Diary of a submissive: Notes from my first session

His voice. If I had to pick one thing that I loved most about our first session, it would have to be his voice. He has the unique ability to convey both cruelty and compassion in the same breath, to come across as simultaneously savage and civilized, with a refined ferocity that must have taken a lifetime to cultivate.

The effect his voice had on me was hypnotic, stupefacient, almost alarmingly so. I found myself in a daze as I carried out his first series of instructions, as if possessed by him right from the start. I was amazed by how quickly I reacted and how readily I began to comply, well before my mind had time to process what I was being told to do:

“Strip naked.”

“Kneel down.”

“Bend over.”

“Present.”

Undressing, kneeling and ultimately prostrating myself for his initial assessment of me proved quite an ice breaker. Although I was eager to do as he said, the indecency of it felt, in some ways, like a small betrayal. A betrayal of myself, of my sensibilities, of my dignity. At the same time, it was wildly freeing, and it’s hard to put into words just how exhilarating it felt to overcome my own self-imposed modesty as I was made to “present” in this fashion several times throughout our session. As things progressed, I began to relish each new opportunity to open myself a little wider, arch my back a little deeper and push my shoulders a little harder into the floor.

Much of the debasement which I received throughout our session was self-inflicted. I suspect this is because it was my first time, and we are still getting to know one another. And because I need to demonstrate the obedience and discipline which will be undoubtedly critical for my own safety in the more extreme scenes we are planning in the near future. That’s not to say he didn’t assist with the occasional open hand against my hindquarters or some firm pressure using the heel of his foot.

Only once did the physicality of the scene come close to overwhelming me, when I became tongue-tied while trying to recall and string together a series of self-deprecating names which I had received (and even agreed I had earned) earlier in our session. I erupted into a fit of semi-hysterical laughter, giggling uncontrollably, much to his chagrin. I was put swiftly back in my place, on my back, with my arms arrested, wrists held firmly together overhead and both my legs pinned down by one of his. I had never been slapped anywhere other than my ass, so when his free hand came down hard against my left breast, I was completely unprepared for the agony I would have to endure. As he moved on to my opposite breast and then down over my belly to (as he put it) “tenderize me like a piece of meat,” I held my safe-word, like a teddy bear in the back of my mind, but refused to utter anything other than an occasionally pathetic and desperate “please” as tears streamed down my face.

Walking that tightrope strung precariously between “too much and ‘not enough” was the cathartic release I wanted. While during our first session, I think we achieved this for only moments at time, I consider it an achievement nonetheless. I already have my next session scheduled, and I cannot wait to be back underfoot… literally.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/u37r93/diary_of_a_submissive_notes_from_my_first_session