It seems to me there are different kinds of arousal.
In physical arousal, you fondle my breasts and finger my labia, making me a puddle of flush and tingle.
In emotional arousal, you stand in the doorway looking like that, and because of feelings you made me have with you before, I am drawn to you and want you to take me.
But there is also submissive arousal. When you wrap a collar around my neck and snap it shut, I feel desire for you. It doesn’t matter if I know you, if you are friend or stranger, the simple act of your dominance arouses me. When you attach a leash to my collar and walk me, you turn me on. When you give me an order to stand or sit or kneel, you trigger in me sexual desire.
Being a deep submissive who lives in constant submission is both a piece of heaven and a touch of hell.
My submissiveness is engaged almost every minute of my life. Even the clothing I wear is an act of submission, a reminder of being dominated. My submission is harnessed and handled every day by the person I love. That is the piece of heaven.
But the simple truth is that I pretty much live in a perpetual state of submissive arousal. It’s a life of foreplay, in a sense, subtle in its drip-drip but at times becoming a tub full of constant craving, a bath of desire that isn’t always unplugged. In fact, not being allowed release and orgasm is part of my life of being dominated. My submissiveness is used to keep me in want and make me wanton. This is the touch of hell.
Though it is a delicious hell.
As I have written before, we submissives need to be protected from ourselves. My submissive arousal makes me a little stupid. Loose in the wild, I would be vulnerable.
I need a keeper and a manager and a protector — a dominant not only to rule me but to keep me from sleeping with the whole world.
This, I think, is sort of the point of D/s slavery. Or at least mine.