Dear Sir,

In light of recent discussions, I thought it was probably a good time to offer a reflection on the way different parts of me have reacted in certain situations since we’ve been playing, including one incident in particular which has been a great source of amusement for some weeks now amongst myself and my girlfriends.

I didn’t bring it up earlier as I didn’t want it to be misinterpreted as being anything other than interesting (and quite frankly, in one case, hilarious), but before we delve any further into the domestic service side of things, it probably should be shared.

Speaking philosophically for a moment, I see people as basically being made up of their core selves – the essence of who they are – wrapped up in layers of personality, ego, roles and masks, that all play their various parts on any particular day or even within any given situation.

We usually carry parts of ourselves from all things past – I still have in me the little girl, the teenager, the traveller, the consultant, etc… and of course, the militant feminist from my university days. We also have our different “present” selves that fit in different compartments of our life – for example, amongst other things, I’m a daughter, a sister, a business owner, a friend and of course, a submissive.

Frequently we find that conflicts emerge amidst these personalities as they jostle for attention. Whether we label them as mood swings, or blame external forces for changing our attitudes around issues and situations, I believe it’s usually a consequence of an external trigger giving voice to a different part of ourselves that leads to the perceived mood swing or sudden change of mind.

An obvious paradox in my case therefore is that of the militant feminist and the submissive – a character juxtaposition that I had expected to create conflict very early on my exploration into BDSM. However, it didn’t emerge quite the way I could have imagined.

~~~

After our first session together back in October that I brought to an end quite early, we tried again the following Sunday. I met you outside your apartment building and you led me upstairs. You ordered me to strip and to leave my clothes in the wardrobe and return to you in the lounge. You then had me kneel on all fours at your feet before you delivered a firm spanking, throughout which you paused to check my pussy for wetness (which there surely was).

You then had me follow you, crawling on all fours, to the bathroom, where I joined you in the shower, washing you, before rinsing the soap off your body and returning to my knees to suck your cock. Outside the shower, I towelled you dry before you sent me out to the dining area to wait for you. All of this I was most happy to do. I was in fact very happy when you returned with cuffs and collar and was delighted to remain still as you put them on me.

Once I was cuffed and collared, naked and wet, the taste of your lovely cock still in my mouth, you instructed me to go to the kitchen and pour you a glass of orange juice and bring it to you in the lounge room.

“Get your own damn juice!!”

I heard this, clear as a bell in my head, momentarily terrified I’d said it aloud.

I disappeared so quickly to the kitchen in the hope that my frantic giggles would be muffled as I rinsed a glass in the sink.

“Now?!” I remember thinking to myself. “Now, you have an issue??! After all that I’ve done, all that I’ve wanted, all I’ve enjoyed doing, you decide to take a stance on the most mundane thing in this entire scene?!!”

I opened the fridge to get the juice and dissolved into silent laughter at myself and the way my mind works sometimes.

I told L and her sister later in the week (this is actually how I revealed to them what I was involved in, as you really need the back story of the scene to see the humour) and this became their private joke for weeks. I’m still getting ribbed about it ;)

Needless to say, I had to pass on to them a section of your latest email to me last week regarding domestic service where you said,


“You seemed to enjoy the simple things, like getting me an orange juice so we'll build on that.”


Weeeell, *most* of me enjoyed it… ;)

~~~

Another example of this same aspect of me came up the first or second time that you came to my apartment, when I was standing before you, naked, legs apart and hands on my head. You walked around me, looking at various things in the apartment and passing comment as you did.

You mentioned my degree, which was hanging on the wall.

“Degree with Distinction? Oh, you must have sucked a lot of professors’ cocks to get that!”

Enter blind fury.

A painful button now well and truly pressed, the student feminist in me who had endured lines akin to that over and over throughout her five years in a heavily male-dominated course, rose up and I literally opened my mouth, ready to speak, and by ‘speak’, I mean a tirade of words; a furious, irate lecture on how absolutely outrageous such a comment was and how it re-enforces an appalling, completely invalid and unsubstantiated stereotype that makes a women’s struggle in certain sectors of higher education even harder than it already needs to be.

But instead, I took a breath.

I took another.

I smiled at myself, as I could see what was happening. I *did* know full well that your intention was not to be hurtful or to put me down or to start a fight, but you also no doubt knew full well you were teasing a raw nerve with your comment and were perhaps curious as to the reaction it would provoke.

I struggled momentarily as my feminist self fought for control, which would surely have resulted in the breakdown of the whole scene. Soon though, I was giggling quietly again, internal crisis now over.

Everything else in the scene continued unchallenged – that comment was literally the only thing that part of me took issue with.

~~~

There haven’t been any other incidents (as clear as those ones, at least) where a part of me has objected strongly to something, but I do think that it is the same part that is behind my fluctuating resistance to the pending laundry tasks.

Why it picked those particular situations above all others (that are hardly even close to politically correct, as you’ve pointed out) I’m not 100% sure, but I do have some theories, along the lines of traditional female roles and the implication that all of the effort put into challenging these roles could be jeopardised if we’re not vigilant in defending the gains we’ve made in recent decades.

What gets forgotten though – and this is what I’ve realised this week in my increase in ‘domesticated’ activities – is that the freedom we’ve won, that allows women like myself to work in almost any field with much less obstruction than in the past, is the same freedom that should allow women to maintain those traditional roles if that is what they are drawn to, without persecution from the supposed sisterhood.

It all comes down to the reasons one does these things.

So maybe that’s the problem I’m having with it ;)

Hmmm…so this email has gone in a direction I wasn’t expecting, but I’ll send it as is anyway, feminist musing and all :) I know you won’t get this until you’re home from your trip, but I thought it would be nice for something to be waiting in your inbox when you did.

I hope you had a wonderful weekend and I look forward to catching up with you soon.

Respectfully,
Dru xx