- BDSM
- Timmy's Story Pt. 01
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I used to be called Timmy. Nowadays, I'm called anything that gets my attention (and I'm shamefully, pathetically attentive), usually something like 'pussy', 'cunt', or 'whore', but occasionally I do still get 'Timmy'. Often this is a sign that something really hard is coming - that I'm going to be asked for my consent to something further, some step further away from the fantasy that I could ever mean anything. Some step that will be agony to take, but which both I and whoever it is asking for it know that I will be helpless to resist.
I have never learned to feel happy about being called 'cunt'; it hurts every time (hurts not in some snowflakey emo way, but because it is such a direct and honest label for what I am, and probably what I am about to be used as, when I am so called), but it is much less frightening than being called 'Timmy'.
But back in the day (can it be less than three years?) I was called Timmy. Of course, that wasn't my given name - my weekend-hippy-turned-bourgeois parents gave me the name 'Timna', which had been shortened to Timmy by the time I was two, and which I never wanted to reclaim (ironically, it seems that Timna means 'protest' - not something I am not able to do, much less permitted). And so 'Timmy' I was.
When my story starts, I was 20, halfway through my studies at the Sorbonne, outwardly a good, upper-middle class French girl, careful of her appearance, quite pretty, a little sexy, very together, studying hard, working towards a 'right-on' but successful career, 'committed' to making the world a better place, while at the same time carefully conserving the family reputation and building its resources - the French way.
In reality, I was bored stupid, lost in some no-man's-land between the certainty that I did not want what my parents had, did not want 'the French way', and disdainful rejection of the various 'alternatives' that my hipper, 'cooler' classmates advocated - variously; drugs/rebel chic/rock and roll, activist, quasi-religious politics, or total renunciation/back to nature - all of which seeming like nothing beyond refusal to face the reality that life is meaningless. At least that's what I thought then.
Now, I know that life is meaningful - that it's my problem, that it's me who doesn't know how to mean anything, that the closest I can come to meaning, it seems, is to be a vehicle for the purposes of others. Others for whom it is abundantly clear that life has obvious meaning, for whom everything adds up. And that they only find me meaningful for the impersonal and untrammelled satisfaction of their animal desires - principally, and most insistently, their lust and their cruelty. That somehow, the ways in which I respond to being used like this (and also, I suppose, the particular features of my poor sweet body) are entertaining enough to make me a valuable possession, so that my subjugation is experienced in settings of equally obscene luxury.
In short, I am meaningful as cunt, but as nothing else.
I exist as a nameless sex-slave, passed from one rich pervert to another for large sums of money - passed on because cunt, in the end, is boring. What is entertaining to these people, what they really like, is the active degradation of cunt. When they first get to use me, I am new, different - my body and my mind are shaped according to my particular history, and there is mystery there, explorations to be made, voyages of discovery as to where my remaining shame is still raw, can still be teased into real fear, real distress, real despair, voyages of experiment too as to what I can achieve with, what can be done with, my soft and open body, in service of their pleasure.
But as time passes, the mysteries are resolved, the new territory annexed, more or less violently reshaped, and all that is left is my own will to please. Just another pathetic, eager, desperate cunt.
Because I am desperate; I strive, strive ever harder with each sale, strive to be entertaining, to expose my raw nerves for them, let them see the pain, the humiliation, the terror, to maintain and offer my body with total, sweet commitment. I strive both because I have to - because this is my only meaning, but also because I have seen, in this small and well hidden world, what happens to girls like me (am I still a girl? I should be clear) - to slave-cunt like me - when there is no-one left who finds them entertaining in that way. That there are lower circles of hell, still, to fall into.
But all of this is the end of my story, really, and I have said too much, perhaps, already. I hope not. For this story, too, is only meaningful if it serves your pleasure, your lust, your fantasies of cruel whims enacted without restraint upon a willing and well-formed young woman who is not only helpless to resist, but will be your sweet and willing partner as you casually, wantonly destroy her, who will giggle prettily for you in her weakness, nervous at the knowledge of what is coming for her, at how terrible it will be, smiling sadly at you, even while you can see in her eyes that she knows quite well where such complicity leads, that she knows there is no happy end.
I will begin to make good on this offer in the next chapter.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 4 years agoYour comment (and it's expanded sister 'An Apologia') are impressive and articulate. I appreciate the rigor with which you have framed your stories in a realistic but extreme exploration of submissive psychology. Thank you for a deep dive into difficult waters. It is sadly, too rare. You have done something difficult with genuine skill.
I disagree with your assumption that the male lead have "ultimately pathetic fantasies" while the female lead "is on a far more meaningful mission; seeking to resolve some deep quality of her own psychology." I wonder if it doesn't take both sides of the dynamic being present and communicating difficult truths with each other for the game to continue long enough for deeper insights to be gained.
The best dramas have powerful and compelling antagonists who lead our central character forward in their mission to find meaning in their trials and tribulations. Thank you for your exploration of "people who walk the edge, in intensity of emotion and risk, in search of some new meaning." Your writing is a pleasure to read.
I wonder if exploring both sides of the relationship would lead to new meaning.
Thanks again for your excellent work.
Delirious_Capitulationabout 4 years agoAuthor(in response to Tess)
These stories are explorations, as much as they are anything else.
Explorations of the implications of a particular set of impulses, in the context of a recognisable social setting (no science fiction, new world order or magic allowed).
It is all too easy to see domination as a believable impulse - sociopaths rule us after all - but hard to see it as fully acceptable.
On the other hand, submission is built into our culture - all the major world religions preach submission of one sort or another - but the whole of modern/enlightenment culture has been about rejecting it, about becoming sovereign individuals.
