All ‘femdom relationships’ category posts

posted by on femdom relationships, musing, sex-voiced Texan

I’ve said this before in different ways, but I’m going to say it again.

What I expect from potential submissives, or even submissive men I am just flirting with, is that they do what they say they will do. Every time. Reliably. Without fail.

Hell, I apply that rule to everyone, but with *other* people, I don’t really care either way. Do it, don’t do it, whatever. No skin off my nose.

With a submissive man who I might be feeling out for more than flirtatious banter, though, it’s everything.

It’s how I develop trust in them. It’s how I feel sweet with them. It’s what makes me feel potential. Without it, I lose interest.

If someone says they will do something, or worse, they *offer* to do something of their own volition, and then they forget or don’t bother or otherwise don’t deliver, they are showing me what value they place on the words they say to me. And they are showing me what their submission is going to look like. I believe that to be true, even if (especially if) it’s a small thing and even if they didn’t sincerely double-pinkie-promise cross-their-hearts-and-hope-to-die swear to do that thing.

If someone says they will do something, I expect them to do it.

It’s so SIMPLE. Truly.

And yet… and yet… my goodness.

So many submissive men I’ve interacted with struggle with this. I find it truly baffling.

“I’ll get you that link tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
*tomorrow comes…*


“Hey, what happened to that link you were going to send me?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. I’ll send it tomorrow.”

I know to a million and one people that’s really no big deal. But if I am feeling him out for some potential, it’s a big deal for me, even though I don’t at all care about the thing. I only care that he said he would do something, and didn’t.

If I like him, I will explain that it’s important and why, because somehow people have become blasé about doing what they say they will. Because it’s no big deal, and ‘wow, way to make a mountain out of a molehill, Ferns!’

It’s like they are so used to throwing random words out into the void that they no longer MEAN anything.

“Wait, you thought I was actually going to DO that thing I said I would do?! Oh.” As if it’s some bizarre expectation.

I discussed similar with the sex-voiced Texan in a slightly different context quite early on. He likes older women, but he said they tend not to take him seriously, think he is a game player, a notch taker. I asked him how he ‘proved’ himself to them. “I always do what I say I will,” he said, stating a fact, as if it was obvious.

So far he has batted 100%. I don’t ask much of him, but if I do, or if he offers something, he does it. I *know* that shouldn’t be a thing, but it really is. I’m learning to trust him in this, which smooths our interactions, makes them sweeter, makes me feel connection, gives me space to do some D/s flirting (which I love).

Last night he was going out with friends, but he offered to do something I asked of him when he got home. The choice of timing was his: I didn’t really care when he did it. As it got later in his timezone and it didn’t arrive, I had a sinking feeling: Disappointment. When it got past 1am, I didn’t bother checking my inbox any more.

I didn’t WANT to be disappointed by him. It’s an awful feeling. I was already mentally imagining the chat I was going to have with him about it. I wasn’t angry or upset. He owes me nothing. But I did want to be clear, in case it wasn’t already, that I will lose interest if I can’t trust him. And that’s what it is: trust.

At 1.23am… *ping*… there it was in my inbox.

I felt… relief, and, oddly, like I wanted to cheer for him. I know that sounds weird, but I was rooting for him: I WANT him to deliver, to succeed, to sit in that sweet spot with me where it feels like we are in this thing (whatever ‘this thing’ is) together.

I also felt guilty for not trusting him when he has consistently honoured every word he has said so far. That bit is entirely on me and it’s unfair. It illustrates to me how much I’m influenced by previous experiences, and how long it takes me to trust someone. My goodness, though, sometimes it’s nice when I’m wrong.

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posted by on advice, femdom relationships, musing

Susannah Clary wrote an interesting post about her recent dating experiences where she mused that it’s taking many men into their 40s and 50s to discover and accept who they really are.

That led to her asking these questions:

To my readers who identify as submissive or switch men, how did/do you deal with fear and self-acceptance?
How can I help men I encounter to begin that journey of self-acceptance and overcome their fears?

