Perhaps it was just the company I kept, but I felt preyed upon now looking back at it. I felt uncomfortable. I felt like I was being taken advantage of. I didn’t know any better and I was horribly naive. I trusted people I shouldn’t have, opened up to people who later turned on me, and found myself hurt beyond words when spilling my heart and soul out backfired.

I did a lot of things I wished I hadn’t. There’s still things I wish I could go back and redo mostly because I’m not proud of the decisions I made and the things I agreed to. I let the excitement of “HOLY SHIT! You can do that?!” overwhelm my sense of self and sense of what was right for me. That’s one of the things I forgot – I had nobody to look out for me except me. I figured older, wiser (ha!), and more experienced people had my back and wouldn’t do anything for, with and to me that I wasn’t ready for. I will never point fingers, name names or call those people titles that they don’t deserve. Why? Because I take personal responsibility for my own actions. Don’t get me wrong – I do believe said persons deserve “blame” for their part in my undoing but I played my part as well.

Not many of you know that in October of 2010 I went a little crazy. I had a bit of a breakdown. Why? Because I put my heart out there and had it flung back at me. I was under attack for expressing myself. I was idealistic and thought that if I expressed what I held in my heart, nothing bad would happen. Oh how little I knew of the world. Turns out it was the ammunition some people needed to fling mud in my face and make me the social pariah at the time. In the span of a few hours I went from having friends to feeling like I was under attack from all sides. I withdrew almost completely from all forms of kink. I didn’t play. I didn’t talk. I didn’t fuck. I didn’t even damn well touch anybody for almost 16 months.

It was in those 16 months that I truly learned that there is absolutely one person in the world I could trust – me. There is ONE person who will and must look out for me at all times – me. If I couldn’t trust myself to do that, there would be no hope of ever trusting anybody else.

There is an inherent power dynamic in what we do as kinksters. That can’t be denied. There will always be someone who holds more power and someone who holds less. Should that more powerful person bear more burden of protecting the less powerful person? Of course. To say any different would be to undermine the entire power exchange relationship. But to say that more powerful person bears the entire burden is to throw the idea of personal responsibility completely out the window. Perhaps I am advocating for an antiquated notion; perhaps I am “past my prime.” I don’t really care.

This is my form of therapy. This is my solace. I did things I’m not proud of. I did things I wouldn’t advocate anybody do. I said yes to things I probably should have said no to. Maybe I’m the one seeking forgiveness for my sins. All I know is I’ve come to peace with my past and I’ve become a better person for it. I’ve become a more responsible person for it.

Bravery comes in many forms. I’ve seen lots of it in my life. I could list examples of it until I’m blue and still wouldn’t even touch the surface of it. I will say this though – bravery is admitting when you’re wrong and trying to make amends for it. Bravery is using those past wrongs to be a better, stronger, more responsible person and moving on with new purpose and conviction. That’s what I aim to do every day.

Say what you want about me. I’ve turned my corner and I refuse to look back.

The Return to Kink Play

Any of you who have been following my blog for any length of time will know that I’ve been out of the kink scene for … well, longer than I wanted to be. Sure, I’ve been active online through my own various perversions, Fetlife and porn of course, but actual in person play? Oh geeze. The last time I had any good, solid play was last April when I went to SINSations in Leather in Chicago.

The last couple of months I have been on the hunt for suitable playmates who have compatible interests with my own. I thought finding someone who enjoyed dishing out a good spanking and beating wouldn’t be so hard in the third largest city and surrounding area in the United States. Right? Wrong. Finding someone I want to play with is work on so many levels. Besides the obvious trust issues, it has to be someone I have an intellectual and physical attraction to. That alone is a daunting task. They also need to share at least some of my kinks and have a willingness to push through some of the bratiness and little girl behavior that I sometimes exhibit when playing.

