What Submitting To Me Looks Like

What Submitting To Me Looks Like

Most of what gets written about this describes acts. I'd rather describe what it's like, because that's what you're actually deciding about.

It starts with money, and not for the reason you think

Tribute comes first. Before I know your name, before you tell me what you want, before any of it.

That isn't because the money is the point. It's because it's the door, and the door keeps out everyone who was never going to give me what I want anyway. The ones who argue about it were going to argue about everything. The ones who want to test whether I'll chase them find out immediately that I won't.

What's on the other side of that door is my attention, and there is only so much of it. The price is what makes sure it goes to the right people.

So yes, it will cost you. Regularly. That's not a warning, that's the arrangement.

Then I ask you things

Not what you're into. I'll get there.

I'll want to know what time you go to bed. Whether you've eaten today, and I'll want the real answer, not the one that makes you look fine. What's taking up most of your head right now. Who else in your life checks on you.

Most people find the last one harder to answer than anything about kink.

I ask because I'm going to be telling you what to do, and I can't do that well without knowing what I'm working with. Someone who hasn't slept properly in four years needs different instructions than someone who's just bored.

You'll also tell me what's off the table, what you're curious about, and what you'd want me to make you do that you won't do on your own. I'll hold you to all three.

Then I tell you what to do

The first thing will be small. Sit up. Drink a full glass of water. Put your phone face down and leave it there for twenty minutes.

You'll feel absurd doing it. You'll do it anyway, because I'm waiting, and the waiting is the point.

After that it's tasks. One at a time, with a time attached, and I check. Not "how was your day," but the specific thing I asked for. Did you eat. What was it. What time did you go down.

You'll answer, and I'll say good, or I'll say do it again.

There's no guessing. You will always know exactly where you stand with me.

When you get it wrong

I won't raise my voice. I won't call you names. I won't take something away to make a point.

I'll say that's not like you.

And then I'll give you the task again with a new deadline, because I'd rather correct you than replace you. I'm not going to go find somebody who'd have done it right the first time. I decided you were worth the trouble, and that decision doesn't get revisited every time you have a bad week.

That's harder to be on the receiving end of than being punished. Being punished lets you be angry. Having somebody expect better of you, and be right to, doesn't give you anywhere to put it.

And I look after you

This is the part that isn't optional and isn't a bonus.

I'll want to know if you've eaten. If you haven't, you'll be told to fix it and I'll want to know what it was. I'll tell you to drink water and wait on the line while you go get it. If you're wound up at ten at night I'll be the one telling you to put it down and go to sleep, and I'll ask in the morning whether you did.

I keep notes. What you're into, what you said last time, what you still haven't done. Not to catch you out. Because I'd rather not make you say it twice.

Being drained and being looked after aren't opposites here. They're the same service, and I've never seen the conflict.

Nobody leaves worse off than they arrived unless they asked to.

What I want back

I want your adoration, your devotion. I want to be the one who creeps up in your thoughts while you're doing something completely unrelated. I want you to do what I say the first time rather than the third. You check in because you want to, and then again the next day because I told you to.

I want to hold space for you, because I know you won't, and you'll be grateful for it.

That's not a softer version of what I do. That's the whole thing.

Six months in

You'll have a rank and you'll know what it took to get there. You'll have stopped apologising for answering questions I asked you. You'll be sleeping.

You'll still be paying, more than when you started, and you'll have stopped thinking of it as spending.

And there'll be a note somewhere with your name on it, and everything you've ever told me in it, and you won't have to wonder whether I remember. I will.

If that sounded like something you've been looking for, you probably have been.

Tribute first. Then I'll tell you what comes next.