Sunday, 23 March 2008

A Strange Appeal

Some time ago, a friend was discussing with me some of the activities which he had asked his previous submissive to perform. Of all of these, one in particular has stayed with me, and I often find myself turning it over in my mind. I thought perhaps that I might help myself to articulate the appeal of it here, though I am not sure the feelings it induces can be put into words.

He told me that on one occasion, when she had arrived at his house, he simply took her into the kitchen, and threw rice down upon the floor. He then handed her a pair of tweezers and container, and told her that she should clean the rice up, grain by grain. I am not sure how long he left her kneeling there.

I suppose that in a way I am surprised that I have fantasised about this incident in particular, rather than any of the other stories that he has told me. There are countless more "involved" scenes that he has described to me, and yet...

I have often thought of myself there, sometimes naked, sometimes clothed, my hair falling down over my shoulders as I lean over the floor. Why should performing such a pointless task on somebody's whim satisfy me so much? I am trying to think about how I feel when I am down there on the floor with the rice. I know that I feel small and vulnerable. Sometimes I have that same sort of feeling I would have when I was young, when one of my parents had asked me to perform some monotonous task not of my choosing. That is one of my worst secrets...that I sometimes enjoy feeling like a little girl. There is also that delicious feeling of being utterly possessed, in the sense that whomever has you might ask you to do such a thing, not as a punishment, but merely because they feel like it. And of course, you willingly perform it, because you have given yourself over.

Whilst I would not want it that way all of the time, I also enjoy the idea of meaningless cruelty. Perhaps not everyone would find picking up grains of rice with a pair of tweezers cruel, but I think that it depends upon how long you are left to do it. So why do I love the idea of somebody who cares about me being cruel to me? And why is it sometimes so much sweeter when it is inflicted at the same time as soft words?

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You kiss your mother with that mouth?