when I say I’m a “good” submissive

Lying in bed in the middle of the afternoon,

while watching a documentary on kittens,

and I think to myself, “I feel quite submissive today.”

I made my master coffee (and thought about making omelets, but the pan was dirty, not my fault!). I even GOT DRESSED and helped shovel snow, like a good kitten. He kept telling me, “You’re doing fine,” and I’m like, “But I want to do a GOOD job!” But, to be honest, it isn’t easy to maintain my perfectionist attitude when my hands are freezing off. Still, good submissive today.

But sometimes people get upset when you say you are a bad submissive (“Why are you tearing yourself down?”) or even if you say you are good (“Don’t compare yourself to other submissives.”). But that’s not what I, or we, mean by it.

I do this thing in my head where I replace labels with the label I use that means what they are actually saying.

Like, someone says, “I’m polyamorous.” Okay, but there’s a million things that could mean. So I keep listening and realize what they practice is what I call “monogamish.” So in my head I work with that and converse with them on what THEY are saying, rather than impose my own definition of “polyamory” on them and the conversation. I use the word that means what THEY mean.

So when I hear “bad submissive,” I find I usually replace that with “bratty submissive.” That’s the sort that I hear call themselves this. I know they don’t really mean “bad,” as in worthless (or, if they are, it’s explicitly stated and often accompanied by requests for reassurance). They aren’t necessarily devaluing their submission. They likely don’t mean “bad,” like YOU might mean “bad.” It may just be their playful way of categorizing their particular flavor of submission AT THAT POINT IN TIME.

And when I say I’m a “good” submissive, I’m not saying I’m better than others.

I’m not saying that my value today went up, in comparison to my personal value other days. I just feel really, really good about how I go about my submission. Very “pure,” even, my purest self. In which I am totally submissive (because I’m not a brat, so my version of “good submission,” is to be very obedient and do everything I’m supposed to do.). Yes, I am always a “good” submissive, because I am a good person. But that probably isn’t what I’m talking about, right then.

It’s okay. We’re okay. Please let us play our games, without worrying. (Although, please, please, if you are our close friends, ask us how we are, even if we seem totally okay. Sometimes we need that, too!). But strangers and acquaintances?

Trust us that we know what we’re doing. We’re okay 🙂

s/he belongs to you for a reason

“How is it possible for one to own the stars?” [said the Little Prince.]
“To whom do they belong?” the businessman retorted, peevishly.
“I don’t know. To nobody.”
“Then they belong to me, because I was the first person to think of it.”
“I myself own a flower,” [said the Little Prince] as he continued his conversation with the businessman, “which I water every day. I own three volcanoes, which I clean out every week (for I also clean out the one that is extinct; one never knows). It is of some use to my volcanoes, and it is of some use to my flower, that I own them. But you are of no use to the stars . . .”

This is what I believe ownership is about.

It’s funny, but some humans think of ownership of other people the same way as the businessman (and I speak here in context of a consensual D/s or M/s relationship).

Nobody thought of owning this girl first? She’s yours. Nobody claimed this submissive? Write her name on a piece of paper, put it in a box and lock the box. She’s yours. You “own” her now, because you said so, and your dominant aura overwhelms her (even if it’s strictly one or two messages you’ve sent to her inbox). And now it’s on to claim the next one. That IS how it works, no?

But perhaps it’s simpler than that.

Do you wish to own them? Fine. Answer this then: What use are you to your submissive? Slapping her around is one thing, but what value do you provide to her? A rosy warmed bottom is lovely, but does she find it valuable? If so, wonderful. If not, what is your true value to her? After all, you wouldn’t take on someone who had no use to you, would you?

My master owns me. Not by virtue of some code or paperwork. Because he supports me in my life ambitions, as well as takes care of me in the bedroom. Because he cheers me on, provides me that simple reassurance. But more than that he keeps me steady and tells me what I need to hear when nobody else will tell me.

He owns me, yes, but more than that, he protects his property. I feel safe, every day, because (among other things) of him. With his actions, with his way of living. He protects what he owns, because he values it. It’s easy to say you value something, but actually protecting that something is another matter. Outside of the bedroom, and inside of it.

I’ll ask again. What use are you to your slave?

i’m a submissive, i’m not a wallflower

I…might be a switch. Heavily leaning towards submissive. Whatever I might I will say this: I love to serve. Which leads me to being a submissive. Which leads me to being the one being pursued, caught. Waiting for someone to come after me.

I am, by virtue of being female and a sub, a sort of prey. I suppose. At least many might see me this way. And while a deer may not wish to be prey, the wolf does not care much for the deer’s opinion on this. At least I imagine it doesn’t.

But, you see, I may be the submissive type. But that doesn’t mean I have to be a piece of furniture, well, at least not all the time (subtle nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean?) They push forward, as their submissive’s comfort level allows. Sometimes this is more, say, considerate. Sometimes the arrangment is such that the dominant plows forward (so to speak) with no thought for their submissive’s cares.

