It’s a fantasy: being forced to succumb to the greater power of a dominant, unable to help yourself, being overpowered…

It’s practically spoon fed to us as a culture.

Men: If you want to submit, it has to be to someone who has proven themselves in battle. They must win a war of strength in 6″ heels, full leather or latex shape wear, and carrying a whip or crop. Their power is in the size of their strap on, and their disregard for your humanity.

Women: If you want to submit, it must be because you were unable to resist the trappings of traditional masculinity, and your personal boundaries, safety concerns and silly womanish thoughts were simply dissolved with the crush of a stronger personality.

While I have a strong personality, and high heels, and latex, and a whip and a crop (and I’m not afraid to use them), I just don’t feel like those are what make me a dominant worth serving.

Fear, even fantasy fear, is not enough for me.

“Forcing” a man to his knees to serve me is something done within a scene, not to start a relationship.

A man grabbing and holding me tight, kissing me and “stroking the flames on my womanly desire, calming my struggling,” is a consent violation—not the moment I realize he has mastered my heart.

As fantasy, it’s amazing. Hell, I’ll wrestle. I’ll even lose and be “overtaken,” sometimes. That’s fun.

That’s not the reality of a D/s relationship, though.

And yet, these are the tropes we are suckled on, these and many more. They make dominance and submission a battle of victor and vanquished, strong and weak, rather than a collaboration of two powerful people coming together to create more in their lives through their dynamic differences.

I reject that idea.

I prefer to inspire submission.

If you offer your submission to me, I want it to be clear-eyed and sober, unimpaired by alcohol, drugs, or some sort of weird sexual frenzy that you’ve whipped yourself into through your imaginings or with my whip on your ass.

I want to know that you’ve thought it through, and you believe I’m the best choice, not simple the one who scared you the most or beat you the hardest, but the one you are devoted to, can trust, and cannot imagine being anything other than mine, whether I’m in flip flops or knee-high leather boots.

I want you to want to serve me if it means getting up early to drive me somewhere, not just when it means staying up late for tied-up anal invasions.

I want you to WANT to do things for me because it will put a smile on my face, not because you need to feel forced into it, to deny you want those twisted sexual perversions for yourself.

I need to know that you submit because you believe I’ll make your life better than it ever has been before, not because you can’t function without me beating you to get things done.

I KNOW that sounds a lot like adulting, all that thinking and stuff.

Nothing like the pornos or romances you’ve cut your teeth on.

• No stalking you to learn to manipulate you.
• No crushing you until you’re overwhelmed with my strength.
• No stroking your goody bits, withholding orgasm to make you give in.

That’s the fun stuff, and that comes later.

grins