I say I’m not …

(Just random stuff. A sentence added here and there until I think I’m at the end 🙂)(not sure why the screensaver of my phone uploaded but have fixed it now)

You say you aren’t a sub.

Okay.

Sure.

Except… I’ve noticed something.

You do what I say.

Every time.

Now, I know what you’re going to say. You’re a respectful sub. Or you have sub tendencies. Or maybe you just happen to like being taken care of sometimes. Whatever label you’ve settled on this week.

And honestly?

I don’t care what you call it.

Because we both know.

You’re a sub.

There. I said it.

And before you start rolling your eyes at me, let’s get something else out of the way.

You don’t like degradation.

I know.

I’ve never understood why people assume submission has to mean humiliation anyway. Why does giving someone control automatically mean tearing them down?

That’s not what I want.

I want to give you somewhere to put all the things you carry around all day.

That’s it.

You spend eight hours making decisions? Fine. Give some of them to me.

You spend all day leading meetings, answering questions, solving everyone else’s problems? Fine.

Come home.

Stop.

Breathe.

Dinner?

I’ll decide.

What restaurant?

I’ll pick.

Do you really need to work another two hours of overtime?

No.

You’re coming home.

Put your feet up.

Let me take care of you for a while.

And maybe that sounds ridiculously simple.

Maybe it is.

But I think sometimes the simplest things are the ones we need most.

Because you’re tired.

I know you are.

And I like being the person you can hand that tiredness to.

You need to feel wanted?

Fine.

You need to feel seen?

I’ve got you.

You need somebody to tell you, No. You’ve done enough today.

So be it.

I can carry those things.

And more.

And you can carry mine.

You know what I mean.

That look you give me when you’re waiting for me to tell you what I want.

That little pause.

That tiny shift in your expression.

Yeah.

That.

Because this is where you’ll argue with me again.

You’ll say, “I’m not a sub.”

And I’ll say, “Okay.”

Then I’ll tell you what to do.

And you’ll do it.

Every.

Single.

Time.

That’s the funny part.

You don’t actually want to argue with me.

You just want to pretend you do.

And maybe that’s part of the fun.

Maybe you like that little bit of resistance. Maybe you like making me work for it, even when we both know exactly where this is going.

I certainly do.

There’s something about seeing that realization cross your face.

That moment when you stop thinking about whatever was bothering you five minutes ago.

Work.

Dinner.

The schedule.

The endless list of things you were supposed to remember.

Gone.

For a little while, anyway.

There’s just me.

And you.

And my voice.

And that look in your eyes.

Those ridiculous electric blues that give you away every single time.

You can roll your eyes at me.

You can tell me I’m full of myself.

You can insist you’re not a sub.

But your eyes?

Your eyes are terrible liars.

And I think that’s what I love about this.

Not the label.

Not the title.

Not even the obedience, although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy that part immensely.

It’s the trust.

You trust me to take the wheel.

And I trust you to tell me when you want me to.

That distinction matters.

Maybe more than either of us likes to admit.

Because you don’t submit because you’re weak.

You submit because, with me, you don’t have to be strong for a while.

And I love that.

I love knowing that I can give you an hour where you don’t have to decide anything.

I love watching the tension leave your shoulders.

I love that look you get when you realize I’ve noticed.

And yes.

I love the other parts, too.

The teasing.

The anticipation.

The way you look at me when I give you an instruction you were secretly hoping I’d give you.

You know the look.

I know the look.

We’ve both seen it too many times to pretend otherwise.

And then there’s the praise.

You hate praise.

At least, that’s what you tell me.

You roll your eyes when I call you “good girl.”

Every.

Time.

And yet somehow you always get a little quieter afterward.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

I don’t hand out praise just to fill the silence.

If I tell you you’ve done well, I mean it.

If I tell you I’m proud of you, I am.

And if I growl out a “good girl” when you’ve done exactly what I asked?

Well.

You can roll your eyes all you want.

I know you like it.

You know you like it.

We don’t need to discuss it.

Besides, I have other ways of telling you you’ve done well.

Sometimes words aren’t necessary.

Sometimes you can hear everything you need to hear in the sound of my voice.

Sometimes it’s the way I touch you.

Sometimes it’s simply the way I look at you.

And sometimes, honestly, I think those are the things you respond to most.

Because you know me.

You know when I’m pleased.

You know when you’ve gotten exactly the reaction you were hoping for.

And you know when I’m going to make you wait for the rest.

That’s the part you really hate.

The waiting.

The knowing.

The anticipation sitting there in the back of your mind while you’re trying to get through the rest of your day.

You’ll be at work.

You’ll be answering emails.

Sitting in a meeting.

Doing whatever it is you do.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, there I am.

And you’ll think about what happened.

And what’s coming later.

And you’ll smile.

Just a little.

Don’t deny it.

I know you.

You can call yourself whatever you want.

You can tell yourself you have tendencies.

You can tell me you just happen to enjoy being taken care of.

Fine.

I’ll even let you believe it.

For now.

But I know the truth.

You like giving me the responsibility.

And I like carrying it.

That’s our arrangement.

You carry some of mine.

I carry some of yours.

And somewhere in the middle, we both get to put the rest of the world down for a while.

Honestly?

I think that’s the whole point.

Not obedience for the sake of obedience.

Not control for the sake of control.

Just two people who know exactly what the other needs.

And when I tell you what to do?

You listen.

When I ask you to trust me?

You do.

And when I tell you that you’ve been a very good girl?

You roll those beautiful blue eyes at me.

Every.

Single.

Time.

But you smile.

And I see it.

Of course I see it.

I always do.