The leather cuffs dug deep into my wrists as she tightened the straps of the under-the-bed-restraints.
My nerves and eagerness temporarily obscured any functioning pain receptors. I was tense; heart pounding, sweat breaking out on the back of my neck and just above my top lip. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling though. More like… delicious anticipation tinged with the unknown. (Although I really should mention something to my lovely Dom about the tightness of the restraints.)
The Dom/Sub scene currently being played out was something I’d wanted for such a long time, even before I knew what “it” was. Believe it or not, when I was a child and playing “house” with my next-door neighbor, I had insisted that she “punish” me if things weren’t tidy enough in our little makeshift fort. I can’t explain it, but this is something that had always been a part of my wiring.
My wiring, like everyone’s, is unique. A chaotic set of plugs and outlets setting off sparks at unexpected moments, making my insides glow and my brain light up. When I was in my teens and twenties, I didn’t have the confidence to explore my own fuse box and wiring. I’d also never had a partner who asked me sincerely and without judgment what my fantasies were. I had to do some solitary exploration to know my own body and mind before I could even begin to communicate what I needed from a partner, and even how to choose a partner who would be mature enough to listen. It was on this solitary research that I learned the word for someone like me. Submissive.
And let me tell you, my sweets, I hated that word when I first heard it. There was something horribly problematic about it that made me feel at odds with my feminist ideals. Was there something wrong with me? Was I a false feminist who secretly felt she was less than? My identity was thrown into chaos. I’m a well-educated, highly competent and sophisticated woman who believes in equality above all else. Not only that, I’m the one you want to call when you have a crisis. I’m a natural leader. But, oddly, that didn’t translate to dominant in the bedroom. I’m a textbook Submissive there.
And now here I am, lying on a bed with my wrists and ankles splayed out, feeling excited but totally at ease with my identity and sense of self. How did I get here? How did I reconcile my feminist ideals with my Submissive wiring? Turns out it was easy, darlings.
The first thing I did was revisit the titles that Subs and Doms typically use for each other in a BDSM relationship or scene. I’d heard of the holy trinity: Mistress, Master and Slave. And Slave, like Submissive, really rubbed me the wrong way. It felt socially loaded and made me feel terrible about myself. I didn’t want to be called that specifically, but I did want a name that suited me within the confines of a BDSM relationship. I tried a few: Toy, Babygirl, Little One, Princess. I even tried Slut as a way of reclaiming a word that had been thrown at me as an insult before. But ultimately, I settled on Pet. It just clicked and made my insides… purr (pun intended). It also turns out that my Dom didn’t want to be called “Mistress,” either. She preferred Queen, which I happily call her to this day.
Yes/no/maybe list! This was something I did on my own one day. Here’s a link to my favourite on the web. It helped me know what I wanted. It expanded my horizons and gave me the vocabulary to talk about my wants and needs with a future partner. And when I found a partner I connected to, we did the list again together. This particular list is also great because it addresses language preferences.
Find a partner who you trust and who communicates to you want they want as well. My Queen prefers a Submissive who follows instructions, which suits me perfectly. There’s a whole world of bratting that I might get into eventually. If that becomes a road that I want to go down as a Submissive, I might find that a different Dom suits that dynamic a little better. I know that it’s not something my Queen is interested in, and I want our relationship to be equally satisfying.
Aftercare is a big priority. I know that if even 1% of me feels unsure after the conclusion of a scene, there’s a good chance I’m going to feel really bad about myself the day after. I did my research and I communicated clearly with my Dom about how to mark the beginning and end of the scene. What I didn’t want was a dynamic or scene that kept drifting on into the real world. I felt like it might obscure my identity, which as I mentioned is not remotely Submissive. It would hurt my self-esteem. Aftercare for me puts a nice button on the scene and gives my Queen and I an opportunity to connect in a caring way that reestablishes us on equal and respectful footing.
One of the things I love about myself, as I mentioned, is that I am competent. Do you know how rewarding it is to know that I am good at pleasing my Queen? That makes me feel good and wanted. I can be the best she ever had, and that turns me on.
Kick the stigma! There’s this horrible trend in the media to portray BDSM and kink as pursuits of the damaged. That it must be an unhealthy way to work through trauma. And sure, it can be a tool for that. But it’s also just a wonderful way to learn more about yourself and others. It can also just be fucking fun. Once I stopped questioning my wiring so much, wondering if I was damaged, the dark parts of my brain were illuminated with light and fun and mischief. Turns out the shadowy parts were all just stigma, and I didn’t need it. Plus, sex can be pure escapism. If you’re in a terrible mood, have you ever sat down and watched a comedy because it purposefully had nothing to do with your internal life? Of course. Being tied down and fucked until you can’t walk can simply be a reflection of wanting to abdicate from your usual day to day responsibilities. What you like in bed doesn’t reflect who you are. We don’t have to explain our wants and likes. This was the most liberating revelation I had about my Submissive kinks.
I’m still a feminist in the bedroom. I demand equal partnership. I want my rights and needs met. I feel empowered and good about myself. I also feel good about my partner. And I love that she listens. Speaking of…
“My Queen. I love that you tied me up, but if it pleases you could you slightly loosen the restraints on my wrists just a little bit?”
“Yes, Pet. Only if you thank me properly later.”