I have never in my life been the sort to sit there and wait. I have a dominant (perhaps shortly multiple dominants) and I did not get that way by softly whispering messages across a crowded room, just the shade of a glance towards someone I might care to have an interest in some time, some day.

So, yes, I will take action of my own. I’ll drop myself into someone’s lap. Because I want to, well, be with someone. I don’t want to be one of those passed by, day after day, because they don’t actually notice me. And when someone extends their hand to me and says, “I’d like to eat you out,” I take their hand and say yes with my eyes and with my voice.

I am not a shy, vulnerable wallflower.

I think I can safely say I make myself noticed.

If you wonder why someone else manages to find a wonderful, caring, loving dominant but you just can’t seem to find a

Good dominant
Good master
Good daddy
Good domme
Good…[insert label]

….take charge. Because this is your life. Don’t sit around waiting for someone to make you theirs.


[understanding what ‘makes’ a submissive & more] new research on the relationship between BDSM interest, trauma and attachment style

As a self identified kitten and submissive who does have an anxious avoidance attachment style, I found this quite educational. As with any research, please take this with a grain of salt and apply it to yourself as is relevant, but still, I wanted to share this with you!

Yours truly,



Reposted with permission from guest blogger: Research_CAPRISee original post here!

A new scientific paper was published by our group on the relationship between BDSM interest on one hand and experienced trauma and attachment style on the other.

It has been speculated that a substantial percentage of BDSM practitioners have experienced (sexual) trauma in the past. Attachment style is an additional factor resulting from early life dynamics that has been suggested to potentially influence BDSM interests. This study will investigate to what extent BDSM interests are related to trauma and attachment style, while differentiating between BDSM community practitioners and private practitioners.

Methods: A group of 771 BDSM-practitioners and 518 non-practitioners from the general population completed a survey in 2017 assessing BDSM interests as well as the Brief Trauma Questionnaire to gauge traumatic events and the Relationships Questionnaire to assess attachment style.

Results: Community BDSM-practitioners and private practitioners reported higher levels of physical abuse in adulthood but no significant differences emerged for other traumatic experiences including childhood physical abuse or unwanted sexual trauma. Surprisingly, BDSM-practitioners had more secure and at the same time more anxious-preoccupied attachment styles compared to non-practitioners. Besides, secure attachment style was associated with dominance, whereas the anxious-avoidant attachment style was associated with submissiveness. Intensity of BDSM interest was predicted by secure attachment style, gender, sexual orientation and living area.

Conclusion: Thus, our findings do not support the hypothesis of BDSM being a maladaptive coping mechanism in response to early life dynamics.

link to the full paper

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

yes, i’m a submissive, even when i’m sick

“Do you suspend dynamics when you’re sick?”

I’ve most often seen this question posed towards s-types. Does your master suspend dynamics when you are unwell? And a part of me recognizes that many people do not know how dynamics work. They are curious what happens when the sub cannot “serve” her dominant. I respect this.

And, yet, I am still saddened at the implications behind the question. As if some Daddies cannot be a daddy and take care of their babygirl when she’s sick with a fever or extra tired, or just feeling a little low that day. As if a submissive cannot respect and serve her master, if he is sick and not his “strong, dominant self.” Whatever that means.

Or perhaps the question refers to those who engage in high protocol.

Which is no better. Because in those cases the “dynamics” should always be suspended. So, still not a question. “Oh, I know your hands are shaking and you can hardly sit up without coughing out a lung, but don’t forget to be waiting for me, on your knees, in full latex when I come home. Oh, and also have dinner prepared for me.”

I mean, seriously, dude. Tell me I’m wrong here, but you better have a damn solid argument as to why you are making your half drowned puppy take care of your needs, and not the other way around.

Being a dominant, in my world, means caring for your submissive when she needs it. Being a submissive means respecting your master, even if he’s sick and doesn’t have the energy to tie you up or create scenes for you.

My master is my master, always. Sometimes that means holding me when I’m sad. Or taking me to the doctor when I’m sick. He made a commitment to take care of me. I am not simply this thing to be used when I’m in proper shape to be used. Get a blowup doll, if that’s what you think it’s about.

A dominant is still a dominant -even- when they serve. A submissive is still submissive -even- when being served. True, some may Switch, but, nonetheless, they are their role when they choose or when they are inspired. Not because they are engaged in community defined “sub” or “dom” tasks.

Whatever my physical condition, I am always his most precious object. If he’s having a rough day, it’s my job to be patient and realize we might not be going to the dungeon that evening. Or even doing anything at all. It doesn’t mean we’ve “lost” our dynamic. It just means that, today, this is what it looks like.

In sickness, and in health.

P.S. By the way, my master doesn’t need me sick or injured to be caring towards me. He does it every day. And you should feel free to find a master who treats you similarly, if you desire that.

Photo by Alexander Mils from Pexels

today i had breakfast

Last night I didn’t want to go to sleep. I felt a streak of stubbornness (“I am never going to sleep ever again!”). M told me, “Time for bed, Kitten.” And I went. Maybe a bit reluctantly, but I climbed in and crawled up to him.


