I don’t like to ask

Public domain mark'Untitled' by milivanily

I’ve talked about the vulnerability of asking before, but apparently I have more to say on it.

Asking something of a submissive I’m talking to, expecting something of them, then paying attention to it, prompting them to do better: These are all ways that I communicate that I care. That I’m invested. That I’m trusting them with small pieces.

I don’t like to ask things of people. I know that will sound odd to some who have an idea that a dominant woman is all about asking, nay demanding, things.

But to me, asking something of someone is an attempt to make a connection, a binding of sorts. There is a kind of link there, both in the asking and in the doing what’s been asked.

In a lot of ways it makes me profoundly uncomfortable to ask for things, not least because it makes me feel vulnerable (to a ‘no’, to disappointment, to a feeling of not being heeded, valued, respected). I feel failure from asking as a kind of rejection (‘rejection’ is not quite the right word there, it conjures up something significant, but it’s more a ‘forgot to put sugar in my coffee and ew it’s bitter’ level of feeling).

If I don’t care about that person, I rarely want to enter into that small social contract with them. So I won’t ask, I won’t expect, I won’t pay attention, I won’t prompt.

If I do ask something of someone, and they disappoint me in it, I will feel like offering that tiny snippet was a mistake, I trust them a little less. It doesn’t have to be a big thing, and usually it’s not, it’s tiny.

And trust is not a yes/no switch. It’s a continuum.

I trust people often with big things and not small things. We all do. I trust pretty much everyone I meet not to steal my wallet out of my bag if I leave it with them. It’s a thoughtless kind of trust we all have: There is a clear ‘right and wrong’ in it.

But I may not trust that person to send me a text when they say they will. Something infinitely smaller in scale, but along a completely different dimension of ‘trust’.

They each require different levels of trust, and with the first there is the weight of law and society behind it. People know it’s wrong, there is no equivocation, no decision in it, and the consequences of doing it are dire because they go well beyond some small social contract between individuals. It’s really not a lot to do with me.

With some small thing like a promised text, though, there is no cost in breaking that small trust that has been placed in the agreement they made. Nobody gets hurt, there is no financial cost, there is no physical impact, it’s no big deal.

It’s a small thing. Worthless almost.

“Yeah, I know I said I would, I just forgot/fell asleep/didn’t think it was important/got busy/something.”

If they haven’t yet piqued my interest, I won’t talk to them about it because I just don’t care. It’s more a simple observation that ‘oh, so that’s how you are, I see’. My investment in them is low, and my desire to have to have a conversation about it (i.e. ‘making a big deal’ about it) is nil.

I asked, I offered something, it’s a small vulnerability. Tiny. And if they don’t step up, I feel it.

I file it away as a piece of information about them, and expect less of them going forward.

It’s not a show stopper, it’s just information in the first instance. But repeated demonstrations of their inability to do small inconsequential things I ask for will logically lead me to stop asking and stop expecting anything.

And when I get down to expecting nothing, I will no longer reach out, I will drift away.

I don’t get angry or upset, that would be ludicrous.

But asking for things makes me vulnerable, it puts a tiny piece of me out there to be kept safe or trodden on. I’m seeing if I can trust them enough to see and value some very small thing that I have offered.

And if I find that I can’t, I notice, and I will withdraw it.

Loves: 33
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e[lust] #103

Welcome to Elust 103

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #104 Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Friend and The Acquaintance

The dress rehearsal

Lake Malawi

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Color Me Kinky

A Slow Burn on a Summer Night.

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Voodoo Me


*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

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Loves: 2
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A little drunk

Home made rempeyek

I had Vietnamese pho today for lunch. And wine.

Enviously watching Vietnamese women elegantly eating the soup with chopsticks and a spoon while animatedly arguing about something.

I eat it western-style, like a pasta dish and with a fork. Still it splatters everywhere. And there was wine. Which always makes me want more wine.

Now I am settled on the couch with the vague hint of chilli and cinnamon on my breath.

Terminally tired. From what I don’t know.

I have things to do. THINGS.

I’m feeling a little melancholy if I allow it. Which I don’t, for the most part.

I made rempeyek the other day, a childhood favourite that was only available when my mother made it. And then when a sweet boy full of sunshine made it for me and reminded me how it tasted.

My mother never wrote the recipe down anywhere. Or not that I’ve found anyway. So it doesn’t feel like ‘my mother’s’ particularly. It was hers, but not hers, if you know what I mean.

Then my sister and I made my mother’s frikadel, her Dutch-Indonesian-personalised meatball recipe scratched out in her scrawly writing in one of those old-school notebooks. Hard to read, with crossing out and bits added as she refined it.

It was a staple in our house, nothing special. Which is how it works isn’t it?

Those splinters of normal everyday life that make their home gently under your nails after they are gone. They get a shove into the quick when you least expect it, a shock of pain that you never saw coming, always it’s unexpected.

I made it again on my own later. I don’t really like to cook, but it’s simple. I thought it might take the sadness out of it. But no, it’s still there. Not heavy, but it lingers after the sharpness.

So I am a little drunk and melancholy and now I will find something to binge-watch and forget about it.

