I should acknowledge, in the interest of accuracy, that the statement headlining this post may not be quite literally true. My Lady, of course, is Dilo Keith, the proprietress of this blog. Once I sent her a video clip that showed me nude on all fours, kissing a photo of her boots that was laid out on the floor. As I knelt up at the end, the tip of my dick intruded into the camera’s field of view for just a few frames. Somewhat similarly, the still photos of my naked self in various postures that I’ve e-mailed to her now and then have included a couple in which my scrotum could be seen peeking out demurely from behind one thigh. All those photos, however, were intended to document things that I was doing for her while unclothed, rather than to display my body, and the camera didn’t happen to capture a good view of my genitals.
As a result, My Lady has never had what I would call a proper look at what’s between my legs, despite the fact that I’ve been obeying her long-distance instructions for more than a year now. Even the one occasion so far when my travels brought me into her neck of the woods didn’t change that part of the status quo between us. She was having a busy few days, and there wasn’t time for anything but dinner with her and her partner followed by a quick session back in my hotel room. It was thrilling to kneel before her in the flesh, to take orders in person for a change and feel her hands buckle leather around my neck, but she kept me fully clothed from start to finish.
Of course, she could change the status quo with nothing more than a brief instruction to send her a photo of myself in a posture that happened to expose my cock and balls. It’s perpetually a bit mystifying to me that she’s never bothered. I don’t have any illusions about the raw aesthetic appeal of my chubby, pasty, hairy physique, and My Lady doesn’t seem too prone to getting excited about male bodies for their own sake anyway. However, it surprises me that she hasn’t demanded a look at the contents of my briefs out of simple curiosity, or to reinforce her sense of possession and control and my complementary sense of being her abject plaything.
Viewing the most intimate parts of someone’s body seems an easy and obvious way to assert power over that person, a near-irresistible bit of low-hanging fruit (a particularly appropriate turn of phrase, I guess, in the case of a male subject) for any dominant looking for methods to reduce a submissive to a delectable state of humility and vulnerability. I were ever to find myself in charge of a long-distance submissive, I’m pretty sure that I would order her to provide a full frontal nude for exactly those reasons, unless she had some kind of limit about sending compromising images. I wouldn’t issue that instruction on the first day of the relationship, but it would probably come within the first few weeks, or perhaps the few first months if the submissive was especially shy or skittish. And yet, I write this blog post as the humble servant of a woman who has exercised firm, sadistic and often very intimate control over me for a good year and half now, but who has never (really) seen my penis.
It’s a situation that I find slightly improbable, wryly amusing, and in a backhanded way actually very exciting. What makes submission to My Lady an adventure, and an authentic experience of surrender and servitude, is the fact that I’ve put myself under the authority of a human being with thoughts, feelings and priorities – not to mention kinks and desires – that are sometimes very different from my own. I have to accept that she’s the one in the driver’s seat (whereas I’m bound and gagged in the trunk), stick to her rules even when I don’t quite see the point of them, and do what she actually tells me as opposed to what I think submission ought to entail. Commands from her that I could never have anticipated, like the order to buy a pair of green underwear that I received fairly soon after I began submitting to her, are the ones that really make me feel the implacable tug of her control.
Not being ordered to do something can have a similar impact, admittedly in a more diffuse and subtle way. It was curious to Sherlock Holmes that the dog did nothing in the night-time, and it’s curious to me that My Lady has never demanded that full frontal photo. Just as buying green underwear reminded me that she sometimes wants things that I find surprising, having been allowed to keep my genitals to myself all this time reminds me that I can also be surprised by the things she happens not to want – or at least, happens not to be in any hurry to lay claim to. Either way, her ability to keep me guessing, the unpredictable and sometimes even idiosyncratic element in her dominance, is intriguing, unnerving and thoroughly erotic.
If My Lady ever does ask for a full frontal photo, or something equally revealing, surrendering that bit of privacy that I’ve hitherto been allowed to retain will be exciting too. She’s hinted that such an instruction might come soon, but hasn’t told me anything definite. If and when she requires me to bare myself for the camera, perhaps I’ll ask her for permission to tell you about it afterwards.