Shades of Submission
Are you 'A Submissive'?
Submission. What pictures does that conjure up in your mind? What images pass through, confirming your opinion and augmenting contempt? Do you see a woman, possibly small, mousy, timid and silent. Too afraid to voice her opinion, argue her cause, lacking in conviction and strength? And no matter the company, she would be the same, hiding behind her mantle, protected and secure. Directed each day by the instructions of others, agreeing and passive with no thought of resurrection.
Would this judgement be based on resentment? Maybe a touch of envy? The relief, for a short time, to shed responsibility, to slip into a bygone feminine role, that conflicts with the female emancipation that forced unwanted ideas and the encumbrance of a new behaviour on some who did not want it.
Or maybe you see manacles? A helpless woman, bound and gagged. Perhaps wearing a collar that is a symbol of her subservience and ownership. Obeying without dispute. Would you see her being spanked and interpret it as beating or torturing? Her wanting to please, an insult? The playing of her body, perverted? A stereotypical image, an assumption of the definition of submission. Unable to comprehend that she had entered this willingly, happily. And her tormentor, be it man or woman, is her salvation.
Would the arousal you felt be denied? To be replaced with feigned disgust. Maybe this judgement, also, would be based on envy? Or repression? A primal instinct to slip into a different role and embrace the escape from mediocrity. The refusal to accept that subservience has many forms, in routine and the mundane. In everyday life locked in its order, the restraints invisible but still bondage.
Only two perceptions? Clear in your mind and reached via your character or the inability to accept variance, the shades of submission and the unspoken agreement between two people. Their acceptance of each other's needs.
So consider this:
Imagine yourself in a crowd, seeing people, ordinary, just the type you pass everyday on the street, faceless people of both genders. Any age and size, wearing nondescript clothing, nothing unusual or different about them. Because there is nothing different about someone who wants, from time to time, to be submissive. To give control of their body and mind to another, be it male or female, and for that time enjoy a sense of freedom and release that cannot be achieved in any other manner. It might include pain, if that's what they want, bondage, that might add to the pleasure. Whipping? Why not? Latex, rubber, leather and wood. Silk and satin, lace and lipstick and let's not forget candles and clamps. Pain and pleasure, so close, wanted and needed.
Spanked and thrashed until tears of release, stress and anxiety melting away. Caned? A memory? Role-play? A hidden identity, another person? Or just to allow one to be a child, behave in such a manner and time when boundaries were much more clearly defined. Swift, decisive and healing. Or maybe no pretence of any kind. Desires discussed and agreed upon. Actions agreeable to both, levels of pain recognised to satisfy both. Possibly just friends, old friends who came together through these hidden desires to assuage their kink and go their separate ways until the next time when the yearning intrudes. No harm done and probably far more tolerant of others' idiosyncrasies because of it.
And maybe those people who are, at times, submissive or 'a submissive' are far happier through their acceptance.