It is a very powerful emotional state when a submissive knows that he is now and always the property of his Master, to be permanently marked as Masters property and to be used for Masters pleasure. Thank you Master for helping me understand.
Oooo, I like the way he’s pleading, which seems so feminine (per Western gender tropes). And I like that he’s being fucked by a machine. But I hate the absurd pixelation-censorship, which means I can’t even quite tell what the dom(me) is doing to his cock. Why? Why? Why?
I imagine that the girl in the last image is crying because she’s just been spanked, or similarly punished. But here, I think she’s crying simply from the humiliation, and that makes me…cringe.
When I see images of people tied up, I think oooo, fun, I want to be that person. And when I see images of people being punished or tortured, I think, ouch, fun, I want to be that person…but not right now. In both cases, I’m turned on by the D/s story it tells.
When I see images of humiliation, I have a very different reaction. I get very critical and picky. I hate this guy’s haircut, and expression, and bracelet, and I really hate what he’s drawing and writing on her. But that’s the point, of course. She hates it, too—that’s why she’s crying.
Thing is, I can still see the D/s story, and I still find it arousing. I just find it much scarier than whips and chains.
The thing, I find, that non kinky types, can never understand is how cathartic it is. As a masochist, I crave the pain. As a submissive, I crave the domination. As a woman, I crave the attention. But as a human being, I crave release.
We carry so much irrelevant shit around with us, thinking it’s so important. When he beats me I always fight, physically and mentally. I find it hard to let go. Because all those stresses and worries, those little jobs and irrelevancies feel oh so important. When he pushes me to breaking point, the point at which I realise I can’t hold onto everything all at once and have to let go, it all comes flooding out with my tears.
I cry and cry and cry until I haven’t got anything left inside of me. And he picks me up and holds me and mends all the ills he’s done me. And I feel lighter. Because after it all, those things I was carrying feel so very unimportant. And I just don’t have to pick them up again.