“And you break your crown… you point your finger, but there’s no one around”

K♣

 

 

“I can’t believe I did that!”, she says, shocked by her own actions.

 

I smirk.

 

She continues.

 

“You snapped your fingers and, with the same hand, thumbed toward the door and I just… just jumped up and started heading that way.

 

I’ve never done that with any man.”

 

I chuckle as we leave the Goth club, and keep walking toward the car.

 

 

 

A year or so later, another woman puts on a leash, hands it to me, and has me lead her out of the same place.

 

As we exit, I hear some young guy behind me say:

 

“Damn, I wish I were him!”

 

I shake my head and echo the chuckle from 365+ days prior.

 

 

 

Having spent 11 years in and out of the BDSM scene and spending even more studying human behavior, I’m unsurprised.

 

So many men think it’s about money and looks.

 

Plenty of other men think it’s about barking orders, bullying, or intimidation.

 

And a few – the worst of them – think it’s about isolation, condescension and abuse.

 

“Treat women like shit and they’ll beg for more.”

 

To which I say to all of them:

 

Not really.

 

 

 

Sure, one can play to the old tapes running in a particular woman’s head.

 

As I wrote in my first book:

 

A familiar bed of nails will always be chosen over a strange feather mattress.

 

But that’ll be a Pyrrhic victory, at best.

 

Since that power comes with all the negativity that produced it.

 

Yes, she’ll submit.

 

But she’ll be miserable, conflicted and antsy.

 

Exactly as she was when that particular tape was recorded.

 

 

 

I’ve heard of countless men that want to be dominant, in and out of the BDSM scene, pushing women around.

 

Thinking that’s what one or both want.

 

But it’s not.

 

Not quite.

 

See, I learned the best way to get service is to demonstrate the authority to warrant such.

 

To compel submission.

 

Not to force it.

 

Simply put:

 

To raise oneself; not to stomp down another.

 

To provide an ideal to be reached or fostered; not a draconian code.

 

To be a fire that gives light and warmth; not a razing conflagration.

 

 

 

What I’ve said before (that damn few will publicly support) is:

 

Everyone yearns to serve.

 

Women, most of all, but even the most “alpha” man does, too.

 

He serves his mission, whatever it may be.

 

But serve, he does.

 

Thus, I provide folks something to serve.

 

A common goal, in the case of fellow men.

 

A stable and secure emotional foundation, in the case of women.

 

Rarely am I without company.

 

And by rarely, I mean:

 

Never.

 

 

 

The flip side to all of this is:

 

Tyrants get exactly what they enslave.

 

Which becomes bitter fruit; a feast of ashes.

 

Service by unenthusiastic servants.

 

Dissatisfied minions always seeking either an exit to plunge through toward freedom or a dagger to plunge into their master, themselves or both.

 

So these despots keep pressing boots upon necks.

 

Flogging until morale improves.

 

And wonder why the cycle becomes nothing but a downward spiral.

 

A prisoner in the palace as much as those placed in the dungeons below it.

 

 

 

The key out of such was mentioned in the beginning of this post:

 

Live in such a way that she puts on the leash herself and hands it to you.

 

Any other method leaves you both miserably fettered.

 

As the Kemetic proverb states:

 

“The tyrant is only the slave turned inside out.”

 

 

K♣