Content/trigger warning: terms “slave” and “slut”
“It’s okay if you feel ashamed, that turns me on.”
I’m the youngest of three siblings, which means when my mother had me, many techniques didn’t work anymore. Neither throwing me on the floor in the supermarket, nor holding my breath, nor pouting. That desensitized me to many things, for example, I don’t have a particularly strong sense of shame. So, for me to feel ashamed, a lot has to happen.
Probably that’s why I’m into it when people feel ashamed, when they blush, get a little sweaty palms and eyes, bite their lips, and make that little sound expressing their discomfort. For me, it’s the ultimate when someone embraces the uncomfortable situation, derives pleasure from it, and then feels even more ashamed. It’s like a humiliation-arousal-ice cream sandwich.
Of hard, soft, and shame
Most people, when they hear humiliation, think of: “You disgusting slave pig,” “Lowly worm,” or “Three-hole mare.”
I can understand that it’s then difficult to imagine the tingling sensation that shame can trigger. However, there are plenty of people who also enjoy it. The threshold for being mocked for the first time is often high.
But humiliation can start by simply describing the situation you’re in: “You’re trembling with excitement, and I haven’t even touched you yet. All because you’re tied up, not knowing what’s coming, what will happen. You’re at my mercy and yet you can barely contain yourself.” There’s not a single swear word here, but if that’s whispered into your ear with a smile, then the floodgates open.
My dominance is often quiet now, I paint fantasies with my words, and I place the little swear words so that my play partners can wear them with pride. When I call someone “my slut,” I’m bestowing a title that one can be proud of, after wriggling a bit to admit that I’m right.
It can be humiliating to ask to be hit, touched, or sexually stimulated. But also to have to ask for orgasm. Or to only receive stimulation while reciting the lyrics of a Queen song. Humiliating can also be when the skin is adorned with words, sentences, and symbols, secretly going to work with a “property of” on the chest. So that one knows that beneath the fabric are the ownership claims that make one a bit of an object.
Bye bye stereotype – Turning towards fantasy
The first time I was allowed to call someone “slut,” my heart did the kind of leap that manifests deep in the lower abdomen. It clicked.
Slowly easing into it after overcoming the initial hurdle of talking constantly during play. Afterwards, many things just happened automatically. Let’s be honest, for me as a communicative millennial, that threshold wasn’t so high. Once I started just telling what was happening, how people reacted, how they felt, I also simply created situations where there was a lot to feel and describe. With a gag, you drool (saliva is actually humiliating for many people), spankings give you a red bottom, a Magic Wand makes your knees wobbly. It’s really just an embellished observation, like Sub-Watching. Maybe we should release a Panini album for that.
Role-play with shame
Nowadays, I combine humiliation with one of my other passions: role-playing. Not least because in our real roles, we often risk hurting someone, adopting a different identity allows us to shed some things. As a doctor, one is immune to pain towards patients. They can still feel demeaned by the examination, of course. But one has a sense of duty towards health, and if one is so instructed… you see where I’m going with this? In fact, we have a pretty full costume box from which we’ve created patients, animals, maids, slaves, and all sorts of roles. While I enjoy role-playing, I don’t like role stereotypes. So I enjoy scolding my teachers in a school uniform because they can’t contain themselves with excitement, or I also give orders to my staff with cat ears.
But even without elaborate costumes, you can escape your comfort zone – of course, with explicit consent. Once someone is tied up, gagged, and can’t see anything, you can take them into any mental scenario that comes to mind. What if you’re playing in a place full of people who are just watching or even more? Or if you’re at someone’s disposal, serving as a spittoon, declared a pleasure object? Or just being put in the corner and having to guess what’s happening around you with your remaining senses? What if you create the illusion of places, people, and things, supported by equipment or just your own body? The kind of feeling that makes you question your own conscientiousness afterwards.
Conclusion: Humiliation? Yes, but with a special topping
You see, in my love letter to the sense of shame, in my ice cream sandwich analogy, and in the countless examples I’ve brought here: I see myself as an ambassador of shame. Or as an interpreter for swearing, as an advocate for discomfort, and as an open confessor of exposure and humiliation. In the end, I do all these things with the deepest affection and respect for my partner. The difference between erotic humiliation and being an asshole is the pre-discussion about boundaries and limits, the negotiation of consent, the safeword, and extensive aftercare – which can also include an ice cream sandwich.
