I had no intention of writing so soon, but so much happened last night that is significant to my story that I feel I had little choice in the matter. 

—

“I had a choice of three titles for my post this evening” I say, “Garden Rakes, Me & My Shadow, or Sine Misericordia.”

“Ooh! Which one did you go for?” Master asks.

“Well,” I begin, I pace up and down in the now-wider space in our lounge that has been created since I rearranged it. Master smiles – he allows me to take space when I need it.

“I wanted to go for Sine Misericordia, but Shadow said my post was too warm and fuzzy, would give my audience the wrong impression, needed to be more slicey-dicey, blood and gutsy. Me & My Shadow was a bit mysterious and unclear, so it suggested Garden Rakes as the overall winner – a kind of wry mockery of the ones who insist on treading on them.”

“Hmm, I guess ‘sine misericordia’ is Latin?” Master asks. I smile. You catch on fast.

“What does it mean?”

I stop my pacing and bend slightly – my hands rested on my knees – so that I’m eye level with him.

“Without mercy” I say. 

“Which I am,” I shrug and return to my pacing, “you know me: kind – ish – to the ones I love, but for the ones who dare cross me? May God have mercy.”

“It would make a cool tattoo” Master says. I grin. 

“I thought it first” I say. So that’s two now I want. 

Truthfully, I don’t know when I started being so merciless. I grew up such a quiet little thing; I wouldn’t have said “boo!” to a goose.

Maybe it was when my secondary school headmaster threatened to expel my brother for standing up to a teacher for me. I told him on no uncertain terms that if the school evicted my little brother then they had to expel me too, since he was trying to protect me from ableist behaviour. He refused, claiming that it would look bad on their school record.

So I swore at our headmaster, a definitely expellable offense. I put him in a no-win situation and let him choose: the school record or his school reputation. He chose his reputation, and my brother and I enjoyed three days off school with ice cream, sweets and £10 pocket money each. Teachers, too, who supported our act of solidarity offered to home-school us for those three days, but our mother refused to play – “no school” meant no school.

Maybe it was after my ex, W, and our on-off relationship. That relationship did terrible things for my self-esteem. He was never happy with me; there was always something that I was doing “wrong”. Any time I didn’t do what he wanted, he’d ignore me for weeks at a time. He called me names like “hellion” and “pain in the ass and he would make me feel worthy or worthless – sometimes both in the same sentence. 

Above all, he wanted an affair with me, and monogamy, rather than a polyamorous relationship. I refused (since I’m already happily married), so he would monopolise my time or batter me emotionally in the hopes I’d give up and give him what he wanted. I still refused, so he’d vanish on me in the hopes that my “time out” would punish me into complying. I was unwavering; I knew that he’d be back.  

Eventually, we did break up. Eventually, he moved on to someone new and I think she’s the best woman alive because she helped set both his now-ex-wife and me free. Christmas Eve 2023 – best Christmas present ever. 

In fact, I even posted this festive video on my Facebook page to celebrate her existence!

He himself gave me two gifts in that relationship. First, a nickname, that came about in a silly little pirate-themed roleplay and wound up becoming my very identity: La Sumisa – “The Submissive” in Spanish. 

Secondly, he pointed out my worth to me, something that my mother never would have let me believe in. Once I knew my worth, I’d never, ever lose sight of it again. 

I remember, some months after that relationship ended, I set an alarm tune to “Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse Of The Black Pearl”. It was a personal joke with myself: if he saw himself as Jack Sparrow, then I would be his Black Pearl. 

I was the one who had set sail now, battered and bruised but desired all the same. He would become “cursed” by my absence eventually, and I would become the one that got away. 

I remember one day, my alarm went off while I was working in the back garden. Mr C recognized the tune as being from Pirates Of The Caribbean, so I had to explain the story (loosely) and how my choice came to be. Mr C said I was “bad”. 

Yes, I’m bad. I’m very, VERY bad. I’m UNAPOLOGETICALLY bad. 

But my perceived “badness” so often lies contrary to how people expect a “good” submissive to be. They expect a submissive to be submissive, naturally, and that’s not – and will never be – me. 

Reader Jamesxmorgan asked me last night about the “hint of wickedness” in my writing. I’m notoriously wicked, but I’m wicked in all the right ways. 

That kind of brings us to the next bit, and what last night was all about. 