Needless to say, it felt like a daunting task. I found someone I trust … then found out he liked kink but not beating. Okay next. I found someone willing to beat me, but with little time to do so when my schedule afforded me the opportunity. Next again. My biggest stumbling point was my anxiousness in actually meeting someone “new.” That could go wrong in any number of ways! (Kink PSA – if someone doesn’t have recommendations from people you even remotely know, it’s best to take things slow and meet up somewhere public.)

I found myself conversing with someone I’d met at SINSations and enjoyed the company of while there. He’s a friend of my friends, well respected and pretty public on the scene. I played my cat and mouse game, leaving hints, suggestive comments and at times outright requests. Finally he said, “Do you want to play?” Thanks to busy schedules and random things, it took some time to finally line up the day.

I soon found myself sitting outside of a “seedy” hotel by O’Hare International Airport. The idea was a rendezvous at what you’d normally consider a seedy hotel and make it feel all gritty and “wrong.” One of my kinks is a bit of degradation play and I loved this idea. We’d talked about some things that were possibilities for play, but quite honestly I just wanted someone else to decide these things. There are a few things that are no-gos for me, hard limits they’re called. No hair pulling. No ball gags (in general.) No extensive bruising in areas I couldn’t cover. I’m sure I’m forgetting some here.

He was lovely through dinner, as expected. When we got back to the room though, I was ready. I’d prepped myself mentally and physically to get beat and my bum was so ready to feel the warm sting of pain. I’ve always found that transitioning from conversation to full out play to be an awkward thing, but thankfully simply bending over to look in my purse for lipbalm turned into getting my ass felt up and fingernails raked across my back. I still have delicious marks three days later from all the scratches.


Side note – You’ll forgive me here if I’m a little sketchy on the details. I was a bit preoccupied to really digest what was going on, but I will give you the highlights. 

Since he’s a rope guy and I’m interested in playing with rope more often than once a year, my wrists were bound so I couldn’t wiggle too much. As he’d told me ahead of time, I got thrown on the bed and my bum got inspected. The glorious return to hands and fists pounding on me. How I missed thee. My body has changed a lot since the last time I played and he found new areas that I didn’t know would be tender and sweet. I guess losing 15 pounds in a year will do that to a person. When I flinched or squirmed after he hit a particular area, that was the cue to focus.

Bound and immobilized into the fetal position, my ass soon became the target for a roll of fun toys. I know someone of them thanks to familiar sensations but I couldn’t tell you exactly given that I was face down in the bed. Floggers, paddles, fists and hands – oh my! Cold lube was spread on my asshole and something cold and hard was pressed in. To my great delight it was a delicious anal hook. Yes, I after admiring them for years, my anal hook cherry was finally popped. It was roped to my wrist and ankle restraints such that when I squirmed too much it would effectively make the hook pull tighter. More blows ensued and I felt the hot glow of familiarity. My apple bottom was soon becoming a red delicious apple, borrowing a phrase from my tormenter.

Here’s where I make another PSA. Anal play in real life isn’t like porn, people. Weird things happen. Embarrassing things happen. One of the most mortifying moments of my life happened. Will I tell you? Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that. The sign of a good top is taking that embarrassment I was feeling and turning into mood for the scene. Seamlessly putting me in that shy, little girl mode that made me blush bright red and apologize what felt like a thousand times. It was a credit to my playmate that he was able to do that and do that well. Am I still embarrassed? Hell yes. Honestly I think I’ll be embarrassed about it for years.

He stood me up and proceeded to pay attention to my forgotten front side. Punches, scratches, slaps and all kinds of other blows landed on my supple breasts and flesh. The upper sides of my breasts and armpit area are still sore. One thing that was lovely about this particular “seedy” hotel room was that there were several mirrors in there, probably more than you’d think for a low budget hotel. There’s nothing like watching someone pound away on your flesh than watching it in a mirror. It’s a fun combination of objectification, degradation and submission.