I commented over there, but it was already really long and I had more to say, so I’m bringing it over here.

I don’t have any answers (of course I don’t!), but I will say that I think a big part of this is generational. That is, it’s less that it takes men until they are 40+ to figure out who they are, and more that *the generation of men who are now 40+* didn’t have a cultural or social environment in which it was okay to explore alternatives from the traditional gender roles and norms.

Younger men are growing up in a more flexible and open culture where they have some freedom to explore their sexuality, and that makes for a much easier and natural road to ‘oh, right, so THIS is who I am’ much earlier. Obviously that’s not true for everyone everywhere, but as a generalisation, there’s a lot more acceptance of alternatives to the traditional ‘way it is’ now.

Men who are now 40+ never had that, so when they finally feel free to step out of the box (after their divorce and their kids are grown up and any number of vanilla failures), they struggle like hell to undo all those years of conditioning. 40+ years of being IN the ‘man’ box makes for a hard road because anything outside of it is part of the ‘not man’ box and they’ve been hammered with the belief that that’s not okay. Ugh.

My experience: some men who have submissive leanings and who struggle with what that means (or what they THINK it means) will simply never get to the point where they accept that about themselves.

I recently talked about emotional fearlessness, and it fits here.

My last was a 40-ish total newbie and he was terrified of admitting that he was not the person he had been to himself (and to girlfriends and friends and family) all of his life. Because it’s terrifying. I went there with him because I knew he had the emotional courage to overcome that fear. I could create that safe space for him, but HE had to be the one to jump, and I think that for some (many? most?) who have that fear, that’s a step they just can’t take.

If I’m a dominant woman on the other side of that struggle, it manifests as flakiness, unreliability, alternate hot and cold feelings, rejection, then neediness, a whole mess of ‘aw hell no!’

If I see fear plus emotional courage, I’ll still go there. If I see fear plus fear, I’m done. I haven’t the patience to deal with it because I know exactly what it’s going to look like and it’s a fast road to aggravation and heartbreak and while I can sympathise with that struggle, I don’t have the appetite to bite off that chunk of ugly.

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posted by on femdom relationships, musing

I said in my last post:

When I talk about wanting a man who is emotionally fearless, it’s because I need him to hammer down those walls and throw himself into the fray over and over and take whatever hits are coming.

And I got a really smart question from the original asker:

“But don’t you think its possible that being emotionally fearless maybe difficult for someone not because they are afraid of stepping into the fray but because they don’t want to put someone they care about/serve in a situation where they are being ‘hammered’.”

Yes, absolutely. And boy are there ever nuances in all of this, so my summary is really unclear. I only ever give the readers’ digest version or we’d be here forever.

Firstly, I’m making the assumption that I like him and want to be in a relationship with him. I’m also assuming that he knows me and can read me. So none of this is ‘random stranger’ related.

Secondly, I threw out some words that were, on reflection, completely misleading. “Hammering” is totally the wrong word for describing what it feels like.

With my last, what it felt like was this: He would be so open and vulnerable with me that he created this amazing space into which I could safely step. He would shyly reveal himself, offer small things, or bigger things, reassure me that he wanted it, was ready, was waiting for me. Each time he did that, he was saying “Here’s another piece of me” and I could either pick it up and step into that space towards him, or I could hold back because I still had a million walls up. He was the fearless one: I was reluctant and fearful. He was the emotional one, I was (as always) rational and reserved.

If I didn’t step up, he didn’t withdraw, he didn’t sulk, he didn’t close down: he licked his wounds and went ‘okay then’, and he took the hit with grace and sweetness. Then he would shyly try again when he felt ready. And all of this happens in a relationship where he knows I enjoy him and want him. I’m not playing at pretending I don’t. But he also knows that there are walls he has to break through and he is willing to keep going there.

