A Submissive’s Power / Greedy Girl (NSFW)

I contemplated writing another ramble on Thursday but then a little voice told me that I shouldn’t.

“How do you even find that much to write about?” Matt asks, I shrug. There’s always something going on, something somewhat interesting to someone, somewhere. I’m a writer, it’s what we do.

“Do you need to ramble every day?” he continues, I sigh. I already know where he’s going with this: I’m overdoing it again, and he knows I’m overdoing it too. I adjust my “write a 90 minute ramble” task to ‘every two days’. There.

Now he just needs to make sure that I have plenty to write about.

I think by now, most of the home is done and all of it looks good. I’m still in disbelief that all we really did with our lounge area was to get rid of one piece of furniture, dump one (the now-legless oak 4 cube unit) on top of another (an oak sideboard, not in shot), add two more pieces of furniture and then move it all around, but it works. Somehow the place feels more spacious and modern, but how did that even happen? It defies all possible expectations, of course, but it has. We have even more room now than we ever had before – and I have my own space for a desk!

Oh, and everything we added has a storage function of some sort too, so there’s that.

Some of my inspiration, weirdly, came from my mother’s house. Mum has a large white and black corner sofa parked almost central in her lounge (which she hates), just like how we have a 3-seater sofa placed centrally in ours. Really it’s too big, and yet somehow it divides the room and creates a lounging area that’s perfect for the five of us. The dog’s play in the space between the sofa and the swivel chair and we can all see one another to talk. It’s sort of unintentionally right somehow.

On the side and between the sofa and the wall, Mum has a wire shelf unit and it was that which I took some inspiration from. If Mum can make it work, why can’t I?

With that one three-drawer oak unit smooshed against the wall “unless it really has to go”, I started to put the rest of the room together. I put the sofa along side of it, and that didn’t look too bad. I moved the TV more into the corner for a moment, and that actually looked OK. Before I knew it I’d renovated our whole lounge in a way that works and that everyone seems to love. I too had created a huge open space in front of the sofa and in front of the fire. There was only one thing that could occupy that space – a large storage ottoman.

That ottoman now houses two throws – a thick, fluffy one for the winter, and a lighter one for the summer. months When not in use, they get folded up and put away so that the dog can’t make himself a new bed out of them. Out of sight is out of mind, after all.

There are still things to do, but the things that I have to do now are relatively small and my to-do list was at 76 when I woke up this morning, which is the lowest I think it has ever been. It’s still high, sure, but that’s both tasks and reminders to myself – feed the dog, empty the dishwasher, drink water, write in your journal. I’ll admit that I happen to have a long history of putting me last, which I also get from my mother. Having me on my to-do list helps me to remember to look after myself too.

I am more than sure that there are some out there who would love to have me on their ‘to do’ list, too. Alas, I digress.

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I made a rule yesterday, a rule of my very own, as if us submissive types could ever get away with doing such a thing. Really it wasn’t a rule imposed on Matt so much as one on our home, a rule for the benefit of both of us. I said that if Matt had any chores outstanding from the day before then in future, instead of him having to fit them in some other time, I would do them. It sounds bad I know, but it helps us to avoid what I’ve just recovered us from, where Matt had to-do’s to do that were outstanding from 23rd December – when we were both ill – and were cluttering up the to-do list app, making it more confusing to use and leaving us both feeling overwhelmed. I’ve still got a sprinkling to do from yesterday, but for me it’s not about ‘your jobs’ and ‘my jobs’, they’re both of our responsibilities that we both said we would do, and if we don’t? Oh well! Sometimes and when the going gets tough then we just have to pick up for one another, as long as stuff gets done and equality does happen. Teamwork makes the dream work and all of that!

But it’s when Matt orders lunch for us yesterday that it make me smile. I have a husband who buys me lunch because he realises how hard I’ve worked to pull us up to speed and wants to make it up to me somehow, and I have a partner who reads my posts as soon as he can, and almost no sooner than they’re published. If that’s not a submissive with power and influence, what is?

So many people doubt my submissiveness because I don’t in myself seem submissive, and yet if they understood one core detail, they’d understand how submissive I can really be.

True submission = trust & respect.