It seemed we were winding down and we both agreed it was probably better to stop. His theory? Have a few slower, introductory scenes before having longer phenomenal scenes. My pounding, burning ass wasn’t disagreeing and neither was my mind. We cuddled and chatted, exchanging stories of weird things that had happened to us in our regular lives and kink lives. Inevitably parting ways with a hug and an agreement that it was fun, I was on my merry little way back to life in white bread America. My ass felt every bump in the road during my drive, by the way.

Days later I’m left with lovely purple bruises and a wonderful ache in my ass. I’m also left with a desire to do it again and do it more in depth. We didn’t play with a lot of the d/s themes I’m looking for still, but that takes time. Building that connection and that chemistry doesn’t happen overnight and certainly doesn’t happen the first time you play with someone. It’s a slow give and take. For me, it’s a process of learning and trusting to give up power. It’s about finding myself in the mindset to want to do so.

Would I play with this person again? Yes, very much so. My bruises tell me he definitely has the ability and skill I’m looking for and glimpses of the dominance I crave. But much like life, it’s an evolution. Nobody knows where things may take us or when schedules may line up again.

My return to kink and impact play was enjoyable and only left me wanting more. That adrenaline rush is addictive. I’ve long admitted I am addicted to the pound of a fist, the woosh of a flogger, the impact of a paddle and the throw of a glance. The only question is when I’ll get my next hit of my addiction.

Where have all the “true” doms gone?

It’s something I’ve been encountering for years now. While I have been in the kink community for a very short time compared to some more seasoned members, I’ve had my fair share of “doms” attempting to pursue me. I’ve sometimes even been the domme pursuing someone myself. The joys of being a switch!

In all the time I’ve been in the community though, I’ve only encountered a few of what I call legitimate dominant people. It is as easy as saying the word to call yourself “dominant” but actually living the principles of the moniker are much harder and rarely done right. There have been a handful in my life who are excellent at it. Compared to the whole of “dominant” people though, they are merely a teaspoon in an ocean of idiots.

I think the thing I see most frequently is people assuming “dominant” means being pushy. The thought process is something like this: “Well, maybe if I ask enough/talk enough/push enough she/he will give in and I’ll have my way.” Clearly I have paraphrased here. Only pure idiots and jerks would think that exact line. But the thought is the same. If someone politely declines an invitation or says they will not be able to make it to an event/munch/play party/date, take that and be okay with it. Asking once if circumstances have changed and thus said person would be allowed to attend said event is allowable in my book. Asking 15 times is not. While 15 may be an exaggerated number, I don’t feel it’s that unheard of for something of that sort to happen.

Most of the “dominants” I’ve encountered in my time have been nothing more then pushy jerks who are frequently misogynistic. When you have no compunction or regard for women, it is easy to treat them like some object to be acquired instead of valued members of society who contribute equally to a relationship that should be built on time, trust and communication. Someone who constantly pushes me to do something I have neither the time, interest or wish to do will lose that trust I have in them, however small it may be at the time.

Call me naive, but I see kinky relationships to be out of the Victorian era. It’s about courting a lover, not throwing your will and assuming their life. Small steps and small favors go miles in my world. Trust is something earned over a long period of time, but can be destroyed with a very minor misstep. We are a community of protocols and hierarchies. If you know a submissive has someone in their life, would you instantly go to the submissive and sidestep the perhaps interested partner? Common etiquette and decency would say no, but oh so frequently I see it happening. It happens on Fetlife so often that I see many submissives/slaves/owned peoples put warnings in their profiles to contact their dominant/master/owner/etc. first before any communication is even made.

Perhaps in a rush to sexual liberation and freedom we’ve forgotten what it means to be courteous. I post pictures of myself on Twitter and Fetlife all the time, but that doesn’t mean I’m a whore or a slut. More so, it doesn’t mean I’m YOUR whore or slut to treat and do with as you please. Would you go up to a girl in a bar and flash your cock at her? Public decency laws would have you arrested for exposure. Sure, there is a form of anonymity on the world wide web that most people take as license to do how they please, but it seems to be there is a renaissance of people who would rather have a good conversation than a good fuck.