The next morning, he praises me,

“Good kitten,” for snuggling so well against him. He was up a lot of the night and he appreciates it.

An hour or so after he’s left for meetings, I’m still at our hotel and I wake up. I look at the clock and see there’s a half hour until breakfast is over. I know he always likes me to eat breakfast. Usually, at home, I don’t. But we almost always eat breakfast together at the hotel– and since he was nice enough to let me sleep longer, I know he’ll like it if I make sure to eat on my own.

I don’t want to eat anything. But I know he wants me to do this and I want to hear “Good kitten,” when he comes back. As soon as I know what time it is, I sleepily- but without a beat- roll out of bed. I’m not worried. I know it takes me ten minutes to shower. Five minutes to get dressed. Five minutes to quickly check Fetlife (I am good and I wait until I’m all ready to go before I do this). This leaves ten minutes to get to the breakfast room. I leave with seven minutes to go. Perfect.

I assemble my breakfast.

Juice, a smoothie, and a small waffle. I know it isn’t much, but if this were the same hotel in Europe, I’d have organized a huge feast of bagel generously smeared with Nutella, a mocha hot chocolate, delicious jams and croissants, fresh presssed juice, maybe a croissant with good cheese and deli meat, smoked salmon… It’s just the breakfasts here aren’t very good. But I eat it, anyway. Because I know I’m supposed to do this for him. And for me.

When I go back upstairs, I pack up the room. I want extra kudos. Even if he doesn’t expect it (and I’m not sure if he does or not), I know we won’t have much time. Maybe this way I’ll even get an extra five minutes of snuggles before we have to get going (and we might not have time, anyway, but at least I’ve put in the effort).

Submission takes many forms.

Sometimes it’s strict, Gorean protocol. Sometimes it’s complicated “scenes” with rope, fire, wax, and an array of scary looking- to the untrained eye- implements. It’s not -always- passive, but it’s not always complicated.

Sometimes it’s just eating a waffle with strawberry jam.

Photo by Pixabay from Pexels

pride in being owned, my

It’s easy to see the calm after the storm.

Nobody wonders why I am where I am— now. Not everyone wants to live in penthouses, travel to exotic locations, and dine at fine restaurants. Not everyone wants that high powered lifestyle. It is pressuring. It can be exhausting. But nobody questions WHY I do it. Nobody wonders (and frankly, few see the difficulties of the lifestyle, only the visible perks).

They used to ask me all the time, why don’t you leave?

Why do you deal with HER? Why don’t you just find a nice guy and get married and pop out a couple of kids? Oh, to be clear, they knew I had maternal instincts and I was not offended by the assumption I should be a mother…it was because I was me, not because I was a female. Why do you want to do this, when you don’t have to? When life could be so much easier. Why do you give so much to people who will never want to give you as much in return, if they are even capable?

The risk I took…it could have turned out far worse.

I could have lost everything. I DID lose almost everything. But only things. That’s what my so-called friends, the ones who ended up abandoning me, did not understand. My savings, my car, my apartment— they were nice, but they were all “things.”

And, well, I needn’t go into every detail. Suffice to focus on the specific material losses. I did not care about them. I cared about Him. I cared about being Owned, nurtured, allowed to grow and love.

I didn’t know it then. I felt lost and scared.

But I stayed.  I wanted to run away so many times— and I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m usually quite good at running away. I’ve run away as far as half the world. I’ve abandoned almost every venture I ever tried, for fear of failing. So, better to just ENSURE I fail, right? Okay, yeah, that makes no sense. But I was in my early twenties. Does anyone look at their early twenties self and go, “Yep, that’s DEFINITELY great choices I made! That’s who I wish I still could be!” Alright, maybe you grew up faster. But me and my friends go, “Fuck that.” We’d no sooner go back to that time, than we would return to middle school.

I’ve since replaced the things I lost with better “things,” but I might lose it all again. Things come and go. That is life. I will never lose my loves. I will never lose what truly matters. My self respect. My drive to be who I am.

Let me be perfectly clear— I fucking earned being owned.

I did not slip into a M/s dynamic.

I did not pick it up off the ground. I did not accidentally stumble into this life, even though I feel that way sometimes. I chose this life. I was the only one strong enough, when the time was right, to meet my Master and take on that role with Him. Many women had the opportunity and could not do it. I knew them personally. Some of them dipped their toes, but could not take the plunge. Could not take the risks I took. Could not be that vulnerable. I had been hurt, who hasn’t? But I saw something in Him that was different— and I took the leap.

We are not weak, when we submit.

When we are someone’s “most treasured possession,” we were the ones strong enough to submit. To match our Owner’s energy and desires. We are enough as we are, but we still find ways to grow, evolve. To be better than we were before. To submerge ourselves deeper into our submission and training.

I am still nervous and small some days.

But I am that insecure little mouse less and less, and the Kitten I was meant to be more and more.  Some days, even a princess.

My life, what I learned, what I have– it all fills me with wonder and I pinch myself- metaphorically speaking- to remind me,

Yes, this is real.