… And that’s ok.
I’m not a slave to any “Dom” out there. I’m no doormat or brainless naked girl waiting for her holes to be filled.
What I am is Sir’s slave. So let me explain. In my vanilla life I am Dom, no doubt about it. I’ve taken control of my family and raised my mother since I was in junior high. I ran my marriage, owned my own house, been employed(knock on wood) ever day since I’m 14. I do not, never have and lord willing never will depend on any other to sustain my life.
The reason I’m his slave is…. The freedom it allows me. I know he has respect for me. That he wouldn’t want me if I was a mindless sex servant. He needs the duality between the smart girl and the slave. He is the only one that makes my brain go so quite. He gives me peace and a way to deal with the stress of being so type a.
Plus I really trust him. I trust him to know my pain tolerance. To know when I may beg for more but should be denied. To know when I am too afraid to try new things. Plus to know when I need a hug. Too be told the things I dream are not bad. To look in my eyes as I get fucked and tell me I’m his good girl, not some depraved whore.
I adore and cherish my strong Sir. Not because I am weak, but because he lets me show my …. Vonerable side. He is one of the very few people I know that is stronger than me. So I guess it all boils down to strength of character and trust. For any one else I may be a masochist, a reluctant submissive, a bottom, but that’s just kink and sex, in life and all the rest I know I’m his slave, not just a slave, happy almost anniversary Sir. It may not be a big one for most, but ….. Well we discussed that already. 2 more days and ….
Your mushy slave, and good girl.