How to Use Your Scent and Sweat as Power

There is one thing he will never ask for out loud, because he doesn't have the words for it — and he thinks about it more than he thinks about your lingerie. Your scent. Not perfume. You.

We were all trained to do the opposite: shower before sex, "fresh cotton" body wash, and out comes a woman who smells like a store. Twenty years of advertising taught you that a woman should smell of anything except a woman. Advertising, mind you, was also invented by men — the same men who later complained there was no passion in their marriage. For an ordinary husband, fine. For your submissive it's like serving wine in a glass that still smells of bleach: technically clean, nothing to drink. Soap-and-water hygiene kills the very sweetness he dreams about. Pheromones, warmth, salt — everything his nose exists for — you rinse off a minute before you let him near it.

Shower a few hours before — not right before. That's all it takes: you already smell like yourself and not like a bottle, and that's exactly right. One exception, not up for discussion: the place he is admitted to by special permission is kept immaculate — always, no "good enough."

After the gym. In the old patriarchal world a man came home tired and got her mouth — simply because he was the man and had earned it. You come home from a workout and get his tongue — simply because you are the Mistress. Flushed, in leggings, salt on your skin — the shower can wait: the armchair first. He goes to his knees. Through the fabric first. Then he peels the leggings off you himself — slowly, with his teeth or his hands, whichever you say — and then skin, and whatever you decide to uncover. Right there, without leaving the armchair, is the easiest place to come — on his tongue or with the vibrator he hands you.

Notice how hard he tries: he'll lick with a special ferocity. And say it out loud: "My pussy is a gift to you." That works better than any scent. And if you trained with a coach — add some spice. Tell him slowly, while he licks: how the coach stood behind you on squats with his hands on your waist, how his palm rested on the small of your back a moment longer than it needed to, how he looked at you when you bent over — and how you noticed, and didn't move away. How the leggings he's peeling off you right now were in front of another man's eyes an hour ago.

Feel the tongue get hungrier with every sentence — and everything in the cage strain against the bars. Jealousy in a cage is the best training tool there is.

He doesn't get to stop until you say so. And afterwards it's his job: wash your gym clothes and have them ready for the next session, asking for nothing. Your panties go in the same pile: he washes them himself, by hand, when you allow it. The confidence for this doesn't come right away: the first time, handing them over feels awkward and you'll be watching his face. A couple of times in, it's routine. A month in, you won't remember what there was to be shy about.

Feet. Your feet after a few hours in shoes, after heels — that's a chapter of his religion all on its own; it doesn't take a whole day, an evening is enough. So are the tights you peel off and toss in his face. What smells of you is his; what's fresh is for guests.

How he smells is up to you. One baseline rule: cage washed, breath fresh, because that mouth is what he serves with. Beyond that — whatever you prefer. Some women want a slave who smells of nothing but soap, two showers a day. Some get a kick out of him coming back from a run and not daring to shower until told — and you decide which of the two of you is allowed to smell like yourself tonight. Either way, it's your call, not his: his body is your territory, and so is the scent on it.

The point: don't ask whether he likes it. Look at the cage — the answer there is always honest.