Being dominant does not have to mean being an asshole. Being submissive does not mean having to be a doormat. Stand up for your rights and take back your title. Respect and trust is earned. Say what you want about my views, but I prefer intellectual conversation that leads to great kink than crappy kink with no trust.

Calling All Doms!

Okay, so you’re a dominant person. You see my profile on Fetlife, you follow me on Twitter, or you otherwise have found me through the kinky online community. You notice that I’m single and submissive. This prompts several signals in your head, the best of which I will paraphrase:

  • “OMG, ATTACK!” 
  • “I’ll make her kneel and suck my cock, easy peasy.” 
  • “Gotta get to her before all the other doms do!”
  • “She’s such a whore and I love it! She’ll want to fuck me no questions asked.”
  • “I won’t have to work at this one.” 
  • “All subs are the same. Just demand they call me Sir and they’re in subspace.” 

Ugh, do I really need to go through why all of these are wrong? Unfortunately it seems I do. I’ll spare you having me go line by line, but there are some overarching themes I do feel I need to examine and debunk.

1. Just because I am A submissive doesn’t mean I’m YOUR submissive. Until we have some kind of relationship established, I will not bow to you, kneel before you, or call you Sir, Master or any other variation on such a title. Do not treat me as your property when I am clearly not. There is quite the difference in me being of a submissive nature than me being your submissive. When we have some kind of dialogue established where I feel it is appropriate to do these things for you, you’ll know. Otherwise treat me as you would any other woman hopefully – your equal. I don’t appreciate you automatically treating me as lower than you.

2. Titles are earned, not handed out like Halloween candy. Along these same lines, I feel a title is earned. Don’t message me on Fetlife and automatically put your “title” in it. It’s just bad taste I think. People who are good at what they do don’t feel the need to brag about it. Word spreads without their own doing. Titles are something that I don’t apply to people willy nilly. I don’t like when within five minutes of starting to talk to someone they insist on being called “Master [insert name here]” or “Sir [fucktarded name there].” I will call you your name until you have earned your title. Don’t be offended when I do this because I do this with everybody. It is not me disrespecting you; it is simply a recognition that I don’t know you well enough to confirm the status you have so graciously applied to yourself.

3. If you want to get in my pants, try getting in it through my head. I’ve talked to a lot of people about sex in my time. I was talking dirty long before I ever was actually having sex. I’ve found the best and easiest way to approach me if you’re truly interested in knowing me on a sexual level is to know me on an intellectual level first. Don’t automatically come out and want to have phone sex on our first conversation. If it evolves into that, then bonus, but don’t expect it. I go at my own pace and pressuring me into talking sex 24/7 will only cause me to be irritated with you. Do a little research about the things I’m interested in. It’s not that hard. I make it pretty obvious if you just listen and pay attention. If you can talk to me about more than how hard I make your cock, you’re more likely to be able to get that cock somewhere near me.

4. For the love of all that is holy, know how to properly write and punctuate your writing. It just shows lack of respect for me when I get a message saying “I think ur hawt cum fuk and suck my cock”. Really? Really? You really think I’m going to find that attractive? Um, no. I’m not. In case you were wondering. Sit down, put a little thought into what you decide to send me off the bat and maybe reread it. Do a little editing. Spend more than half a second on me and I’ll spend more than that on you. Sure, you still may get the old delete button for any of the other reasons I’ve mentioned here, but at least this way you’ll be demonstrating you respect me as an intelligent woman enough to converse with me on an adult level. I’m getting a juris doctorate, people. I know how to write. Please show me you know how to as well.

5. If I lose interest in you, don’t pout and be a little bitch about it. Okay, folks. It’s time for me to own up. At any given time, I’m probably juggling three to five different conversations with different people. I’m all at different points in my relationship with those people. Some are in the introductory phase while some are at a deeper level. I am not a monogamous person so don’t expect it of me. I play the field. That doesn’t mean I like you any less. In the same vein though, if I lose interest in you for any reason (most likely I’m either super busy or you have somehow ruined it for yourself) don’t pout and try to get back in with me. If I want to talk to you, I will pursue it. Otherwise go away and try your tricks on some other little sniveling sub who may actually like it. Don’t be a whiner and constantly message me asking what you’ve done wrong. If you don’t know, I won’t tell you.

