The Inner Workings of A Serial Submissive

I never throw important papers away. I may not always know which basket or box they are in, but I keep it all. As I was searching for a specific paper, I came across some old love letters and cards. 

      I immediately broke into a smile and got that warm, fuzzy feeling. I glanced through quite a few and was immediately transported back to those first days of our romance. Then a funny thought hit.......do the younger generations write love letters on paper? 

     Will they be able to look back and see their lover's words and feel that warm, fuzzy feeling too? So much is put into electronic devices. Apps are designed to delete pictures and video within so many seconds. Message apps can be so easily erased.

     Letter writing may be a lost art and that saddens me for the next generations. They won't be able to read of the way Grandpa cared about Grandma. Or how he longed to be with her. Or the words of hope and encouragement. 

     This led me to one more thought.....should I white out the parts of these letters that mention how much He likes to tie me up to fuck me or that I have the loveliest tits He’s ever kissed?   

I had a dream last night. It was so real and vivid. You were in it, as always.

You tell me that tonight we are going somewhere low key and casual but that you want me to wear a red bra under a low cut white top and a short black skirt with no panties. I happily comply because I live to make you happy. In the car you teasingly glide your fingers up my bare thigh and it sends shivers down my spine.  I love the way you touch me. You stop just past the hem of my skirt and it is driving me crazy.  I want so bad for you to go further.  

We pull into the parking lot of a bar that I have never been to and you get out and come around to open my door.  As I stand up out of the car and you close the door, you lean in and graze my neck with your mouth.  All I see are sparks.  Every nerve is begging for more. Your teasing on top of the excitement for our fun to come is making me wet. You pin me to the car as you kiss me.  I feel something cold and hard brush against my arm and I look down to see my large plug in your hand.  You smile as I look up at your face.  "Open your mouth " you tell me.  I open and feel the plug fill my mouth.  When you decide that I have sucked enough, you pull it out of my mouth and turn me around.  I am anticipating your next move and bend over the car exposing my ass and spreading my legs for you.  The metal feels slick on my clit as you use the plug to rub it.  As I moan, the plug moves back and fills my ass. 

The walk into the bar makes the plug move and it becomes difficult to think of anything else.  You guide me into the bar and to a stool.  My skirt is short and I know that I will leave a wet mark when I get up.  The hard wooden stool will not cushion my plug and I know that was your plan as well.  I slowly sit and moan.  I hope that I am not too loud, but some have turned to look at us. You order our drinks from the bartender and you begin a normal vanilla conversation.   I try to pay attention but I am having issues.  

The bar isn't crowded, but there are enough people to make the audience that you want.  As I finish my drink you tell me to face you on the stool and spread my legs.  I know that we are in public and I know that we will be seen, I do as I am told anyway.  My only concern is pleasing my Daddy. Spreading my legs hikes my skirt up and everyone can see what belongs to you. You stand up and position yourself between my thighs.  I don't move.  I can't  breathe and my heart it racing.  You start to unbutton my top and pull the cups of my bra down and I sit the fully exposed. 

You rub and pinch my nipples as you ask "who do these belong to?". I quickly answer " these tits belong to you Sir." You call me a good girl and your hand move down my body to my pussy.   I am dripping wet. Your fingers on my clit make me jump. I am a wet, needy slut for you.  Everyone can see that I am yours,  yet again you ask " who does this belong to?".  I am breathless from my panting for you.  "This pussy is yours.  I am yours Daddy." You plunge your fingers into me. You pull them out before I can cum and slide them into my mouth so I can lick my wetness from your fingers.  

You smile as you hold your hand out to me and pull me along to the back corner of the bar to the pool table. I end up bent over the pool table and feel you spreading my legs. I hear your zipper moments before I feel the heat of your cock rubbing on my ass.  The patrons have stopped everything and are watching you use me as your whore. You are using slow, deep strokes and your cock is thick as it pulses your release into me.  

