Stepping

I was in a cage. I was at a New Year's party at the home of kinky friends. It was late and I had already been played with at least once, whipped and spanked. I was in that cozy place I go to afterwards, after the initial buzz and high abates and my brain slows down. Immediately after play, I tend to have a lot of excess energy. I wander around, unable to keep still, until finally, like an overspent toddler I eventually settle somewhere quiet to rest and regroup.

The cage was wooden, built underneath a table where another woman lay above me being flogged and beaten by two other tops, my Sir one of them. He stood behind me, and I lay there on the mat inside the cage, resting and watching the scenes going on around me, content to be nearby my Sir, although not directly interacting with him.

Suddenly, I felt his foot upon me. I've never, in my life, had anyone put their shoe on me in such a position. I melted. Something about that just gets me. Its the possessiveness, the positioning, the fact that it's a foot, that I'm on the ground, that it holds me in place there where I belong and want to be. One moment I'm just lying on the ground, unclaimed, unbidden, inactive. By the mere act of his foot upon me, suddenly I'm owned, held, positioned and actively involved.

That's all it was. It led to nothing after that, although at some point when I was released I know that I moved to the foot again, kissed its boot, and lay my cheek upon it, unwilling to remove myself from contact with my beloved.

I suppose on some level there could be perceived an element of humiliation in this. One is, after all, beneath the foot of someone else, there to be trod upon and touched by the sole which has been god knows what dirty places. There to be a foot rest, no longer a girl, no longer anything other than that which supports his foot, the same way a step might, while his attention is presumably focused elsewhere.

I felt not a scrap of humiliation, though. My adoration and desire for connection and attention from my Sir is so strong, that it overrides that sense of shame I perhaps should have felt. Or maybe that's the secret to humiliation play - that it truly isn't. Because this man could in fact, do nearly anything to me, and my entire being would be open and content in it, simply because it's his bidding. For him I'm willing to be things I otherwise would consider unattractive or unsexy. Things I would consider beneath me in other contexts. The only common denominator being his will for me to do or be that thing.

A Treatise on Anal

I have a love/hate relationship with anal sex. Perhaps it's an analogy for my ambivalence and confusion about D/s and why it is, how it is that I'm drawn to it. In theory and fantasy, emotionally and symbolically it is perfection in submission. I dread it, if I'm told it will happen.

I once had a small curiosity about it, similar to my interest in skydiving perhaps, but nothing that would compel me to become serious enough to actually engage in it. I am not, however, left to my my own choices in this, the event, the time and manner are never my call. It is in this exercise of domination, this very specific act, that my submission and obedience to another's will plays out most fully. This one experience is what tells me without a doubt that I've crossed some line that exceeds the predictable. I can feign obedience, I can kneel without feeling, my lips can form words that sound acquiescent. I can take a lot of pain, I can soak it up and never return the energy, remain in the power seat... my true letting go isn't achieved easily, my instinct to resist is too deeply ingrained. There are many ways to play at D/s, much to my chagrin. I do wish it were easier for me. It always takes time before I sink into it completely. This thing, the state of mind ass fucking brings me to, for some reason I cannot fake.

You may find me on my knees sucking cock, find me tied to some contraption or other being whipped, wearing a collar. You may see me crawling or even begging if I'm told I must. I can do any of these things and still remain my own. I can do these things and even be distracted by my grocery list, or concerned with how I look, aware of those who watch instead of focused on my task or my tasks master. But when I'm taken in the ass, there is guaranteed to be nothing else on my mind and such an event can only happen through the most deliberate and helpless surrender of my entire self to another. My entire focus is on sensation, the desire for it to stop, the surprise at the pleasure, then the shock of the fullness, the concept of what is happening washing over me.

When my pussy is being fucked, there's this thing I can do, an angle of the hips that will prevent the deepest penetration, I can, unless I'm told not to, assume some control of what happens in that way. Sometimes I'm told to stop, to open to him, to my Daddy, but doing so is voluntary. Anally I have absolutely no control of the depth, the speed, the angle. It may be my inexperience, perhaps there are ways I can eventually learn once the shock diminishes, when this becomes familiar. Until then, the loss of bodily control is absolute.

At times I know it's imminent. My body trembles with anticipation of the inevitable. The usual thrill I might experience as my mouth slides over his thick cock, feeling it swelling and becoming harder as I suck and try to take it all down the back of my throat is tempered by the future. I feel every inch nervously, my lips pressing against the fullness that I can barely handle. His thrusting both excites and worries me, knowing exactly where these motions will soon be employed. Even the strength of his arms draw my attention to the vulnerability I'll soon experience, for he can lift and hold me, prevent any movement of mine.

His weight would easily keep me in place, were I to succumb to the impulse to escape. This thought flits across my mind as he kisses me, pressing his body onto mine, his lips and teeth moving me past my anxiety into arousal. I'm played thoroughly, his instrument to torment, seduce, my pussy dripping for him - in vain it seems, for if he's not going to use it, what difference if I'm ready or not? My body is his traitor, giving in to it's owner, even though I'd delay my response to win any extension.

At times I float away, my only escape, hovering above us seeing me as he might. Small, somewhat pale, weak, trembling and dizzy with lust. The room is thick with his desire and intention, for he knows this is how best to command me. He's patient, loving, gentle ... slide back love, take your time, push against me ... he's all patience and light until the moment I waver and decide to withdraw, avoid the stretching and the burning. It's that instant that he seems to spring and I don't really know what happens for those moments but suddenly he's deep within me and I've gotten past it and there's always some relief in that. It's like jumping off the high dive, the moments during the fall oblique, the only memory the bursting up through the water into the air, alive and through it ... only to realize you're still in the deep end of the pool.

He moves and I pant. He may remind me to breathe, as sometimes I hold my breath, just as I'm holding still. He can't go in deeper if I'm quiet, can he? Oh yes, he can and he will. I admire his control, because I know what this does to him. My body tight around his cock, my whimpering, my hands clutching at anything I can hold ... my head to the side, his little girl keeping her eyes shut. I know what overwhelming me does to him, how the possibility that it might hurt and I still take it affects him.

How I want to please him, now that I'm here. I want to move, to fuck him and give him what he wants to take. I beg for it now, or ask for it nicely, please, my voice sounding unfamiliar, higher, desperate. I feel him move inside me, stretching and filling me in places I never am aware of. My ass has abilities to feel things my pussy never does, each inch and throb and thrust. My bottom vibrates with his movements, but I can't synchronize, even the ability to cooperate is gone. The only participation I have is through my joining to his will to accept and enjoy this, so I arch my back and become one with his purpose.

Sometimes I orgasm, when I come this way I scream. My bottom is numb afterwards, I feel my ass all day, for two days even, it's as though I've got a new body part, like a sore muscle you never knew you had. Except it doesn't hurt, it's as though I'm constantly being touched there. Worse than I imagine wearing a butt plug around would be. I feel stronger, more owned, somewhat altered and just a little bit dirty.

But it's what occurs later that is truly the telling part for me. If he lost interest in my ass I'd be okay - its not something I crave in a physical sense. I worry when I know it will happen, when he warns me. But when I'm alone, when I'm bored and want to make myself come, nothing else works lately. I think of ropes, of biting, of his hand on my throat and how he has teased me with his cock, refusing to enter me until I begged ... nothing pushes me over until I remember the powerful rhythm as he shoves his cock into my ass, biting my shoulder, claiming me for his and reminding me who I belong to. I can't even engage in masturbation on my own terms. He's entrapped even my solitary fantasies with his will and control.