This is our truth, tell us yours
Imagine a sub restrained by her wrists, legs, waist,and ankles, receiving strokes from a cane, and whichever implement catches her Masters eye. Attempting to behave in a way that makes him proud she whispers “Shhh”over and over to herself. He questions the noises she makes when beaten, and although she has never been ordered to be silent, just once she wishes she could be. She cannot stop her tears though, as he selects a new, skin tearing flogger.
Later when she is hanging by her wrists he reminds her of the first beating O takes. She doesn’t need much reminding, she has memorized that scene, quivering the first time she read it, the sadism transported her. No world of safe words and informed consent for O, she spins and writhes and suffers for the pleasure of the men beating her.
I do not have to imagine the scene with the sub, I am remembering it as I write. Hanging by my wrists I was only able to agree with the resemblance to O, rather than analyzing how much that first glimpse of S&M informed my growth into the sub I am today. Part of the reason, I believe, that I do not stay silent is because of the fact when O is beaten her reaction makes no difference. I do not want to be in a world of reasonableness and RACK when I am with my Master, I want to be used regardless of my reactions, unless those reactions are what he desires.
My relationship with pain is one of informed consent, unlike O. I love and hate it, fear and desire it. There is, of course, a place for more gentle activities in BDSM, but not in S&M. When my Master beats me it hurts. The natural reaction to pain is fight or flight, instead I hold myself as still as possible, no twisting or turning for me. It is in some ways a mind /body split, my mind loves the pain, and in overcoming innate reactions my body learns to love it too.
The reactions of my body are so intense that I desire them as an addict desires their fix. I might fear the initial strike of cane or flogger, but it fades the instant the skin is struck. love and desire always win over fear and hate.
Indeed my biggest fear yesterday was before I even left the house, being alone in a locked room miles from home with a man who could easily break my neck (as he demonstrated when he wrapped his arms around mine, bent my body, and whispered “Trust me.”) was nothing compared to leaving the house dressed in corset and stockings, covered only by a thin summer coat.
Each tap of my heels seemed to say look at me, the bag I carried full of dildos, canes and butt plugs seemed to scream search me. In many ways my greatest moment of submission was when I opened the front door. It was the prelude to the pain and pleasure that followed, but without that choice, that moment when I stepped out willingly the rest would never have happened.