Being a feminist means I believe that no one has the right right dictate how I, as a woman, choose to live my life. That said, I choose to live my life as a woman submissive to MY man. I, and I alone, have given him the power to set rules for me, which I have agreed to, and to discipline me, which I have agreed to, when I don’t follow those rules.

It is no one else’s business how I choose to live MY life. In all honestly, I am far happier now, than I was without HIM. HE is my choice. No one else needs to know.

For example, I wear clothing that I think he would like. I adore the boho style, not only because it is loose and comfortable, but also because it is feminine, flowing, and can hide a multitude of items that are none of the general public’s business. As luck would have it, he loves seeing me in this style as well.

For example, who would know that this beautiful, flowing skirt hid a butt plug, a well tanned ass, and a dripping pussy?

To expand, this morning, Sir and I engaged in a beautiful lovemaking session. He filled my eager, thirsty puss with his cream. Before leaving for work, he flipped me over, used a luscious oil to lubricate a medium plug, one that we have practice using for some time now, inserted it appropriately, and, upon my request, used his hand on my upturned ass so that I would have no choice but to think of him every moment of my morning.

After he left, I showered, dressed, did morning chores and errands, before heading back to the house, where He works in his home office, to deliver his lunch. I am not required to do this. I WANT to do this. I am happy doing this. He never once even suggested I do this.

While he ate, I tucked my skirt up into the waistband. I wanted him to see the sticky, white residue between my thighs. I wanted him to see the jeweled butt of the plug he had placed in me. I wanted him to see my eagerness. I placed my hands on the wall opposite his desk, back flat, feet about two feet from the wall and shoulder length apart.

“You make it hard for me to finish my lunch,” he commented.

“Well, I suppose I’ll need a little punishment for my naughtiness, won’t I?”

He laughed, called me a perfectly appropriate name, and slurped down his cup of tea. I smiled and sighed happily when I heard first his zipper, then sounds of him undressing, and finally his footsteps.

He slowly spun the plug before even more slowly removed it. He spat on my stretched hole, worked his saliva inward, then filled me completely.

“Yes!” I cried out.

He grasped my hair close to the scalp and pulled back slightly. “No! This is punishment, remember.”

His other hand came down hard on my ass cheek and I shattered beneath him. He continued to spank and fuck me, telling me how naughty I was by distracting him, how hot and tight I was, how devious and cunning I was, how beautiful I was.

It didn’t take him long to fill my back hole with his cum, groaning out his own pleasure.

Now, I’m getting dinner ready, my ass tender and my thighs coated in his white residue. I’m singing, not just content, but happy in every cell of my being.

Is it possible to be both a feminist and a submissive? You bet my sweet, red ass it is!