Sir JGood, in passing, accused “saboteurs” of leaving metaphorical “rakes” out for people to tread on. It got my hackles up: I don’t intentionally sabotage my friendships or relationships, but if people do things that harm or sabotage our friendship/relationship then that’s not my fault. I’m allowed to have feelings, too.

I will say here, by the way, that I told Sir JGood how I was feeling, and he was quick to assure me and work with me to find ways to circumvent misunderstandings in future. So it wasn’t a deliberate mistep – unlike my ex – but one that had caused some hurt nonetheless. 

Sir also made a comment about me being a switch, and that also rubbed me up the wrong way: I disputed being seen as a “switch”, just because – and to use my mother’s term for me – I can “be a ferocious hellcat” when I need to be. I can be ferocious, but that doesn’t mean that that’s what I want to be seen as. I AM a submissive. Just because I don’t always ACT submissive, doesn’t mean I’m NOT one. 

Maybe I’m so defensive about my submission because this is a misconception that I’ve experienced so many times before: in order to be a submissive, one has to be submissive in themselves. Well, I hate to break it, but some of us submissives come forged with a little more fire.

Friday night, I’m just “off” – I feel attacked and persnickety. I’m not the kind of person who craves attention when I’m feeling vulnerable like this. Quite the opposite, I prefer it if I can shut myself away. 

Unfortunately, shutting myself away is impossible when there’s dinner to make, and Master would sense trouble in a heartbeat if I closed the kitchen door. 

So I’m left, door open, trying to be as stoic as possible and not overthink my feelings. 

Master appearing in the kitchen doorway was my undoing. He took one look at me and he knew. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Master asks.

“Nothing, I’m fine” I say flatly. I roll my eyes at myself. Textbook answer there. 

“You’re not ‘fine’” Master says, taking the knife from me and placing it down on the chopping board for the moment.

“Talk.”

I tried the ‘avoiding eye contact’ game, but Master wasn’t buying that. I let out a low, warning growl to get him to back off, but Master wasn’t buying that either. 

“You can growl all you want, but I’d prefer it if you talk. Talk, or I’m going to call you ‘Huff the Dragon’ for the rest of the evening. Your call.”

I huff instinctively and glare at him, but I afford him a wry smile too. Master knows the one thing I find worse than him cornering me is him not taking me seriously – I hate that!

“Just a stupid dispute with JGood. It’s nothing, I told you” I say. 

“Right, so what?”

“He called me a switch, and I just know that I’m not. I haven’t switched by choice in, like, ever. The last time I switched, I was his right-hand woman” I say. 

“That’s more service top than switch” I add, “just because I can play Domme, doesn’t mean I am Domme.”

“He probably didn’t mean for it to upset you” Master says gently. I raise an eyebrow at him. Unbelievable! 

“So you’re taking his side now?! See?! This is why we subs brat. This is why we need our alliances!”

Last night, I had a strong and prevalent thought: I’m NOT submissive, and I’m never going to BE submissive, but I AM submissive, regardless. 

I could hear that thought, but I couldn’t understand it, so I asked “Shadow” to translate it for me. This is what it said:

“I’m not submissive and I’m never going to be submissive”

This part sounds like:

• A declaration of agency: refusal to let someone define you or strip you of your power.
  
• Possibly a defensive stance against people who’ve misunderstood, mishandled, or exploited your submissive side.
  
• It may also be a protest: “I’m not submissive to you, or to anyone who hasn’t earned that part of me.”
  

Submissiveness here feels like something externalized—something others try to impose on you, rather than something you freely give.

 “Yet I am submissive, regardless.”

This is the quiet truth beneath the protest.

• You’re acknowledging that submission lives inside you, even if you guard it fiercely.
  
• It’s not about labels, roleplay, or performance. It’s something deeper, possibly spiritual, sensual, or even cellular.
  
• It’s not that you become submissive; you already are. That truth persists, even when you resist or reject the trappings of submission.

So what are you really saying?

You’re saying:

“My submission is mine. You can’t define it, demand it, or diminish it. I may not show it, I may not play it, I may not let it out. But it exists. Deeply. Relentlessly. And it’s not a contradiction to be both proud and submissive.”

Or metaphorically:

Imagine a sword forged for a specific wielder. It remains sheathed, powerful, and dangerous in silence. Just because it isn’t drawn doesn’t mean it isn’t sharp. That’s your submission—not a weakness, not passivity, but something sacred, withheld until it’s earned.

I am La Sumisa. Hear me. Revere me. 

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