How I Became a Submissive (Part 1)

What does a beautiful girl with a Masters degree in English do? She becomes a professional submissive.

There's more to it than that, of course. And that's not all I'm doing with my time. But that's what this blog is about. I've given myself a year to fully explore my fascination with pain and submission.

Before I talk about anything else, about how I love the feeling of a flogger against my skin, or the sting of a paddle against my ass, or the beautiful constriction of ropes around my body, I want to say that I have always been a good little feminist. Which may be why it took me so long to admit that I'm also submissive. Because a good feminist would never want a man to dominate her, or pull her by the hair, or chain her to a cross, or force her to beg for his forgiveness. She would never want him to punish her, or call her a slut, or put her over his knee and spank her. That would be... shameful.

But the thing I've come to realize is that I do like all of those things. And more. And there is nothing shameful about any of it. There is never anything shameful about enjoying your body, and fully exploring your nature, so long as there is consent. Knowing, conscious, consent. To deny that part of myself was far worse.

I am a submissive, and I am a feminist. One who refuses to be trapped by anyone else's rules, anyone else's ideas about right or wrong.

But now it is far past my bedtime. So I'll go to sleep and have sweet dreams of whips and chains.