Tell Me You're My Slut.

What Makes D/s Real

“You need to get your windshield wipers replaced.”

“Nah, they’re fine.”

“No. You aren’t listening. You will get your windshield wipers replaced. Order on Amazon by Monday or go buy them before Wednesday. I want new windshield wipers on your car by Wednesday.”

Whoa. This is different. She’s never taken control like this before. Are those heart bubbles flying out of my ears?

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

That night, she had bathed me, collared me, beaten me, dressed me, and done my makeup before we were headed to a party. “My little doll,” she called me. And still, this moment in my car was the most submissive I’d felt all night. In fact, it was the most submissive I’d felt in our relationship so far. 

Up to this point, she felt like my girlfriend who topped me, but not my Dominant. But this time, it wasn’t about play. It wasn’t an area where we’d discussed in advance and I’d explicitly given her control. It came out of her desire to protect me. It was the first time she took control because she felt responsible for me—not as part of a scene but in everyday life. 

Still, it was just a moment. I wasn’t sure whether she’d remember or follow through. But on Tuesday, she asked if I’d ordered the wipers. 

Shit. I’d meant to do it the day before, but Monday got busy, and I forgot. So I hurried up and ordered them.

“Yes, I ordered them.”

“When?”

Shit. “Today.”

“Was that what I said?”

“Well…”

“You had two options: order them online by Monday or buy them in person by Wednesday. You did neither of those things. So now you’re going to cancel that order. You’re going to leave for the auto parts store. You’re going to tell me when you leave to drive there, when you arrive, when you leave, and when you are home. You’re going to buy the wipers. And then you’re going to put your collar on and spend the rest of your night writing lines.”

She remembered. She noticed. She held me accountable. This is real. 

All at once, I felt that gut-wrenching feeling of having disappointed her and the warmth of being cared for and kept. I didn’t enjoy the punishment, but I appreciated it. She showed me that she saw me and that my needs mattered. By the end of the night, I had new wipers and 100 lines of, “I will care for my Dominant’s property however she sees fit.” And I meant it.  

It’s not formal rules and protocol that make D/s real. It’s not the kneeling or the spanking or the oral service. It’s the everyday moments where Dominants and submissives care for one another through power exchange—when one nurtures through leading and the other nurtures through following. This is when I feel loved in exactly the way I need most.

Seems realistic

🖤🔥🖤

Here's to another trip around the sun🍻

Yes they do

Where are you from?

Not Fooled

I adore Tumblr. It’s a way to connect effortlessly with people who share a part of my life so few know about. I’ve been able to learn and explore things that would otherwise have been difficult to come across. But Tumblr has done it’s fair share of harm too. It’s easy to get lost in the glamorous images and sexy stories posted, and before long the grass looks a whole lot greener on the neighbor’s side of the fence.

It’s a constant effort to remind myself that these are snapshots of people’s lives, not complete images. And they’re photo-shopped, carefully chosen, edited ones at that. I have to be vigilant to be sure I’m not fooled into believing everything I see. I need to constantly remind myself that what I see isn’t necessarily a reflection of what exists.

Not every woman practicing BDSM is a size 0.

D/s couples disagree. Sometimes they fight.

The people in those pictures suffer from depression, PTSD, and anxiety.

Not every sub is female, and not every Dom is male.

Sometimes shit happens. (Quite literally, if you enjoy anal play.) Sometimes a position hurts, heads bang together, legs give out, or you end up roaring with laughter and not release.

Bondage doesn’t just happen. There’s preparation, and safety precautions, and chaffing. Those don’t show in pictures.

Not every sub can deepthroat a 9 inch cock.

For that matter not every man has a 9 inch cock. (Shocking, I know.)

People have bad days. Doms cry. Subs forget and act out.

Whether or not you enjoy anal, or humiliation, or bruising isn’t what defines you…on either side of the slash.

There’s nothing wrong with being a Top, or a bottom, and not wanting that dynamic to leave the bedroom.

And, on that note, Dominance and submission are not about kinky sex. You can fuck in the dark in the missionary position, or not at all for that matter, and still be in a power exchange relationship.

So I try to step back. I look at the photo of the woman, with the perfect hair and flat stomach, kneeling before a man with a pristine suit and a three thousand dollar watch on his wrist, and try to remind myself that the reality is better. The messy tearful days, the laughter over a queef at the wrong moment, the note left behind on a busy morning, and the run in a stocking on a soft chubby thigh… those things are perfect too.

Thinking about casual, domestic, disrespectful degradation:

Asking you about your day, then pulling your tits out while you’re talking

Having you cook my dinner, you only eat once I’ve finished

Jerking off beside you in bed, pushing your head down to swallow my cum without saying a word

Immediately groping you when I get home from work, shaming you for being desperate if you’re wet

You make our morning coffee, but I cum in yours instead of milk

While I’m at work leaving you a list of household chores and expecting them all done

Making you kneel by my feet while we have a conversation