Sometimes asking for help is the bravest move you can make.


I can’t place the next memory on my submissive timeline, aside from it being before the next phase of my life. It is one of the most important lessons I had to learn in both my kink and vanilla life.

The memory of asking Sir for help when I was at my most vulnerable still gives me shivers.

I was lying on the bed, naked but for my heels and blindfold, with cuffs at the wrists and ankles. My wrists were free and my ankles were linked by a spreader bar. The orgasms and anal play I had endured for Sir had made my head a little fluffy, and my legs a little wobbly. After he helped me into a sitting position at the edge of the bed I heard him walk across the room and from there he asked me to follow him. I managed to get myself to standing, JUST….

And then I was stuck!!

I struggle to walk in heels at the best of times, and blindfolded and fuzzy is not the best of times. Add into that the spreader bar and you get one very confused submissive. He obviously saw my struggle, and I heard him gently say something about my left leg. But I couldn’t work out which was my left leg, let alone how to move it. While I floundered around he must have moved back to my side because as soon as the words “Help me please Sir” escaped from my lips his hands were there. He was on my right, and took that hand firmly, before tapping my left knee by way of instruction. And as soon as I had started my slow and steady move across the room it was over and we were able to continue with our evening. I had never felt more submissive than when I had to ask for him to guide me across that chasm of vulnerability.

I had never been one to ask for help, strong and bloody-minded through even the toughest times.

One cold, wet and dark February evening, after picking my children up from P, my oldest jumped out into the road in front of a car. Scared I grabbed him and made him hold onto the pushchair handles, telling him that’s where he would need to stay until we get home and he said “Good that’s what I want.” A very uncharacteristic statement from my son who wasn’t quite 7 at the time. By asking open questions I was able to get to the bottom of what had happened.

P had scared the boys when he lost his rag due to not being able to shut a drawer.

I was told how Daddy had thrown things around, shouted and screamed, swearing all sorts of obscenities. It was a scene that I could easily picture, from my own experiences with him, but I had expected that his bad behaviour would never spill over when he was the responsible adult. I automatically went into work mode, and made sure that there was a “safety management plan” that the boys could follow if they ever found themselves in that situation again. I spoke to P who told me that I was over-reacting as always, that he hadn’t been that bad. As he said he was struggling at that point I took the opportunity to make sure the boys didn’t have to see him for two weeks. That gave me time to think about next steps. Steps which would prove even more difficult than the ones I took with Sir in that hotel room all that time ago.

I needed to ask for help from the experts in child safety.

It may seem odd to think at such a challenging time in my vanilla life, as a mum, that I would be able to take inspiration from my kink life, as Sir’s slut. The knowledge that I had been able to ask him for help when I was stuck and vulnerable showed me that I would be able to ask; it also demonstrated that if I didn’t ask I would stay stuck, like a blindfolded submissive in heels and a spreader bar.

So I asked. I contacted the health visiting team and found the strength to tell the nurse everything about P’s behaviour toward the boys.

With her encouragement I made the single hardest phone call I have ever had to make. No parent wants to phone social services, but I needed support, and they are the experts. The social worker I spoke to was very helpful, and I ended up with a plan of action and a direct contact number.  With my plan I visited P, and told him exactly what would be happening, and I told him that if there was a sniff of that behaviour from him I would not hesitate to contact the authorities for advise. (I chose to keep my previous contact to myself.) By being brave and getting the support, then challenging his behaviour something changed in P’s attitude towards me, and more importantly towards the boys.

Through vulnerability and submission I had unlocked a fierce and protective creature. Fearless? Not quite, but not fragile in the face of fear anymore.



  1. I think the most powerful thing I learned from my submission to my husband was that I could ask for help, I was not nor would I ever be alone! Thanks for the reminder, I might just have a writing idea. LoL Mind if I link back here as the inspiration?

    1. Allowing others to see your vulnerability is a strength, one I hadn’t been able to see before that particular scene.

      Feel free to link back, it’s an honour ?

      1. I agree! It takes a lot more strength to be who you are and show your ‘weaknesses’ than it does to wear the public mask of invincibility.
        Showing them is a strength, as you said. 😀 I do love reading your stuff, thank you again! 😀

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