It’s a gentle and terrible and wonderful thing, and I feel like what I put into that space is not nearly as valuable as what he does. But when I’m ready and I pick up what he is offering, I know from the way he reacts that this is how our dance works. That if I picked up all the pieces when he offered them, it wouldn’t feel the same. I give him an immovable object and he is like an emotional warrior that keeps coming at it, and in some way, he needs to be that emotional warrior. It’s strange and lovely and when it works, it works.

A long winded way of saying: If it’s right, then no, he won’t be afraid of ‘hammering’ at me. He will know that I need that safe place to be bigger before I will step in, and he will work hard to create it for me.

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posted by on femdom relationships, happy femdom

I cannot tell you how delighted I was when I read this story. It was Sunday morning, and I had my coffee in hand when I opened my emails. Moments later I was almost in tears with an idiot-smile on my face as I read this absolutely wonderful happy-making tale *delighted sigh*.

Author: Master Joy’s boy

I saw your call for sharing happy and healthy stories. Thank you for all the work that goes into making your site happen.

The realization hit me I can either continue lurking or stop being lazy (Ferns, you think you are lazy… I’m very competitive when it comes to being lazy!) and contribute by holding myself and the relationship I’m in as an example instead of a hidden treasure. So, here goes…

I had a healthy and very happy childhood, with 2 wonderful parents who were together from high school until one died in their mid-80’s. I’m well adjusted and by most any measure have a successful career, continue to be a successful parent, and have a very successful marriage. Important note: I did not say perfect. Like everyone, we have challenges. We each wake up in the night – more often than we care to think about – anxious about work, about kids, about the future. I believe anyone who says they don’t have anxieties is either in deep denial or heavily medicated.

When I was dating, I could sense I was attracted to women with strong personalities, not wall flowers. Not that there’s anything wrong with wall flowers, I just realized gravitated to what I sensed as strong and commanding women. I just didn’t know to use the words dominant or submissive.

I met my love, my life, my Master in college 32 years ago. She is friendly, out going and approachable. Our first interactions started simply as friends, part of a larger group of people who spent time together in the common link of school. Her friendliness made it relatively easy for me to get up the nerve to ask her for a date. Looking back today, I realize it was the first intimate relationship step I would take to offer myself up to her as Her boy. To put a little bow on the entire picture, she was the first person with whom I had ever had intercourse. She had some experience. I was clueless. Given our relationship dynamics, that is so fitting, so right.

Our D/s relationship evolved, slowly. We didn’t know what we were doing. We simply did what felt right and encouraged each other. Encouraging each other to is at the core of our relationship. It’s encouragement to follow who we are, to be each other’s primary cheerleader, and to long for each other’s happiness. It’s also a sense of knowing we each have to pull our weight, to work hard at our relationship and live up to our responsibilities.

We started by playing with ropes in bed (both a bit clueless on what and how). Then came books like the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty series. Next came a visit, then lots of visits, to a BDSM house that prides themselves on training of masters and slaves. First, it was just the 2 of us visiting the house, learning about protocols (she’s really into protocols) and D/s awareness. We attended BDSM seminars to learn a range of topics – some engaging, some boring.

Through encouragement of the people who ran the house, we started attending parties. The best part of attending the parties and the seminars was three-fold. One was the social dynamic of being able to interact in a formalized high(er) protocol dynamic with other people who generally understood what was going on. A second was the pride we both took in our relationship dynamic and being able to be social about it with other people – to share the happiness. A third was learning and evolving from conversations and interactions with others who understood the D/s dynamic – some of it good, some not.

We learned a huge huge huge (my non-writer way to emphasize the point) amount through all of those adventures. She insisted on being called Master, not because she’s butch. She not. She’s very feminine. She wanted to be called Master because she thought Mistress was too closely associated with some guy who was having a fling on the side.

