Becoming a slave capable of domination

We are all inherently contradictory.  Humanity’s complexity is boundless, reflected in each one of us.  This is where my thoughts turn as I realize I cannot escape my submissive nature.  Nor do I wish to.  Not only do I realise that I love being submissive, love submitting, but that the ultimate expression of love in my body is a feeling of surrender.  What I do wish for is to see it harnessed and made productive, for me as a person, for those in my life, and for it to not interfere.

As a submissive male-bodied and male-brained human, my desire to submit sometimes clouded my judgement.  Some might call that ‘thinking with the dick’ which even this trans gal was guilty of, even if I am not prepared to admit it.  [I mean that.  I don’t admit it.]

Not too long ago I worked with a shaman who I asked to consult with the spirit world on my behalf.  The most important lesson she delivered to me was that I cannot be a healer if I cannot provide a strong container.  That my submission cannot be mixed with my work as a healer.  Ever since she said it, this has become one of the most conscious threads for personal change and development.

My passion for shibari is growing.  I am a rope bunny.  But at the urging of one of the world’s top practitioners, a delightful human who allowed me to serve as her slave whilst she visited my country, and who later stayed with me and strung me up from the ceiling of my living room, taking a budding passion and showing me what is possible, I have begun to learn how to do it myself.

She has asked me to come and train under her.  I can think of no better way to convalesce after my surgery than to spend my days working with rope and knots.  But to go to someone who is so advanced without a strong foundation strikes me as disrespectful to her, and to me, but also a less effective use of time.  So, I have begun training with people where I live.

I have to say that the quality of instruction has been superlative, and I can thank The Companion for making the introduction.  Over the past months I have spent a total of four days in class, with independent practice and tutorials.

As a rigger without a partner—The Companion is there too, often, but she wants to be tied no more than I wish for her to tie me—I am given women who have volunteered for this.  I have been blessed with wonderful partners and learn from them.

They’ve said very nice things to me about the way that I do it…not about my technical skills, which frankly are appalling, but about my touch.  Last night, a woman that I worked with for one exercise only, said to the assembled group:

“I never work with anyone I don’t know.  Mostly that means my husband or very close friends.  Tonight, I decided to work with her [meaning me] as I thought, ‘why not?’, I wanted to try someone other than my husband.  And I don’t know anything about you,” she continued, looking at me, “but you seem very experienced, like I haven’t felt before, and you made me feel really good.  I am a domme,” she said, “I don’t usually let people touch me like that, but it felt good with you.”

“The irony in what you just said,” said the facilitator who knows me really well as a bunny, “is that she’s a bottom.”  I’m telling you, when you are announced as a bottom to a roomful of tops, they all look at you, all at once! My cheeks were red…I can’t think of when I blushed so hard.

“Thank you miss,” I said and lowered my eyes.  The domme I had just tied and held sensually put her hand on my bare arm, caressed it, smiled, lifted my chin, and shook her head in affirmation.  I love the kink scene.

There was a woman in that room who I wished for those words to land at the feet of. I looked at her and she quickly looked away, so I got up and walked over and knelt before I spoke.

“May I work with you?” I asked this most beautiful woman in the room, who had shared earlier to the room about the difficult responsibility of being a top.  Boy me would have never asked.  Boy me would have made “girly-eyes”, coquettish glances, at her all night form across the room in hopes that she would come over and claim me.  But I didn’t want to take chances.  So I asked, and she said yes.

“I’m a switch,” she said, when we were chatting and getting to know each other, “but mostly I’m a domme.”

“I’m not a switch.”

“I would have clocked you for a domme,” she said.

“No miss, not a bit.”

“I was wondering after what she said,” she said referring to the facilitator.

“I’m a slave miss.”

“Are you?”

“Would you like to tie, given this?” I asked holding out the rope to her.

“No.  You do it.”  I was surprised.  A domme.  Thinking I would be a sub to her.

“Yes.  I will then,” I said.  We were given three archetypes to work with, words that we needed to convey through rope, and our interaction.  The choices were ‘torture’, ‘control’, or ‘seduction’.

I asked which she would prefer, thinking I would like ‘seduction’.

“Torture or control,” she said.

“I don’t think I can do torture,” I said, “let it be control.”  She nodded in assent and then looked me dead square in the eye.

“Tie me, slave,” she commanded.

“Yes Miss,” I said, and began.

I tied her wrists together in front of her, and then brought her arms in close to her chest.  I brought the long, loose strand around her back, and then brought her legs up, taking her between my own legs.  I pulled the rope up into the crease behind her knee and drew it tight, looped again and brought it around the front of her legs.  I pulled it in tight, and then drew my legs in tight around her, squeezing.  Ahh, the joys of legs which reach to my shoulders!  I held her this way, with one hand on her forehead, pulling her head back, and my arms and legs gently squeezing until I felt the tension leave her body.  I caressed her neck with the soft ends of the rope.

I put my hand on the back of her neck and guided her to her side on the floor, and then bound her feet tightly up behind her.  I rolled her over, part on her back, part on me.  I placed my hand on her throat and left it there, pulling with my other hand on the rope, tightening, squeezing, letting her know that I was very much there.

After a few minutes, I rolled her back up and slowly and sensually began to untie her.

“Did I do control?” I asked.

“Yes, beautifully,” she said.

“I was so scared,” I said.

“It can be that way with a stranger.”

“Yes.  I didn’t want to disappoint you.  And I didn’t want to do anything that you wouldn’t like.”

“I felt very comfortable with you.”

“Next time, will you tie me please?”

“I’d like that very much.”

“But you could tie me again if you want.”  She smiled.

“I’d like that too.”

There was a lesson in this which is what sparked this post.  I am coming to realise that I can tie a woman and play with her, and ‘dominate’ or ‘top’ her even if I am a slave.  It is possible that I do it as I do it, giving comfort and safety, precisely because I am a slave.  Is this what being a ‘service top’ means?

The theme of this class was “how to communicate with rope and through the body”.  The teacher spoke about how important it was as a bottom to engage actively, to anticpate and to not be a sack of potatoes, but to respond.  By practicing as a ‘top’ in this sense, I learn better how to ‘bottom’, even without sacrificing my identity as a bottom.  I realise more and more, in a practical and real sense, not just a theoretical one, that following the lead of a domme is a form of play.  And the better we are able to do that, the more fun we will both have.

I love the pro-Domme, that much is a given.  But what I am discovering as I meet more lifestyle dommes, is that there are more unfiltered opportunities to connect in D/s with lifestyle people than with the pro’s.  It is scarier, and also requires more of me.  But knowing that everything is consensual (it always is, but in this particular sense) also in the way that we explore each other, gently, not asserting our needs but listening.  There is a real beauty to that, a process which is as tasty as any scene.

Being a slave and topping someone is a deep form of service, and in no way interferes with my position in the D/s hierarchy.  Just as it was when I was heading over to give a man a proper working over with a whip but was accosted by a dominant woman, who led me centre stage, stripped me, and whipped me, my true nature is not in the way of being a domme.  My desire to pamper and care for a woman, is exactly this, because it is a form of submission.  I also don’t see a conflict with this feeling towards women and my growing lust for spanking, beating, flogging, and whipping men.

And I think this is only possible because I am settling into being a woman.  Woman.  Gosh.  I can’t say that enough, and how delicious it feels.  Life is beautiful.