Fear factors.

So often I hear submissive / slave types say “I know my (dominant/owner/master / mistress) would never reallyharm me, and that is why I trust them.” and it made sense. It made sense but somewhere there was a loose thread in that thought that my mind picked and worried for years. Of course we need to feel completely safe in order to submit completely, right? I mean, who would be so stupid as to submit to someone if they felt that someone were capable of doing real harm?

 

 

Hand raised.

 

 

I think it is hubris, frankly, to believe that you can trust someone completely. People are complicated mechanisms, with many moving parts. And sometimes, they break. Every day someone somewhere “snaps” and you get those interviews with neighbors who shake their heads in confusion “But they were such a nice family…” “He was such a quiet guy.” “She seemed like a wonderful mother!” and some gruesome story unfolds in the wake of these puzzlements.

Not long ago, in my class on edge play, someone asked me how you could “suspend disbelief” in an edgy scene when you KNOW your top would never ever REALLY hurt you. I stopped and thought about this, turned to the querent and asked “DO you? Really? How do you know? Because they told you? Because they ‘Just aren’t capable!’ of such a thing? How can you know that for certain?” They paused, considering this.

 

 

I suppose there are people who truly are incapable of violence. And I suppose that there are sadists who pose absolutely no threat to their partners. And I suppose I don’t connect with them because I want to look into the eyes of the person torturing me and know that, oh yes, they are entirely capable of Fucking My Shit Up, Real Bad. The difference being, they choose not to. The person who owns their savagery and doesn’t deny or shy away from it is the person who whispers to my inner Prey.

 

 

I want to know that you could, but you don’t. Not that you can’t, so you won’t.

 

 

I am deeply moved by the person who is capable of truly evil wickedness yet chooses to control that impulse. More so than the person who “simply couldn’t do it.” I’m not going to be afraid of that person. And being afraid is something I value. It feeds my masochism. And is part of my submission. Submitting to someone capable of cruel and terrible acts, who I know in my heart absolutely could commit them, but chooses not to, is fascinating to me. That is a profound demonstration of control. And it turns me on. Someone looking at me with a gleaming ferocity that says “I could easily do shit to you from which you would not easily recover, and love it. Every moment of it. But I won’t. Because I choose not to. Not today, at least…” speaks to the me who needs to walk that oblivion edge, the part that wants to bleed. The prey. The victim.

 

 

I don’t roll over and give up my plump-n-tasty soft underbelly with a smirk of confidence. I submit because my body knows the danger, feels it with every fiber of my being, and…submits anyway. That, to me, is delicious.