Had I a boy he would not have to do much to help: Bring me water, sit close by me on the floor and offer some warm bare skin to pet gently.

Loves: 20
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Amazon dominated by femdom book!


After my my last post where I announced that Happy Femdom Stories Volume 1 is available for free, I asked people all over social media to join in to see if we could get a book about real-life F/m relationships to the #1 spot on Amazon.

We didn’t quite make it, but my goodness we had a good run at it.

The peak results looked like this:

#604, and #1 and #3 in two categories.

#216, and #1 in both categories.

#705, and #1 in two categories.

For context, there are over 90,000 free books on Amazon.com, so #604 puts us in the top 1% and that’s HUGE. I’m 100% delighted with this result :)).

It was a spontaneous idea: If I had done it in a more organised way, specifically asked some heavy hitters to get on board, I think we might have ended up getting a lot closer. I might try again in few months.

THANK YOU to everyone who downloaded the book and spread the word: I really appreciate it.

If you missed the flurry, Happy Femdom Stories is a book real-life joyful F/m relationships, and it’s an absolute delight: Still available for free.

I mentioned that it’s free, right?

As soon as I posted this, My Fabulous Man Who Knows Everything (MFMWKE) pointed out that we hit #591 in the US, and #1 in TWO categories :)!!!

I am being called out in the best possible way on this post (thank you Morion!) :)).
AUSTRALIA! #564, and #1 in both categories (I assume it went higher than #564 at the peak, but I wasn’t monitoring the Australian site because my book activity is always low there, so I missed it. Boo!).

Great for context, to show HOW CLOSE we got *shakes fist* :).

Loves: 2
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FREE: Happy Femdom Stories Volume 1


Not only is it free, I’m rallying F/m folks to try and get this book to #1 on Amazon. I know: That’s crazy-talk.

A femdom book at #1 on a mainstream behemoth?! CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW GLORIOUS THAT WOULD BE FOR A BRIEF SHINING MOMENT?!!

So my call to action is this: Even if you don’t care about books, will never read it, don’t even have a kindle: Get it anyway.

Tell your friends to get it, tell strangers to get it, share the link, forward this blog post, tweet it, #SOSS it, facebook it, instagram it, be a complete pain in the arse about it.

As I write this, it’s #1 and #4 in two different categories and #2,112 overall. I know that sounds like a long way off #1, but most indie books are lucky to crack 50k, so it’s totally doable if we can get some momentum in the next day or two.

Let’s see if we can do this thing: Mainstream Amazon, we’re coming for you :)!

Loves: 3
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Sweet Sunshine

Sunshine on the floor at my feet

He picks me up from the airport, then there’s a train trip, then a drive.

When we get to his house, he shows me to my bedroom.

It’s the master.

He will take a smaller bedroom while I am here.

“I want you to be comfortable.” he says as he puts my bag down.

The room is pristine, as is the ensuite.

I thank him.

We are in the kitchen.

He is making a favourite childhood snack of mine: Rempeyek.

I had asked my dad to make it for me for Christmas.

“No,” he’d said, “Too hard.”

I’d whined to sunshine about it and he quietly went off and found recipes.

We shopped for the ingredients together.

He made it under my direction, I knew what it should look and taste like, both of us in the kitchen, an easy rapport.

“No it should be thinner.”
“That’s a LOT of peanuts!”
“I know, it’ll be fine.”
“Like this?”
“No no, you have to put it down the side. More salt.”

It wasn’t like my childhood, but it was close. And it was sweeter.

We are in the living room.

There is champagne.

We dance, Ceroc. He’s been taking lessons, I’ve never done it. He is skeptical that I can follow, an arched eyebrow, a tilt of his head.

“You hold my hands like this.” He shows me.
“Just a one-two step.” He eyes me up again. “You have to follow,” he says it again, for emphasis.

I make a silly face at him.

I follow. He is surprised. He is a good lead.

We move well together.

We laugh when I fail at something only marginally tricky.

We are at the supermarket.

I smile at him as we enter.

“Look how domestic!”
He laughs, “Yeah, I know.”

We pick things off shelves, utterly ordinary.

I mention a dessert we’d talked about.

His eyes light up. “We must have that!!” He is fairly bouncing on his toes.

I scowl at him. We are supposed to be eating well while I am here.


He makes me laugh, I relent.

A soft touch.

We are heading out into the hot sun.

“I have water. And some snacks.”
“OMG you’re such a DAD!”
He laughs. “I know. But SNACKS!”
“Yeah, fair call.”

We are walking along a clifftop track, views over the sea.

It’s hot, he reaches for my hand.

He wants to entwine fingers, I am slightly irritated, sweaty.

“No, it’s too hot.” I pull my hand back.

A small flinch.

I hold him by one of his fingers.

His look of rejection clears, he is okay with this.

We climb the path to a lookout.

We are going to a sex shop. His first ever.

A drive, a waterside walk, a ferry across the stunning harbour, a long stroll in the city. It’s a beautiful day.

We detour into a photographic exhibition at the public library. It was on the way you see.

