Yes, I want to struggle.
I want to feel each strap as you wrap it over my body and fasten the buckle. As you tighten each one I want to pull against it, feel its answering pressure then relax; relaxing a little deeper each time, as strap by strap you transpose my focus from the cares of the working day to the simplicity of the here and now: this room; this bench; you.
As you tighten each strap my submission deepens; “Submissive” stops being a role I play and instead becomes who I am. At the start I’m all “Yes, Mistress, No Mistress” because it is expected that I should use that language; though my voice is the voice of normal, everyday speech between equals. By the time the last strap is tightened my “Yes, Mistress” is a whispered sign of my submission, a sign that the restraints have made me your creature, to do with as you please.
I am nervous of course, nervous of the pain that is sure to come; but that is a beautifully simple thing, a physical battle of ancient clarity, so much more straightforward than the mental battles of the everyday.
When you have me fully bound, I want you to leave me for a few minutes, allow me to revel in the bondage, slipping still deeper into my submission. If to ‘struggle gently’ is not too much of an oxymoron, then that is what I shall do; testing the bonds one by one, moving an arm or a leg or lifting my body against a strap, feeling the limits of the little movement you have allowed me, all the time falling deeper under your spell, as my focus narrows and my world shrinks to the small space we occupy.
I will not struggle much as you start with your flogger. I might push up against the straps occasionally, just to re-inforce that they are there, because to know that I am tied, that I am not responsible for holding my position as the pain builds, is a calming and reassuring thing.
When you reach for your cane, and those first vicious strokes land, bringing the pain I can not prepare for, will never be ready for; bringing the pain I feel will overwhelm me; then I will struggle. In my struggle I will push and pull against the straps. My whole body will try to lunge forward with each blow; it will try to twist away from the cane; it will try to straighten, clenching every muscle simultaneously; yet each attempted movement will be brought up short by the restraints. I will struggle violently in physical response to the terrible onslaught of the pain. Your pain. The pain you are causing.
Yet there is a welcome freedom in your bondage; without it I would have to hold myself still, fighting to control my reactions. Tied as I am, I can allow my body free reign to follow its natural response, allow it to struggle against the brutality. Instead of having to stay on top of the pain I can immerse myself in it, freed to revel in the extreme sensations you are causing, to focus all my attention on sucking them in and mastering them.
This freedom, born paradoxically of restraint, leaves me open to the embrace of subspace and as the beating intensifies a change might come over me. My struggling will be calmed and as each blow lands I will suck in air, sucking in the pain with it and letting both out slowly. I will barely move, feeling myself sink a little deeper into the warm leather of the bench and experiencing each component of the pain fully: the deep impact, the spreading heat, the lingering soreness. I will be daunted by its power, yet I shall look it in the eye and face it down, waiting for the next blow with calm equanimity.
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