I remember kneeling at his feet at the end of our first day together. He put his fingers under my chin and told me what his ownership meant. That he would be there. That I would have him always. That he would take care of me. Then he told me he felt a wall between us, and he wanted it gone. At first, I didn’t understand. I had obeyed perfectly. I pushed myself to obey even when it was hard. I showed him that I could take whatever he gave me. But he expected more than my obedience. What more was there to give?
When the wall began to fall, I finally understood what he meant. I was submitting with my body, but I hadn’t surrendered myself to him. I hadn’t opened myself and let him in. I was performing my submission to him, rather than being submissive to him. It came from outside myself—a decision to follow a script, not an outpouring of deep vulnerability. And when I finally felt safe enough to let go, to lose my self-consciousness and be truly bare with him, I was able to give more of myself than I ever thought possible.
But this emotional submission is exceedingly hard. We learn from a young age the value of controlling our emotions. I pride myself on my emotional stability and introspection. When I feel something intense or negative or surprising, I turn it over and over in my mind. I hold onto feelings until I understand them and can wrap them in little boxes with little bows. Before I share them with others, I need to be able to explain where they came from, why I’m feeling them, and what (if anything) needs to be done about them.
But that doesn’t work well in D/s. You have to let go of control, even control of your own feelings. You can’t allow another person to take responsibility for you and make your feelings off limits. My first Dom had a rule that I always had to tell him what I was feeling. Always. It didn’t matter if he was busy or stressed. It didn’t matter if I thought my feelings were stupid, or if I didn’t understand them yet. This was Rule #1. Unbreakable.
That level of openness was utterly terrifying. But I came to understand that my process was taking control from him. I was deciding what was and was not appropriate to share, and these decisions kept me from truly submitting to him. Those messy, raw emotions were as much his property as I was. It was not my place to stand between him and knowing his property, just as a car does not block its gauges from being read.
A while back, I read a submissive’s writing about what it’s like to be slapped in the face repeatedly. In the beginning, you’re a stoic submissive. You keep control over your emotions and just accept the slaps. You accept it because you want to please your Owner. Then the tears start to flow. Eventually, if it continues long enough, anger flares. Then comes the desire to throw up your hands to protect your face. In her dynamic, it was this moment—the loss of emotional control—that meant true surrender. She could no longer hold back her impulses and emotions from her Owner. These emotions belongs to him, and he wanted to see them all. Raw and unvarnished and beautiful.
At the same time, compete emotional surrender is not an excuse to lash out at your Dominant. It means working to know yourself, to know what you can and cannot give. It means addressing your feelings honestly and immediately so resentment doesn’t build. And it means communicating respectfully. Yes, you have to open yourself and share what you feel, even if it’s ugly or embarrassing. And yes, that openness is terrifying. But it’s a cornerstone of ownership. Lashing out with your emotions undermines that connection, while honest, respectful communication enhances it.
If you want a deep dynamic built on power exchange, it is not enough to submit physically; you have to surrender control over your emotions. You have to let go of the ability to filter your emotions and wait until they are neatly packaged before sharing with your Dominant. But how do you lose that desire to present your best self? It happens over time, with someone you trust deeply. It happens when someone challenges you to share more of yourself than you ever thought you could. It happens when that raw openness is rewarded—every single time, without fail.
With deep emotional submission comes a bone-deep acceptance that I never knew was possible. To be truly seen and loved in your raw and unvarnished form… For me, that is where ownership truly shines.
Mischief's Muse 