Being submissive

If you’re in any way familiar with BDSM then you’ll probably know about submissiveness. I have self-proclaimed myself as a submissive wench, and some have questioned that. Some even think that it’s a Southe’n type thang, which I’ll be honest . . a lot of women do for their men down here (and No, I didn’t say ALL women). It’s not a rarity. It’s all about respect and appreciation and setting limits. If I get the respect I deserve then I’m happy. If I’m happy, then everyone else will be happy, too.

• “How can you be submissive to a . . a man?!!”

I get that question quite often, and it’s because of ignorance. Having submissive tendencies does not put me back into the 1950s, and it doesn’t have me under control by a man. Quite the oppositve, rather. Subs tend to make the rules. They generally rule the roost. They say how and when and with whom. A sub has limits, and those limits aren’t to be crossed.

I have my limits.

If you were to ask the husband who ruled this place, he’d say that I did. Not just because he’s smart and that’s the right answer, but because I do. No, I’m not the sole decision maker, bread winner, dick sucker, whathaveyou . . but I do have possession of the remote control, and that speaks volumes does it not?

And because I run this place, I take care of it completely. I make sure that it’s in tip-top shape, with no snags and that’s the way I prefer it.  And I take care of the persons inside it competely. I do damn near everything inside this house, and I don’t ask for help or participation. I even run a tractor (more on that in another post), I change my own oil in the car, I do the “manly” things throughout the homestead. . . and I enjoy it. The only thing I ask him to do is take out the trash. That’s it.

I enjoy taking care of the family, and their needs. I do it and, it’s appreciated. Full bellies and clean drawers go a long way. Their smiling faces give me the warm fuzzies, and sure, it’d be a hell of a different story if they took me for granted. But they don’t. They’re smart.

They know that they do not tell me to do anything. Telling me to do something will only get you loss of privileges and a divorce. (The first husband learned that the hard way). They say “please” and “thank you” - and most of the time, I don’t have to say “You’re welcome” first.

Now, I know a lot of folks will disagree with me on this. They’ll say that I shouldn’t be doing everything, and that the kid could do for herself . . and so could the husband. But, I don’t mind it. If I did, I sure as fuck wouldn’t be doing it, and someone else would be making the coffee first thing while I took my morning dump.

:: :: ::

Thank you, Mike, for the post idea