A Knight’s Submission

The following essay was written by a man who goes by the name Naamaire, and has been reposted here with his permission. It is a beautiful depiction both of submissive knighthood, and the struggle a knight often goes through in accepting his submission.

I resisted labeling myself as a “male submissive” for a long time because my only real exposure to the concept was from femdomme erotic fiction which is, let’s be honest, mostly garbage. Don’t get me wrong, a lot of it makes me hot, but it tends not to be based in anything that real people could do for very long.

The stereotype is of men who are weak and stupid and easy to kick around, and women who hate men, or at least hate the men who submit to them. There are exceptions, of course, and the exceptions are getting more prevalent as more erotic fiction is written by people who are actually in the lifestyle.

But I think folks can understand how a guy like me could think, “I’m not a male submissive–those guys are losers!”

Then I realized that I can define a “male submissive” as a strong man who is dedicated to the comfort, pleasure, and well-being of a deserving woman, and if guys who want to think of themselves as worthless worms have a problem with that I’ll just kick their asses.

See, in my daydreams about the ruthless (and, since they are my daydreams, leather-clad) queen who rules the land with an iron fist, crushing any opposition to her whims, I’m not the sorry spectacle who is dragged before her in chains, I’m the badass in the spiked armor standing behind her throne.

I don’t kneel because I’m weak. I kneel because strength bows to authority. Who wants to own something that’s worthless? I am precious. I am competent and strong and skilled and fucking dangerous.

I am a dragon on a leash, and it takes an enchantress who is wise and fearless to hold my lead. I will look up at her with all the fires of hell in my eyes, and she will look down at me and know that the force of her will has captured a gleaming-edged weapon for her use.

You’re not pushing me down, I’m lifting you up. I bow my head to be mounted only by magnificence, and I will bear your weight, and spread my great black wings, and together, my strength and your control, we will rain fire down upon your enemies.

I ask for one thing only: let me be perfect for you. Push me, drive me, take me past the places where ordinary men fail. Trust in my strength, and in your own wisdom, dig in your spurs, and we shall ride like the wind.

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