Permission Granted, Pet

I see or hear these words every so often, and my heart flutters, and I squeal like a little girl.  And then three seconds later, I think, “Whoa…”

I haven’t asked for permission for a thing in my personal life since I was about 18.  But when He says I shouldn’t do something or that it’s unnecessary, and I convince him otherwise, these are the best words in my day.

I have to take a step back and look at this.  Clearly, my emergence as a submissive woman is being played out over the phone and online for the most part.  And I recognize that, technically, I can do whatever the hell I want to do.  But how am I truly submissive if I am told no, and then do what I want anyway?  The whole point is placing certain aspects of my life (not my entire life) into the hands of someone who has earned a certain amount of trust.  He is not my Sir if I’m not following the “rules.”

The strangest aspect of the D/s dynamic for me is trust.  Trust has never come easily for me.  In this, though, it has been breathtakingly simple.  He trusts that I am doing what He wants.  I trust that what He asks, demands, expects is ultimately in my best interest, too – even if I can’t always see it at the time.  I have found that sometimes, it’s not His interests He’s protecting, but my own.  There is comfort to be had in something like that.

I have had no adult relationship – sexual or otherwise – where I felt that the other party actually cared about my interests.  Yes, I realize this means I picked some losers over the years – I get that.  And I am not naive enough to think that my Sir will be with me forever, and we’ll have some fairy tale ending.  If that were to happen, I would be shocked – happy but still shocked.  There is no promise of happy ever after that keeps this real for either of us.

We see something in the other, and we’ve responded to it.  What will it evolve into, past this point right here?  I have no idea and can’t let myself go down that road.  I refuse to want something I can’t have; I refuse to get my hopes up about something I can’t predict; and I refuse to make this any more complicated than it already is.

I will play by the rules of submission, though.  He is my Sir; I am his Pet.  What He demands, I will give.  What He offers, I will accept.  And when I can convince Him to change His mind about something, I’ll squeal like a little girl, because some of my favorite words are, “Permission granted, pet.”