Tales Of A Sub: Paying For It, The Story So Far...

Proem.

What follows, is a true, frank & sometimes graphic documentation, of a current aspect of my life. It is a very personal subject & scrutinises in depth, some sensitive spheres.

The reason for putting this down in words is primarily a cathartic one. When engaging with an issue such as this, it is inevitable some complex emotions will be aroused & I felt writing about it may result in a degree of limpidity.

Secondly, it feels like a good way of communicating to the protagonist more clearly, what effect they are having.

Finally, I have noticed one rarely comes across a relating of experiences of this territory, so because of this, I hope it may prove to be an interesting insight for some of you too.

Paying For It: The Story So Far

1

Gloves, Smoke & Asparagus

“After loss of Identity, the most potent modern terror, is loss of sexuality, or, as Descartes didn’t say, "I fuck therefore I am".”

― Jeanette Winterson.

'Loss of sexuality'....a terror indeed. One which for the last 6/7 years I have had experience of.

The metaphorical "shit", hitting the proverbial "fan". There is nothing more messy. This happened to me. In fact, an abundance of shits accumulated, ended up prolapsing on the fan & consequently sprayed all over my life. But enough vulgar dramatics.

Put bluntly, I plunged into a prolonged period of mental strife, as a result of various adversities imposing themselves on me all at once. I don't want to lay my soul regarding these troubles completely bare here, suffice it to say that it was a concoction of certain unhealthy relationships, some substance misuse & the depression & anxiety that this induced, which were the issues. I am ,however, glad to be able to say these troubles are essentially now behind me. I chucked out the crap & I can count on less than two hands the moments I have partaken in narcotics in the last 7 years & nowadays almost exclusively only take legitimately prescribed medication, which (along with other healthy tools) is proving to be a great aid in improving the overall condition of my life.

This brief illustration of my past is to help understand why & how it affected a particular aspect of life: my libido. It became non-existent. Disappeared entirely, except for an uninspiring wank every few months. I had 1sexual encounter in 6 years. Yes, it was that dire. But in the main, it seemed to concern me not. When in such a stupor, things in general seem to matter little. Numb to it all.

What made it all the more pronounced, was the fact that in times previous to the onset of this decline, I experienced what was, admittedly, a healthy (or perhaps that should read 'promiscuous') sex life. Many a crazy moment was had, all of which though had one thing in particular in common: 99.9% of them were experienced whilst intoxicated. It is probably due to this that only a limited number of those encounters are recalled with any real clarity, them being the times that most shaped my sexuality I guess. I will talk more about the sex/drugs fusion later.

It is unavoidable & fair to say that my sexual persuasion has predominantly tended to be of a submissive nature, though not entirely by any means. Many a time have I had fun 'switching' and taken much pleasure in doing to past partners & others, that which I sought out to have done to me. I have always contested that the better tops are (though not exclusively) the ones that have been on the receiving end themselves. Empathy is a valuable thing.

It has been within the last 12 months or so I have noticed a resurgence in my sexual appetite, thanks to some of the mental clarity I cited above. Fresh, rejuvenated thoughts of various deviant activity began to re-visit my cesspit of an imagination. Obviously, I welcomed this 're-awakening', however, it came fraught with a few difficulties.

Due to the somewhat reclusive nature my life had become during those tribulations, the confidence needed in order to seek out sexual relations, had in the main, escaped from me. Not having even that basic level of self-esteem needed in order to go out there and pull, was coupled with the fact I had put on a significant amount of weight & though being a staunch opponent of any form of body fascism, I was only too well aware this state of affairs would prove highly likely to be a significant obstacle to forging any intimate relations. Add to this the fact that I really couldn't be arsed with wasting endless, soul-destroying time scouring the net for the likelihood of no carnal pleasures & you have the perfect recipe for total frustration.

Therefore, being in this predicament, I concluded, left only one feasible option currently open to me (& we now come to the reason for the above title) : pay for it.

I had had fleeting thoughts over the years (even when pulling was much easier) about the pros & cons of hiring a sex-worker. Indeed, I had engaged in such work myself at various stages of my life, so there were no moral hang-ups about it per se. I always said it surely would be quite a logical thing to think about spending money on. After all, why not do so on getting something that absolutely ticks the various boxes, as opposed to splashing out on endless nights out to clubs & what not, only invariably to find yourself returning home just as you left it? No, it seemed to make much sense. The only serious issue I had about it, was around the fact that I found myself in a position whereby I needed to pay for it. As I say, no moral hang-ups but initially it didn't seem like much of an esteem booster but I managed to accede to it with ease eventually (more of which later).

