My first dominant never asked me to submit. He loved me too much to bend me out of my natural shape. He wanted to see me bloom, not wilt, so he treated dominance like love. The more precious he made me feel, the more my submission flourished.
My first dominant never accused me of topping from the bottom. He knew that submission couldn’t be demanded, only earned and that consent only exists when given freely.
My first dominant never insisted on monogamy or poly. He saw every relationship as unique, so he built our dynamic out of facets of me and of him. He let the beauty of our connection grow exactly as it wanted to. He never treated me like just another sub to replace the last, but as a part of him best explored as though the past really was the past and every connection, unique.
He never saw my assertiveness as a challenge or a flaw. He wasn’t fragile enough for that. He never treated me as a dim sum menu of submissive traits to check off on a list. He chose me for all I was—every insecurity, every bruise, every stubborn refusal. He chose me for being me, to hell with his perfect image of D/s.
He approached every new limit as an opportunity to understand who I was. Every “no” showed him a new facet of the woman he adored.
He never behaved like an alpha wolf. He knew that people showed their darkest depravities to those they trusted, not those they feared. He understood that dominance dealt in the currency of vulnerability, not hubris, so he let me see his every fear, every desire, and every mistake.
My first dominant wanted me to find real meaning in power exchange, so he searched through everything that compelled me until he found the parts that he could draw out. He turned me into the kind of deviant I never imagined I’d ever be. He knew that obsession was borne from connection, not intimidation.
If you saw my first dom at his most dominant, you would never have guessed his kink proclivities. He was the type who cried through songs and volunteered for his favourite causes—hardly the big strong archetype you’ll find on K&P. My first dom was no second hand façade—he was man enough to let his softness show.
My first dom was less interested in being dominant than in being loved. That’s why he always got my yesses.