Tag Archives: sometimes I’ll make you a sandwich as well as long as you don’t want anything fancy that’ll take longer than the average commercial break

On stroppy submissives

Oh master, let me worship at your feet. Let me lick them and beg for your sexual favour and look up at you with adoring eyes and unquestioning obedience.

Or, more realistically, let me do the opposite. Let me call you a dickhead when we’re in the pub and you make a stupid joke. Let me eat all your Fruit Pastilles and tell you your iPhone is rubbish and bollock you when you make us miss the trailers at the cinema.

I’m a crap submissive. Or rather, I used to think I was a crap submissive back when I thought submissives had to be a certain way.

When I first got involved with the kink scene by attending fetish parties and spanking sessions, I found it quite hard to keep my mouth shut in the appropriate places. This isn’t because I didn’t want to be spanked – I bloody well did. But it’s not even because I was deliberately being a brat so that I’d achieve more spankings – telling a fifty-something dom guy that by voting Tory he’s contributing to the demise of the NHS is more likely to lead to a cold shoulder than a hot beating.

No, the reason I couldn’t keep my mouth shut is because I was – still am, and always fucking will be – a gobby twat.

It’s all about the challenge

I read a rather excellent blog about this the other day from a domme’s point of view. Not Just Bitchy explained how submissives who kick ass and take names are fucking hot. I like this point of view very much, because not only am I one of the aforementioned ass-kicking subs, but naturally most of the men I have submitted to have pretty similar attitudes. In short: they didn’t see the fun in controlling me if I was too easy to control.

Perhaps they were just being nice. There is, after all, something fairly unsexy about a girl who is willing to swallow your cock one minute then steal your chips the next. But I don’t think I could have any kind of long-term play relationship with someone who insisted on compliance (or even fake compliance) at all times.

Ultimately, submission for me is about sex: I do what you tell me to do because it makes me wet when you give me orders. I like being bossed around, punished and manipulated in bed because it makes me weak at the knees. But these things only really seem relevant in the bedroom. If you tried to order me to do something in the pub, I’d either slick my knickers and demand that you took me immediately home to fuck, or I’d laugh at your assumption that I’d abandon my pint just a couple of sips in.

Submissives are like boxes of chocolates

Some people – magical, rare people – have enough self-control that they can do the D/S thing all day every day (or something pretty close to it). Others don’t need to put any effort in, because their natural state is one of demure submissiveness. But the vast majority of us are incapable of doing that for longer than is necessary for us to have a twitching orgasm.

I like playing like this – pretending to be sweet and compliant and ever-so-slightly terrified of your massive cock, and what you’re going to do to me with it. I like acting as if my stroppy comments are genuinely unacceptable and warrant a spanking for misbehaviour.

But that’s all it is – play. Occasionally I get emails from guys saying they wish they could meet a girl like me or that they wish their girlfriend was this submissive. My immediate response to both of these things is to consider reporting myself to the Advertising Standards Agency. You have no idea – no idea – how much of a slovenly, disobedient, swearing cock I am. All you know is that I like some specific somethings, and when those specific, submissive somethings are good enough – they provoke the right hot feelings or desperate moans – then I’ll write about them on the internet.

Submission, for me, isn’t about being controlled and dominated – it’s about getting fucked. I’ll bend over for you, suck your dick, and squirm with pleasure when you call me a ‘good girl’, but at the end of the day we have to pack away the toys and get back to real life. And by ‘real life’ I mean me, in my pants on the sofa, shouting obscenities at the telly while you make me a fucking sandwich.