Real BDSM = mutual trust & respect.

If I don’t trust and respect you, I won’t submit to you. If you want me to trust and respect you, start by trusting and respecting me. My partners don’t own me and they don’t control me, they dominate me because I respect them enough to listen when they speak. I submit to their instructions because I trust that they respect me enough not to put me at risk. Without that trust and respect, they’d have no power over me, and the power that they do have lies only in me giving them their power. That is the true power of the submissive, the true yin and yang of BDSM. Both can giveth, and both can taketh away.

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On Wednesday I got into a discussion with Bill, about health needs, hospitals and locations. The emergency department near him is closing, for reasons probably only logical to those involved with the decision-making process. The nearest after that is 20 miles away, not ideal when your partner sometimes requires urgent medical attention.

So I mean you could always move down here? Superhospital is around the corner from me, much to my delight when the helicopter comes in.

The superhospital is not really ‘around the corner’ from me – that’s literally just another road – but it’s about five minutes away and my home is directly under the helicopter flight path it seems. I have a love-hate relationship with the choppers too, because for as loud as they are then I’m still grateful that they exist and that the people who need them are getting the help they need.

Still it’s close enough to be useful, especially for short weekend visits in the future, for Bill’s holiday dialysis appointments. I’ve been meaning to scout out AirBnB’s in my area too, you know, going into 2023.

Sometimes transfter is tempting. I believe HA has properties in Bristol.

No and absolutely not. As much as I love you both, I value the bit of peace and freedom that I have with you two being kept apart.

I love Matt and Bill, and in the same room and in my company? It’s one of those love-hate situations. It’s a “let’s pick on the subby because she loves it, even if she acts like she doesn’t” situation. I do hate them a little bit in the moment, but I also love them enough not to risk the jail sentence, just about. It’s not that they don’t get along, is that they get along too well. Almost.

But then I got thinking about it more, because really it goes beyond BDSM, even if it doesn’t sound like it does sometimes. It’s about who we are, as people, as a collective. Ours is not one of those multiple relationships within relationships arrangements, but it is enough that we can all head out for a meal together and yes, not execute one another over the table. It is enough that Red and I have flown kites together without breaking the peace. We “got it up” before the boys could, and then amused ourselves with our doing so. It wouldn’t be about sex or BDSM necessarily, it would be about our simply being.

Ahh well. Pipe dreams, et al.

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I’m not quite sure what happened this week, but suffice to say it’s been… eventful. I suppose that it started on Tuesday – when it’s there for Matt and me, it’s there. There’s a tension, one filled with some not-so-subtle innuendo, power play and plenty of intense eye contact. I know how this ends and he knows that I know too. He doesn’t take what he wants from me immediately though, ooh no. The sadist enjoys my long, drawn out struggle, and then…

Predator and prey. It’s the games we play.

I still think back to my 18th birthday party sometimes, about the way he was and how he carried no warning. He seemed so nice, sweet, almost gentlemanly and shy. He was very attentive, in fact, he even asked me if I approved of what he planned to wear before wearing it to my party. I thought he was so sweet and innocent. If I only knew.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing springs to mind. Almost literally, given that I nicknamed him “Wolfie”, though for unrelated reasons.

Still, he knows how to take me from a strong, confident woman to a begging, cock-hungry mess.

“Please?” I implore.

“Hmm, such a greedy girl” he muses. It irritates the crap out of me and I hate it and want to deny it, but then it probably wouldn’t bother me so much if it weren’t at least partly true. I was bought up to believe that women don’t enjoy cock and that sex isn’t pleasurable for us ladies, yet here I am. I almost live for dick, and he knows it.

“What’s the matter, don’t like me calling you a greedy girl?” he asks. It’s not the ‘girl’ bit that bothers me, I’m quite favourable to that part (and certainly so over other diminutive terms), it’s the ‘greedy’ bit that gets under my skin. It underscores my need.

“Oddly enough, no” I reply. It’s the tiny shred of sarcasm that I still have left in me and he pushes into me further, making me gasp and whimper. My next words make no sense at all.

In the end I surrender myself, allowing him to take whatever he wants from me. I’ll fight the sadist another time, perhaps, under more favourable terms.