It’s funny how a small comment in one context can trigger a train of thought in another, completely different setting. This seems to happen to me quite often, which leads to some curious posts such as this one on skirts and the art of dominance.
I’m going to start with the comment that kicked this all off.
Every week I have an appointment with my counsellor. The session after the trouble in my street I needed to unpick it a bit, along with a couple of other busy brain makers. I was wearing a skirt, as I always do, and she offered to fetch me a blanket. Her offer came with the words
“Sometimes wearing skirts can make us feel vulnerable.”
I happen to think my counsellor is a little bit special, she definitely has a communication style that works with my therapeutic needs. Sometimes she will say something that will light the way for me to skip down the path uninhibited. This was one of those times. My response to her “oh no, don’t you worry, wearing skirts doesn’t make me feel vulnerable” was true, but it wasn’t the whole picture. I wanted to jump up and proclaim that my strength comes through wearing a skirt. But that, again, would only be a half truth. Over the intervening weeks I’ve tried to work out the answer, when what I really needed to know was the question…
How do skirts relate to the art of Dominance?
For me it started with a request from him, a submission on my side. I know I’ve mentioned in past posts, one of Sir’s earliest requirements of me was to wear a skirt. With bare legs. While initially this felt alien to me, a Tomboy, over the years it has become intrinsically linked to being his. To having him in my world.
Perhaps I felt vulnerability in those early days.
But this was quickly countered by the feeling of doing something for someone who gave a hoot about my wellbeing. And because the reason was a secret from P it felt empowering. Wearing a skirt was an act of defiance, taking back my feminity. For Sir, yes, but also for me. I was regaining a little control over my wider world through submitting to Sir. Pushing myself out of my comfort zone for Him was safe. I could give enthusiastic consent to seemingly small things which felt huge to me.
The skirt has become something of a focal point in my submission.
As someone who didn’t even own a skirt when he made the request, this was never going to be an easy option for me, but I wanted to do my best for him and so I tried. And do you know something, I even discovered I quite enjoyed it. Initially I was met with opposition. But other peoples voices weren’t as important as the little bubble that Sir and I were inflating together. I was allowed to wear trousers in certain situations without asking, but I was always happy to request permission for trousers or tights if I felt I needed them at other times. And he would give permission. He may have high expectations but he is not unreasonable. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
I’ve shared how he works overseas for long stretches, and how during these times restrictions are lifted and I’m free to make my own rules. When he leaves the skirts are the last thing to go in my easing back to not being his. But still, whenever I pop one on it will always spark a nostalgic smile. And when he comes back it is an automatic response. I dig into my wardrobe and find one to put on.
The seemingly simple act of putting on a skirt has great implications in my world.
When I wear a skirt with bare legs, even having known his expectations for over seven years, even though it feels like second nature, it is still a conscious act of submission for me. And illustrates perfectly the relationship between skirts and the art of his Dominance over me.
This was put to the test last winter. With him in and out of the country with regularity our contact was, at times, patchy. Over time I’ve learnt to draw on the little things to get me through those stretches. On the first cold snap I asked if I could wear tights one day and he accepted my request. Adding that I could dress appropriately for the conditions. I was grateful for this because limited contact means he wouldn’t be able to reply immediately, and a chilly submissive waiting for a response is not a good/healthy/happy thing.
But… my goodness, is this ever a headfuck?!
By saying I could dress appropriately for the conditions I had permission to wear tights or trousers on cold days. And I have his trust not to overstep the mark with my permission. But how cold is cold? A problem I wrestled with on the North Devon coast on a summer camping trip. And just last week an afternoon run left me chilly. I came home and had a shower. Then it was time to collect my youngest from his club. It was a chilly day, and the weather was less than balmy, the wind gnawing at my soul. All I wanted was to snuggle up in my pyjamas and big baggy jumper. My jammies are fabulous, super-soft, super-comfy harem pants. I could easily wear them out as trousers, the temptation was there. And I did have permission, kind of.
The heat of the shower, the memory of the cruel wind, the temptation…
Drying myself off after the shower my submission kicked in. The requests Sir makes of me are always for a reason, and once I have consented to his terms I stick to them. Even if it is hard sometimes. Or perhaps especially if it is hard?
Technically I had permission- it was cold! But there was no real reason why I couldn’t put on the skirt for the short walk to pick up my son. And so I did. I got properly dressed and went on my merry little way. All the while, safe in the knowledge that if Sir saw me on that journey he’d be pleased with me. And I was pleased with me. Better yet, I was warm. Not just on the outside, but from deep within too…
Through giving myself to him I have found a respect and, dare I say, love of myself. I like the woman that he has discovered/crafted and I’m at ease in my femininity. Considering that I spent almost 32 years of my life proudly wearing the label “Tomboy” and most of 13 years being made to feel less than womanly, being given the gift of being a lady, His Lady no less, wearing a skirt for him is an honour. One that fills me with pride I never realised I could have. Does it make me a better person? No, not at all. But it does encourage me to appreciate myself in a new way.
So, that’s a little look into my submission to Sir. The way that my wearing a skirt is part of his art, his dominance over me. And a little glimpse at the magic of our dynamic.
Well, I think it’s a little bit magic anyway.
Skirts And The Art Of Dominance was another of my rambling thoughts, shared with you for Wicked Wednesday. If you like seeing inside my busy brain, perhaps have a read of A Life Without Regrets.
From the story of how the barefoot sub became the woman she is today, to toy reviews, with a hefty dose of contemplation, a sprinkling of erotica and a LOT of nudity in between, you can be sure to find something to tickle your fancy at A Leap Of Faith.