Submission is often likened to a leash, the submissive tethered to the will of the Dominant. I frequently use the analogy myself, and often it’s very effective. However, lately my mind has been wandering to a different picture of submission. When I close my eyes I see submission, not as a lash around my neck, but as a string. A tiny, delicate string wrapped around both Dominant and submissive. Either side capable of breaking the string by pulling too hard, each choosing to allow it’s presence, not just once, but constantly. A leash would need to be willfully removed, and it easily tugs the wearer about, but it takes more mindfulness to follow a string’s gentle insistence.
I imagine that string around my wrist when I reach to touch myself and relieve the desire building between my legs. It reminds me of what pulls against the other end as it tugs against me. It’s all too easy to break. Pull just a bit too hard and the string snaps. If I disobey, or he tugs too tight, the string breaks. Too much slack on the other side and I fail to feel it’s pull as I move. Easily repaired, but tugged a bit tighter each time the torn strands are knotted together, the slack lessened with each snag.
There’s beauty and comfort in that mental string. In knowing it’s not really the rules that bind me to him, but our desire to be bound that connects us.
Tilly Bloom 