After Sir Bill finished preparing breakfast for the two of us, He served His up on a plate and placed it on the table. Mine He scraped into a dog bowl which He put down on the ground near His chair. I dropped to my hands and knees, then lowered my face into the bowl. I paused there for a moment, letting the full picture of what was happening take root in my mind. Sir was sitting down to enjoy His meal in the usual manner that any man would; I was on the ground preparing to eat mine out of a bowl without even the use of my hands, no higher in station than a dog. I whimpered audibly as I meditated on how low I had been made, and beyond that: how low I wanted to be made. This much and more, so much more. How much I longed to be humbled and degraded. When I felt Sir Billâs boot on my back, pushing my head further into the bowl and encouraging me to eat, it felt like home.
The first time I visited Sir Bill, many months ago, He had me do this same thing. It was the first time in my life I had ever eaten a meal out of a dog bowl. It was such a powerfully humbling experience that I almost cried while I ate. Since then, the scene has played out over and over in my head, becoming a defining moment for me. Which is strange when I think about all the other things that happened during that visit, all of the other ways he hurt and used me. Why did this moment, this scene, become the thing that I keep dwelling on?
Iâve thought about it a lot, and itâs hard to put into words. I think largely because it has nothing to do with sex, for me it represents domination and submission in its purest form. In allowing myself to be made to eat like an animal, I am surrendering more parts of myself than my hole and my mouth. I am surrendering my spirit. I am being forced to face and fully embrace that Iâm not just a bottom who likes rough sex, I am a submissive who craves degradation by a dominant Man who will take pleasure in reducing me to my basest elements. To this day that can be hard for me to fully acknowledge; being forced to do so is both scary and liberating.
It always comes back to power exchange for me, and my underlying desire to feel it all times, not just in the playroom. When I am forced to eat out of a dog bowl, or not allowed to sit on the furniture, or made to sleep on the floor, or even better in a cageâŠ.all of those things make tangible the ways me and my Sir sit at opposite ends of the power spectrum, and the decision I have made to accept my place in it.
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