I realised I would have to succumb to either searching classified ads or put the feelers out on some of the dating apps. I chose the latter, as I thought there would be more potential here. I approached numerous men with propositions; some were, at first, up for discussing but ended up declining, others said no immediately. On one occasion, I went to the flat of one of these blokes , seeing as they a) claimed to be a regular escort & b) seemed to fit the bill. It turned out the second judgement was quite misguided, thus nothing occurred & didn't stay long. Then there was another guy who appeared like he would have more potential but it didn't happen. The courage to pursue seemed to elude me at that point. There was however, only so much angst I could stomach & fortunately, after a short time of more searching, I stumbled across who would transpire to be just the ticket.

It was a weekday evening if I recall & had so far been a standard night of various propositioning's & declinations, when I looked at a profile I hadn't clicked on before. A handsome-faced, sexy-looking chappy in a baseball cap & in his late twenties. I messaged him my usual spiel, which was along the lines of "would you degrade & hurt me for ££". "How much?" came the response. I answered back to him with my offer & he agreed but not with a stock reply. From the outset, he left no room for doubt he was in charge & that I was definitely not. He said words to the effect of "I suppose I could waste some time on you" & then, perhaps more significantly; "no sex though". It was at this point I developed an erection & realised I was talking to somebody who knew exactly what the score was.

Some of you may be perplexed by this but it really is easy to explain. Being a sub, a lot of the time consists of much more than sex in the 'standard' (whatever that is) definition. For me (& for a large portion of submissive's) it has a lot more to do with the act of submission itself, giving yourself to serving a top, suffering at his hands, as well as being hurt & convincingly degraded by him. And 'convincingly' is the keyword here. So many can utter abuse, yet so few can do so credibly. This man sounded credible. Even before he had arrived, he made me aware of who was who, what was what & ultimately where my place lay. As I say, subbing goes far beyond sex. It is common for many sub/Dom encounters to invariably end without orgasm & more often than not, be free from anal activity. I have though of course had my fair share of doing the anal/fisting thing considerably over the years & find that this often passes as 'submission' but personally I regard it more as passivity though I will cease with such snobbiness, except to say that having my hole filled is nowadays something which is very easy to live without. If it happens, then so be it. After several meetings, I still haven't been permitted to suck his cock though. Maybe I never will. I've barely been allowed to even touch him so far. Don't misunderstand me though. It would feel highly deprivative to never experience a choking from his cock & I would of course never turn the oral honour down. I may be a sub but I'm also still homosexual, after all said & done :)

Titles & statuses are essential things that must be defined & established in such relationships, so I enquired before we met as to how he wanted to be addressed and it was his reply to this question that indicated some refreshing originality. I was to call him "Young Sir". I found this to be immediately much more engaging than simply "sir" or "master" and I was to be referred to simply as "sub" (or "it"...more on which later). To this day I believe he still doesn't know my name but this is a mere technicality & matters not a jot to me or indeed to him, I wouldn't wonder.

He asked when I wished to meet & I replied that then would be good. He agreed and indicated how honoured I should be at this. Again, another reinforcement for my erection.

This left me with little time to prepare, which was a good thing, as I fear I may have bottled out if much time had to elapse. I was instructed to have the money & any implements I may wish him to use on me at the ready (them being my truncheon, spiked paddle & rope).

The short time before Young Sir got to my place was spent in much anticipation of his arrival. My heart was racing considerably & I believe I was also slightly shaking (a state I admit I still get into now whenever he is due & I anticipate that buzzer ringing, for the simple fact that I revel serving in his commanding presence). Remember, this was not only my first liaison bar 1 in 7 years but also the first time paying for it. Why the heart raced at the thought of handing over money I'm not sure, except perhaps that it was because this was an unknown entity to me. Whatever the case, I was excited.

The buzzer rang & I opened the door with some trepidation & then there was that classic moment (this always had tickled me in the past) of initial impressions being sussed out in seconds & waiting to see if either of us would decline to follow through with the arrangement. Neither did & as soon as we were behind closed doors, Young Sir enquired as to why I was still standing, thus I went straight to my knees & handed over the money as demanded. I crawled to the bedroom, with some mild feelings of humiliation thanks to being conscious of Young Sir following behind & was then ordered to strip.

Some memories of the hour are a tad sketchy, except to say my initial & limited expectations as to how the time we were to spend together may unfold, ended up being exceeded. After some inflictions of pain, degradative abuses & ultimately on this occasion, ejaculations for both, our time concluded with myself at least, feeling fulfilled. Young Sir then left & shortly after, I sent a message of gratitude for the experience, a practice he still rightly insists on today.

