I’ve been thinking lately about my desire to “be used.”
It comes from the same place in me as my submissive need, but is different and deeper.
I obey Amanda on a daily basis, submissively performing a few chores each week, say “yes, mistress” to her commands, and serve her wishes as her slave. This is simply the D/s arrangement of our lives, how we live — my submissive need serving her dominant desire.
But sometimes it becomes something more. Like when Amanda fitted me with a waist tray for the BBQ party (here). Or when she puts me naked in the bay window. And times when Amanda calls me in to service her orally, then dismisses me when she is done. In each of these, the feeling for me is more than my being submissive — it’s the experience of being used.
It happens with others too. There are times Master McKenna has me suck his cock and it’s part of my submission to him, yet other times I suck his cock, and it feels different — it’s this thing of being used. Kevin, too: although in my reinvented life with him he is now more genteel, he has occasionally talked about “using my holes” and then gone about doing it. I submit to him that way, but the feeling is more than submission — it’s something else, something more, a feeling of being used.
On the other hand, standing topless in front of the trash men that day felt to me humiliating, but I experienced it more as my “normal” submissive duty in subservience to Amanda. I didn’t feel used, per se, though my embarrassment was deep.
Being used also does not seem to be especially related to intensity. It’s not just a heavier degree of being dominated. Kevin has in the past administered to me whippings that have left me gasping for air and dignity, but that experience as I felt it wasn’t the same as being used.
Confusing. Being used seems to be a reality separate from submission though emerging from it, yet not always occurring when and how we might think it might.
So what is this thing, “being used”?
It seems sometimes my being used is about being reduced to a function.
My wearing the waist tray at the BBQ party is a good example. Once strapped into the tray, I no longer was a person, even a slave person, and I became a tray. It was a novelty at first, and people talked to me initially as I walked around bearing their drinks. But after a while, I was just a serving tray, and they took drinks from “me the tray” without saying a word. I became merely functional.
A lot of the submissive life is objectifying, of course, and not all objectification carries this quality of feeling used. Maybe it transitions from “being submissive” to “being used” when it gets very specific and concrete — like being used as a tray or as a reading lamp or as a footstool.
This “functional use” can be sexual as well. In fact, that’s where I feel my deepest longings for it.
In the “old” days, when Kevin and Amanda and I were living together, fellatio was my “breakfast” under the kitchen table. (In fact — funny this — she would sometimes come into the kitchen, say “Good morning.” Kevin would grunt “Morning” back to her, and then a moment later, she’d hear a garbled “Good morning, mistress,” from me under the table with Kevin’s cock still in my mouth. She always laughed at that.)
Anyway… sometimes Kevin got up late, had to run, and had no time in the kitchen for “breakfast.” Instead, he took me to work with him in his truck so he could use my mouth. I was good at sucking cock without making a mess and he was good at safe driving while I was doing so. While my fellatios under the breakfast table were submissively objectifying in themselves, they felt to me part of my submissive life with him. It was only when he took me in his truck for my cock-sucking “function” that I really felt used. I’m not sure that’s a distinction that makes sense to others rationally, but it was profoundly distinctive to me emotionally.
“Being used” seems sometimes not to be about the thing itself, but about how the thing becomes my regular function, and how it forms the assumption by another that this is what I am made to do.
The feeling of being used, it seems to me, is also connected to the idea of something being unrequited — that is, one-sided, a use of me that doesn’t return anything to my submissive need.
This can surface in doing chores, but not in the usual way. One of my regular chores is to scrub the kitchen floor on my hands and knees. Normally, I am put in a short skirt for this and kept topless, so it’s sexualized, but it still is productive work, to my mind at least, and I enjoy it. But sometimes, after I’ve finished the floor and stand before Amanda proudly, my breasts coated in suds and my little skirt drenched, she will order me, “Now do it again.”
The point is that she knows the first time I did it I enjoyed the process of scrubbing the floor. It satisfies my sense of accomplishment in doing a submissive thing. But being made to do the floor a second time has no purpose and does not return to me the same sub satisfaction. This is a time when I feel used.
Always there’s a sexual version of this. Sometimes Amanda will shackle my hands behind my back, have me kneel before her, and spread her pussy for my attentions. With my lips and tongue, without use of my hands, I service her, wetly bringing her to orgasm. But this is unrequited: she doesn’t turn it around and say, “Now let me do you.” When she is done, she says, “You may go now.” In that, I am used.
Again, this is common to a lot of what happens in the submissive life. A slave is made to service her domme — of course. It’s part of the submissive life, for sure. But it’s not the first time or even the second that the feeling of being used comes in. It’s in the times after, as it becomes an assumption this is not a random event but is my regular function, that I am meant to provide her pleasure without expectation of receiving pleasure myself. I am used as a sex toy, her dildo with the latex tongue.
Being used feels to me to an experience of being consumed and being seen by others as consumable.
The bay window is proving to be that sort of thing. When Amanda poses me there, my thighs spread, I feel used in this consumable way — my sensation of others drinking in images of me and my sexuality and my sexual parts. They take me into themselves, take me home, take me into their fantasies, consuming me.
Recently I was struck by an image by Michael on his “Dionysian Experience” website. It was the realistic digital art he does so well, of Sienna, the submissive woman in his life. In this particular painting, Sienna lies naked on her back, thighs spread, pussy bare, atop a Thanksgiving table, food dishes arranged around her body. It’s literally an image of sexual consumption, and I commented to Michael I related to it so well, that I wanted to be her. (You can read my comment to his post and picture.)
These days, in this new neighborhood wokeness about me, I feel I’m on that Thanksgiving table, naked and pussy-spread, a creamy side dish available for consumption. Now that they know about me as submissive and slave, they see me in this sense of one who is used, aware now that I am meant to be consumed, used up. They may not understand why, and they may pity me in some sense, but they also enjoy the scandal of me, wondering if it is proper to use me to dip their drumstick. So to speak…
“Being used” as such, whether in reality or by metaphor of the “Thanksgiving spread,” is disgraceful, of course, but for me also desirable — and perhaps desirable because of its very disgrace.
It isn’t all the time. In fact, I prefer most of my days to live in simple leashed submission to Amanda. But there are times when I wish for this other “gear” of the submissive life, this deeper experience of being used.
I wish for it and yet don’t. It’s the aspect of the D/s life that still scares me — not in terms of physical danger but in its psychological depth. I could get lost in it. Being used is something I desire, then dread… then desire again.
For all of this speculation, there remains this question I cannot answer: why do I desire being used, and sometimes desire it so wantonly?