Confessions of a Bad Submissive

By Summer Sterling

You’ll laugh. You’ll shake your head in disbelief. You’ll wonder how in the world Summer Sterling got the idea she could ever submit to a man full time. “Confessions of a Bad Submissive” is the true account of Summer’s ten-year struggle to earn the right to call herself a fully surrendered woman. At times tragic, at times hilariously funny, this tell-all memoir is a refreshingly honest account of the challenges of service and surrender to a man year after year, seven days a week—well, every day she can pull it off, that is. Unlike other accounts you may have read of women committed to lifestyle submission, Ms. Sterling has no problem admitting to often being clueless, frustrated, naïve, inconsistent, stubborn, impetuous, overly dramatic and any combination of the above. Join her and her long-suffering Master on their bumpy road to 24/7 D/s. You’ll say time and time again, “Oh no she didn’t!”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pink Flamingo Media LLC
• Release date: Jul 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781942331261

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Confessions of a Bad Submissive

by Summer Sterling

ISBN: 978-1-942331-26-1

A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

Copyright © 2015 Summer Sterling

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Introduction

How long have I known I’m submissive? It has only been in the last several months that I can see it as clear as day: I have always been submissive.

How long have I been a submissive? Now that’s a very different question, isn’t it? I have been a submissive off and on for ten years. Yes, off and on, because I frequently ran the relationship dynamic off the rails. And I think my little impatient, controlling self did it single-handedly. I am writing this is in hopes of helping you avoid the same mistakes I made.

Have I ever been a good submissive? Well, I know I’ve been good today. I have been obedient and have done everything required of me. It’s a really good step in the right direction, especially when you’re generally a bad submissive. It appears that this one day at a time attitude is the only approach that will work for me at this stage of my submissive maturity.

Yesterday? Well, I wasn’t as obedient as I could have been, and I noted this on my list of transgressions. I can pretty much guarantee you I will be spanked. More on that later. If you’re like me, you imagine the spanking part will be the really juicy part of the book, and you’ll want to skip ahead. Just so you won’t do that, I’m not going to tell you where the spanking part is. Oh, but it’s good. It’s good.

I’ll be referring to female subs and slaves with male Dominants and Masters, simply because it’s an experience I can address more knowingly, and also because I don’t want to have to type all the relationship possibilities every time just so someone won’t feel left out. This is not a book about kink in general. I simply cannot address every lifestyle, every contingency, every situation or every anything. For example, yesterday I was doing some research on the internet for this book when I stumbled across a picture of a man with disposable diapers covering his entire face and head. Someone had written derogatory names all over the diapers with multi-colored pens. There was a hole cut for the man’s mouth, and he also sported a rubber pig nose. I’ll give you a moment to let this gel in your imagination, because I now must add that he was sucking cock. So please remember that I am writing D/s or M/s for the sake of simplicity, not to discount the validity of the other unique relationship dynamics out there, and if I exclude whatever you are and whatever you do, it is not an intentional slight on my part.

As I write this, I am married to and serving my Master. Note that I didn’t say Dominant, even though the title of my book tells you I am a (bad) submissive. Confused? I get that. I, too, am often confused about exactly how to label myself, especially since what I am now isn’t much at all like what I was when I started this book. Oh, no. I started as a flailing, inconsistent, naïve, head-in-the-clouds, head-up-her-ass, wannabe submissive. Although I am a very determined woman, I screwed up time and time again in my commitment to obedience. If you’ll just stick with me and the story for a little while, all of it will make sense to you in the end. At least I think it will; it’s kind of a bumpy ride. I hope to show you a realistic picture of what a day-to-day submission and service can be like, should you venture down the path of 24/7. And you’ll be learning from a bad submissive, and, believe me, that’s good.

