Humiliation

I've come to think lately that I am perhaps Into Humiliation.

Two specific reasons come to mind. The first is this post about having poison ivy; it actually did quite a bit to reconcile my sex drive with my complete un-sexiness.

The second is a bit of play I was subjected to recently.

I was wearing a leather collar. There was a rope harness that basically went around my face; it secured my arms behind my head and there was a stretch of rope running through my mouth. He put together in his normal, steady, thoughtful fashion, which is why I was somewhat embarrassed to find that I was rapidly soaking my myself. Normally I find bondage very soothing, and sensually erotic with a dash of spice; I'd certainly never connected so rapidly. And I couldn't tell him, because, well, my mouth was full. So I waited as he put together a chest harness, as the ropes slid around me. I waited as he pulled me over and tested the ropes and secured me to a lead, to the support beam. I waited as he pulled off my pants, my panties, knowing he what he was going to find, but not how he would react.

He chuckled, of course. And I blushed, of all things.

He petted and stroked and teased until I was crying out and then he set about setting up other things. He had me kneel on a padded bench, with the lead behind me, and he put on the nipple clamps, and then he attached them to a chain to the beam above me. I could kneel in a precise way, or else they would make their presence very, very clear. And then he had a belt.

He may have teased me with it, licked me with it, just a little. I can't remember clearly; was that then, or later, after...? But he did bind my legs with it, which did something to my posture that made my cunt feel incredibly exposed. I wasn't so much kneeling as bent over, caught between all these delicate ties. He did hit me, then, on my feet (which hurts!) and my ass, and my thighs, just enough to make me writhe and shake, just enough for my bonds to join in, for my nipples to be tugged and torn at, enough that I was gone, beside myself, lost.

I kneeled and I wanted and that was the end and the all of it.

Until he mounted me on that dildo. Until I could get what I wanted; until he started hitting me again, and all my flinching and writhing and moaning got me was orgasm after orgasm and a deep, aching exhaustion.

He removed the dildo and took the clamps off, then, and when I through cursing him behind my gag, he told me I had been very good so I could choose: Ass, or Cunt?

I wanted him to fuck me in the ass, and he did. Without the clamps, I could fall into the harness and let it support me as he sated himself and I trembled around him, a shaky, trapped thing made of exhaustion and tiny orgasms.

...

...

...

What was I talking about?

Oh. Humiliation.

I liked feeling desperate. I liked feeling so incredibly turned on, without much evidence that he even cared other than the fact that it was kind of amused. I felt dirty, and I loved it.

A part of me is annoyed. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with your desires," this part says. "You shouldn't imply that there is."

To which another part replies, "Shut your mouth and open your cunt."

Edit: This post was supposed to analyse my feelings... but I kept having to go masturbate. Hm. Maybe next time. Also, the poison ivy is finally cleared up!