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An imperfect little (true) story
We were snippy yesterday, both of us, for no good reason other than we were annoyed with our own lives. Life is complicated, as it likes to be, and we forgot who we were for a moment. Later, when our snarls had passed, I knelt at his feet, my head under his hand, letting the weight of my selfishness sink into my bones. “You were busy wanting while he was busy needing,” says The queen, who is always right. These little tantrums, they are my old friends, though I am glad to see them less these days. I can only have one Master, and through the gift of His Dominance, I am free to let go of the bondage of expectation, entitlement, insecurity, and victimization. Day to day, hour to hour, (on bad days it’s minute to minute) I resubmit. I renew and remind (-new -mind). My submission is a daily practice, because every day I am insolent, every day I fall short, every day I make mistakes I have made before, every day I let a tiny fear drive me. It is frustrating to be so fallibly human all the time, so far to go. In my best moments I see that there is only ever more: more acceptance, more surrender, more joy. My submission grows and changes with me, with what I have to offer, with what I am able to give and receive. “I want control.” My Lord tells me exactly what He needs, and I hear Him. This is given as both confession and command. “Let me prepare myself to serve you.” I ask for exactly what I need and He hears me. There is no selfishness in me now. He strokes my hair until my head becomes heavy on his thigh, and my body melts into him. He Knows this is my consent, my offering, and he accepts the gift. Used as my God intended. “Good little whore,” he tells me, “beautiful, beautiful slut.” And I become more.
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