Chapter One

How It All Began

You’ve probably read somewhere that any woman who wants to be a submissive or a slave to a man must have father issues. Well, I’ll go ahead and admit that I could probably be the poster-child for father issues. My mother is presently in her seventh marriage, so you can bet I grew up with some pretty warped ideas about the purpose of men in the universe. And I watched for decades, and certainly during my formative years, men seemingly change who my mother was. Mom was downright chameleon-like to be what she thought the man wanted, so that she might win the marriage proposal. Then every husband fell off his white horse—some sooner than others—and the tell-tale sign that it was happening was when Mom started rolling her eyes at him. Oh, yeah…I could always tell that the man was in for a quick-but-painful fall from grace when I saw the first eye-roll or two. The writing was on the wall that she no longer thought the man measured up to his pre-marriage persona. It never seemed to occur to her that she no longer did either. She would date very dominant men; then, once the ring was on her finger, try to control them. That’s when the real fun began in our household. You can surely imagine the fireworks that ensued as she suddenly changed the status quo and started trying to call the shots.

My brother and I were raised in our formative years by an emotionally cool, rigid, machine-like stepfather who required absolute obedience. To him, all issues were black or white; opinions and feelings had little or no value to him. And he took things so far in his punishment of us, that had his treatment been meted out in this day and age, he would most likely be in prison.

Did I respect him? Outwardly, I had to. I also feared him. And my brother, who received the worst treatment of all, not only feared him, but hated him. He was the only father I knew up to that point in my life, however, and I thought all fathers were like him, so my little-girl brain told me all fathers must cause terrible pain to their children. I was his favorite, even when his children from a previous marriage came to live with us. And I loved him. Yeah, it was complicated.

And I’ll just get the rest of the issues out of the way before we proceed. Was I sexually abused as a child? Yes, I was. I do not, however, believe this drove me into the 24/7 submissive lifestyle I’m in now. You can find this opinion on the internet: women who submit to the extent that female subs and slaves do are screwed in the head because of dysfunctional relationships with their fathers. Right. Just like all lesbians have been sexually abused by men, and all gay men have mother issues. I’ve read it all, believe me, and I don’t care what my so-called diagnosis is. I’m not a sick, desperate-for-a-man’s love doormat. I’m not weak or incompetent. I’m very well read and very well educated. I had a career for twenty-five years. I’m a great money manager. I love to learn. I’m highly committed to the environment and to animal rights. I’ve taught myself to be an excellent cook. If you met me, I’d probably come across to you as a busy, fairly organized, intelligent, happily married woman who has her act pretty damned well together. But, yes, I do have father issues. I’ve seen six step-fathers come through the revolving door of my mother’s life with men.

I’m sure if the above information was analyzed by a psychiatrist, it would most likely be determined that I was emotionally damaged enough as a child to destroy my capacity for normal intimacy. All I know is that I appear to be wired differently than most women, and my true joy and fulfillment come from dedicating my life in obedience and service to a man I trust and adore more than anyone on the face of the earth.

But it wasn’t always like this. I made the biggest mistake of my life when, at the age of twenty-one, I got married. And it should come as no surprise that my first husband was very much like the stepfather I described above. On the second day of our honeymoon — our fifth day of marriage — my new husband and I were sitting in the hotel coffee shop in Ixtapa, Mexico, and I burst into tears. What a lonely, loveless, sexless, boring, stressful honeymoon and marriage we were already having. We’d had sex on our wedding night, but he’d claimed from then on that he was too constipated from the anti-diarrheal pills he was taking (to prevent a reaction to the water while we were in Mexico) to have sex again anytime soon. My wisdom teeth were doing this weird, cutting-in thing they did a couple of times a year, but I was pretty comfortable on pain pills. And I wanted sex, damn it. But my husband could do nothing but lay around and complain about his digestion.

My mother had begged me not to marry so young, and to please at least finish college first. But she was already in her fourth marriage, so why would I accept marital advice from her? My new husband was ambitious, intelligent, nice looking, funny and a good dancer. I didn’t see what more I was supposed to want, and I vowed to show my mother by example how marriage was done. Besides, things had been okay enough, even sexually, while we’d been dating, so I reasoned that my stress and frustration would diminish when we returned to our new apartment and established a daily routine.

My husband’s parents struck me as dignified, cultured people, and did they ever like to party! (Hindsight Translation: Third-stage alcoholics.) Little did I know, I had married a terribly damaged person, a