See? Good communication, and my lovely and sexy Dominant was more than happy to oblige. I won’t elaborate on how I thanked her though. No need to make you blush, dear reader. x
My nerves and eagerness temporarily obscured any functioning pain receptors. I was tense; heart pounding, sweat breaking out on the back of my neck and just above my top lip. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling though. More like… delicious anticipation tinged with the unknown. (Although I really should mention something to my lovely Dom about the tightness of the restraints.)
The Dom/Sub scene currently being played out was something I’d wanted for such a long time, even before I knew what “it” was. Believe it or not, when I was a child and playing “house” with my next-door neighbor, I had insisted that she “punish” me if things weren’t tidy enough in our little makeshift fort. I can’t explain it, but this is something that had always been a part of my wiring.
My wiring, like everyone’s, is unique. A chaotic set of plugs and outlets setting off sparks at unexpected moments, making my insides glow and my brain light up. When I was in my teens and twenties, I didn’t have the confidence to explore my own fuse box and wiring. I’d also never had a partner who asked me sincerely and without judgment what my fantasies were. I had to do some solitary exploration to know my own body and mind before I could even begin to communicate what I needed from a partner, and even how to choose a partner who would be mature enough to listen. It was on this solitary research that I learned the word for someone like me. Submissive.
And let me tell you, my sweets, I hated that word when I first heard it. There was something horribly problematic about it that made me feel at odds with my feminist ideals. Was there something wrong with me? Was I a false feminist who secretly felt she was less than? My identity was thrown into chaos. I’m a well-educated, highly competent and sophisticated woman who believes in equality above all else. Not only that, I’m the one you want to call when you have a crisis. I’m a natural leader. But, oddly, that didn’t translate to dominant in the bedroom. I’m a textbook Submissive there.
And now here I am, lying on a bed with my wrists and ankles splayed out, feeling excited but totally at ease with my identity and sense of self. How did I get here? How did I reconcile my feminist ideals with my Submissive wiring? Turns out it was easy, darlings.
The first thing I did was revisit the titles that Subs and Doms typically use for each other in a BDSM relationship or scene. I’d heard of the holy trinity: Mistress, Master and Slave. And Slave, like Submissive, really rubbed me the wrong way. It felt socially loaded and made me feel terrible about myself. I didn’t want to be called that specifically, but I did want a name that suited me within the confines of a BDSM relationship. I tried a few: Toy, Babygirl, Little One, Princess. I even tried Slut as a way of reclaiming a word that had been thrown at me as an insult before. But ultimately, I settled on Pet. It just clicked and made my insides… purr (pun intended). It also turns out that my Dom didn’t want to be called “Mistress,” either. She preferred Queen, which I happily call her to this day.
Yes/no/maybe list! This was something I did on my own one day. Here’s a link to my favourite on the web. It helped me know what I wanted. It expanded my horizons and gave me the vocabulary to talk about my wants and needs with a future partner. And when I found a partner I connected to, we did the list again together. This particular list is also great because it addresses language preferences.
Find a partner who you trust and who communicates to you want they want as well. My Queen prefers a Submissive who follows instructions, which suits me perfectly. There’s a whole world of bratting that I might get into eventually. If that becomes a road that I want to go down as a Submissive, I might find that a different Dom suits that dynamic a little better. I know that it’s not something my Queen is interested in, and I want our relationship to be equally satisfying.
Aftercare is a big priority. I know that if even 1% of me feels unsure after the conclusion of a scene, there’s a good chance I’m going to feel really bad about myself the day after. I did my research and I communicated clearly with my Dom about how to mark the beginning and end of the scene. What I didn’t want was a dynamic or scene that kept drifting on into the real world. I felt like it might obscure my identity, which as I mentioned is not remotely Submissive. It would hurt my self-esteem. Aftercare for me puts a nice button on the scene and gives my Queen and I an opportunity to connect in a caring way that reestablishes us on equal and respectful footing.
One of the things I love about myself, as I mentioned, is that I am competent. Do you know how rewarding it is to know that I am good at pleasing my Queen? That makes me feel good and wanted. I can be the best she ever had, and that turns me on.
Kick the stigma! There’s this horrible trend in the media to portray BDSM and kink as pursuits of the damaged. That it must be an unhealthy way to work through trauma. And sure, it can be a tool for that. But it’s also just a wonderful way to learn more about yourself and others. It can also just be fucking fun. Once I stopped questioning my wiring so much, wondering if I was damaged, the dark parts of my brain were illuminated with light and fun and mischief. Turns out the shadowy parts were all just stigma, and I didn’t need it. Plus, sex can be pure escapism. If you’re in a terrible mood, have you ever sat down and watched a comedy because it purposefully had nothing to do with your internal life? Of course. Being tied down and fucked until you can’t walk can simply be a reflection of wanting to abdicate from your usual day to day responsibilities. What you like in bed doesn’t reflect who you are. We don’t have to explain our wants and likes. This was the most liberating revelation I had about my Submissive kinks.
I’m still a feminist in the bedroom. I demand equal partnership. I want my rights and needs met. I feel empowered and good about myself. I also feel good about my partner. And I love that she listens. Speaking of…
“My Queen. I love that you tied me up, but if it pleases you could you slightly loosen the restraints on my wrists just a little bit?”
“Yes, Pet. Only if you thank me properly later.”
See? Good communication, and my lovely and sexy Dominant was more than happy to oblige. I won’t elaborate on how I thanked her though. No need to make you blush, dear reader. x