Subdued

I think I am generally quite submissive in scenes. I don't mean public play scenes or bigger group roleplays like Lowewood of course. They're just for fun! But in proper one to one roleplay my inner submissive is usually quick to surface and those scenes tend to be those that I go deepest in. And in real discipline scenes it's rare that I don't start off wanting and needing to be disciplined and therefore in a submissive state of mind anyway.

So it can be quite interesting for me when some roleplay scenes start off with a character who is fiesty. 9 times out of 10 she'll be reduced to meekness or else the scene probably hasn't worked for me. In truth I find it harder to play feisty characters. I'm not always sure how far to push it. Or else the pain becomes too much and I give in. Or my play partner is just too terrifying.

And there's something very free about playing a submissive character. You just let go and give in to everything that's going on. You can't control it. You can't direct it. You really have no influence on what's happening and I find that very hot indeed.

Like the character I played today. She was so terrified of HIM (HH), that she daren't disobey, answer back or move too far out of position. Going into the scene with that background sank me immediately into deep headspace. Afraid of how to answer his questions, afraid to kick my feet when being paddled, afraid to say no to anything he was doing.

I also think he enjoyed the 'power' of it. That no matter how many excruciatingly painful cane strokes he'd land I would meekly get back in position and offer my bottom and thighs up to him again. Whilst in my head I was truly praying he'd just stop.

And even though I was being as good as I could be, it wasn't enough. When he asked did I want any more cane strokes I respectfully said 'No thank you Sir'. But that was the wrong answer. 3 more searing strokes then landed as I lay on my back and held my legs up straight and high. My error? Being presumptuous enough to think I had any say in the matter! This led me to a very compelling place - the depths of depair. A great place to come up from in the security of someone you trust implicitly!

Below is an account of the actual scene. I thought it up this morning, shared it with HH and then we played it. Warning, it was a very edgy idea and an even edgier scene!

I was a girl who had been kidnapped for the enjoyment of my captor. Taken when I was 17. I didn't know his name, learning to refer to him as Sir. And he named me Felicity. I was to forget my past life. My home was now the top floor of his house. A self contained unit with a heavy locked door the only means of entering or leaving it.

Held captive for a year or more with no hope of escape I had learned the path of least resistance. Obedience was my watchword and I was entirely meek and submissive. I hadn't forgotten the early weeks when my defiance had made life a living hell. Now it was bearable. Just.

Despite my efforts I was still regularly disciplined to ensure I remained afraid and obedient. All too easy he found fault with me.

On this day he came to my room as I was completing my Latin homework. One of many subjects part of my daily routine. I wore my everyday clothing of a white blouse and grey pinafore. My socks and underwear were white, my hair neatly tied back.

Rising from my desk as he entered he room I nervously looked down at my copybook, hoping there would be no mistakes for him to find. Often punished for untidy writing, I had laboured hard trying to be neat. But today it was a minor spelling error that was my undoing.

He explained he couldn't let that go unpunished and placed the wooden chair in the centre of the room. I stood by this side as ordered, holding my pinafore up above my waist as he scolded me. Didn't make any protest when he took my knickers down and placed me over his knee.

A wooden paddle cracked down on my bottom and I clung to the chair dearly, trying to take it quietly. I daren't kick my legs. He didn't allow that. It soon became unbearable and I whispered 'Please, Sir, please' my voice breaking. He paused momentarily, told me he was happy that I was taking my punishment like I deserved, then continued cracking the paddle down until my eyes were wet with tears.

When he permitted me to stand I knew better than to think that was the end of it. He placed me nose against the door, my knickers pooling at my feet, my pinafore bunched above my waist, hands atop my head. Told me to contemplate the caning that was soon to follow. How I was a bad girl who need punishment and how lucky I was to have him to take care of me.

After several minutes where I barely breathed aloud he took to the vaulting horse. Undressed me until I was naked and then ordered me to kneel on top of it. I assumed the caning position he expected. Kneeling down, with my arms and hands flat on the horse, my bottom raised up high in the air.

Then a sharp whippy cane was applied to the crease of my thighs and bottom over and over again. I was soon crying. But each time I held the right position for the stroke. And when a particularly hard one cut me and I moved away, I was quick to get back to where I should be. Not once did he have to ask me and he was pleased at my obedience, reminding me how far I had come.

After many cane strokes he let me down. Told me we were half way through. I stood still as he inspected me. His hands running over my body, touching and probing places that I didn't like but was too afraid to object to. Endured it all in silence.

Until I was back on the horse for another round of caning. Again I cried and whimpered as the strokes burned and melted into one another. But there was no mercy. In between he asked questions that I struggled to answer. What was the right thing to say? Yes Sir or No Sir? Once I forgot to say Sir, tacking it on after a pause. A sharp volley of smacks was my reward.

When I was sobbing and fully subdued he introduced me to new things he wanted from me. Things that were too distressing to comprehend. The session finally ended with the 3 brutally hard cane strokes across my thighs. As he mused about whether to give me another 6 or not I lost it, completely broken, in the depths of despair.