What makes for a great sub?

[EggplantParmesan]

For the Dom/mes out there,

What makes for an outstanding submissive? Someone you would want to play with again and again?

 

[Saintdragonslayer]

For the Dom/mes out there,

What makes for an outstanding submissive? Someone you would want to play with again and again?

Damn! Yet another misleading thread title! I was going to suggest Meatball Marinara...

Seriously though, someone who can trust me enough to take care of them, would make me want to earn that trust, each and every time...

 

[twister947]

Damn! Yet another misleading thread title! I was going to suggest Meatball Marinara...

The bread. Without great bread, a sub is just another sandwich.

 

[Lady2020]

Most subs would probably say brains and boundaries. For both.

 

[water_moutina]

I came here to make bread and sandwiches joke, but you all got this. Never change lol

 

[Acktion]

Why the fuck not? Can't sleep after being awakened by the ghost of my dog to tend my ailing cat. I'll play. Why the fuck not?

Way back before I had any inkling that I was some sort of D-type, I had pretty simplistic criteria.

At first, she had to be a redhead. Then, a redhead with blue eyes. Of course, freckles were a must.

"What the fuck, dude?"

Yeah, I know. Makes it stranger that I hadn't even seen a redhead in real life, right? I had started having dreams of a redhead something on the order of an imaginary friend before I started kindergarten. Just roll with it.

Perhaps naturally about the time puberty landed on my face (and every fuckin' where else), body became of all-consuming importance. Probably the less said about that shallow airbrushed time full of abs and buns of steel with tits that could double as bumpers, the better.

Fortunately, it didn't last very long before I figured out brainless Barbies just didn't do much for me outside of an hour or two here and there and moved on to intelligence.

It's probably important to note that I was something of a... mmm... I believe "simp" is the term in modern parlance.

Oh, I was a hard-ass everywhere else. A survivor of abuse (physical, mental, emotional, and sexual), I wouldn't put up with diddly shit from any quarter... except for the gal I was supposed to be "with."

That all changed, and rather drastically, when my second ex-fiance broke up with me the eighth time. And then came to "allow me back" the usual three days later. I was done putting up with her shit too.

Without going into just terribly much detail, I didn't have a clue what I was doing, much less how to do it healthily, but we reinvented the 24/7 TPE M/s dynamic in all the worst and borderline abusive ways. Not proud of that. But, it is relevant since a part of me, a small kernel long-buried burst into bloom. And if you'd asked this question at that time in my life, I would have said, "she does what I damn well tell her to." And not just sexually.

Oh, I could... and did... take her at any point of my choosing. With, quite frankly, very little thought to either her reluctant consent or whether anyone who happened across us en flagrante might have thought.

But, I also redefined her wardrobe, disallowed friends I didn't approve of... Hell, I set up her class schedule, and picked her major before she saw an advisor.

**shrug** I know. I already said I wasn't proud of it. But, yeah, it was very much "my way or the highway." Up until she wrested enough of her soul back to give me the ninth and final heave-ho. And I thank God that she did. For both our sakes.

Strangely... or perhaps not... there was no dearth of single-shot flings during that time period, gals that were perfectly willing to cede control for me to get them off. But, nothing really worked out since when we weren't actively engaged in anything sexual, I flat didn't have time for them.

I really didn't. I was working two jobs that were supposed to be part-time but at full-time hours, carrying double a full-time course load (twenty-four hours), and an internship that was supposed to be thirty hours but was closer to sixty.

And, I had the poor taste to fall in love with a lesbian.

Sure, sure. Collegiate rite of passage and all that. But, it went sideways in a big way when I somehow got sucked into a friendship with six of 'em (three couples) that gradually evolved into a platonic Daddy situation (although I lacked the terminology at the time to explain it).

And I assure you that absolutely no one is as... as... finicky as a lesbian little when it comes to choosing a potential partner for their platonic Daddy. Unless maybe it's six of them. The few that were willing to put up with my schedule and weren't intimidated by four of six who looked like they stepped off the pages of a glossy magazine tended to shy away from the two who cracked their knuckles and hinted what they would do to them.

