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.

Struggling into Submission

I never considered myself submissive in the past. I've been called willful, rebellious, stubborn and contrary. I tend to be argumentative and to want my own way. I'm more selfish, rather than selfless. Focusing on the needs of another has been something I've resisted in the past. My service-orientation has been limited to my need to tend to my children, the only place I've truly understood the satisfaction of making things better for someone else. In short, I don't tend to the traits associated with submissives. I admire these traits in others, and the lack of them has at times made me feel unfeminine.

How then, did I discover these hidden and powerful places inside of me, the latent desire to be overtaken, the longing to kneel before another, the wish to be made to do that which I do not want? Why would I ever bend to someone else's will? I honestly have no idea. How do these conditions translate to fulfillment,the sexual and emotional and spiritual completion?

What I know is that "it", the desire to submit, was there within me before I knew the words, and that it's been something I've resisted most of my life. In fact I would guess that significant portions of my personality have been the direct result of my efforts to conceal and shield my real nature from those around me. My brattish manners, my need to challenge anyone I react to in a way I now recognize as submissive ... I've been in battle perpetually with this part of myself. I recognize it in the panic and turmoil I felt, and still feel when exposed to overt submissive behavior, or when confronted with dominance. I struggle to contain these feelings, to resist them, to not look.

My awareness of what exactly it is that was setting me off began when I entered the bdsm scene, thinking I was there only to explore sexual play or, rather, play that would enhance and feed my sexuality for later expression in private. I was interested in spanking, whipping, bondage - as though I could experience those activities in public and bottle up the results for later on, fodder for my private sexual life as a married woman. I had heard the term submissive but doubted it pertained to me.

My interest or need revealed itself as agitation at first. Outrage at the idea of ownership when I heard it discussed. My distress at a photo of a woman in pearls and formal wear eating her dinner off the kitchen floor, at seeing my friend wearing a collar and leash. Later, at being told I had to ask for things I wanted such as a kiss. Wanting to be close to someone, knowing there was no place to sit but at his feet and the senseless concern over how to get from standing in the middle of the room to kneeling beside him. Confusion over where these feelings were coming from - why out of the blue would I have a compulsion to kneel before someone, where does that originate, suddenly and unbidden? And more importantly, where do these kinds of compulsions lead?

The need to submit, in my mind, goes beyond and through the easier sexual sort of submission that makes my heart speed up and my body tremble. That can be done in the context of a sex game, that level of submission is easy ... hold your arms here, touch me there, don't move - innocent games any lover can accomplish for fun. Where it becomes tricky is the place, the line where trust and control intersect, where I have to abandon and release my own preference, instinct, want and intuition and replace it with the directive of another. In sexual terms its the difference between the lovers game of bondage, of force and resistance, and the more subtle relinquishment of will. The elimination of restraints and force, the need to take morphed into those things instead being offered.

Offering implies freedom. But I don't think that to be the case, because I've learned to offer things I don't desire innately on my own, not from my own need or purpose. At first the offer is insincere, an effort to please, to meet the expectation, to avoid disappointment. Later I sense it will be more genuine, an automatic response. Holding still while clamps are applied. Not pulling back despite an instinct to do so. Relaxing into pain rather than resisting. Learning to sigh instead of cry out. Most difficult, offering something when I so much want the option to say no, or to be able to change my mind after we start. There is an offering, but the word is also synonymous with sacrifice, which I find more accurate. In that sense, offering as a submissive is similar to an offering made on an alter to appease a personal God...it is usually either something precious, difficult or painful to give up, or something requiring work or effort. Very different from taking, more difficult for one resistant to submission. And therefore, more profound?

Its the being observed and left open to judgement or rejection, the vulnerable place where I put my lips to a boot, kneel, cast my eyes down and say Yes, Sir and am not laughed at for the emotion and passions that erupt. In my life it's living in certain ways according to the preferences of another, the desire to avoid disappointing someone that makes me try harder and make different choices. In sexual terms its surrendering my body to the desires of the other - receiving pleasure yes, but the pleasing more, experiencing the joy abstractly, as a function of proxy.

Today, I still "resist" because I enjoy the sensation of my walls. I've waited so long, it turns out, for this ... guidance that I need to feel it's presence. I crave the stern tone, the reproach, the glance that makes my knees buckle. I strain in his presence to not kneel on the floor because I want to prolong the moment when I do so, either at his hand or on my own. It's the descent downward that thrills me, the elevator ride I take from belonging to myself to belonging to him. I want to feel that change, experience the transformation again and again. It's nearly as moving to not submit in the midst of my strong compulsion to do so, like holding the breath, knowing the relief that will come when it's released, when I can let go and exhale and know I am safe.