We all agree that communication is essential; it’s the first thing every BDSM 101 book preaches

But nobody talks about how awkward it can be to actually start that conversation. To say it out loud. To use words like “Daddy” and “humiliation” and “forced orgasm” when you were just texting about dinner plans 10 minutes ago.

“Hey, I want you to beat me and leave me naked in public” isn’t exactly small talk.
Even if you’re close.
Even if you’ve got trust.
Even if you really want it.

Years ago, one of the subs I was working with figured out a brilliant workaround.

He had a blog — back then it was on Tumblr, later he moved to Bdsmlr.
And we had a rule. A very simple, very effective rule:

• Post an image once? That shows curiosity.
• Post something similar a second time? That shows real interest.
• Post it a third time? That gives me permission to bring it up in a scene, whenever I want.
• Post it more than three times? Then you’re practically begging for it, boy.

This turned his blog into a private confessional. A journal. A place where he could show me what turned him on — without awkward declarations, without performative dirty talk, without pressure. Sometimes he’d caption the image, spinning a little story that exposed his desires in plain sight — telling a fantasy, sure, but also confessing his darkest secrets directly to me. I wasn’t guessing. He wasn’t performing. He was just expressing.

One of his recurring obsessions was public stripping.
He kept posting images of men being told to undress in public places — bathrooms, alleys, locker rooms — and the captions always told some version of the same story: A man who’d given away his control. Who was now bare, vulnerable, stuck with nowhere to go.

By the fifth time he posted it, I made that fantasy come true.

I took him to a laundromat. We entered through the back. I gave him a simple command: “Strip. Put your clothes in a washer. Put coins in it. Start the machine. Wait for me. I’ll pull the car around.”

Then I walked out. Slowly. Casually. Left him standing there in nothing but his skin and his trust.

It must’ve felt like hours to him.
He had no idea if I was coming back.

Another guy walked in to do his laundry, and my boy bolted — ran out the front, straight into my car, breathless and wild-eyed. I could hear his heart pounding.

And that fantasy? Fulfilled.
Safely. Consensually. And yes, deliciously.

So if you’re a sub? Start a blog.
Post what turns you on. Let it simmer. Let it build. Give your Alpha a trail to follow.

And if you’re the Dom? Pay attention.
The things they post three times aren’t just fantasies.
They’re roadmaps. They’re dares.
They’re begging you to make them real.

Just don’t keep them waiting too long.

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