Training To Be A Submissive

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Sir M is an elite Master in L.A.’s BDSM scene and is training me to be a submissive. After meeting with him and learning his rules of protocol — and imagining the consequences for disobeying them — I agreed to join him for a “play session” (yes, whips and chains and more) the following night at a familiar dungeon party.

I had prior plans to go to a birthday party first, so I wore a fashionably fetishy outfit that I hoped would cross over for the dungeon party. I slipped on a black leather overcoat over a sheer black top, waist cincher, tight silver pencil skirt, garters and opaque black stockings with a swath of fishnet weaving up the back. I then pulled on platform ankle boots that make my legs look impossibly long, and headed out.

My First Dungeon Party With Sir M

I tried deep breathing to fend off nerves. Sir M had warned, “no booze or pot tonight; I want to see how you react when you are sober,” so I had neither of my familiar crutches. He instructed me to meet him at the front of the club at 11:00PM.

When I saw him walk toward me I instinctively smiled and started to say hello, then remembered to look down and not speak. I’m not allowed to address him until I’m spoken to. He was dressed in the standard sadist fashion: black collared shirt, black leather pants, shiny black leather boots. He scanned my outfit. “Hmm… I like mini-skirts with no panties better. But we’ll work with this.”

We walked into large, dimly lit playroom to find a location for our “scene.” About eight other scenes were going on in the room; some people were chatting, others were watching. A foot fetishist lounged in a chair on the periphery getting a foot massage from a woman wearing only a slave chain around her waist. Loud whacks and occasional screams melded with The Crystal Method track blasting from speakers.

Sir M chose a spot-lit corner with a large wooden frame in front of a mirrored wall. He sat in a leather armchair in the dark facing the platform and instructed me to stand in front of him.

“First take off your jewelry, then take off every stitch of clothing. Slowly.”

I am somewhat self-conscious about being naked publicly and I pouted. He agreed to let me keep on my panties — this time — since I asked his permission correctly. I slowly peeled off each layer of clothing, folded it and handed it to him piece by piece. My undressing was not very sexy, in my opinion. But I looked down and he was gazing straight up at me and smiling. I also saw the outline of his hard cock in his leather pants. I could look at that and avoid looking him in the eye.

I am Here For His Pleasure

“Do you know why you’re here?” I didn’t know how to answer and nearly panicked. “You are here for my pleasure. And this is pleasing me very much.”

I was slightly relieved and embarrassed.

Next, he ordered me to stand on the platform facing out, feet shoulder-width apart. This is his favorite stance and it gives him easy access to inspect between my legs if he desires.

He buckled leather cuffs lined with soft red sheepskin around each wrist and chained my hands up to the frame, elbows parallel to shoulders like a bodybuilder’s pose. He grabbed my hair at the crown and then slipped a foam-padded blindfold on over my head. Standing behind me with one arm securely around my chest, he slipped his fingers under my panties and stroked the lips of my vagina. His middle finger darted inside me briefly, checking to see if I was wet.

For a while he left me there: silent, chained and blindfolded. Terror rose in my throat, my skin crawling with goosebumps. What would he do to me? What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Daisy TraLaLA (@DaisyTraLaLA) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.