When I read a book that teaches me something I can usually say what I’ve been taught. But that’s not the case for Kacie Cunningham’s Conquer Me: girl to girl wisdom about fulfilling your submissive desires. Maybe the thing I understood after reading this book that I didn’t understand before is that “submissives” exist—self-identified, self-conscious, tribes of them.
Before I read Conquer Me the inner lives of lifestyle female submissives seemed alien to me. I knew a couple of these creatures from a distance, but could only imagine them as being confused about what they wanted.
Submission is a part of sexuality, I understood that, but my model of the psyche would only let it be the sprinkles on the frosting on the cake—not the cake itself. For me D/s flashes up briefly and occasionally and that’s all of the relationship style I care to inhabit. So of course I did that thing we humans do and identified the little dot of how-it-is-for-me as the whole mural of what it’s like to be human.
Kacie Cunningham, though, knows she’s submissive and knows she exists and understands her own flourishing, and is compelling on all these points. She has looked into the puzzle of her own sexuality both deeply and with a good deal of practical sense. She knows, if only because the huge popularity of bodice-ripping romance novels tells her as much, that there are millions of women who get their wet on by some variant of the drama of being conquered.
But does that fantasy need to remain unexpressed and indirectly satisfied? What if occasional bedroom play only begins to touch one’s urge to submit? What would it be like to have a relationship that supported submissive desire such that it could be extended into the more mundane corners of life? How are such lives arranged? What are the obstacles and pitfalls that couples run into when they extend this dynamic outside the bedroom?
This is a book about “consensual neo-slavery” that explores those questions from the point of view of a heterosexual female submissive—one who has a job and children, as well as a “Master.”
In one way this book is like every other relationship book you’ve ever read: Her point of points is that it’s all about communication. On the surface that seems a paradox. If one person in the relationship gets to call the shots and the other takes pleasure in having the shots called, you might wonder what there is to talk about. Kacie Cunningham understands that this is a paradox, but she also has a lot of lived experience working within the intricacies of voluntary submission. So she pulls apart the whole topping-from-the-bottom issue, and gives a lot of examples from a lot of different situations about how to communicate submissive desires. Doms aren’t mind readers, she insists, so “when you make the mistake of assuming that your partner sees you the way you see yourself, you’re doing both of you a disservice.”
The tone of the book is that of an older but still vital woman of the tribe, deep with experience-based wisdom, sharing how it is with daughters of the tribe who have already recognized themselves as more wired for surrender than the other girls with whom they work in the maize garden. She’s straightforward, open, well-informed, not at all condescending, admittedly fallible, and casually explicit. She’s also aware of the dangers of the D/s dynamic, such as that an abusive relationship can masquerade as a kinky one. She pauses on such points and takes the time to explain how to make the relevant distinctions.
As the girls take in what the elder has to say shame lifts, possibilities open, and sexual-expression based on self-knowledge starts to seem possible. There are still mistakes to be made, but the future seems less uncharted and their erotic-identities more dignified, fun, and human.