Domination has been codified (it's fine to be a boss of wage slaves living in poverty, or a general, or a government minister who cuts welfare payments; it's not fine to boss someone harshly in a one to one situation).
Submission has also been codified (it's 'sensible' to accept wage slavery, accept the law even if it seems wrong-headed, but 'perverted' to be a sexual submissive).
The codification is asymmetrical.
Because we (rightly) abhor cruelty, bullying and victimisation in a person-to-person context, having sexual impulses that relate to domination is a awkward reality to navigate - the circumstances in which these impulses may be gratified are very tightly policed (therefore, lots of transference - people working to get themselves into acceptable dominant positions so they can get their rocks off that way - Trump starting a modelling agency, for instance).
On the other hand, having submissive sexual impulses, while regarded as 'perverse', is not so socially dangerous. Even happy, consensual submissives tend to be seen as the victims of dominants - and thus receive much less severe social sanction on exposure.
All of this results in a very particular condition, which is sort of what the exploration hinges on.
And it is this - that the submissive is actually in the position of power - in the wider world - while being in the subordinate position within the situation.
All a submissive needs to do (as is often an explicit option in the minds of my protagonists) is to step outside the situation and cry foul. They don't even need to play the victim - the asymmetry of the social setting will pour fire on the head of the dominant, and pity the submissive - perhaps even offer them 'treatment'.
I'm not complaining about this situation - it seems to have some equity to it, and provides at least some safeguard against real sadists abusing people, which is clearly a Good Thing.
But it provides the landscape of my exploration.
Under what circumstances might someone intelligent, thoughtful, not in a position of desperate weakness, or psychologically vulnerable, or blinded by love, actually choose to submit to a dominant who is honest about their intentions, and who is clearly going to make rather extreme demands (also being clearly understood by the submissive as machiavellian and manipulative)?
Is it possible to write a fantasy (and it is all the wildest fantasy) wherein this happens, from the submissive's internal psychological perspective, and have it 'stack up' in the reader's mind? Wherein the submissive is not a victim, but a conscious, willing participant - however dark the places are which they might taken to?
In these stories, it is the submissive whose point of view we occupy, whose internal psychological landscape is rich, complex, sympathetically explored, while the dominants are cartoon cutout characters - strong, rich, older, opaque, unemotional, mostly absent outside the sex scenes, more real, more present in the text as instances inside the submissive's head than in their own right.
Further, despite the attractions of the present continuous in its offer of immediacy of emotional impact, these stories are (mostly) told by the protagonist herself from a position in the future - a position where the she is presumably free and able to tell her story in a measured way; she has survived - more than that, she has grown (in understanding at least), and is whole, sane and sanguine (whether any of these stories will get this far is debatable, but I have imagined the situations from which these writers are telling their stories, having come 'through' the darkness, and approaching some new equilibrium).
In all the films of the 'Story of O', the male leads seem nervous, hopeful, tortured, while O is serene and calm; they are the supplicants, asking for what only she can give them - which is consent for them to indulge in their ultimately pathetic fantasies, while she is on a far more meaningful mission; seeking to resolve some deep quality of her own psychology. When (if) she gets there, she will have moved on, while they will be left stuck in an endless cycle in which, having dulled their sensitivities by excess, they will never be satisfied - always needing new extremes to get their rocks off.
As at the end of 'Story of O', for this landscape to have any real force, any real light and shade, the possibility of things going too far must be 'in play' for the submission to have real meaning (the 'if' in the previous paragraph must remain a possibility).
All this takes these stories outside the 'lifestyle' bdsm world - which is the domain of reality, after all - real people live those lives, and sanely, hopefully healthily and happily, resolve their impulses in mutually boundaried settings. Alasdair Gray's '1982 Janine' is relevant here.
These stories wouldn't work there, because the 'high' and 'low' points are simply conventional. The risks taken by the participants in these fantasies would be considered evidence of insanity in real life. The same is true of most fantasy literature in any genre.
So I'm not interested in victims, but I am interested in people who walk the edge, in intensity of emotion and risk, in search of some new meaning. I'm too sane (at least I hope that's the reason) to want anyone to do any of this stuff in real life - but that's what stories are for, surely - for exploring beyond the everyday.
I hope this helps - although it is not at all intended to convince anyone to read anything they're not sure about. Further, none of the above is intended to deflect criticism, just to add information.
Anonymousabout 4 years agoI’m undecided as to whether or not I should carry on reading, as another comment mentioned this chapter of your story implies that subsequent instalments are going to be very dark and intense. There’s no doubt here that our protagonist is and sees herself as a victim.
The only submission of your writing I’ve read so far are the 4 chapters of “Sally Turned”, now looking at the descriptions of all of your stories it looks like they are of a very similar theme. All of the women, including those who’ve voluntarily gone ahead with whatever arrangement is on offer, seem to come across as victims.
I’m hoping that it won’t be the case for all of your stories (particularly re S.T). Whilst ‘dirty talking’ can be a huge turn on in a sexual scenario isn’t it time that we took charge of our own sexuality and libido? Stop simply accepting and living the labels thrown at us by judgemental arseholes. It feels fucking fantastic as well as being healthy to enjoy sex, it’s not a privilege of only half of the human race. It’s hard to go against thousands of years of social judgement and conditioning but it’s worth it, because it’s about damned time that “good girls do...” That might sound like some feminist bullshit but I’m not a feminist, I believe in equality for all not filling quotas or positive discrimination. Don’t believe me ? Try having a closer look at history, literature and art it’s all there.
Tess (UK)
