The Life of a Submissive

The last few months have been amazingly busy, and the BF and I have been on the go. But several times in the course of doing out-of-the-ordinary activities, I’ve paused to think (sometimes seriously, sometimes in jest): “Such is the life of a submissive.”

When…

…we’re in his native land–a place where I don’t speak more than a few words of the local language–and I have to rely on him to translate the conversations for me, I feel submissive.

…in front of his family and friends, he tells me it’s time for me to go to bed, I feel submissive.

…I know he’s master of the manor, but I didn’t think that meant I’d find myself, armed with a wheelbarrow and rake, doing yardwork while he supervised! It puts a new spin on the idea of master and servant. *g*

…we’re visiting his friends’ house, and I’m perched on their sofa with my ankles delicately crossed. I lean over and whisper, “May I cross my legs, please?” He shakes his head, “No.” I feel submissive.

…I have to ask him for permission to go to the bathroom, even when it means waking him up in the middle of our 8-hour plane trip, I feel submissive.

…he calls me up and says, “Pack your suitcases, we’re going somewhere but it’s a surprise,” I feel submissive (and spoiled!).