“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.


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 cannot 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.”


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.”


“Because I am yours, sir.”


“So you should have access to me.”


“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.


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



for it to come.


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 come on your back the blow on your ass the presence of a master you must not look at.

Feel like what you are.