Last night, I stood in the doorway, arms folded and my foot against the frame. I was in one of those moods.
It followed on from my chat with MasterLogan about world domination. I knew what I’m like, and I knew that anyone who throws down the guantlet with me is usually biting off much more than they can chew.
“You’re a Sam” Wolfie laughed.
It took a few seconds, but the connection was finally made. A SAM, A Smart-Assed Masochist. I chuckled.
The truth is I am, but then I’m not. Not really.
For me, and women (and men) like me, much more of it has to do with who we are and the way that we are. We’re used to control and we like control, but we also want to lose it. We just don’t want to hand it over too willingly.
Think of it this way, let’s use a chocolate cake analogy. You can have a chocolate cake, fine, it’s on the side and it’s yours for eating. But what if, after a brisk walk around the block, you could have a chocolate cake topped with ganache and chocolate curls? What would you do?
You’d take the walk.
Our submission is the same.
You can have an obedient, compliant submissive if you like, that’s fine, but we’re a little something extra. We’ve got fire in our bellies. That fighter spirit may be used to fight you, but once we’re yours we’ll use it to fight for you, too.
Don’t you want that? Don’t you want a submissive who will go life and limb for you?
That’s what you’d be getting.
I almost laughed when Master Logan mentioned that the willing come quickly and quietly. As I said to Wolfie, I may not come quickly, but nor do I come quietly.
Just ask the neighbours.
Okay, it’s time to open up with you all about something.
It took me many, many years to be able to reach orgasm with a partner. On my own terms, I was absolutely fine, but with someone else, it wouldn’t happen.
For me, orgasm was the same as losing control, and I couldn’t lose control. Control needed to be taken from me. The only person ever brave enough, willing enough and tenacious enough to step up and see it through to taking control from me, was Wolfie.
The first time he took me there, I shut down on him. I never wanted to come again!
I’ve changed my mind since then, but for me, it’s still about control, and a loss of control.
Yeah, I admit it, I frequently quote it:
Oh I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele.Christian Grey, Fifty Shades of Grey
But there was the damning thing. Inside me, at my core, I wanted to lose control so, so, so desperately. I’d just lost control, and I wasn’t completely sure how I felt about it.
Wolfie enjoys the challenge, I know he does, he’s told me he does. Every single damn day, I challenge him, I challenge him to be a better version of himself, but at the same time I support him and encourage him to grow. I’ll fight him, but I’ll also fight for him. I may talk and flirt, but I won’t stray. I’m loyal.
Wolfie also has no desire to tame me. Wolfie doesn’t want a compliant, meek submissive. He loves the challenge almost as much as I love challenging him.
“Daddy, fight me” I growled.
“No, that’s what you want” he laughed.
“Dang it! Why won’t you at least get mad or something?! Get mad!” I stropped.
“This is the worstest punishment eberty, the WORSTEST!”. I even threw a pillow at him for added emphasis. A duck-feather full stop to finalise my statement.
“Now now, that’s not nice, is it?” he teased.
I collapsed on the bed and sighed. There it was, the feeling that I’d been craving for oh so long. Freedom. Peace. Surrender.
No. Not yet. Fight it.
“Get mad then!” I growled, pulling my weight back onto my elbows.
“Fine, then you get the worstest punishment ever, too” I said, pulling my pillows to the furthest side of the bed and hogging all of the duvet. When he left his pillows unattended, i stole one of them too. With a pile of 3 pillows and a 13.5 tog duvet to myself, I sighed contentedly.
“Okay fine, you win.” he said coolly.
“Keep them, they’re yours.” he said.
“But I don’t want them now” I said, I didn’t see that move coming!
No, no. You win. Kitten wins” he said dismissively.
“Daddy no, I don’t want them now. Have one!” I insisted, attempting to force the pillow back under his neck.
For me and submissives like me, being broken and trained is both appealing and scary. The idea of losing our freedom of thought is frightening, and yet a curious mind has to wonder if anyone could manage it without beating us to a bloodied pulp. Could we be, dare I say it, tamed?
I think a large part of that taming comes actually in embracing us as we are and not trying to mould us into something you want us to be. Perhaps really this should be true of any BDSM relationship, and yet sadly I believe there is enough misinformation out there that some people really do believe people can be trained like pets. This is wrong, you should love your partner for who they are, not what you want them to be. Always.
Submission should be from the heart, it should be a gift. Just because I wrote yesterday that I need more than the occasional sensual BDSM scene, doesn’t mean that I don’t want to submit to my husband. I am submissive to him because he accepts me and embraces me. He allows me to be me and take on the world, safe in the knowledge that when I’ve had my fill of wearing my big girl shoes, he will always be ready for me to come home to.