On the Ethics of Erotic Humiliation

Pathetic, beta, cuck. Piece of shit? (Really?) Pig, dog, worm, bug, and asshole. Ladies and gentlemen, I think it’s time to get real.

I like a little ribbing and loving humiliation as much as the next person, and maybe more so. I like being physically and emotionally at the feet of my Domme. I like serving and worshipping her, I like genuflecting and ingratiating myself to her power, I like relishing and basking in her glory. And I love it when she teases and bullies me. But for some, that sort of thing isn’t nearly enough.

There are people (I’m sure if you’re reading this you know what I mean), for whom submission revolves around and hinges upon but one thing: the assertion, appreciated most earnestly by themselves, that they are lowly, pathetic, servile, and in all other ways equivalent to scum.

It’s the difference between submission and masochism, and it’s the emotional component of that distinction. This is one I’ve drawn frequently in the past, and it’s one I feel should be enunciated clearly here.

The “BDSM” acronym, as my readers may well be aware, is an overlapping four letter initialism that actually refers to six things:

  • Bondage and Discipline
  • Dominance and Submission
  • Sadism and Masochism

All too often, it’s the S&M third of those six components that gets all of the recognition, attention, and press. In other words, both in pornography and in the popular appreciation, S&M often is kink, and much of what is out there caters disproportionately to that persuasion. Now I am not here to judge or condemn anyone for the way they play consensually with consenting and competent partners, but I will take the opportunity to declare categorically that it is nothing that I, as a bona fide kinky person, have an interest in.

I don’t want emotional pain and denigration and degradation and nastiness any more than I want blood and scat and needles and all of the other extreme masochistic play. So where does that leave me? Where, with a desire for the fun and enjoyment of a little playful erotic humiliation, do I go for humiliation I can trust?

To start with, let’s go over what I want (in an ultimate sense) from the people I play with. When all is said and done, and at every step along the way, I have a need to be respected and valued and appreciated and loved. I need to know, not just feel, that, regardless of the context, my partner not only cares about me and my wellbeing but holds me in high regard and high esteem. Moreover I work very hard to earn and be worthy of that status, and I certainly don’t want it to go out the window when it’s time to play.

So where, then, does humiliation come in in that context?

For one thing, it’s important to recognize that in all this sanctity and majesty and pomp there is a very real and important place for a sense of humor. An active and dynamic sense of humor is critical to what I think of as good humiliation play, and it’s conspicuously missing from what I regard as too much. When it’s degrading there’s often nothing funny about it, and if there is the sub is certainly not in on the joke.

In all humor, there is a conspicuous defiance of expectation and an interplay between what is real and what is said. What this means for humiliation play is that there is an extent to which my Domme can say “mean”, embarrassing things to me, and poke fun at me, and I’ll be able to know that she’s kidding. I’ll be able to know it’s in jest and I shouldn’t take it to heart because that’s not what she’d say if she really had to say what she felt.

In this, I can trust her, and it’s a good feeling to trust, especially when that’s pushed and stretched just a little bit. It’s almost as if her jabs are a test, and to be able to feel myself doubling down on that trust is a nice thing, and it’s something we can share. What this process grants us is a modicum of license and freedom, a release valve that assures us we’re not scrutinizing each other too harshly, that our skins our thick, and that what we’ve built together isn’t subject to misinterpretation and spontaneous unfounded accusations. It illustrates that there is room for error, and it’s a way of showing that neither of us is being too strict with the other.

Now some would say that this much is true of denigration play too, but while that may in some sense be the case I think there’s a point to be made on the subject of what promotes that kind of tacit forgiveness and willingness to be pushed.

I think what I value in humiliation play is the idea that when I’m seen for what I really am in a sexual context my partner is generous and accepting of that, even if those things are expressed in a way that relies on what I’ve described above. If she calls me a “slut”, she’s recognizing the abundance of my sexual drive; if she calls me a “dirty little footslave”, she’s recognizing the essential nature of my orientation to her feet; if she calls me her “bitch”, she’s recognizing our relationship and what I give and will accept from her.

In all of these things and more, however “mean” or bullying they may seem, I feel seen, and seen generously, and seen with love. I feel validated and accepted, and even that it’s our little secret that I’ve chosen to share with her. She’s had the opportunity to discover me, and she’s specifically rejected the opportunity to hate me for what I am. She’s decided to be generous and kind in her heart, regardless of how she expresses that or what she says.

