a book by Jeff Mach
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“GIVE” some
explorations of submission. by
Jeff Mach TABLE OF
CONTENTS Acknowledgements Introduction I. There is that beast again. BEAST “Bow your head.” “Arms behind your back.” “Open.” “Kneel!” “Face to the floor.” FUCKTOY “Always mine.” “Coins.” “Found objects.” “Girl in the box.” PREY “Sick.” “Dread.” “Pushing social limits.” “Harm’s way.” GHOST “Let go!” “Focus.” “Control.” “Gone.” II. Such sweet blood.GIFT “Theft.” “Whose?” “Breathe.” “Disrobe.” PRIZE “Beautiful.” “What did you bring me?” “Everything.” Interlude: “A nature of submission.” CONQUEST “She almost cries.” “Silencings.” “Knife and eye.” “A measurement.” III.
And you become…
ALTER
EGO “Mask?” “Play pretend!” “Grown-up toys.” HUMAN “Ugly.” “Ugly. (confessions.)” “Reconciliation. (a
dialogue.)” Interlude: “The Basics.” STORM “Larger than life.” “The freedom to…” IV. The art and deadly challenge.WHIPPING
POST “Freeze!” “Bitten.” “Be still.” “A simple denial.” Interlude: “To take.” CREATION “A core.” “Inversion.” “Who the hell are you?” “When?” “Have you a Lecter?” “...like what you are.” BALM “Here.” “Sir.” “Ritual.” “Act like what you are.” V. That beast again. PRISONER “Through Slave Eyes.” “Tongue/Whip.” “A different journal.” SEEKER “Automata.” “Object.” “To rest my feet.” “If you meet the Buddha…” ADEPT “Sar’s cup.” “Impress me.” “A bit about fantasies.” “Child.” INSPIRATION “Raven's power.” “Renee's spanking.” Epilogue Wearing Your Name There
is that beast again wearing your name
driving animal blood through a human form racing to burst out
of flesh (such sweet blood) I
could absolve you just by licking it
from my hands; I cup my hands, you
fill them, and fill
them again and you become a
horizon, I am
shaping you,
but you stretch out, become
far greater than my reach creating
you, the art
and deadly challenge: tear away, with my teeth everything
you are not. There
is that beast again I know it by name It
wants warm animal blood on my
lips. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS First, I’d like to thank Catty, and the organization he began: RUST, the Rutgers University BDSM group, which gave me my first real glimpse of this world. And my friends from RUST: Erika, Heather, Bill, and Charlotte. Second, like most practitioners of my generation, I owe an incalculable debt to the people of alt.sex.bondage, now called society.subculture.bondage-bdsm. Your knowledge, advice, and humor continue to be a great influence on my life. We have had many differences, but I know I have learned very much from Raven of Usher’s Keep. And I thank Lenore, Dave, and Karl, especially for their support as I took my first steps into this place. Though I met him only once, Philip Miller’s knowledge and his great warmth left an indelible mark on me. I hope that, wherever he is, he approves. And the dedications: To Catty, for
teaching. To Marcia, for
giving. To Renee... for that night. INTRODUCTION Hello, and welcome to a bit of my
mind. This work is designed to provide a
few explorations for those who like, or perhaps need, the feeling of being
possessed by another. This is a
complex subject, and GIVE is intended to be a relatively complex work. Please be forewarned about the following:
“GIVE” is organized loosely into sections, each of
which is a mixture of thoughts, observations, and potential exercises. I’ve intentionally tried to make this very
subjective and personal. My intention
is to give you a glimpse at some things that I think about; some parts of GIVE
are my deep-rooted beliefs, others are theories or musings-aloud. I show you my thoughts and feelings because
I hope they might be interesting, might give you more pieces of your personal
puzzle-not because I necessarily expect or want you to agree with me. To that end, I’ve specifically added dialogue that
reflects conversations that I might get into, and sometimes conversations I’ve
actually heard. I’ve used a lot of
observations that are clearly pulled straight out of my own head. I’ve played with some dangerous subjects,
which should be approached with discretion.