Along the way, we had kids, nurture them into young adults, dealt with the challenge of raising kids, or aging parents, and of the many challenges that come with daily living. Along the way, we also had disagreements and frustrations with one another. It’s important to stress, even when our D/s relationship might have been at it’s weakest – it ebbs and flows – we’ve always been civil to one another. We’ve always valued one another more than anything in the world and remind each other of that – frequently. And, through that we’ve known that we complete each other in a complex number of ways. We are not equals.

She is Master. I am her slave. What we are is one.

The brief history of time I just described has happened over 32 years. In the past 10-15 years we’ve done a deeper dive into our D/s relationship. What’s been remarkable is that as the D/s relationship has strengthened, we’ve found greater harmony, fewer disagreements, and an even stronger connection When decisions need to be made (what days goes by that does not require decisions?), the training has taught us both to discuss it, for her to weigh the merits and for me to understand her decision is her belief in what is best, right, and final. That approach has helped to eliminate a great deal of anxiety for us both.

Each day starts with me whispering my purpose to her – to serve her pleasure. It’s about 29 words long. Each night ends with my whispering the same purpose to her. After stating my purpose, I kneel and wait for her simple instructions – to join her, to get her something, or whatever. It’s a wonderfully harmoniousness way to live. I feel fortunate to have found a true master to whom I can offer up my slave soul, a master who has accepted that offering and encourages me embrace my purpose fully and completely.

Hoping you found this a worthwhile read,

Master Joy’s boy

___

This post is part of an ongoing project to share happy, positive femdom relationship stories.  If you have a story and are willing to share it, please email it to me (ferns AT domme-chronicles DOT com).

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posted by on femdom relationships, First

There is something between us.

He felt it early on, some pull towards me, ghosts of our D/s relationship tugging at something in him.

You still have a hold over me. How? Why?
I hate it.
Is there something about submitting to a person that can never be undone?

He has never submitted to anyone else, so it makes sense that as he has unravelled past hurts and the idea of submission comes tentatively floating back, it would be tied to me. I’m his link to that part of himself. His only one. All of the intense emotions, the impossible intimacy of play, the angst of a boy in love, the vulnerability of his submission, they are all linked to me. I was his first. And his last.

It might be different if he had gone on to have multiple relationships where he was the submissive partner after me. Perhaps it might have diluted those feelings. I don’t know if it really works like that.

We have been emailing and chatting, old things, new things, feeling out possibilities.

I feel the pull of him also. It is difficult to tell how much is some kind of D/s muscle-memory and how much is the here and now. I see glimpses of the young submissive he was, now in the body of a mature man. I see him peeking out now and then, shy and curious, and have to fight myself not to crouch down and entice him into the light. To nudge at him to see what’s there.

I don’t though. I am cautious with him for reasons that are not mine to share.

I am impressed by the man he has become, not least because he is capable of unflinching honesty about himself, and he shares that with me openly. Fearless.

He mentioned that he was pondering sitting at someone’s feet, watching TV, collar on. I asked him how that felt to him. He said in his mind, those feet never belonged to anyone but me, that the thought made him feel calm, peaceful, empowered, strong. This melts everything in me.

We have had some long and frank discussions about where we are and what is going on between us.

He cannot imagine submitting to anyone else, ever, not even now. This is an honour I don’t take lightly, it makes my head spin, I am made messy by it. And of course when he called me ‘Ma’am’, I felt my brain scramble with the shocking power of it.

I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to push him up against a wall by his throat, to growl at him to kneel, to grab a fistful of his hair. But more subtly, I wonder if a gentle hand on his cheek would make him soften and lean in, if he would melt if he was petted, if a nod at an empty water glass would have him smiling happily and moving to fill it. I am curious what we might be like now.

There is something there.

I made him an offer. “Here’s the deal with our mutual curiosity: If you ever make your way up here on your world trip, now-me will meet now-you for a drink and we will see how it feels to let the ghosts go.”

“Deal,” he said.

So we will see.

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posted by on femdom relationships, First

I’ve written about the things I screwed up in my relationship with my First and touched on how I didn’t feel loved.

