All of the dominant stuff that Gawan tried out on me was calibrated to fall in the happy space between too boring and too challenging. Given that I’m an utter novice to submission, he was working all the way at the light end of the range.
Spanking and flogging are physical activities that take some time, where one person does and the other is done to. In contrast, a command is a brief communication setting out what the desired conduct is and expressing the firm expectation that it will be done. It has a substantial psychological effect, although the content of the command is often physical in that the submissive is either to do something or to refrain from doing something.
The spanking certainly felt like Intro to Spanking (just as the flogging was Intro to Flogging), but the commands felt more tentative in comparison, and I don’t think that was just because of the amount of time spent on each. I’m not sure this was Intro to Commands as much it was the placement test.
His first command (originally mentioned here) was given while we were still travelling. We were in an airport, far away from any people and, when I made to leave some room between us on our bench, he told me to sit right beside him. I interpreted this as him testing the waters, sketching out a bit of the shape of the relationship that he was hoping to establish. The words were in the form of a command, but really he was asking me two questions: Will I sit next to him? And more importantly, will I obey a command for him?
I felt odd receiving the order, but choosing to obey wasn’t difficult. For one thing, it was low stakes. And part of me was grateful: he knew exactly where he wanted me to sit and communicated that clearly while I was still busy doing the math to calculate probable personal space requirements. As a bonus, it created a mild and pleasant frisson.
Days later in the hotel room, he delivered another command, as a preface to a sensual spanking. I was on the bed, prone and waiting when he ordered me to put my hands behind my head.
Ah, that wasn’t so hard.
Hands behind the head is a symbol of submitting to an authority; it leans on the type of authority held by police and military (which is underpinned by government authority and physical threat), rather than that of an employer or religious figure (where control has more to do with the fear of the disapproval and the threat, if any, is not physical). I didn’t find this order too difficult psychologically, perhaps because I was already in something of a submissive position. In for a penny, in for a pound, perhaps. In addition, prone and hands on the head are thematically linked, so while the order might feel a little odd, it wasn’t jarring the way it would be in an atmosphere suggestive of, say, the boss’s office.
And it wasn’t entirely unexpected; although I’m not used to receiving commands, he has written things that made this specific one unsurprising. That bit of familiarity helped. In fact, I had probably already imagined myself obeying such a command.
I had posed for those photos sans culotte. Reality is always more awkward, isn’t it? Now, in the hotel room, I was taking off my street clothes and had gotten down to underwear. I was wearing a thong and debated briefly whether to strip down any further. It occurred to me that there was a slight possibility that I might somehow manage to get the fringe damp and I didn’t want to have to deal with trying to clean it. And would the dye then run? Cautiousness won out: the fringe is so dense at the top that the panties probably wouldn’t be visible.
“Not expressing an opinion either way on the matter, but is there some reason why you have your knickers on?”
I thought a moment: it wasn’t worth explaining my concern that I’d have to clean dampened fringe. If that became a problem, I’d figure out a way to deal with it. I shrugged. “Not really.”
“Well then, get those knickers off right now, young lady.”
So I did. It turned out that one of my reasons for keeping them on – that not much would be seen through the fringe – worked just as well to make me feel comfortable taking them off.
Then there was the time when we were on the bed in a state of undress, kissing. He was lying on his back and I was lying on my side, propped up on my elbow. My other hand was more or less free.
He broke off the kiss. “Touch my cock,” he said.
Like the other commands, I took this to be a question in disguise. But this time I found that couldn’t do it. I was frozen, mute. I leaned back and looked him in the eye.
“Touch my cock,” he repeated a tad more firmly, making it clear that this was an order. Testing me.
“No. I can’t. I don’t feel comfortable with that.”
I have written before about feeling uncomfortable with cocks generally. It has gotten easier, but it appears that my progress has a very limited application. I was a little surprised, actually.
The progress I’d made in relation to nudity seemed to carry over to Gawan — why not this too? Nudity is an issue relating to my relationship with my own body. If I’m more comfortable in my skin, it would make sense that a certain level of comfort is inherent and independent of context. With cocks, it seems to be about my relationship with the man to whom the cock is attached.
While I don’t have official results back from the placement test, he shared some thoughts with me the other day about commands he figures I’d enjoy. Whether through our experiences together or just getting to know me long-distance, he has found something he can work with. The proper Intro to Commands may happen next time we meet.