Right then, let’s straighten this shit out.

If you’re a submissive man, you’re saddled with a shitton of stereotypes. Most of them damaging. I like to rage against the stereotypes. It’s like Rage Against the Machine but with less power chords.

Yes, I am a submissive man. No, I am not weak. I find your correlation of “submissive male” and “weakness” disturbing (and furthermore the association of submission in general!).

No, I am not a cuckold. No, I am not pathetic, nor am I snivelling, a worm, or any other value-decreasing adjective, and I refuse with enthusiasm the conjecture that these are requirements for male submission. The entire point of me and my submission is that I have fucking value. How else am I appealing? I have strength. I’m comfortable in my masculinity and in my submission, and boy let me tell you but society had a fun time telling me the opposite to that one!

How can you have a power exchange without the power? It’s like a paraphrase without the phrase. I want to build myself up, not build myself down, and I’m writing this as a call out to others, male or female, who feel this way. There’s something seriously wrong with the popular conceptions of all of this, and I want to help change it.

I don’t want to have to sacrifice one aspect of my personality to adhere to a certain set of expectations, a sort of “twisted” rulebook quietly set up to go about our business without forcing society to actually re-evaluate what it means to be dominant, what it means to be male and/or masculine, or any gender, really, so I’m not going to.

This is me standing up and calling out. I’m a submissive man, and I’m comfortable in that. I have strength, I enjoy that strength, and I’m looking forward to the day where I find someone who enjoys it too. Until then (and even after then), I’m just gonna be here, standing up and telling those stereotypes to fuck right off. Because they’re damaging and they need to change, and if I need to demonstrate that by example, then hell yes will I do so.

User: Torthal

Leaving my empty goblet, I slide from the soft pile at his order. I can already feel the desire bursting from between my thighs as I fall to all fours and begin my crawl to where he has seated himself.

“We will begin as before – you will be spanked over my knee – but this time there will be little pleasure in it for you, my captive. I intend to hurt you – to mark that pretty little behind – and make you unable to sit properly for some time.”

I am back by his feet as he concludes and warily, I raise my eyes as he finishes the sentence. I know I am not hiding the terror in my face and yet still I am compelled to carry on – submitting myself to him in this way for our mutual need. He catches my hair in his left hand and pulls it into a rough ponytail, again drawing my head back.

“When my hand is aching from tanning your backside, I will bind you to the bedpost and continue to thrash you with my strap. Do you understand?”

He eyes me wildly and for a moment I am too afraid to even respond. I have to swallow hard again to find my voice.

“Please, my Lofðungr,” I say shakily. “I do not know if I can bear such a punishment?”

He never takes his eyes from me as he answers. “You can and you will, my sweeting,” he says. “You will submit to me in this way as a sign of your true desire to be mine.”

I close my eyes at his words, understanding for the first time his real intention. He means not just to punish me, but to mark and possess me in some meaningful way. To make me his again in the way that our coupling had done before. As I open my eyes again and see him standing over me, there are tears but also a new acceptance.

I nod my head as best I can whilst he is still holding my hair in his fist. “I will bear it,” I say, my voice breaking.

He leans in toward me, his face just an inch from mine, those blue pools burning into me. “You will bear it,” he replies, his hot breath against my face, “and I will love you for it.”

Felicity Brandon
The Viking’s Conquest

a man lying over me

March 12, 2017

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August 21, 2016


My mouth was always open, like a baby bird screeching its lungs out. My mouth: open wide for the doctors with no clue as to what’s wrong with me. My mouth full of bleach (an accident). My mouth full of medicine: “Take this. IT’ll make you feel better.” My mouth full of phlegm, constantly. My mouth, with the body of Jesus melting over my tongue. My mouth pressed against Sheree’s cunt as she crouches over me, letting loose with all her piss, which I obediently swallow, not spilling a single drop. Some guy’s penis in my mouth because Sheree wants to see me suck him off, but he’s not hard and I’m not hard, and it’s all so unfulfilling. My mouth, screaming at Sheree because she’s always so depressed, oblivious to what she has – which is me – and I still have enough ego to know, in spite of my submissive and masochistic nature, that I’m a pretty good catch: I cook; I clean; I do the laundry; I run errands; I build shelves; I solve problems; I’m passionate; I’m artistic; I’m creative; I’m sexy; I’m obedient; I’m loyal; I’m funny; I’m witty; I’m smart; I sing songs; I write poems; I fuck; I make her come; I make her smile; I make her laugh – but I can’t, I never have, and I never will make her happy.

Bob Flanagan

everyman should know his place

Domestic Dominatrix

December 29, 2015



November 26, 2015


The longing. The breathless hold. Finally-the touch. The pleasure comes in waves. Pushing out my thoughts of doubts and clutter. Concentrating on the moment, the touch. The littlest moan escapes as all focus is centered on – the touch.

Master, Thank you.

I adore your touch. I long for your touch. The feeling of being found in a sea of chaos. The feeling of total submission. The totality of my desires aligned with yours. Taken, without a doubt of being Yours. Continually and always.

The reassurance through- the touch.



September 4, 2015


Struggle is useless

June 25, 2015


Bind my ankles with your white cotton rope so I cannot walk. Bind my wrists so I cannot push you away. Place me on the bed and wrap your rope tighter around my skin so it grips my flesh. Now I know that struggle is useless, that I must lie here and submit to your mouth and tongue and teeth, your hands and words and whims. I exist only as your object. Exposed.

Of every 10 people who reads these words, one or more has experimented with sadomasochism (S & M), which is most popular among educated, middle- and upper-middle-class men and women, according to psychologists and ethnographers who have studied the phenomenon.

Marianne Apostolides
The Pleasure of Pain