My phone pings. I check it casually and notice which chat the message is in. I feel a flutter in my stomach.
I have been thinking that I would like to take a series of photographs of Missy for you personally.
My stomach lurches and I don’t really know what to say.
And yet ….. the part of me that is horrified is partly obscured by the part that feels the thrill of excitement at the thought. Do I want to do this? I don’t know. It feels scary but also feels like I might not be happy if it just stops. I want to show that I am watching. That I am there.
I send an embarrassed emoji.
I would be interested to know what type of thing turns you on and how I could reflect that in pictures?
I wait to see what will happen next.
I see him typing.
I am imagining a few in my mind.
And there it is. Welcome to the humiliation game.
I am really not sure where this is going to go. I don’t feel worried exactly. It is something else. Something much deeper inside me. My mind wrestles with itself. I wonder briefly what it is that I like about this. I wonder how I can ever explain something that makes no sense.
Missy mentioned that she likes the steampunk look.
I think using a chair as a prop, pictures of her in different states of undress.
Perhaps to start, one where you have her lifting up her skirt displaying her leg
Then maybe on straddling the chair and you tell her to remove her top.
I read down the messages, at first feeling relieved and then, as it picks up, more unsure. Would he make me do that? Showing a leg I am fine with but then my top removed? It isn’t that I wouldn’t. More the realisation that I will be told to do it. That I will be objectified. Looked at. Studied to see if I am pleasing.
I can feel myself slipping a little at the acknowledgement of this. I also feel myself becoming more turned on as I imagine how it will feel to do it.
What do you think of this so far?
It works well. Keep expanding as you think about it going forward.
I have a few more ideas.
Good. Like I say, be as open as you wish as it give me scope to build the better picture.
They talk about me so casually, as if I am not there, as if I don’t see what they say and am not part of it. But I know that they do. They are playing with me, all a show, and I am falling for it, deeper and deeper.
You can then tell her to face the chair, away from the camera. Then to drop her knickers to her ankles lifting her skirt to expose her bum.
Then she can bend over the chair, exposed bum, knickers around her ankles, waiting for a caning.
I can almost feel the cold air on my skin as I stand there, so ridiculously presented for him. I imagine how it will feel and am glad that this is just a chat and there is no demonstration made of the effect this is having on my body. I am pretty sure that HL would check if I were actually there posing for the picture. He would want to know how wet I was, commenting on it and laughing it off to add to my humiliation.
I am shocked at how effortlessly this has come about, how they work so easily together to reduce me to the state I am currently in. I try to exercise that part of me that fights this. And type again:
Have I got a Safeword? Do I get colours to slow things down?
I wait for a response and something inside me wonders what will come.
The game continues.
I can just imagine this real time over video link.
Where did that come from?
No, no, no.
I know he will say yes.
He will love that.
I am sure that we can work on that in these times of social lockdown.
Or in person, me sitting down watching as you direct the photography of Missy.
Now that would be good. I’m sure missy has never been told to bend over and slowly pull down her knickers for someone else to watch.
The thought of that ! Watching her face, even keeping eye contact as she does.
Oh my god. It feels like too much. It is all humiliating enough but the thought of the eye contact. To have to hold his gaze is all I can think of now. I have an image of myself in my mind’s eye and it makes me want to run away and hide. I want it to stop and feel like I need to escape it but I am hot and horny and it is like a one of those things where you know you shouldn’t look but you just can’t turn away.
I want it to stop but I want more.
I want to run away but I want this to go further.
I want to let go of everything that is stopping me and embrace all the parts that want this but it feels too hard, too far out of reach.
It feels that it can never be a choice I could make and so I need to be forced, to make me do it.
I can just see her bent over, bare arse and her knickers at her toes where she can see them. Just reinforcing they have been removed and she’s on display.
I’m sure I can get a picture like that for now.
There is something in me that won’t give up, that isn’t ready to let go.
I suggest that maybe I would be allowed a pair of dark glasses as part of the steam punk theme.
Trying to hide obviously.
It’s like playing strip poker with someone that comes to party with 8 jumpers on!
More like snooker, I think to myself. That is what I am, snookered. They both have this so well wrapped up. They have me so well wrapped up.
To see her on display HL will definitely result in me having to comment on what I see.
I am slipping so much deeper, almost gone until ….
The question is, will you be trying to keep your excitement less visible with a few pairs of trousers on?
Now, I am interested in this and feel the possibility of a reprieve, the attention momentarily turned from focus on me.
I think it would be a shame to do that. I’d rather see the shame on Missy’s face when she sees what her exposed naked arse does to a respectable man like me.
Despite the fact that I am turned on by this and, against my will, my body is responding, something inside me still hasn’t given up. There remains a part of me that hasn’t truly submitted yet and continues to try to cling onto the shreds of control, testing the boundaries and limits, seeing how solid they are.
I try again.
Surely it isn’t my fault if I have been told to do it?
You might’ve been told, but we know you wanted to.
Their responses come fast now, way too fast for me. I am lost in the confusion and confliction of what I feel, trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make any sense at all. I type again, this time not as a challenge but as an acknowledgement of surrender, although it sounds like something else.
I am being stitched up!
Yes that’s the way these things go. Fighting with dark and light.
Rather unpicked and exposed
And then, because it is true,
Nothing to do but submit.
Two Doms is definitely harder than one!
There’s a pun in there somewhere.
And they laugh together as I twist and turn, wondering when this will happen. Because if there is one thing I am still sure of, it is that this will happen.
To see who else is writing about the games we play, click on the button above
Or for more on erotic humiliation you might want to read these posts: