Domination & submission _ the BDSM relationship handbook ( PDFDrive )

“No, Dad.” I replied, “Technically, they’re not slaves, they’re submissives.
There’s a difference. And besides, that’s what I’ve been trying to explain to
you. It’s not all about sex.”
“Right,” he nodded, and pondered the point for a moment before continuing,
“But, they’re basically sex slaves, right? You can tell them to do anything, and
they have to do it, no matter what?”
I silently cursed myself for starting this conversation, but knew I had no choice
now but to continue with it. I explained, “Dad, it’s not like that. It’s not like that
at all. These are loving relationships. My girls do what they do out of love and
devotion, and an intense desire to serve and please their Master. They don’t do
it because they have to.”
“But... you’re their Master,” he countered. “That pretty much makes them your
sex slaves, right?”
Desperately wanting this line of discussion to end, I simply replied, “Yes, Dad. I
guess you could say they are sex slaves.” I suddenly understood what it was like
to be one of those poor bastards who confesses to a crime he didn’t commit
because he just wants the world to start making sense again; he just wants to
wake up and have it be over. At that point, I probably would have told him that
my girls were sex slaves from the planet Gor if that’s what he wanted to hear,
especially if it would drive a stake through this discussion’s heart and finish it.
Unfortunately, Dad was nowhere near done.
“What about that little blonde girl you introduced me to a couple of years ago,
when I came for a visit. Was she a sex slave?” Yes, Dad. “And that tall
brunette you brought with you to my wedding? Was she a sex slave?” Yes,
Dad. “And what about that hot Eurasian girl, the one with the epic tits? Was
she...” Yes, Dad, all of them! They were all sex slaves, every last one of them!
Can we just talk about sports, or something, now?
But, no such luck. My father spent the next half hour naming or describing
every woman I have ever known since I was a teen, asking, “Was she a sex
slave?” I started looking for spots along the highway where I might be able to
slow down just long enough push him out of the car into a hedge or culvert. I
sought solace in the fact that he would eventually run out of names to ask me
about, but then he did something just plain weird. He began listing practically
every woman that he’d ever been involved with, and asking me if I had ever