When D/s failed in my marriage, it felt like a part of my soul had been amputated. I compared it to phantom limb pains—being a submissive but not being able to submit. Some friends suggested I serve him anyway. So what if he’s not a Dom? What man doesn’t enjoy a woman bringing him a drink or tending to his needs? But it felt hollow. It was deeply lonely to serve him, knowing he had no interest in holding my leash. If he could even acknowledge I was wearing it.
At least for me, it’s not submission unless my partner is eagerly holding the leash. That’s not to say that D/s is always fun or easy; sometimes it’s a slog. But when I started dating in the lifestyle, I found people who felt deeply fulfilled by holding the leash. Providing structure and taking control were like water to them. It was how they gave love, and my service was how they felt loved in return.
For the first time, I didn’t feel lonely anymore. I wasn’t serving someone who was indifferent to my service. I could kneel for someone whose whole body relaxed at the sight of me. I could call a man Sir and know that he would notice if I didn’t. I could know that my obedience mattered on a deep level. My submission was not just a nice-to-have, but rather, it was genuinely and deeply needed by my partner. And this changed everything for me. Even for rules that are about my own well-being (like bedtime), it’s not enough to do it because it’s good for me. I have to know I’m doing it for my partner. To please them.
And sometimes it’s a simple task, like making the bed. When I read his message with rules he’d like to have, there it was. Always making sure the bed is properly made (with the sheets tucked in at the bottom). I smiled. A symbol of my obedience. Not a burden, but enough that I would remember my place as I completed the task.
Left to my own devices, I make the bed maybe half the time. I like the look of it when it’s made, but it’s not enough to make it a priority. But in a short time, I started making it for him. Not because it was a rule; it was too early for that. But because I wanted to please him. I would do it and smile. Then later, he’d ask about it. And I would smile again and say yes. I liked knowing it would please him. I could almost feel his smile, knowing that his desires were a priority.
This morning I woke up and stared at the bed. Do I make it? Do I not make it? We are on hold for the time being. Maybe for good. So it no longer has the purpose of pleasing him. It’s just a bed now. It is funny how he became part of my routine in such a short time.
But the connection was there. The desire to serve him, and his pride and pleasure at my service. I could feel him holding the leash. I could feel my desire to kneel at his feet, even while pulling up the sheets and smoothing them over the bed. That connection is the core of this life. Submission without recognition and appreciation is not submission at all.
I did make the bed. Even if he never comes back. I know it would please him.
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