Approximately this time last
year, I was writing a lot about my quest for submission. I wanted to be able to
submit naturally to someone, without feeling that I had to be a brat. Much of
this desire was based upon a play relationship that I had during my first
explorations in kink back in 2009. This relationship was based largely upon
protocol and rules. I have never quite been able to work out why this worked so
well back then. Why was I so compliant? Why did I have to little desire to push
the boundaries in the excessive way that I do now? I was, as many like to call
it, the 'uber-sub'. I was well trained, obedient and proud to be that way.
Of late, I have been
thinking a lot about those first few months. About how such a simple set of
well enforced rules made me feel so submissive. About just how deep a place
that form of submission touched. And I have been wanting to go back to my roots
and try it again. The problem is, it is very difficult to find someone who is
capable of consistently dishing out the regimented, strict routine that I was
so lucky to find in those first months.
It was with some
trepidation, therefore, that I sent an email to someone with whom I have been
playing agreeing to do some protocol based play. However, when I received a
reply asking me to bring some high heeled shoes suitable for wearing naked, my
curiosity and anticipation won me over.
So, there I was, sat on a
busy tube train, attempting as best as I could to follow instructions by
masturbating unnoticed, my brain creating all sorts of ideas about what may
happen when I stepped through the door to his house. What did happen was all
very civilised – a glass of wine and cuddles. After 15 minutes or so, he looked
at me and asked me to strip as he watched. Usually, I don’t feel uncomfortable
doing this, but I did feel very slightly coy since it was so sudden and so out
of context. One minute I was sitting drinking wine, the next I was naked (save
for my high heels) and kneeling at his feet.
I remained in this position
as he – extremely calmly but with an unquestionable air of authority –
explained that he was going to teach me to submit. That everything that I did
was going to be for no other reason than because He asked it. And that my
enjoyment was going to be found simply through letting go, forgetting about
myself and focussing solely on him. I was entitled to expressing only pain,
want/desire and pleasure. All of my other thoughts and emotions were to be
inconsequential. In order to help me feel this, he placed a play collar around
my neck and instructed me that, whilst I was wearing it, I was to keep my eyes
downcast at all times. A sudden twist of my nipples acted to demonstrate how I
would be reminded of that rule should I forget.
To make his point absolutely
clear, he quickly led me upstairs and strapped me over a bench. I was
pleasantly taken aback by how well he had restrained me – and how helpless I
therefore was to his ministrations. He didn’t go gently on me, but he did
masterfully give me moments to catch my breath thus allowing me to take some
quite intense pain without feeling too much pleasure from it. This was a
demonstration of punishment and the power contained within it, and it very
definitely worked. I didn’t have any space left in my overwhelmed brain to
contemplate disobedience.
Back downstairs, he ran me
through some basic positions: 3 on my knees, 3 standing, 2 squatting (including
the ‘slaves kiss’, which turned out to be rather painful) and 3 lying down.
Then a further three forms of movement. I was expected to commit them all,
along with their names, to memory in a very short space of time. If I got
something wrong, even the tiniest detail, then there would be a sudden burst of
pain. One of the forms of movement proved particularly difficult for me –
mainly because it made me feel ridiculous – and he therefore took great joy in
making me repeat it over and over until I got it perfect.
When he was satisfied that I
knew all of the positions, he said that I deserved a break. He instructed me to
go and get a bottle of wine and a glass jug out of the fridge. Suddenly, I
realised that this was the real test. A test of just how deeply I had fallen
into the submissive mindframe. I poured him a glass of wine first, before
pouring some of the contents of the jug of piss into my glass. Then he stopped
me – his glass was fuller than mine. So I topped mine up. And I drank it. The
whole thing. I have to admit that this may have been due to the promise that
the nipple clamps would be removed once we had finished drinking, but he kept
filling me up again until he had finished his wine. I think I ended up drinking
three full glasses. But not once did the thought of disobeying cross my mind. I
had really embraced the fact that I was doing it for him – it was not my place
to think, just to do. And I really did get huge satisfaction from ‘just doing’ –
I didn’t need to worry about his reactions, I could let go of my inhibitions.
I was thoroughly rewarded
for my good work with a very hard beating and fucking (I have discovered that
combining the two is a recipe for instant subspace). But, if I am honest, I didn’t
really need the reward. I haven’t felt that submissive feeling for a very long
time, and it was incredibly intense, satisfying and special. I think that it is
time for me to let go of my brat and just let things happen. Just accept. Let
myself get to that happy, uninhibited space without fear. With the right kind of constant, consistent mental stimulation (I think that that is the key), it can happen.
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