Correction. We visit six sex shops. So his first ever, then his second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth *laugh*.

Some of them are literally just shopfronts for whatever sex is going on in the back rooms, like the old days of seedy hookups and peep shows. Did you know they are still a thing? They are, here.

By the fifth or sixth he is blasé, relaxed.

We stop at the end for a glass of champagne and a burger before we make the trek home.

A full day’s outing.

We are playing, lightly.

He is a newbie and I am cautious with him.

He is an emotional sort and he wants to run headlong into that wall, my wall. All the walls. They are made of brick and stone. Not smooth ones either. Jagged ones with pointy edges.

I hold him back, carnage at the foot of my castle is not something I want. We have talked about all the things, but feelings will have their way regardleless.

His openness hurts my heart a little. He is emotionally brave. My favourite.

We are back in our respective homes.

I message him. “Good morning sunshine :)”.

“Good morning, Ma’am :))”

He is often happy, cheerful, or he makes it up just for me.

We stay in contact during the day. Sharing those small things that make up a life.

He misses me he says sometimes. I am very missable you know.

Sometimes I miss him also, I feel his absence in small ways. Those are the ways that count.

We are talking, he has been away, camping.

We talk some more, and again, about the show stoppers. He wants to find a way around them. Bar time travel, forward or backwards, there isn’t one.

He asks me later if it’s okay if he reactivates his dating profiles. There is a resignation in it.

“Yes, of course. You should.”

He does.

Then he undoes it shortly afterwards.

He doesn’t have the appetite for it right now. He doesn’t think other women like me exist. They do though. Not exactly like me, of course not, that would be odd. But fabulous dominant women are out there. Different and amazing in ways I am not. As big as my ego is, I know that’s true. Of course.

Still, I understand. I don’t have the taste for it either really.

What we are sharing is sweet and valuable and worthwhile.

“I’d be delighted to see you again.” It sounds so formal when I put it down like that. It’s not though.

He will arrange a time, and flights, perhaps, when his schedule allows it. So we will see.

It is what it is, and even without a ‘happy ever after’, there is plenty of joy to be found in it.

Loves: 29
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Hot Sunshine

Sunshiny hog tie

Four days with Sunshine over New Year’s.

Hot moments, snippets, memories.

I text him from bed, “Brush your teeth and come here.”

“Yes, Ma’am :)”

Play, with rope. Not explicitly sexual, intimate. Different ties, those ones I have no skill in. Close and slow and following instructions.

Feeling how his body is built, how it bends, where it resists, pushing against it.

A hog-tie where I could pull a rope and rock him, chest to knees.

Soft moans when I forced something tight, constricting his body against itself.

Wetness, his boxers, probably on the floor also.

Because yes.

Sensation, spiky, sharp. A wheel, a claw, watching his skin redden.

Reactions more from shock than pain, but react he did. Even when it wasn’t a surprise any more.

A gasp, a body-jerk, as if some jolt went through him.

Not pleasure, not pain, some involuntary reaction to something new.

Over and again.

Kissing. So much kissing.

Your lips are so soft, how are they so soft, just one more…”

Luxurious and leisurely.

Hardness, his cock against my thigh, his desire and need a plaything, palpable. Skin and skin.

“I want to make you come with my mouth.”

A pause, a look, a smile. “I believe you.”

Cuffs, a small ritual, powerful.

“Come kneel for me.”

His smiling face turned up to me, all open and warm. Kisses.

Black leather cuffs fitted onto his wrists, the tightness checked, a moment of connection.

They suit him, a blossoming, he skips around in them. A symbol of more.

Flogging, his first. Tied to the bed. Gentle. Exploratory.

“What level? Tell me.”

“3, maybe a 4.”

“I’m going to get you up to a 7.”

He nods. I build up slowly.

The full body jerk, learning to read him.

“Did that hurt?”

“No Ma’am, I just…” He doesn’t know. His body is a stranger to him in this.

“7 now?”

“Yes, yes Ma’am.”

“Okay, five more here, at 7…”

He takes them easily.

“He looks up at me. Is that a workout for you?”

I laugh. “No. It’s a workout if I go hard.”

I can tell from his face he can’t really imagine that.

I strike the bed beside him with force. He flinches, then nods.

“Do you want to feel a 10?”

He looks at me, a pause. “Yes please.”

I raise my eyebrows. “A 10?”


I smile. “Okay.”

I do one hard strike across his back, not yet full force.

His body jerks as if electrocuted.

“Was that a 10?”

He looks back at me, a nervous laugh. “Maybe a 9?”

I laugh also. “Okay, another then.”

He nods.

I put some force behind this one, it’s loud in the room, his body lifts off the bed.

I touch him then. “A 10?”

“Um, that was… yeah.”

He sees now.

My fingers dipping into my wetness then into his mouth.

My lips so close, I can smell myself, faint, musky.

Whispers. “Probably doesn’t taste like much.”

His eyes are closed, he sucks whatever there is of me into his throat, he doesn’t answer.

A hand on the back of his neck when we are out in the world.

A little squeeze.

His head bows for a second at the touch.

Then he comes back.

Loves: 38
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