obedience and submission

The mature woman you think is attractive, has her life together, is accomplished, and comes with the added bonus of purchase: she’s submissive. Jackpot, right? Well, yeah. But let’s unpack that a little.

Look at her.

She is, perhaps, married, or was. She may have children and no help at home, or survived the child rearing and is now looking to new stages in her life. She may have an ex whose sole purpose in life is to score points off her, she may have aging family to care for. Daily, she keeps several plates spinning at the top of tall reeds, and you better believe keeping those things spinning isn’t really an act of choice for her.  If she lets them fall, they shatter spectacularly, people look and gawk and judge her harshly for her failures.

Look at her.

She is in control at all times, because there are no choices. No alternatives for her, not until those delicious few hours when someone places a collar around her neck and leads her to sanctuary. Until someone ensures that it’s okay to leave the reeds, the plates will spin on, awaiting her return. She revels in the mindlessness of no expectation other than acquiescence, the quietude of simply existing.  That is her respite, her renewal. And if, during renewal, she might feel pleasure, so much the better. So much sweeter those achievements, those moments, those peaks.  She knows to value each one.

Look at her.

She is, perhaps, a professional of some sort. She might manage people, or create things. Could be she is a force to be reckoned with, meeting deadlines and keeping the ship in its lane.  Without question, she has been fighting her entire life for the same recognition you take for granted.  She manages her life quite handily, and largely prefers it that way, save for the moments that she would like to put all of it down, to step away.  She revels in not being the steward of lives and lifestyles, if only for a short time, entrusted only to the one person she can surrender herself and her stewardship.  She looked long and hard for that person, and if that one is you, take note.  

Look at her.

Careful, careful thought has gone into the placing down of those burdens.  She has weighed the imperatives that others place upon her against her instinct to succumb to the siren call of tranquility.  She has calculated, and considered, and decided.  There is a deliberateness to the action of transferring power.  The reward meets the risk, and she is equal to the task.  You are her partner in the exchange, and she has faith in your strength and trusteeship.

Look at her.

She has bent for you.  Knelt, bent, allowed herself to be arranged, raised pink and tender places for your inspection and attention and your tools and implements.  She has chosen the fluid exchange of energy, gathering strength from her suffering for you, taking your darkness into her, committing her flesh to the healing of both cell and spirit.  She allows, she chooses, she commits.  Her will unleashes your own and in turn your will keeps hers secure.

Look at her.

Struggle with the deviation from societal norms has left her vulnerable.  She has sought out a place to give away, if only for a short while, her body, her conscious mind, perhaps even a portion of her soul.  With the shedding of her clothing, that nakedness runs deeper than the flesh.  When she is wrapped in blankets and forehead kisses or later slipping into street clothing, she is quietly donning the protective garments of her every day.

I can handle myself. My life is stressful at times, with competing obligations and never enough time to fulfill them. But I put on my armor, and I do what needs to be done. I kick ass at work. I take charge at home. I am a single mother with multiple degrees who has rebuilt my life from scratch while maintaining a successful career. I don’t need you.

But at the end of the day, it’s hard to find my sanctuary. I still feel ready for battle. I still feel the tension in my shoulders. My brain runs a million miles a minute, ever-vigilant for the next problem to attack. I may be on the ropes some days, but I always keep my gloves up. I’m always ready. Even when I don’t want to be.

I can handle the fight, but I am better when you take it from me. I am better when you remind me that I don’t have to keep my guard up. I don’t have to take control and make decisions. I don’t have to watch out for the next problem on the horizon. You’ve got that. And you’ve got me.

I can quiet my mind and focus on the one thing that fulfills me most: serving you. This is my sanctuary. This is where I can let go and know that I am protected and cared for. This is where I recharge. All couples love and support one another during the busy, stressful times. We just do it a little differently. We do it with your collar around my neck. We do it with your paddle against my ass until the tears flow freely. We do it with rules and permission and denial. This is how I feel loved and how I give love in return. I crave these displays of ownership and opportunities to serve. I don’t need a break at the end of a hard day; I need a hand in my hair reminding me where I belong—that I do belong. Cherished property.