It's a sickness. No, the word is insufficient; it's a disease, a malady, an affliction, a blight. There's fire in my skin and I'm alive only as I burn, and the heat rises up to engulf me and purge conscious thought. It's stepping back into an older world, another life, where before I had civility and reason I had this gnawing want and this irresistible compulsion to satisfy primal needs. I want to reach out and ruin something beautiful so no one else can ever have it the same way I did. I want something, firm or brittle, that breaks when I grasp it and flows around me, desperately borrowing my own strength and rebuilding itself with pieces of me in ways I'm pleased by.
I want to own something, in such a terrible and absolute way that it can't be undone. A buzzing in my intoxicated, fire-seared brain, electricity that arcs down my spine and sets my hair to rising, tingling in my fingertips that leads to aggressive sparks with every grab and caress. I want to mark and scar and bruise and bite, I want to growl and shake and push and strike, I want to cover and fill and bend and subjugate. I want wide eyes, trembling hands, parted lips, and the sigh of the faithful when looking at her God. I want to be the word and the law, worshipped, obeyed.
That is sexual and romantic dominance in a relationship -- it devours me, it leads me to devour, it turns me from a friendly intellectual into a predator, running on an unstoppable instinctive lust to control. My every sense sharpens, I feel smarter even as I'm dumber. I hear differences in pitch and inflection, the notes of docility; I see the faint blush of skin, the downcast eyes, or the little brushes of a tongue across lips; I feel the increase in body heat, the shifting of weight, the softness of skin; I swear, though this may be delusion, when I'm in the zone I even smell and taste it, arousal and power and surrender.
It's a sickness. I am a jealous and possessive predator.
And maybe you want me. Or maybe you want to be like me, to see others the way I see them, to inspire them. To be inspired by them. For I am inspired by submission, deeply and truly -- it is my muse, and when my mind drifts to it I'm overtaken by an intensity that enriches all other elements of my life.
If so, this guide is for you. I'm going to go over what things women do and can do to force the devolution from man to beast on me, the signals I notice that make me think someone is submissive, and what I want from you once I own you. Please, be aware this guide is by no means universal; I am but one man, and I am intensely biased by being intensely dominant. I choose to see submission instead of a lack when it is ambiguous, I am willing to risk making a bad impression to coax the responses I want out, and am generally aggressive and unsympathetic.
1. Submissive Behaviors
When directed toward me, there are behaviors that, no matter how blatantly transparent, manipulate me; they speak to something inside me, gratify me, and invoke a clarity of thought and aggressive focus nothing else does. These are the methods by which my partners turn me on most, a girl flirting with me in any context can make me savage and pursue her, or someone who didn't mean to can accidentally make me view them as prey.
The primary factor here is docility. While I can enjoy a fight, what arouses me most is weakness. A woman's behavior ought to indicate some vulnerability to me: she should be unsure, needy, even a bit desperate. I'm turned on by depression, insecurity, and clinginess. When interacting with a woman, I want her to seem a little off-balance. I don't mind if she's gregarious or even aggressive. I want her to be comfortable with other people but not necessarily herself. When she blushes and looks away, when she has a wound in her heart, I'm attracted; when she defers to me, looks to me for guidance in a situation, I'm attracted; when she's completely lost and doesn't know what to do, I'm attracted; when she's close to me, afraid of something and finding me strong, I'm attracted.