I soon deduced why I was left with that feeling of satisfaction. It was a lot to do with the fact that the entirety of Young Sir's actions & attitude were completely uncontrived & felt utterly authentic. As mentioned earlier, pretty much anyone can spout verbal & physical insults but few do so with any level of believability. He always succeeds in leaving me feeling exactly the way I want to. It is for this reason that the money i spend never feels wasted. I sometimes wonder what he has done to become so adept.

With one rendezvous under the belt, it wasn't long before I realised that a second bout of submission & servitude was in order, having had thoughts about other stuff to potentially ask Young Sir make me endure, adding two aspects in particular; black leather gloves & smoking. The combination was always a winner for me, so after confirming round 2 with Young Sir, I went & purchased his gloves & the all important packet of Bensons.

Despite my enthusiasm for more seeing to's however, the path would prove to be anything but smooth. I'm ashamed but humble enough to admit that a sizeable catalogue of errors & a litany of dramatics, courtesy of yours truly, has been created along the way & which I know has tested to exhaustion the huge degree of patience & reasonableness Young Sir seems to possess.

Fuck-up No 1: On the night our second meeting was booked for & literally just a few minutes left until he was due to arrive, sub, whilst in a moment of childlike emotional wobbliness, cancelled the meeting with Young Sir & without warning. This was also a Friday night, so the infuriation he rightfully felt was considerably accentuated. The reason behind my vacillation? In essence, it was due to little more than a momentary unsureness & a passing questioning as to whether the act of giving money in order to feel the way I wanted to, was going to ultimately prove to have a positive or negative impact on my life. It wasn't long before I grasped it would be the former & for these reasons:

1st: One tends to feel less impecunious (both financially & mentally) if what you are paying for actually results in a feeling of having got value for your money...as is the case in this circumstance.

2nd: The discipline & order Young Sir brings, is something my life has been in need of for too long & is proving to be quite inestimable. Once a sub, always a sub & it's because of my eagerness (& not neediness, as Young Sir once conjectured) to please, serve & the longing for deprivation & degradation, that the control he exudes when with me is proving to be a good thing.

The result of fuck-up 1was manifold. Aside from seriously angering Young Sir, my perceived emotional insecurity proved to be of some concern to him, in the sense he informed me that for him to continue our agreement, whilst I appeared to be harbouring some emotional uncertainty around the whole thing, would be unethical. I was somewhat flummoxed by this, though conversely re-assured at the same time & will never forget it. An ethical sex-worker. A very rare breed indeed, so it was hearing this that vindicated my instinct the situation was a healthy one. I am a fan of ethics, hence why I applauded seeing them being practiced in this case.

After explaining I had no insecurity around the act of submission itself, that I wasn't playing games with him, agreeing with his point that we were both consenting adults & that it was I, after all who instigated this whole thing, Young Sir then agreed to give me what would be the first of multiple chances to prove & redeem subs-self.

Chance 1 was to take place in our second meeting, in which Young Sir made it crystal clear how cross he was with me & that in no way had he yet settled upon any degree of continuance with regards to further interactions & that I would have a lot more work to do to stand any hope of future approval from him. Despite my behaviour, Young Sir did, on this occasion, allow me to have the honour of observing how even more superior, powerful & looming he looked when in his new gloves, & my twisted, chirophilic (hand-loving) hankering to see, smell & feel Young Sir's control was graciously indulged. He then spoilt this most undeserving of subs some more, by adding a cigarette to the spectacle, except I was deprived of permission to be in too close a proximity to Young Sir whilst this happened. Therefore, I was sent crawling, to be tormented, salivate & gibber from the corner of the room, where I also observed him spitting sneeringly his smokey-tasting gob on the floor & sub being deemed not worthy enough to have the pleasure of licking it up.

I was though, it seemed, just about of enough merit to warrant serving as Young Sir's toilet, but not deserving enough to do so whilst bent over the toilet itself (after all, I had already been granted way more privileges than I in anyway potentially qualified for). Instead, he ordered sub to lay in the bath & end the session by taking a drenching from what would prove to be a rather memorable shower of Young Sir's piss. Unforgettable, more thanks though to the "asparagus-scented" nature of his torrent. I kid not. Courtesy of some earlier feast apparently. This perversely ended up feeling like the most sadistic part of the hour....