Don’t want to play by these rules? Fine, then don’t expect me to be interested in you. I am a busy girl and have lots of options presented to me. There are a many paths I can take. The one you present me is merely one of them. Relationships are not built overnight and trust takes even longer. When I’ve let you in to my inner circle, you should know it. I’ve shared things with you I don’t normally post online. That’s usually a good clue that you’ve been allowed were very few ever venture.

Just remember this – doms are a dime a dozen. A spunky sub like me? Priceless. Follow the rules and you’ll be rewarded tenfold.

Why I Am Submissive

I frequently get asked why I am submissive. What attracts me to the mentality of being a submissive woman in a world full of feminists. How someone who is 2/3 of the way to being an attorney interested in criminal prosecution could kneel before someone and hand over power willingly.

Throughout my life I’ve contemplated this quite often. It’s something I’ve mulled over and spent way too many hours deep in my head about. I’ve certainly attempted life as a dominant woman, but have always ventured back to the safe world of submission. Dominance is like a pair of painful heels to me – beautiful to look at and have on for awhile, but in the end I end up in what is comfortable. I just don’t see myself being dominant for any long term period. It doesn’t come naturally for me.

Submission, on the other hand, comes quite naturally. Whether from nature or nurture (a debate I’m not going to even attempt here), I am submissive and there is no way around that.

When I am submissive, I go into this headspace. People often call it “subspace” but I don’t think it’s so easily defined. It is more than a mental place. It is an entire way of being. It is putting your trust in your dominant that they will care for you and look out for your well being. It is allowing them to control you within the boundaries that you have set up beforehand. Being submissive doesn’t mean giving up control completely. It means giving up what you deem not important. For me, I cannot give up some things and those things are explained when I get into any type of dominant/submissive situation. I’ve often been told the submissive is the one who controls the true power in the dominant/submissive relationship. That’s quite the interesting statement and one I actually believe.

For it is the submissive who consents to be dominated. Whether you play with a safeword (always recommended) or feel comfortable enough to not have one, it is the submissive who is there of their own free will. True non-consensual situations are not d/s. They are rape, slavery or otherwise imprisonment. The submissive enters the relationship willingly and in the same vein willingly relinquishes power.

So why am I submissive? Because by relinquishing that power, I can truly be free.

I previously mentioned I spend too much time in my own head. I overanalyze and overthink. I get moody and bitchy. But when I’m in the submissive role, I don’t have those problems. I exist for one reason – to serve my dominant and make them happy. My own needs, desires and worries fall away. Nothing else matters except for their wishes. I don’t have to think any more. As someone who is often called upon to think about some very difficult topics in my professional life, this is simply liberating. My mind can shut down and I can follow the direction of my dominant with the trust that they will keep me safe and attend to my needs, whether physical, emotional or spiritual.

Submission, especially physical submissive, is incredibly cleansing for me. It is like I’ve been washed inside and out and come out squeaky clean. It’s like the ultimate kind of therapy. I’ve also compared it to dialysis for kidney disease patients. It keeps me functional. It sets me on the right course and helps me deal with my day to day life of difficulties. I feel more centered and capable. Like I can take on any task and know that I have the confidence to successfully complete it.

Not every submissive has the same reasons for being submissive. I’ve talked to many in my time exploring my own sexuality and likely will talk to countless more. I find though my own personal reasons are somewhat common in the general population of submissives out there. We do it to stay healthy. It’s a mental aid in keeping us on the right path.

For my dominant side to come out in my professional life, I will always need my submissive side to exist. There will always be a great need to find strength in relinquishing power to one who knows best for me.

So what is submission for me? Above all else, submission is the path I am meant to follow.