It would have to be about a year and a half ago when I was first displayed naked in public. I remember turning up to the house where the party was to be held, and even though I was totally dressed at that time, I was nervous as all hell. Except for two or three people I’d met before, it was a house full of people I was meeting for the first time and I wasn’t exactly sure of the protocol – whether it was okay to talk to people, who was dom and who was sub – all in all it was an utterly and totally nerve-wracking experience.
Within an hour of arriving I was stripped off and paraded around the house. My clothes were removed in the relative darkness of the ‘dungeon’ and I remember begging (and I don’t do that a lot!) not to be taken out into the rest of the house. I was close to tears when I realised that all my protesting was in vain and I was going to be dragged out there anyway. I remember the glare of the fluorescent lights and thinking about my bumpy and wobbly bits and generally being mortified that all of me was ‘hanging out’ for everyone to see.
After an hour or so, once the initial shock had subsided, I didn’t become 100% comfortable with my nakedness in a room full of people, but it didn’t worry me as much as I thought it would. I suppose I was able to ‘let go’ to a certain extent and accept that I had no control over things and therefore had no responsibility either. Once I had decided in my mind that everyone knew it was not by choice, I relaxed a bit. By not voluntarily being naked I was stamping myself with a ‘I-know-I-don’t-have-the-body-to-be-parading-around-but-I-have-to-because-I’ve-got-no-choice’ seal and in my mind that made it bearable.
Since then I’ve been paraded, beaten, hogtied, worn butt plugs, cupped, worn pocket rockets, had a tens machine used on me and the list is growing. In fact, generally now I actually seek to get used in public because it adds another dimension to play – accountability. People expect us to go to parties and play to a certain level, and knowing that I’m on display triples my pain tolerance, which in turn feeds my endurance kink.
However, there are two things I’m not sure whether I want to do in public – be fucked by a person/device/machine and be played with to an ‘ugly’ state.
I guess that my fear of being fucked in public is actually more a fear of ‘getting off’ in public. My real sexual pleasure is a very, very private thing. I’ve faked orgasms plenty of times with my ex-partners, but they weren’t actually real, so ‘showing pleasure’ didn’t bother me. I remember the first time I had a release and came in front of Master – I was horrified, truly horrified. Even to this day, 100% of the time I want to get my pleasure in private.
I’m not sure exactly why, but I think I have a feeling of immense guilt. I find it hilarious because I make it sound like I’m some good catholic girl who needs to say a thousand our fathers and hail marys after having impure thoughts. It’s not like that at all, but I guess I still like to have my pleasure held firmly close to my bosom on ‘my side’ of the wall.
The ‘ugly state’ thing is probably linked to public humiliation. By ‘ugly state’ I mean pools of drool, snot-running, mascara-dripping, sweat-patches ie. general unattractiveness. I’ve never been pushed to tears or screams or anything like that, and in fact, I’m not sure whether that sort of thing is acceptable in public, but it’s something that I find really hot and very scary at the same time.
The image of slavery I’ve always had in my head has been gracious and calm submission, not screaming-snot-flowing-abuse-hurtling submission. As a result, I’m always very stoic when I’m played with, sometimes laughing or giggling, but not swearing ‘FUUUUUCK!!’ or kicking and screaming (even though there are times I’d really love to!) Perhaps I’m trying to live up to the ideal I have in my head, or perhaps I’m not willing to give whoever is using me the ‘satisfaction’ of a reaction, but I just suck it all in and internalize it.
As I said, I’m really on the fence with these two things. The experience junkie in me wants to be able to cross them off the list, but the I-don’t-want-to-have-flashbacks! side of me, doesn’t want to go near them with a barge pole. In reality, I suppose I don’t have any control over whether they will happen or not being that I’m the slave and all, but as I always say to Master, just because I’m the slave doesn’t mean that I don’t have opinions.
I have the right to think whatever the hell I want about anything, but at the end of day, when he says, “Do it bitch” I might be screaming on the inside, but I’ve still got to do it. That’s what slavery is.