And I’ve taken many approaches that might work well for some and won’t
even make a pretense of being right for others. Your Mileage May Vary. Enough said. Jeff
Mach January
3, 2001 PART
I “There is that beast again.” Some
traditional questions: Why are we driven to these
things? What is the makeup of our
cravings, what are the ingredients, the components? What do we really need here,
and what do we only want? What is this voice that
calls to us in the darkness? How do we
answer? And if we go to meet it, is formal dress required? BEAST
“Head down.” “Yes, sir.” “Why do I want this?” “Because my eyes shouldn’t meet
yours?” “Why not? And kindly address me properly.” “Yes, sir. Because eye contact is a show of respect among equals, sir.” “Are you saying I do not respect
you?” Why do we, as humans, look each
other in the eyes? I think a primary reason is assessment. We read a lot of emotion and thought in the
eyes, and on the face in general. Turn
your face down, and you can’t know what’s in my mind. I can’t see your eyes, either-but I can pull your face up if I
want. You don’t have that option with
me. A second reason is range of
vision. We rely on sight, take it
for granted. Bow your head, and your
world is cut off-all you can see is part of your body, the floor-and perhaps,
out of the corner of your eyes, something coming towards you… Third is basic, and it’s a theme:
DOWN. Low. Beneath. Below. Under. Humans denigrate “down,”
cross-culturally, cross-historically.
It is lesser, “weaker,” tamed.
Submissive. And that’s exactly where you’re being pushed. Think like an animal. Watch the other primates. An offered neck-exposed for a fatal bite. It says-“Do not hurt me. I expose myself. I am no threat. I am helpless.” “I give.” “Bow your head.”
Find a mirror. Stand before it, arms at your sides. Clasp your hands behind your back. Look yourself in the eyes. Slowly, bow your head, watching your
face disappear from view. Close your eyes. You have lost your face. No-one can look in your eyes, as humans do
when they communicate. You can’t
see. The part of you that meets the outside
world is pushed away-it’s pushed down inside you, signaling your loss of the
ability to stand, head erect, under your own command, free. Think about this. Stay there a while. And let yourself feel it. “Arms behind your
back.”
“Get those arms behind your back,
because you’ve lost the right to use them unless I tell you to-and if I want to
enter your space with my toys or my body or my presence, I will permit no
barriers between you and I.” “Open!”
This could refer to the legs, or the
mouth, depending on the context. “Your legs are to be apart whenever
we are together.” “Yes, sir.” “Why?” “Because I am yours, sir.” “So?” “So you should have access to me.” “Pardon?” “Sir! Access to me, sir!” “‘Access.’ That’s an interesting way of putting it.” Access to what? Access to your sex.. I like the Victorian term, because
that’s exactly what is implied. Sexual
withholding is still a sign of “purity” in the vanilla world, the source of
many amusing (and sometimes very ugly) expectations and cultural demands. In my games, I’m very aware that sex is
still treated as a commodity that women possess, and men strive, often vainly,
to acquire from them. There is power in reversing that
situation. Access. Even if we do not do directly sexual play, the meaning is still
there, the vulnerability, the opening, the exposure of tender, very sensitive
flesh. And the symbolic meaning of
“open” can go deeper-the process of sharing, telling me your thoughts, making
the inside mine to match the outside.
Or the other side of the coin-a reminder that much of you is already
open to me. I know how to read you,
smell your arousal or hunger or fear. From a normal standing position,
spread your legs just a little wider than is natural. “Wider!” That’s better. Make it pronounced, visible, painfully
obvious. Make it so you can feel a
twinge in the muscles of your legs. Think about how exposed you are in
this position, naked or clothed. Now step it up a notch. “Open your mouth.” A children’s game. “Open your mouth and close your eyes, and
you will get a big surprise.” What might go in there? Perhaps a body part. Perhaps a gag. Perhaps an object. Perhaps a cool drink of water. Or perhaps a different taste,
altogether. Imagine yourself in a moment, not
when any of these things are happening, but when one of them, you
do not know which one, is about to. And you are waiting waiting waiting for it to come. “Kneel.”
There is no fast way out of a kneel. I could say many things about a
kneel; how, like the bowed head, it is “down.”