It wasn't until I matriculated and wandered off in search of the almighty dollar (and me and the six lost contact) that I took the third stab at the whole white picket fence, two-point-five children, and dog. Third time's the charm, right?

***snort*** Man, any time we weren't fucking, we were fighting. And the only way we knew how to stop fighting was to start fucking. Neither was it always clear just which was happening at any given time.

Oh, I would get my way. I was still very much "my way or da highway." But, if I said the sky was azure, she would have to argue it was more turquoise until I pushed her to her knees and stuck my dick in her face to stop the incessant noise.

We probably would have seen it all the way down the aisle and would even now still be together (and most likely miserable) except something occurred that caused me to end the relationship for the one and only time in my life.

I met the perfect submissive.

Red hair, although green eyes. Sexy as fuck body. Intelligent enough to give me a run for my money. Some little traits. Some smart assed masochist. A strong woman who reveled in being "the cast-iron bitch" elsewhere and didn't need to lean on anyone, but let herself lean on me...

Up until her, I'd been... incomplete. I could only let out parts of who I was coming to realize I was, or watch them run screaming in terror when my mask slipped. Perhaps from themselves more than from me in some circumstances. For example, that second ex-fiance who found me two years after our final break-up and told me how much of a mistake it had been and that she wanted to belong to me again. Before I turned my back on her and walked away.

Or the lesbian and her partner I loved that tried to change the narrative one drunken night and claimed to be bi as I tucked them in, trying to turn a gentle kiss goodnight into something more before I pulled away and locked the front door behind me.

Yeah... several of the ones who'd left did so because what I pulled out of them frightened them, made them see something in themselves they didn't want to admit... or maybe confront.

And the final piece of the puzzle clicked for me. If I want to play games, I've got a pretty snazzy chessboard with handcrafted porcelain fantasy pieces made by my late mother. I had neither the time, the energy, nor the willingness to play guessing games. Nor any use for a submissive who I have to look at her ass and read her mind or else go at her hammer and tongs to extract what she thinks and feels. If a set of pliers won't do it, then I'm done.

For two and a half decades, all was right in my little world. Or as right as it could be.

***shrug*** Life got in the way, as it has a tendency to do. And for years before her death, we weren't able to explore the... ah... more passionate side of our connection. To a certain extent, the roles shifted on the surface as I, the Master, was waiting on my all but bedridden slave hand and foot. Several times, I had to hold her as she cried and explain that serving me had nothing to do with how often we fucked or bringing me my plate of food and kneeling as she placed it before me.

Then, she died. Without my permission, damn it. And when I catch up to her, the spanking is going to be epic!

Probably too soon after my little went skipping off on her next adventure, I allowed myself to get drawn out once more. And Jesus H. Fuckin' Christ on a crutch made every single mistake I'd ever made all over again, and invented a few more besides!

I fell into a swirling vortex of Dom frenzy that made every version of sub frenzy I've heard of over the decades sound like a gentle afternoon rain compared to a force five. I really just honestly could not tell you how many submissives around this ball of rock floating through the empty, lonely space I was supposedly involved with.

And, not to put too fine a point on it, I really just didn't care if they didn't want to bend knee to me. Because if they wouldn't, there were three more behind them that would be happy to for a while. Until they weren't. And then there were more behind them.

Disabled and virtually housebound, living alone except for a dog and three surviving cats, I was literally rolling out of bed and in front of the computer where I would work "my" submissives until I was exhausted and just rolled right back in bed. At my worst, I had one in voice chat, three in different text chat screens, and a fifth in muted video.

And, from my perspective, there were nothing but problems.

This one would constantly interrupt me while I was talking. That one was playing with fifteen others. And almost without exception, they were just using me to get themselves off sexually and then logging off to go back to what was actually important to them; children, spouses, jobs...

Which was fair, since I was just using them to fill the empty void inside me. To feed the ever more hungry ravening beast in my breast.