It was a week or two later that fuck-up 's 2 & 3 emerged. It was again a Monday, which happened to follow one of those rare occasions I mentioned, in which I had partaken of narcotics over the weekend & was still somewhat under the influence. As a result, I felt more than up for another hour with Young Sir. I requested his presence but was declined the honour, due to him already having plans for the night. In my chemically-soddened haze, I foolishly thought that getting stroppy about his unavailability would in some way be a productive thing to do. No. It wasn't.

The next day, a similar routine (though slightly more sober). Young Sir was again busy. More strops from me & I indicated them to Young Sir. "The world doesn't revolve around you sub" came the reply. He rightfully explained to me that in order to learn a lesson in patience & respect as a result of my immaturity, it would be a good thing to make me wait even longer for Young Sir to grace me with his presence. Grudgingly, I conceded this was a justifiable consequence.

An evening or two later, I was lucky that Young Sir was finally able to waste an hour on sub but surprise surprise, this wasn't quite how things turned out, which brings me to my 3rd fuck-up.

The culprit? My runny fucking nose. Unsurprisingly, a consequence of taking drugs, moments before Young Sir's arrival. On spotting my unmissable seeping nostrils, he inquired if I had taken any substances. I admitted I had & after quoting the list of which ones, Young Sir informed me that he could not & would not carry on with our planned engagement. His reasons again being not only would it be unethical to continue but also that my taking those drugs in the presence of Young Sir indicated a total lack of respect for him. Again, I was shocked. Shocked because I had never before been in a situation whereby I encountered a protestation such as the one coming from Young Sir. This is the sex/drug fusion I referred to earlier.

In the past, 99.9% of sex I indulged in was, as I said, chemically driven, so to find I had caused such offence to Young Sir in this way, really did stop me in my tracks.

He was livid. I meekly tried to explain myself by informing him about that past 99.9% & that it was, in a sense, the only way I had come to know but that I was enthusiastic for the opportunity to experience things drug-free. Thanks to Young Sir's reasonable personality, he acknowledged this but insisted the hour was terminated, that he would consider his position & MAY entertain the possibility of indulging me at a later date, when I was of clear & sober mind. I offered up to him my most sincerest of apologies, gratitude & how ashamed I felt that I had created this impression of having no respect for Young Sir & that that was the last & furthest thing of which I had intended. With that, he left me to ponder deeply this revelation & rapidly I realised what a vital lesson I had learnt and also how much respect I actually had for & owed Young Sir, for shining this much needed light.

A week or so later, I inquired if Young Sir was still considering his position & he told me that despite not expecting having to contend with dramatics such as the ones I was guilty of, he was prepared to give me one more opportunity to try & prove that his investment of time in sub would not prove to be total folly. I said I would relish this chance & so he visited me that evening, when I was completely sober, yet it was with obvious caution as to whether he chose to believe me. I said that while I was very foolish in my previous antics, I was definitely not in the habit of lying.

With all this cleared up (to an extent), I set off on my path to redemption. I began by requesting permission to show my respect for & to worship Young Sir, by kissing his trainers, whilst at the same time grovelling profusely for his forgiveness & approval. Permission granted. Kiss by kiss, foot by foot, grovel by grovel. I was determined to try & show Young Sir I had my uses, though in the full knowledge that of this, he would not be easily convinced.

I was to be put back firmly in place by being told to lay on my back. I gazed up at Young Sir, as he observed downwards at me & with a look of much disgust, as sub got to work, licking the soles of his trainers. The soles. Such an undeserving honour and later I was also allowed to be his doormat, with him wiping, treading & spitting contemptuously all over me.

Then, after being lucky enough to place his gloves on his hands for him and feel them fit so well round my throat & down my gob, he tells me to light him a cigarette. I naturally obeyed & again I was to crawl to the corner of the room, however this time I had to face the wall, whilst Young Sir brutally tormented me, by affirming how much I would love to witness his smoking spectacle and how this visual deprivation was part punishment for my misdemeanours. He walked up behind me, and slowly moved his gloved & smoking hand round to the side of my face, so I could witness & smell his fag but with NO touching & all this amidst dreams of being his ashtray.

It was during this session, that I also became more at ease with regards to being humiliated & it is here we return once more to ethics.

Because humiliation is inextricably linked to profound & deep-rooted psychological emotions, it is imperative that whoever is dishing it out is someone with whom you feel a level of trust in and this is obviously a gradual process. So when Young Sir ingrains into me the knowledge that I am disgusting, sub-human filth & that I might as well possess a clitoris as opposed to my pathetic excuse of a cock, I take this on board, in a sense 'comfortably' & free from insecurity. We all though have areas of which we would prefer not to venture. I guess mine are around weight (not so much because of any insecurity but more down to my opposition to body fascism) & also the paying of money for Young Sir's time. He likes to remind me that I am paying for him to define me as this piece of sub-human filth & he is of course right in saying so & despite my feelings that this be an area not to enter, I think there may possibly be potential to turn this around in my head, so that it can be included in the ridicule Young Sir subjects me to. Time will tell.