How a disciplined kneel contains the self-control of excellent posture,
which is strangely matched with the helplessness of a rigid, uncomfortable,
sometimes hard-to-sustain position… But my mind always returns to this
single fact: it is perhaps as vulnerable a position as is possible without
outside restraint…and you are more trapped in it than in any other position I
know. To rise, you must get your feet
under you . If your knees are bent, you
must straighten them. And to do that
from a kneel, you must shift the maximum possible body weight. Worse, the only thing that might speed the
position would be leverage from your hands-and in a kneel, your arms can’t
reach fast enough to relieve your locked legs. Granted, if you know how to rise
from a kneel, the difference is measured in pieces of a second. But power exchange is primal. And to the primal self, fractions of
a second are life. Fractions of a
second are the distinction between a blow that falls to the side…and one which
strikes, head-on. Your kneel says: “I am at a disadvantage. “I do not fight you for dominance. “You accept my submission. “And so I show you that I am
vulnerable to you. “So that you see you do not have to
hurt me “To prove your control.” “Face to the
floor!”
From the kneel, put your hands in
front of you on the floor, a bit less than an arm’s length away. Put your face on your hands. Lift your ass. Spread your legs. Feel like an animal, waiting to be fucked. It is from here that a cock would thrust its
deepest, bury itself in you, hands on your hips to control motion, animal,
fucked, mounted, taken. Feel like a worshipper, body down,
face down, awed, lost, before a power that owns you. Feel like an object, frozen to the
floor, exposed, faceless, your intimate areas no longer intimate, but
displayed, serving the viewing pleasure of others, just a whore in her place. Feel like a bitch, perfectly placed
as the target of a hundred sorts of blows, endless variations of pain and
sensation. Feel the cum on your back, the blow
on your ass, the presence of a master you must not raise eyes to see. Feel like what you are. FUCKTOY
“And tear our pleasures with rough
strife Throughout the iron gates of life…” -Andrew
Marvell Not everyone uses our world for what they consider erotic purposes. But it’s a starting point for many of us-due both to popular conception, and the closeness of those two ancient drives, reproduction and dominance/submission. It’s also where most vanilla people touch our world; even vanilla people understand “losing control” for eros. And for us…
“Always Mine.”
I remember this as one of the steps
in my own learning. I came to it by
instinct; the time simply seemed right. Whatever stage you are at when you
read or re-read this, always try to imagine yourself here: We have been playing for a bit of
time. You are becoming more and more
drawn to our…games. So far, they have
been restricted only to specific times, specific scenes-and so far, with me or
with others, that is all you have known. And then I whisper to you: “You are always mine. “You are mine to take at will.” I have said this to you before, in
scene, as part of the moment. But now I add something: “Tomorrow, you will have for me a
password, and a safeword that goes with it. “At any time, in any place, when I
say your password-you are mine. Just as
you are now. But this time…unplanned,
unexpected, not known to you in advance. “If circumstances beyond control
require, use the safeword and apologize. “If you have commitments, tell
me-addressing me properly-what they are. “Because otherwise, you cannot be
sure when I might choose to release you. “You will fuck me. “You will be touched by me. “You will take anything that I feel
like giving you. “You will be mine. “Is that clear?” “Any time.” “Disregarding place or situation.” “Mine.” “Always mine.” “Coins.”
Here is a little game about control,
about desire, about frustration and satiation. Set aside two hours for me. Be sure you have a timer, or a reliable
clock; be sure you won’t be disturbed.
You will need a pair of coins, preferably quarters. Begin to masturbate. Use whatever stimulation you prefer; my only
rule is that you never forget that you are doing this for me…not you. Every twenty minutes, flip both
coins. If they are both heads, you may
come. Do not even consider coming
otherwise, during this time. When the time is over, reflect on
what you have just done, what it felt like, and why. You are forbidden orgasm for two
hours following this exercise. “Found objects.”
