Grabs a soapbox and drags it into the spotlight.

Steps up onto the wooden crate and taps the microphone. Testing, testing. 1, 2, 3. OK. Deep breath.

This one’s for all the sexy people who happen to own, ahem, have a submissive partner. And honestly, it’s for the dominant ones too. Because here’s the little secret I’ve picked up after some late-night chats with good friends:

Share your fantasies.

With your partner, spouse, girlfriend, boyfriend, favorite human or whatever label you are using today.

Seriously. Out loud. Over text. Written on a Post-It note in crayon. Or, if you have the time, spelled out in refrigerator magnets. The delivery doesn’t matter. The important part is getting it from your head into their hands.

Doesn’t matter how small, how outrageous, how “never-gonna-happen,” or how “uh, should I be embarrassed saying this?” they are. Just say them.

I speak from experience here. As a guy who bounces between “slightly submissive” and “please step on me, I am a worthless little worm” (don’t worry, I haven’t actually said those words out loud… yet), I know exactly how powerful my wife is and how desirable she can be and how electric it feels when a fantasy clicks for both of us.

Sometimes I even pitch my ideas like a script, with stage directions and dialogue included, so it’s very clear exactly how the scene can play out. But when too much time passes without us really trading fantasies, my submissive brain starts spinning: Does she still see me that way? Is she still turned on by us? Or is she imagining things that don’t include me at all?

Or better yet, maybe she’s dreaming about things she wants me to experience since many of my own fantasies don’t involve me as the main character. Maybe she’s picturing me surrounded by the Stocking Syndicate—a gang of lingerie-draped women proving to their boss Elise, all the ways they can please a man. (Hey, it could happen.)

The point is: nobody’s a mind reader. I can’t expect her to show up dressed like Dorothy Gale in a red gingham dress, holding a crop instead of Toto if I never mention that I’m into it. (Side note: I know Dorothy wears a blue dress, but it’s a inside joke between Elise and I.) That’s not how fantasies work. They may need time to breathe. Sometimes even a few hours of scrolling Amazon for the perfect outfit.

And when we do share? Magic.

Case in point: before our recent trip to Desire RM (Trip report coming eventually), she mentioned she wanted us to perform for a crowd. Either in the playroom or on a daybed by the hot tub. Sooo, like most men, I wanted to problem-solve and I investigated how we could make this happen. Well, the playroom was packed beyond capacity, so… hot tub daybed it was. Just us, an audience in and around the hot tub, and a whole lot of fun. 

Before that same trip, I shared what I wanted to experience and she admitted she wanted the same thing, which was for me to make-out with another woman. And when the chance presented itself, she not only gave the green light but cheered us on from a few feet away while it happened. You know what’s hotter than kissing someone new? Hearing your wife say, “That it’s turning her on.”

The thing is, hearing that fantasy ahead of time was almost as sexy as living it out. Knowing a fantasy has been living rent-free in your partner’s brain, maybe in the dark before falling asleep, maybe with her magic wand in hand. It made it even hotter. Her fantasies become my fantasies.

And it doesn’t always take a whole production. Sometimes, it’s just a spicy one-liner that flips the whole night around.

Like:

• “Hey… since I was working from home today, I got a little distracted and pulled out a vibe. Maybe when you get home, you can skip the welcome-home hug and just bend me over the bed and pound me like you’re a baker and my ass is the dough. Naughty, naughty dough that needs the baker’s sweet cream filling.”
  
• “Better have a drink ready when I get home. I’m sitting on your face until either I finish my book or you drown.”
  
• “Tonight, I’m just going to lie here and tell you exactly how to stroke that pathetic cock for me.”
  

That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you fuel the fire.

Because the fun part isn’t just the act, it’s the discovery. It’s learning something new about a partner you’ve known for decades. It’s creating inside jokes that make you both smirk in public, like giving an elbow nudge in a mattress store and she would know that means, “Remember when you were on your hands and knees and I was behind you… we noticed that couple watching us? And when they got up to leave, I yelled, ‘Hey! Where are you going? We’re not done yet!’” Then maybe I’d try to pull her up on the display mattress, because life’s too short not to be silly and inappropriate.

And sometimes your partner will drop a bomb on you out of nowhere. Like it recently happened to me while we were in the middle of a group chat. Elise casually mentioned that a six-way might be something she’d like to try. My brain flashed, red alert. DEFCON 1. Where the hell did that come from? Why hadn’t I heard this before? Who’s involved? Am I there? What’s she wearing? What’s the play-by-play color commentary? I didn’t get many details, except that it’s still a “someday” fantasy. Oh. 

So, dear reader: share your fantasies. The silly ones. The weird ones. The humiliating ones. Even the ones you’re convinced will never happen. You never know which spark will set off fireworks, or which story you’ll be winking about years later.

Mic drop.

Hops off the soapbox and blinks. “Wait… where did this soapbox even come from? Did Elise buy this? It better not be one of those designer Pottery Barn crates that costs a fortune.  Though… I will admit that it’s pretty nice and it can support my weight.”

Shrugs and bends down to check that the microphone actually survived the dramatic drop and then walks over and turns off the spotlight. 

“I’ll see you in the next post.”