You caress my ass as you help me up and kiss me.  You assist getting my attire put back in place and take my hand as we walk out of the bar. Your cum is coating my thighs as it empties from me.  We both laugh as you help me into the car and  make a comment about being happy that you have leather seats. 

I woke up wet and needy….

I have tried to be patient while I wait for Him to decide that He is ready to play with my toys. I have been especially sweet and obedient. I have asked nicely only to be told “we’ll see”.  I have left the toy box at the foot of the bed hoping every evening that He will give me that wicked smile that always sends shivers down my spine and lets me know that there will be fun to come. Patience in not one of my virtues. To be honest, I don’t have many virtues, and patience is at the top of the list of the ones that I don’t have.

As I walk into the bedroom to take my evening shower, I see the box has been moved.  It now sits on my side of the bed. There is a note attached to the lid. “Pick one” it says.  One! Only one! How does He expect me to pick just one? Each toy gives me such pleasure in different ways and I LOVE all of them.  The sting of the paddle and the bite of the clamps ease my cravings for pain along with pleasure.  The wand gives shivers throughout my body as it sends me crashing over the edge. The plugs fill my every hollow need. The dildo hits that sweet spot every time. The cuffs and rope hold and caress me like a lover. 

I open the lid and longingly touch every one of my beloved toys. I know that He is giving me what I want, but doing it in His own way. Making me choose is His way of showing me that He controls my pleasure and that I am His. The thoughts of His expertise in teasing my body into total submission makes me wet. I giggle when I touch the little pocket wand. Part of me wants to pick it to see His reaction and to see just how creative He can be with it, but I know that if I am too much of a smartass it could backfire on me. I have till bedtime to decide, so I will finish my nightly routine and think about my choice. 

Sometimes choices can be rough.   

When did you know that you were a sub? I get this question all of the time.  I believe there is an unwritten rule somewhere, that demands that every submissive be asked this question, by every Dominant that ever was. 

My answer is….I have always known that I am a submissive Almost all submissives would answer the same way. But no one ever asks me WHERE my submission comes from.  That might shed more light about who I am as a submissive than any other question.

 I didn’t know the answer myself until my first punishment many years ago. I wouldn’t tell you my crime, even if I could remember, so don’t ask. My Dominant knew exactly how to punish an emotionally stunted masochist and gave me the task of writing an essay on why I was a submissive. Let me tell you, it was torture. He made me rewrite it several times, until I finally really dug deep and did the assignment.

I believe my submission comes from a combination of breeding and beatings.  It is my nature to give affection and love. My passion is watching my children, my patients, and my garden thrive under my care. I also learned at a very young age what the back of a hand felt like if I didn’t move fast enough. I became an expert at pleasing and accommodating to keep from being noticed. No attention was good attention.

Many of us are born with this overwhelming need to please. As many are forced, at a young age, to take control of all situations in their lives. Each one of us has a unique story to tell and would gladly tell it,  if only asked. And maybe we could get an addendum to that old rule while we are at it.

Come on in and welcome to my inner workings. It’s a constant work in progress, so please be sure to wear your hard hat at all times.  At times it’s messy, somewhat dark, and always noisy in here….you have been warned. 

The place is big and twisty. It has meandering hallways and doors that lead to nowhere, that is if they open at all. Even I can’t pry some open, so maybe they are best left alone.  There are plummeting elevators and never ending staircases. There are rumors of a bouncy house too. Play your cards right and you just might get to see it.  

I like to think that I am a witty and talented multitasker. I, in truth, am just an overworked, kinky smart ass. (That was the most current diagnosis) A few years ago I found my voice by journaling here. It was a way to get my raw and honest feelings out without fear of reprisal. I am now addicted and will not give it up for anyone or any reason.

Journaling gave me an outlet for my feelings and helped me to work through them in a constructive way. Computer journaling is so much easier and less messy without all of the scratch marks and eraser smudges. My entries may ramble a bit, but I will always try to have a point.

I know many read my blogs and never hit the like button, and that’s fine. I just hope that maybe I can at least help someone along the way that might be going through the same things as me and needs to know that they aren’t alone.

So…..