I remember what I think of as my
first scene… It was with Renee, who was trapped
in a relationship with a very, very possessive boy. She had escaped for the weekend because she’d told him she needed
to leave for a few days… or else forever. For two days, we had great sex. But on the last night… She was…the first person I had
spanked, to make it simple. We knew
about a mutual interest in bondage, and were, that night, watching “Tie Me
Up! Tie Me Down!” Perhaps it’s a good film, but it wasn’t what
we had wanted, and I was growing frustrated with it. I think I said to myself, “That isn’t what bondage is about!” And…instinct?…took over. I grabbed my handcuffs, and my little toy
riding crop, and a spare valise I had, and as she watched the movie, I ran
about the house, picking up whatever objects I found…each one beckoning to me,
speaking plainly of sensual uses. The entire world was an erotic shop. It’s probably a good thing the valise wasn’t
too large, or that night might never
have found an ending… I might describe that scene another
time. I might not. But it was the beginning of my path. And I haven’t forgotten it. Use whatever triggers make you feel
sensual; a bath, music, food, certain thoughts, pictures, what-have-you; not
aroused, specifically, but aware of your body.
Get yourself into that frame of mind. This is an exercise in sensations. Go and gather objects-anything that
might brush or rub or burn or cool or wet or blow air on or heat or scratch or
otherwise cause tingles in your skin, without risk of harm. Take some time. Disrobe. Begin trying your newfound toys
against your skin…both the traditionally erogenous areas, and more mundane
spaces. Try your hot spots, try your
neutral areas. Open your eyes, close
your eyes, be fast, be slow, alternate, feel. This is an exercise in using your
body as an instrument of reception.
It’s a piece of the sweet, perpetual rediscovery of the potential of
your flesh. You might call this another
opening-an opening of your body and mind to more stimulus, making you a more
knowledgeable, more prepared receptacle for pain and pleasure and surprise. Adjust these things to your level of
ability. If this exercise is difficult, take it slow and try
more conventional objects, like ice and warm cloth. If this is familiar or easy, challenge yourself. “Girl in the box.”
Just
a box, in a darkened room. It is not
high, not as tall as you crouch. It is
not long, no longer than your body when on all fours, uncomfortably
compressed. It is barely as wide as
your hips and has a hole in the front and a hole in back. It is nailed shut and you are bound inside,
your mouth open-it had better stay open-against the first hole; your pussy,
concave, sweet, pressed up against the second.
If there is ever a moment when your holes do not line up easily with the
holes of the box, you will fucking learn lessons in regret. On all fours. Imitate the posture of the girl in the
box. Make yourself uncomfortable. You are a hole, to be used; you should not
expect comfort. Visualize the anonymous
patrons of my box, my friends, my paying customers, people on the street with
whom I choose to share my property, to demonstrate that it is mine. Visualize the penetration. Try hard to find a pleasure spot in your
mind, to enjoy this, and the moment you do, STOP. PREY
I
remember the moment when it no longer mattered that the cross was handmade and
plastic, clumsily chained to a towel rack.
When it was not important that you were standing on a little dorm chair,
amidst a clutter of books and papers and the tangible evidence of all the
things I needed to do between that night and tomorrow. I remember drawing the knife from my valise,
its blade longer than the span of my hand.
I remember the way your eyes followed it as I lifted the thing in my
hands, and the sound sucked from your mouth as I brought it, slowly, within a
breath of your eye… “Sick.”
Let’s play ghoul for a little while. What is the worst thing you want to
have happen to you? “Want,” of course, is a flexible
term. Our desires tend to be a little
blacker than our realities, and for many, “liking it rough” grows into a
spanking, which makes an easy transition to paddling. Having bought one toy, you buy another, and begin to unlock
flogging…as flogging swells, hungrily, greedily, into a leather hood, a long
knife, and a quiet, steady flame… I started with newspaper accounts of
sexual assaults. It was that age-old
combination, so well known to us-repulsion, and fascination. My first submissive was a rape
survivor-from not long before she and I met.
I’d like to say I helped her recover-but I know she did that on her own,
and I wasn’t able to help her nearly as much as I wished I could. I gained a little empathy, a small
understanding that survival. Sometimes,
during what I do, I push consent limits.
Sometimes I push them hard. The only thought I know which could
make me consider suicide is the idea of misjudging the line between consent
and-otherwise. And yet I fantasize, I am turned on
by these things, still. By games too
dangerous for me to consider in life.