During an extended period of Young Sir being unavailable, I asked him if I were permitted to seek out another ( yet albeit obviously less superior ) top to quench any potential thirst I may experience. I was granted this request but on the absolute proviso that whoever that top may be, they were not, under any circumstances, to wear Young Sir's gloves. Not something that really needed to be pointed out to me but I was nonetheless the better for his clarity on the subject. As it turned out, no such top was seen but it was important to seek prior approval regardless.

It was in this period I sought certainty on another issue that had been slightly niggling me & that was whether sub was in essence, a 'he' or an 'it'. Unsurprisingly, Young Sir confirmed it was the latter but as mentioned above, titles & statuses are all important. So 'it' is how I will refer to myself from now onwards.

Our 5th (& luckily, also extended ) meeting was as productive as ever, with It having it's place re-affirmed through more foot worship, abuses both physical & verbal & a game in which It was challenged to succeed in catching Young Sir's spit in my mouth, at which point It would be rewarded by Young Sir indulging in a cigarette. A task I passed eventually & a reward of which Sub was also finally allowed to actually witness & whilst being in substantially closer proximity too. Such fun. He also perceptively identified how much I would enjoy it if he was to stub it out on me, how much it would hurt & that it would be a symbol that reminded It Young Sir had been there. He refrained from doing so on this occasion though sub can but hope that merciful day will come & that It would take it through force if necessary & with minimum noise, as Young Sir disapproves of sub suffering whilst accompanied by excessive volume. And I was allowed another soaking from his piss too and got to wallow in & gobble up the lot (and it was free of asparagus this time, an aspect which was of course highly agonising).

Our most recent encounter mainly concentrated on one area in particular. The sense of anticipation.

With my back to Young Sir (either kneeling or laying face down) I had my senses played with. The sense of sound, & only being able to hear Young Sir & the noise of him in his squeaky trainers, thereby invoking an air of some intimidation & fear in my head. As I wasn't able to see what he might be up to, it meant that every kick with his feet & each blow from the truncheon, came as a surprise. Young Sir was well aware that all I could depend on was sound & so in his classic sadistic manner, terrorised It by making it sound like he was running towards me with the next kick to my back but then refrained from delivering it, screwing with my head as a consequence. Eventually the blow would come, each one catching sub unawares. For good measure, Young Sir would daub It's back with his spit, each time with sub feeling the unmistakable contempt with which it was sent.

There was more trainer licking. This is proving a very effective way of reinforcing who's who. Just staring at the imprint on Young Sir's dirty, tasty soles invokes in sub It's inferior status, as well as thoughts of how magnificent this pattern would look if it were stamped onto It's face.

Young Sir was also kind enough to strike It's face with a few yet decidedly hard punches which bought about a very intense reaction in It's mind. Young Sir hurting sub with such force, is perilously delectable & only fuels It's craving for his cruelty.

Through Young Sir standing fully on top of sub & its clit & other general degradations, our time was drawing to a close, so Young Sir decided to have a smoke, just for good measure. I was allowed to look but only via the mirror as he stood behind the quivering It, wishing, begging & grovelling for Young Sir to treat me like that oft mentioned ashtray. And I was, in a limited way, granted this honour, as he flicked (again contemptuously) ash over the snivelling sub-human. Young Sir engulfed his gloves in the smoke, perhaps in order for It to have something to furiously wank over until we next meet. I was to taste the glove as he forced it hard down my throat. For his finale, Young Sir tormentedly indulged me, by bringing the nearly finished cigarette right up close to the tongue of panting sub & It willing Young Sir on to do his worst and burn his symbol into my tongue. However, I know only too well, that It doesn't always get what It begs for & so had to settle for Young Sir kindly letting my mouth taste his ash & all of this culminating in him grabbing my hair and ordering It to shoot, which I did. As ever, Young Sir left sub feeling as he always does: nicely sullied & done for :)

This then is pretty much the story so far. As time goes by & familiarity develops, experiences with Young Sir & all the discipline he instills & the abuses he whips up & of which I'm lucky enough to suffer, look set to continue to be of invaluable benefit & wonder how fine it would be to be owned by Young Sir, unfeasable though this is.

Until next time, when I have more news to report from the world of paying-for-it.

Sub/It