evolving: 2

What I’m talking about in these two parts are ways in which I have grown and evolved over time in the slave life. The post that prompted this had to do with Amanda and corporal discipline, the possibility that she has changed in her feelings about the “violence” of hitting and whipping.

I focused on her in that post, but here I will say a little more about myself in that regard: I have evolved over time toward a greater desire for the corporal humiliations of being whipped and flogged and spanked.

In the last couple of years of my vanilla life, I was taken to to a BDSM club. I could make a joke about what kind of guy takes a girl on a date to the RACK Room, but in fact I requested it — I was by then exploring my own submissiveness and curious about the “BDSM thing.”

There, the spectacle of people using whips on other people sort of confounded me. It wasn’t my aversion to the violence of it, but my sense of the emptiness of it — that is, it seemed to me to be a “what” without a “why.” One applied a whip to another lightly, in a restrained way, which seemed artificial to me, like it was a pretended whipping. I could understand if a whipping was applied as punishment (for sin), but what I witnessed didn’t seem to be about that. While the one with the whip was dominant, it seemed the submissive receiving was actually commanding the scene. It all seemed faux and sham, like a really bad stage show.

That was my journey into a BDSM club — your mileage may vary. I realize it’s a small sample, and I should not judge an entire subculture by that one experience. In fact, my attitudes toward BDSM have moderated over time. My point here, though, is that my feelings about whips and floggers and such were shaped by that early experience. It’s all lacked a “why.”

Until more recently. This has been my evolution.

I think my first real taste of the “why of the whip” was with Kevin. His claiming of me wasn’t the first time I’d been whipped or flogged, but it was the most memorable. Besides the remarkable skill he demonstrated in welting me with his first name initial, “K,” I felt his dominance in a unique sense: his use of the flogger and whip on me was a kind of art form, his flogger warming my flesh to be able to endure a harsher stroke from his whip. He needed only one heavy, forceful whip of my ass to make his more restrained strokes on my breasts seem harder. He played my anticipation of the worst to intensify everything else he did to me. With his implements of flesh destruction, he played me with his song. With Kevin, I started to see the why of corporal was “just because he could” as a dominant, and “because he was ridiculously good at it” as a kind of musician, master of a corporal music.

Master McKenna also is fond of whips and things, coining the term I now use — “corporal humiliation.” For him, the “why” of it is not in the infliction of pain but of shame. I once wrote about this with him specifically: “But there’s the deeper shame in my allowing him to hit me. The cables holding up my wrists are not restraints, actually. They are simply to pull my hands out of the way. I am not ‘in capture.’ Any onlooker could figure out that I am able to stretch the cables together so to undo my wrist cuffs. I could get away. I could walk out of the house. But I don’t. I stay. I submit. I give my body to the ignominy of being flogged by a man — which becomes my humiliation.” The full report of that particular experience with him is here.

I think my further evolution toward the corporal disciplines is also a change in my experience of the pain of it. I have never considered myself a masochist, although I suppose one could argue that all submissives are masochists in terms of psychological pain. But I’ve never thought of myself as enjoying physical pain, never had a desire to self-inflict. However, in recent years under Kevin and Master McKenna, my physical pain from being flogged and whipped at their hand has perhaps blended with the psychological humiliation of such treatments, and has become, somehow, a desire in me. I still would never beg someone to hit me — it’s not like that — but I confess I get submissively excited now when I see Master McKenna with a whip in his hand.

One more way in which I’ve evolved has been in how I’ve gradually been made into a sex slave. I wrote about this a while ago, and won’t repeat all that here.

But part of that evolution has been a realization that I am a far more sexual woman than I ever imagined myself to be. Or allowed myself to be.

I think some of this is vanilla-cultural: men are commonly accepted as being sexually driven, while woman have traditionally been valued because they are not. More so in the sex-averse culture of my religious upbringing: as a girl I was taught that a good woman was certainly not sexually oriented.

Obviously, when I entered D/s, I opened myself to a more sexual life, but still I’ve been more inclined to accept myself as submissively driven than sexually driven. I have been slow to accept the greater depths of my sexual desires. Even in a sexual lifestyle, part of me strives to be that proverbial “good” woman. Culture does that to you.

There’s much about this change in me that falls into the “I’m-the-last-one-to-know” category. Men I serve tell me they can feel my eager desire when I take their cocks into my mouth. Master McKenna mentions how I sometimes orgasm right away when he enters my vagina, my sexual anticipation being so substantial. Amanda teases me about how I am always wet, my sexual desire seemingly ever-present. I cannot, do not, deny the truth of these things, yet I have been slow to admit them to myself.

Then one day you wake up realizing you’re a D/s sex slave. Amanda says, “It’s not like you went into this kicking and screaming.” True, I’ve wanted it, but somehow I’ve been the last to know.

The evolution toward accepting my more wanton sexuality is part of the conversation regarding this next phase of my life in being shared with others. I sometimes represent my impending sharings as this is what Amanda wants to do with me, and I am simply obeying.

True, but the other part is that I want it too, quite a lot. I thrill in the experience of being gifted sexually to others and in the submissive experience of being used for their pleasure. But what I don’t often admit is that I just really crave the sex.

I guess I’m admitting it here. And that too is part of my evolution.

5 thoughts on “evolving: 2

  1. A very well written pair of posts, shae. Hypersubmissiveness and hypersexuality in a true slavegirl often seem to go hand in hand. Mix that with a good portion of masochism that is not self-destructive and you have…shae, the consummate slavegirl.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Wonderfully written post/s as usual, Shae. You really have a gift for autobiographic confession that allows the reader to identify with what you are writing about and also to see that desire in themselves (if it’s there). Thanks so much for sharing your journey and evolution with us. It is always such a strange place when something’s bleedingly obvious but you are the last to know.

    Liked by 2 people

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 )

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s