By victim and prey, by blackmail, the mind of a sociopath, the spectre of
the S.S.… Did you, like me, have a time when you wanted “bad”
things-when you did not know this place, and looked for it in the aberrations
of the outside world? Do you think of things no-one has
dared do to you-that you might never try-perhaps that you never could try,
because they cripple or kill or strip away any hint of the outside
world-perhaps they are not possible at all? Look around. Search books, associates, newspapers, other
sources. Look for something that
frightens and draws you. Find me what
the pulp novels call “your deepest, darkest fantasies.” Then dig deep into your head. And find me something worse. “Dread.”
Making you afraid is not pleasant or
thrilling, really. No.
The proper word is “delicious.” So many flavors…so many, many
flavors. There is realization-a sudden moment when it clicks in your mind that
something nasty is going to happen to you, has already come so close to
happening that, as you are finishing that thought- There is waiting-the simple knowledge alone that you have something to fear,
something coming soon, too soon and not soon enough- There is force-a space of time when I show you a side of me that was born to hurt and violate you. There are options, variations, an
orchestra of beautiful games. We’re not necessarily going to play
any right now. You’re just going to sit down for a
moment, and close your eyes. Think
about things we might do. Run over your
fears in your mind, as if you were groping for something you could not see,
trying to feel its texture, its ridges and curves and sides, knowing you might
cut yourself; think of things you’ve read, things you remember; think about
“Sick,” and imagine being awakened, suddenly in the night, by someone with
exactly that dark desire… “Pushing social limits.” Probably the best description I’ve
heard of humiliation play is that it “pushes social limits.” Such a clinical phrase, that is, descriptive
and academic and safe. So very different from the
application. What are your “soft” social limits? There are things you can do in
public, easily and without fear. There are things whose mention can
send you into a bad place in your head, afraid or furious or worse. And there is my home, right in
between. Where are you vulnerable…but not too vulnerable to touch? Places first. List five of them. A
public park? A church? A restaurant? The home of a friend or ex-lover? Of course, vulnerability depends on visibility of activities…and
the nature of said games. But there are
likely to be particular places where the practice of our secret life, hidden or
visible, sends a tremor through your gut, makes you bite your lip, or swallow
hard. Which viewers make you sweat? Police?
Clergy? Parents? Teachers?
Peers? Five, again. Now activities. Secret games. Misdirection, things which look innocent to outsiders, but bite
you inside. Blunt, open play, where
your subservience is visible. Draw on
life, on fantasies, on things you’ve read or seen or thought about. Now catalog your emotions. Mix and match combinations, bring them
together in your mind. What do you feel? Fear? Anger? Desire? Shame? A little bit of them all? “Harm's way.”
Tonight, I am going to hurt you. I am not punishing you. I am not playing with you. I am going to take the knowledge
that you have given to me, your fears, your discomforts, the things that make
you wish you could escape from your head and body, and use it. I will not break you. I will not betray your trust. But I will hurt you. Because I care enough to take that power from you. I care enough to make you brave for
me. I am strong enough to give you
something you do not want, because it is a part of what you need. And I am going to exercise my right
to give you pain. GHOST …and
then it’s all gone That other world slips away And I have come home. “Let go!”
Mark off a little space, just big enough to hold
your body in a kneel. Give it a roof in
your mind, make it a little box, perhaps a cage. Don’t go in. That space belongs to me. When you enter it, you may bring nothing with you. Stress eats at your vitality, tears at your nerves,
makes you hard when I want you to yield and weak when I need you strong. Leave it outside. Fears and worries from your daily life are valid,
important. But right now, they are
inappropriate. Leave them outside. Hatred, anger, pain. Release them. Make it practical.
You don’t have to be perfect.
And you don’t need surroundings of total
serenity. Take distractions, smile at
them if you can, shake them off, make them a part of the strength of this
place. Not always possible. Do your best. Don’t worry. Bow your head. Know that you’re entering a
different space, a place where you serve.
Everything is secondary to that. Come in. Breathe. You’re mine. Let go of everything else. You’re mine. Anything else-forget it. Don’t think about it. |