One of the things that I learnt from that relationship is that submissive behaviours can obscure traits that I would have seen a mile off in a vanilla man, but didn’t yet have the experience to see in a submissive. If you overlay ‘submission’ on a relationship, it can be harder to pinpoint where a feeling of disquiet is coming from (the same is true of dominants of course) because the agreed D/s behaviours can hide what’s underneath.

I thought he was selfish, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I thought that when he was really doing everything I asked of him. It was a vague and nebulous discomfort, the feeling that he weighed everything in terms of ‘what’s in it for me’ as if he thought I was always trying to ‘get one over’ on him (in hindsight, this makes more sense given the betrayal-that-wasn’t: I imagine a distrustful hurt boy trying to protect himself from falling apart).

By the time we got together, I’d fallen in love twice in my life, and I had been the target of love more times than that. I knew what it felt like to be loved and I struggled with the fact that what we had, what he claimed, didn’t feel like love to me. But nailing down ‘why’ was near impossible.

And one day, something happened that exemplified and clarified it for me.

I wrote about it here when I described still having my First’s sweatshirt. But I wrote it as a little piece of nostalgia without explaining its significance.

___

my firsts sweatshirtMy sweatshirt, too big, an unattractive colour really, is one that I grabbed out of my first submissive’s ‘give away’ bag when we were clearing out clothes to take to good will. He probably had it for quite a while before I took it. I plucked it out of the box by the front door.

“I’ll have that,” I said, putting it on.

He looked at me in it.

“It looks good,” he said.

I laughed, twirled.

“It looks *really* good,” he said again.

I nodded. “Ahh hmmm…”

He looked at me sheepishly.

“Can I have it back?”

I looked at him, raised an eyebrow.

“What?!” I figured he was joking.

“It looks so good on you, I want it back.” He had the grace to look embarrassed.

“You have *got* to be kidding me! You were going to throw this out!”

“Yeah, I know… but it looks so good on you… Now I want it back… please Ma’am?”

*laugh* “Fuck off.”

___

It seems a small thing, but that was the moment that illustrated and brought home to me why I didn’t feel loved.

My experience of vanilla men was that they would literally give me the shirt off their back if I asked for it. I knew that if I was to go into their wardrobe and pick out their absolute favourite shirt, they would gladly offer it up to me if they thought it would make me happy. Because they loved me. And they would go above and beyond to show that in a million different ways.

And here I was with a man who claimed to love me, a *submissive* man whose goal was to please me, and he couldn’t even bear to give me a shirt that essentially came out of his garbage. OUT OF HIS GARBAGE!

It was a defining moment for me. Perhaps even a relief that I could see tangible evidence of what I had felt in nebulous, indefinable ways, but couldn’t put my finger on.

And to be clear: it’s not that he didn’t love me in his own way, it’s that to me that’s not what love looks like, and having something concrete to hang that feeling on was a blessed relief.

I love that sweatshirt, more perhaps *because* of the way it came into my hands. I bring it out every winter: slipping into something old and worn that holds my history has a lovely comfortable familiarity to it.

It’s been a long time: I’ve grown, I’ve learnt things, I’ve changed. He has too. But the hints of familiarity are there with him also. We are working on getting to know the new people we’ve become, and our history is a lovely bond, even if we shake our heads at past-us, even if we didn’t navigate all that as well as we might have.

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Short circuiting

Jan
2015
19

posted by on femdom relationships, First

My First: Are you sure the wine and yourself haven’t made each other’s acquaintance tonight?
Me: Shush!
First: Yes Ma’am
Me:


jfdjlgjlkbalkjfdjkl;fj
*laugh*
First: That’s the first thing you’ve instructed me to do since we moved apart
Me: I was thinking VERY IMPORTANT THINGS! Stop short circuiting me!
First: Sorry Ma’am
Me: Bzzzttttt

Seriously, I can’t put a coherent thought together now. Holy fuck.

___

Apparently some things retain their power.

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