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I’m an entrepreneurial sex blogger disguised
as June Cleaver’s sassy sister most of the time, but I crave having the tables turned.

It’s my BDSM fantasy to give up the decision-making and control to a Dominant. I yearn to be his filthy good girl, and as titillated as I am by the power exchange that my Dom and I create behind closed doors, my biggest fetish is to cultivate my submission in public.

Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t get off inflicting unsuspecting passersby with my leather cuffs and flogger. BDSM’s biggest rule involves mutual consent. In order to play, all parties must be enthusiastically consensual. Springing a kinky scene on the public doesn’t comply with that rule at all. What I’m referring to is keeping one foot in fantasy, playing in a safe space constructed by my Dominant and me, and placing the other foot carefully in reality.

The first time my Dominant and I experimented with submission in public, we ventured forth to my favorite bistro. Sir informed me that he was going to feed me my meal, and although part of me worried about how it would look to others, I was also excited. I loved being the center of his attention, and I wanted to please him.

I felt a twinge of nervousness when sir took my silverware and napkin. I glanced at the tables near our booth, but no one was paying us any attention. Sir also confiscated my menu, but I made a bold move and snagged my water first. I batted my eyelashes and reminded him that he had given no specific instructions regarding beverages. With a rueful smile he said the rest of the meal was his. I had plenty of time to look around the busy restaurant as he decided what we would eat. In my daily work life as a business owner, I made hundreds of decisions every day. Giving this responsibility to my Dominant was freeing. It was a gift not to have to decide every little thing all the time.

When the waitress arrived, she asked for my drink order first. I blushed and stammered that sir would be ordering for me. I should have had a practiced explanation, but I hoped that she understood that all questions should be directed to my dinner partner.


The waitress frowned and looked at sir. Her disapproval was palpable, especially when she plunked down our drinks and hurried off without another word. Relief washed over me that she missed him spooning a sip of beer into my mouth. I felt my cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, but there was adrenaline zinging through my veins. That sip of beer felt subversive. We were indulging in our power dynamic while in public, but in a subtle way that didn’t set off alarms with shocking behavior. There was a tinge of scandal to every spoonful of amber liquid, and I could tell that sir was enjoying it as much as I was.

The plates of food were eventually placed in front of us, but sir moved to my side of the booth. Two burgers sat tantalizingly close to me, but I didn’t have permission to touch any of the mouthwatering food. I sat there with nothing but my water and waited. Sir methodically cut a square of meat, careful to spear a bit of pickle and fried green tomato on the fork. Slowly he turned to me and lifted the laden fork to my lips. I automatically opened my mouth to receive it, and a complex series of tastes washed over my tongue. The burger was delicious and had somehow taken on even greater significance. He watched my reaction intently as I looked into his hazel eyes, a grin wreathing my face. It was the most erotic thing we had done all evening.

I knew down to the tips of my toes that I was cherished and adored. It felt as if a bubble of intimacy encompassed us as we talked and ate.

It was like nothing I had ever experienced, and I was deeply grateful. I felt connected to sir through the tactile sensations of receiving food from his hand, and something completely mundane like eating in a restaurant was transformed into something unique and special. The thrumming connection between us was divine.

That meal felt like a love letter from sir to me. So many of my meals were rushed. Most of the time I caught food on the fly, squeezing in a quick meal between engagements. That night, for that one meal, time slowed down to the space that it took for sir to cut the food and lift it to my lips. He demonstrated his affection for me by taking the time to feed me, and I felt pampered. I didn’t lift a finger, not even to wipe my mouth. His gaze was upon me, his focus trained on our food and his submissive. We looked like average diners surrounded by flat screen TVs and a bustling waitstaff, but our attention was solely for one another. I savored every single bite, relishing our companionship.

Eventually I caught the gaze of a woman sitting diagonally from us as she watched our meal with open curiosity, and I wondered what she thought. Sir observed that there had been an increase in foot traffic by our table as servers circled closer to watch a man feed his girlfriend bite by bite. We discussed how we must appear to others, and for the first time, I felt uncomfortable with my role. The idea that one of the patrons perceived sir as the oppressive man forcing his girlfriend to comply with his controlling dinner mannerisms irritated me. I was there, in that specific role, by choice. What was even more appalling was if they saw me as a woman single-handedly setting feminism back forty years. Or did we seem overly romantic--so in love that he insisted on feeding me every morsel from his hand?

Our waitress was openly disapproving, and after I related our experience with the meal to several kinky friends, they thought we were forcing others to participate in our fetish. Sir and I disagreed though. No one was coerced into watching us. The waitress served us our drinks and food, but she didn’t have to stand there and stare as I was fed. We were dressed appropriately, and we didn’t break any laws. If someone disapproved of sir controlling our meal, they could easily look somewhere else.

I’ve made peace with the fact that my public submission may be misconstrued. What I do in the privacy of my own home is one thing, and taking certain aspects of our D/s dynamic into public space can be tricky. Our public dining experience was done with consideration and care so that we didn’t include unwilling participants in our game. And when people look at us, I hope they see through our “odd” mannerisms to what lies underneath: love. ~

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