I love HNT’s. I am an exhibitionist, obviously (else why write a sex blog, why post pictures, why play in public?) and it both amuses me and feeds my ego to know that there are people that look at my pictures and read my words, and wonder about me, my “real” life, who I am and what I do. Or simply get off on reading what I write, on the pictures I post. Because that’s why I write this too.
Recently I posted a picture that W took of me in an early session we had. It was deliberately cropped from the original to highlight just a specific part of the photo, and I loved the comments it engendered, mostly about the submission that the picture seemed to embody. The interesting part in this is that while I do consider myself submissive to, and submissive of, W, then, when that photo was taken, what I felt was not so much submission…I was not submitting so much as being subjugated by him. He took me, he used me, he hurt me…I allowed those things to happen, I wanted them to happen, but there wasn’t (as yet) submission in my heart to him. He subdued me, he compelled me…only later would I classify what I felt as submission.
W doesn’t ask for or require me to be “a submissive”. I will, and do, submit to him in the moment, because he demands or it or he simply takes it from me, tying me, binding me, holding me, overwhelming me, even when I fight him or struggle. Eventually, one way or another, I give in. I submit to him.
I want to be there, I want to do whatever it is he is asking of me, I want what he wants to do to me–except sometimes, in the middle of it, when I don’t. I mean, sometimes (most times) it hurts, and even if I want the pain, even if in the end the pain is somehow pleasurable, in the moment–it fucking hurts! So I struggle, I push back, I resist. Sometimes there are things he does for his own pleasure or amusement that I just don’t like, but it pleases him to make me do them anyway, and I’ll resist, I’ll fight back. Sometimes, he’s pushing me. Pushing me just beyond that line of where I think I can tolerate it, or with something that I believe I just can’t deal with, and I fight him and the pain or discomfort. Sometimes I fight just for the pleasure of resisting him, of making him take me, of feeling him force me, pin me, hold me. I’ve learned to enjoy that feeling too.
But that is all “in the moment.” The deeper truth is that I do submit to W, whether he asks for it or demands it or requires it or not. That just grew out of our relationship. It grew out of what I felt for him, out of the depth of trust I have in him, out of our dynamic. I want to please him, I need to please him, I need to know I am pleasing to him, that I am useful to him, that I can please him. To me, the D in D/s is about control, the dominant controlling the submissive, whether it is in words, actions or emotions. The s is in desiring that control, but also, on another level, it is also about simply desiring to please, to be pleasing to his or her Dominant. In some cases, this “being pleasing” may be in subservience, or in displaying deference, as in many relationships in which protocol is highly valued. W doesn’t require or desire this, and in fact that kind of behavior would probably be displeasing to him. But there is in me the desire to demonstrate these feelings, my submission, in ways other than simply making my body available to him. I’ve learned, and he has allowed me, to show him this in small ways. And I do think, though that may not have been his original or desired starting place in our relationship, that he has come to value this part of me too.
All that aside, however, the session that the picture noted above was taken during wasn’t about submission. It was purely and simply about subjugation, and I wanted to share some of the rest of the pictures with you of the session as it progressed. It inspired the piece of erotica I wrote here – wholly a piece of fiction in the specifics, but not in the feelings it engendered. You can see the rest of the pictures (with the accompanying story) over at Bondage Demons.
Yes, I started out quiet, compliant, submissive even, my hands tied behind my back.
Then he tied my head to the floor by a rope around my neck, and the struggle began.
He used to ropes to spread my legs, to expose me.
I struggled. The floor was hard and dirty, it was humiliating to have my face ground into it, to have my legs spread that way, to be so exposed.
Struggling didn’t get me anywhere, except to have my arms stretched up, painfully, behind me.
In the end, he achieved compliance. I gave in because I had no other choice. He got what he wanted: he used me, he displayed me, he took photos of my ass and cunt, he caned me, he humiliated me.
And I loved it.
Everybody ended up satisfied.