I read something today that got me thinking about submission and what it means to me.

I’d say I’m a naturally submissive person. I tend to go with the flow, let others decide what we do and generally just follow other people – I rarely feel comfortable making decision, especially big decisions. I feel like I’ll be happy with pretty much any decision so I’d rather go along with other people’s choices to make them happy. In bed I’m much the same.

There are a few things that I find particularly submissive but the most submissive thing has to be spanking, I think anyway. Now, it’s important to clarify what we mean by spanking. We’re not talking about being jumped on by a gang who are going to kick the crap out of you. And we’re not talking about a man forcing you down and beating you. We’re talking about situations where you know you’re going to be spanked, you know you can leave if you want but you don’t because you have decided to submit to the pain that’s coming your way.

For me a spanking is deeply submissive and not at all about the pain – the pain is just a took for eliciting all the exciting feelings. I do like being spanked… but I don’t like pain – does that sound like a paradox? It really isn’t.

Okay, I’ll give you an example:

One time I was due to meet David but I was late. I’m often late. I forget exactly what the occasion was but it was important we were on time – he sent a text telling me to hurry up. I didn’t. Another text arrived telling me he was going to spank me when we got back to his place – I remember clearly the last bit of the message, “1 stroke of the paddle for every 5 minutes”. I arrived an hour and 15 minutes late! Even as I walked in to the place we were meeting my mind was thinking about taking 15 stokes of the paddle – my bum even felt a little warm and red just at the thought. David squeezed my bum when I arrived and gave me this look though he didn’t say anything. I spent the whole night being sweet and loving to him but always thinking about the spanking he’d promised me. We took a cab to his place and when we arrived I remember hearing the door locking. I’d had butterflies in my tummy all night but now they were fluttering madly inside; I was nervous but excited. “Take your dress off,” he ordered and in the same instant unzipped it down my back. “Yes, Sir” I said meekly as I stepped out of the dress that now lay on the floor around my feet. He marched me to the kitchen then stood facing me, holding my waist and the back of my neck. He asked why I was late. I didn’t want to lie so I told him I took too long getting ready. I stood looking up at him, feeling his hands on my body, feeling his power engulfing me. All at once, I was scared of the pain to come but turned on knowing I couldn’t escape it. I was frightened of David but excited by the power he had over me.

Mmmm please…

I knew the drill already and as I bent over the dining table, stretching my arms out so I could grip the opposite edge, feeling my thighs press against the table and my toes straining as I tiptoed to get myself in the right position. I was exposed, defenceless and weak. I was about to be hurt but I did nothing to protect myself from the pain. David slipped my knickers down my legs and offered them to me. I accepted, allowing him to push my own worn knickers into my mouth to help me keep quiet. I readied myself, waiting for the pain to begin. I remember the first blow hitting my left bum cheek. No pain just a massive thrust forward. A second or two later the pain followed just in time for the second blow to land on my right bum cheek. A third hit in the same spot as the first, the pain was immense and only got worse with each strike. I was crying by the seventh smack, which was the fourth on my left bum cheek. By the time of the fifteenth stroke I was a sobbing me, no longer holding on to the table and only able to keep my hands from my bum by clasping my wrists in each hand. David helped me stand up and he cuddled me. The pain quickly moved from intense agony to very painful throbbing as it did my mind returned to my submission. To the fact I’d accepted my punishment without complaint and to the power that I felt radiating from David like it was heat from the sun. I was so horny – I wanted nothing more than to give myself to him. He sat in a chair while I lowered myself painfully on to his dick and rode it feeling the pain with every movement but unable to stop until I’d satisfied myself on his cock. When it was over – and for days after – I felt a warm contented glow inside. I was pleased he had beaten me. Pleased I’d submitted. It felt good to submit. The pain died down during the week after and I was a little bit sad when I no longer felt even a gentle throb in my bum.

So that’s spankings. Bondage can also be submissive, although it doesn’t have to be. Just because you’re tied up and have no choice doesn’t mean you’re submitting to anyone does it?

Quite often David would cuff my ankle to the end of his bed when we slept. I’d have to wait until he freed me in the morning before I could get up and quite often I’d only be freed after we’d had sex. That was submissive. At night, having my ankle locked into the cuff. Waking in the night and feeling its reassuring weight around my ankle. In the morning, I’d have to please my captor to earn my release – and yes there was one time I didn’t earn my release (I didn’t wake up before he left) and stayed there all day til he came home from work. I was furious but by the time he got home I knew that I had to give up my anger and earn my freedom. That act of letting my anger go felt so liberating – it was like the euphoria you feel an hour after a great orgasm.

I’ll probably dedicate a whole post to this story, but I once went on holiday with a (male) friend. He’d split with his girl and offered me her place for free, if I took her place – if you see what I mean? While we were away in the sun, we met a lad who was fun and looked just like Justin Bieber – I really fancied him. My friend and I had a little chat about me fucking Bieberalike. Pretty soon we’re all in mine and my friend’s room with him telling the Bieberalike that if he wants to fuck me then he can. In front of the Justin-stand-in he didn’t say anything to me, just told him that I was a good girl and Justin had my friend’s permission to fuck me. Being talked about as if I had no say at all (I’d agreed all this before hand) turned me on sooo much. Justin version 2 didn’t need asking twice and I spent the afternoon fucking them both and I loved every minute of pretending I was being given away to another man I barely knew.

Submission for me isn’t about HIM being in charge, it’s about ME not being in charge. It’s about ME deciding that I want him to be in control. It’ about ME knowing I have the power to walk out (most of the time) but choosing not to. And when I’m being bound, it’s about ME submitting to that bondage knowing that I might not be able to escape for some time.

Submission is about ME.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s