submit to me
Domination is more than just a job to me. It’s how I give and receive love, lust, affection. Dating as a Domme is difficult, so I'm dreaming of my perfect sub.
I want him to submit to me. I want him on his knees waiting for me when I get home. I want his mind consumed by me all day; I want his contemplation covered in my magnificence. I want him to praise me, applaud me, worship me and bow to me. I want his skin electrified while he awaits my touch, I want his lips salivating for just a taste of mine.
I want him to beg for my attention, plead for my approval. I want my command as his only concern. I want to hold his power in my palm and play with it, twist, turn, tickle, torture it.
I want him bold and beautiful, with big, sad eyes that look up at me, pour into me from his place below me. I want to find sweetness in his servitude; sacrifice in his salute. I want his loyalty and tears and sweat on his poor little furrowed brow. I want his gifts offered up every evening that I require deification. I want to be pleased by the offerings he leaves at my altar.
I want him spread out across my sheets, hands and feet tied to my temperance; relaxed but ravenous and ready. I don’t want him to ask any questions. I want our purpose plain as day, our eyes blurred by the night yet our vision still clear and coherent. I want us untethered, not hindered by baleful branches knocking at the window but instead finding laughter in the leaves. I want to toy with him, play with his understanding of pleasure and pain. I want to obscure the distinction when he’s with me.
I want him to understand me deeply. I want him to not bother me. I want his hand in marriage, only for one night. I want to return the wedding ring the next day, but I want to keep him close by; I want his companionship. I want to crave him but not need him, not really. Not in that crushing way. I do not want that.
I want his smell to be so familiar to me and mine to him. I want our scents bottled, layered, shared on our skin and the clothes that we wear. I want our limbs tied together, bound by shackles to which only I have the key. I want to leave my trace on him, I want him to search for me in everyone he meets after me. I want him to never truly find me.
I want him pliable but not pathetic. Unlike the pitiful men that pay to bend at my feet, our connection would expand beyond just his submission. I won’t require his complete subordination at all times, but he’ll understand and will be ready to serve me whenever it pleases me. Perhaps I’ll let him pretend to be in charge some evenings when I’m tired, always with my satisfaction still at the center.
I want you to see that this is the manliest thing of all. That his allegiance to me, his praise and acknowledgement of my power, the way he bows to me rather than tries to conquer me; this is the most brilliant expression of masculinity. This is the type of man I need, this is the type of man that is worthy of a woman’s body, brain, soul. A man who wishes to defeat and dominate me can never love me the way that I need to be loved. I’ve tried so many times to be loved by them. I need a man to give himself over to me, to dedicate himself to my domination.
I no longer accept man as my superior, in life or in bed. I am no longer subordinate.