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 degradation-arousal-ice cream sandwich.
Of hard, soft, and shame
Most people think of phrases like: “You disgusting slave pig,” “Lowly worm,” or “Three-hole mare” when they hear about humiliation.
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.
Humiliation can also begin 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’s going to happen. You’re at my mercy, and yet you can barely contain yourself.” Not a single insult is used here, but when this is whispered in your ear with a smile, it can be intensely arousing.
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.
Humiliating can be asking to be hit, touched, or sexually stimulated. It can also be having to ask for orgasm. Or only receiving stimulation while reciting the lyrics of a Queen song. Humiliation can also be having words, sentences, and symbols adorned on your skin, secretly going to work with “Property of” on your chest. So that underneath the fabric, it’s known whose ownership claims make you feel somewhat like 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, escaping the comfort zone is possible—of course, with explicit consent. Once someone is bound, gagged, and blindfolded, you can transport them into any mental scenario that comes to mind. What if you’re playing in a place full of people who are only watching or even participating more? Or if you’re at someone’s disposal, serving as a spittoon, declared a pleasure object? Or perhaps just placed in a corner, relying on your remaining senses to guess what’s happening around you? What if you create illusions of places, people, and things, supported by equipment or just your own body? It creates a kind of experience that makes you question your own conscientiousness afterward.
Conclusion: Humiliation? Yes, but with a special topping
You see, from my love letter to shame, my ice cream sandwich analogy, and the countless examples I’ve brought here: I see myself as an ambassador of shame. Or perhaps as an interpreter of swearing, a champion of discomfort, and an outspoken advocate of exposure and vulnerability. Ultimately, all these things I do with deep affection and respect for my partner. The difference between erotic humiliation and being an asshole is the pre-negotiation of boundaries and limits, the negotiation of consent, the safeword, and thorough aftercare – which may even include enjoying an ice cream sandwich.
