My responses and reactions surprise me sometimes. I know that there are a number of different submissive states that I go into, depending on where I am, what is being done to me and what general mood I am in. For example, if I am in a club the exhibitionist in me in conscious of the audience and likes to play along, I show off a little, I guess. The play tends to be more physical than emotional: my body revels in the attention and I get a good strong endorphin and adrenaline rush giving a definite "high". Mummification or any form of serious sensory deprivation and bondage makes me feel floaty, calm and almost melting into my body.
However, nothing is guaranteed, and the littlest things will suddenly make for a big change of direction, as a rule I tend to go with them, if only to see where I end up. After he had cut me out of serious quantities of pallet wrap, and I had time to come to, I started to play with The Photographer's cock, both of us laid on our sides, my body curled around his back. He casually mentioned that the position we were in made him feel a bit out of control, and that was enough to flick the switch and for me to start to top him. The mummification had made me feel horny, and whilst within the bonds I felt completely submissive, a total possession, once out the boundaries of the world widened very quickly.
Knight of Wands and I have been playing around with different power roles and states of being. Recently we've moved from animal play through to something a little more human, toying with captives and prisoners. Like the animal, it allows for plenty of chains, cuffs, clips and thoughts of cages. All the good "c" words. Like the animal, these are more active and aggressive types of submission, where I get to push out and he gets to stop me. And like the animal, I find myself channelled into strange places with the barest of touches. The feel of cold glass against my back, tied up in a ball, makes me buck and whimper. I hate the cold, being cold makes me uncomfortable, and sensations like ice or chilled water are both shocking and painfully unpleasant. In another mood, I might have continued to lie there, enduring the cold, hoping it would go away. But not that time, I move away at the same time as lashing out. Catching us both by surprise, and offering the opportunity for punishment.
Whenever something like this happens, I always reflect and wonder whether what I did could be constituted as being bratty. I don't actively decide to act out or to stubbornly resist, I find myself in places and enjoy the feeling of following them to their natural course, rather than trying to provoke a response. Although I enjoy planning, once I am in a scene there is very little conscious decision making. Which is part of the joy, and the thrill, in letting go and never being quite sure where I'm going to land.
Abandoned to his fate in inescapable rope
3 months ago