I think a big part of it is control. The idea that someone else is in control of you.
“Take off your clothes Julie.”
“No, please not here in front of them.”
“Julie you are not allowed to argue are you…you know what will happen.”
“Please..not here..please.”
“Julie you have one minute..I won’t ask again.”
And totally defeated I look at the floor avoiding eye contact and begin to unbutton. My fingers are shaking and I know I am blushing furiously which makes it worse as I am acting like a silly little school girl. Eventually I stood naked and exposed, I want to cover myself but know it is not allowed, my hands are hanging usefully at my sides. Looking down at my pathic little pile of clothing on the floor at my feet I realize I have left my knickers on the top of the pile so everyone can see them inside out still showing the slight cleft where my slit was and, oh horror, you can see the little damp patch. Am I to be left with no dignity at all?
And then I hear the next command.
“Julie you know you are not allowed to stand with your legs together like that, stand properly now.”
Miserably I stand with my legs apart feeling their eyes on my pussy and knowing they are looking at my breasts and thinking how small they are. In my mind I am back in the school changing rooms with the other girls giggling and chanting “Tiny Tits”. How long will she keep me naked? I know that I dare not ask because to do so would invite a humiliating punishment. Oh please don’t let her make me masturbate with everyone looking at me. But the scary thing is that I know she could, she could make me do whatever she wants and I can do nothing about it.
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In UK a girl naked in the street would certainly be arrested but even that is pretty wild. Imagine being dragged off to the police station with officers looking at you. And then having to stand blushing in court as an official voicereads out for all (including the journalists) to hear “The accused was in the high street actually exposing herself with no apparent shade and this court has no alternative but to impose the maximum sentence for these disgusting aspects.” And to know that your parents and work colleagues will read it all and perhaps someone will post the press clipping on the noticeboard at college. And in the coffee room at college the embarrassing questioning “So are you wearing knickers now Julie, do you have a bra on, would you like to lift your skirt and show us..come on don’t be shy….”
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Being gagged is very humiliating because losing the power of speech is dehumanising, you become an object unable to explain yourself or plead or negotiate. People can talk at you or about you and you just have to stand there and take it until someone decides to remove the gag.
“Oh look she is dribbling. Let’s shake her pussy or we could use a felt tipped pen and mark her pussy green. It would take her ages of painful scrubbing to get it off and while it was green she would have to be very careful where she changed. She would just have to hope she didn’t need to see a doctor but explaining it would be her problem. If she doesn’t keep still just tweak her nipple, that normally makes her behave.”
In fact all bondage comes down to being under someone else’s control and to losing power. You just have to lie there bound and chained while they step over you and laugh at your helplessness. You know you are entirely at their mercy and they can do whatever they want for as long as they like.
One can be in bondage without actually being tied up. It is really tingly to think of someone else having control of your life so she tells you What to wear and she may or may not let you wear underwear. Of course she would control your money and you would have to beg for even money to buy tissues. If she controlled you to that extent it would be up to her to control basic needs – “Your food budget this week is £6, you might find you are spending a lot of time being hungry until the weekend.”
Having someone else control your life and punishing you when you foul up is like regressing to childhood when your mum had to make sure you had clean pants and, of course, you would need to ask permission to go out. “Yes you can go to the party but privileges come at a price don’t they – I think you had better stay naked for the rest of the week and you can wear your handscuffs every evening next week.”
It is a delicious paradox in that I hate the humiliation and embarrassment, that feeling of being looked at and laughed at but at the same time I need it and a horrible part of me relishes and drives me to invite more and more of it.
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