Until finally, I woke up on the floor with my computer chair pulled over atop me and no clear idea how I'd gotten down there since the last I'd known I'd been getting screamed at by not one, not two, but three self-reported "submissive people pleasers" about how I was "no real Dom."

The technical term is takotsubo cardiomyopathy, more commonly referred to as "broken heart syndrome."

I managed to lever myself into bed where I waited three days for the swelling in my heart valve to go down. Or to die. And I didn't really care very much which. Then another three days for the conjunctivitis to clear up so I could actually see a screen (or even turn on a light).

Naturally, almost everyone had moved on in those six days of absence. Which suited me just fine. And I set about wrapping up with the ones who hadn't, gently scooting them out the door, to choose someone else.

I figured I was done. And not just with them.

It's been a long road. And I don't just mean this post, but my own voyage of discovery spanning decades.

There is no perfect submissive. But, before you go getting cocky, there is no perfect Dominant either.

There is no "great" or "true."

Really, when you get right down to it, there isn't even a "good" or "bad."

There are just various people with the shattered ends of their needs, wants, soft limits, and hard limits trying to match them up for a short period of not being lonely in this too-brief ride on this merry-go-round.

I had happily ever after once. And then found out that is just a way to say the story hasn't reached its natural end.

Even with all my flaws, even done as I was, someone managed to find me, again, who suits me. Who came into my den and nipped my flanks until I uncurled from my wounded ball and came out after her.

Would you think she is a "great" submissive? Maybe not. Most of the ones she tried with after she lost her own happily ever after didn't. About as many told her she was "no kind of submissive" as told me I was "no kind of Dom."

But, I can't really say either of us gives a flung finger from a Ferris wheel riding ferret. Rather, we do. But, only to each other. We just neither of us care if someone else thinks we aren't the Dom or sub they want because we are the one the other needs.

My sweet servant, my sweet slave has found her Lord and Master.
My precious pet has found her Owner.
My beautiful baby girl has found her Daddy.
My sexy slut, my fun little fucktoy, my spicy little submissive has found her Sir.
My smart assed masochist has found her Sadist.
My heart has found her Home and her Anchor.

I was not looking. Yet, she found me. And the Resonance rang my soul like a bell.

She is Mine. Not for a night, or just when it is convenient. Not just when nothing else she might want presents itself. But, mine, wholly and completely. I am hers, and she is mine.

https://gifimage.net/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/not-the-hero-we-deserve-gif.gif

***shrug*** Well, I've probably bored you enough, if you've even made it this far. I've certainly bored myself. So, I'm gonna wander off into the rising sun and see what other shit I can stir.

Whichever side of the slash you are on, and even you fence-humpers, may you find what you need and enough of what you just want to be content and even occasionally happy.

 

[water_moutina]

fresh bread
no onions


following... lol

This is the second time I came in to make a joke, only to see someone else beat me to it. I gotta step up my game

 

[IrisAlthea]

Oh, Puck. ^

“ A strong woman who reveled in being "the cast-iron bitch" elsewhere and didn't need to lean on anyone, but let herself lean on me...”

That’s beautiful.

Yes, it is!

 

[cookiecat]

Puck, that was lovely. More than lovely. Satisfying.

 

[Lady2020]

I would have said the bread, too. Especially from someone named Eggplant Parm!
They didn’t ask the subs. I’m waiting with popcorn to see what the Doms/mes say.

Subs are subs. You know what that means.

 

[Roughscrewu]

Eagerness

 

[Dawnryse]

She is Mine. Not for a night, or just when it is convenient. Not just when nothing else she might want presents itself. But, mine, wholly and completely. I am hers, and she is mine.

Yes....

 

[Tallcajun]

Acktion...
Yes I read the entire post. That is one helluva journey, buddy.
You travel with baggage both sweet and heavy.
I’m glad you shared this. I wish you peace.

 

[RIPAphrodite]

As a professional, for me it’s a perfect little bitch that I can shape into what I want. Do all those nasty little things to that you can’t write down in a public forum and when you cause them the right kind of pain they just moan and beg for more…..

 

[Lady2020]

Nothing.