What, then, are we to suppose one is recognized to be when it comes to degradation? When one is called by the names and associated with the things listed above? When one is equated with the things on that list? How are we to believe that the kind of love and generosity I’m describing can embrace those things?

For some people, again, I suppose that what I’m saying still holds true. But that leads me to the other point of distinction– when I arrive at that place of demonstration and exposure and being witnessed, what is it that I want myself to be?

When I get to that place in humiliation, there’s something in it that invites me to look at myself through her eyes, and by proxy through the eyes of others in general. She takes the place of what the world might think of me, and together we judge those things implicitly. What, then, can I own about myself and love about myself through her eyes?

A “slut”? Hell yeah I am, and proud of it. A “footslave”? Her “bitch”? There’s nothing I’d rather be. Paradoxically then, what humiliation engenders in the ultimate sense, is a common and cooperative pride in what may otherwise, unfairly, embarrass me. It’s a way of soothing my anxieties about how I will be interpreted as a person, even if that means taking back the words and rubbing my face in them. And the fun of it is being pushed and stretched and teased into proving that that’s exactly what I am.

So why would I want that to revolve around worthlessness? Repulsiveness? Inadequacy? Abjection? Or shamefullness? What good is there in supposing myself to be these things and trying to appreciate myself in that? To whatever extent any of those things are true, in any case, it’s my duty as a human being to change them. It’s something that if I can recognize, to my sincere horror, there must be a moral onus upon me to reject them and make myself otherwise. The last thing I would want to feel if I really believed any of those things were true, is pride.

But this leads me to my real point, which is what I think to be a fair question that any sub who feels this way should ask themselves– is that what you need to be in order to glorify a woman?

In all dominance and submission there is, by definition, an imbalance between top and bottom, but the question in this case is not how far apart the two parties are relative to each other. The question is where do they stand in the world they make together?

I, for one, refuse to feel less than because I put someone else higher than myself. I refuse to imply that in order to make her great I have to lower myself as a human being. I am not a beta, I am not a cuck. I am a god among men and I want to be ruled by a goddess. I am a king who abdicates my throne to my queen, to give her that place of power and become her footstool and servant. I am great, and in order to serve her I must allow and encourage her to be greater.

This, I think, provides room for honor. Not just for me, but all the more explicitly for her. What achievement is it to dominate the lowly? What victory is it to conquer the weak? And why, if you truly believe women are wondrous, would you accuse her of only being capable of that, or fail to provide opportunities for her to do more?

I think implicit in the idea that a man has to be degraded in order to serve is the idea that without that condescension his woman would be powerless, and that is one that I reject from whole cloth. It’s a vile assertion that I refuse to accept. And I think the women we celebrate deserve better. They deserve our faith, and our trust, and they deserve to be equipped and enabled and empowered by us on their journey. The goal of submission shouldn’t be to become servile to the shallowness and mundanity of what they automatically project; it should be to embrace their potential, to elevate them to their rightful place, and to be inspired to awe by their magnificence.

You don’t love a tree by burying yourself beneath its roots; you’re meant to look up, and watch it climb into the sky. And if you’re lucky you’ll get to climb with it, using its strength for support as it takes you to vistas and ecosystems you couldn’t begin to imagine.

Like so much in kink that’s misunderstood, it’s not about the pain and the distress and the humiliation. It’s supposed to be about love.


© 2019

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NEW STORY! – Begging for a Blowjob

This story is now available FREE on SMUTProject.com! Click here to read the whole thing!


Synopsis: A slave gets a lesson in discipline beneath the stockinged feet of his relentlessly strict Mistress.

This F (Femdom) story features:
Tease and Denial, Foot Fetish, Orgasm Control, Discipline, and Footdom in Nylons.


I don’t know why I wanted it so badly. It’s not even usually my thing, but when she asked me I knew what the answer was.

“Tell me what you want,” she said, more in a way that demanded my honesty rather than one that demonstrated any readiness or desire to please me.

“I..,” I hesitated, not wanting to admit it, what with all the time she had spent training me to attend to her needs and her whims, her wishes and her desires. It almost felt selfish. “I want… I want a blowjob,” I finally finished.

“I see,” she replied, showing almost no reaction, turning her attention back to the book she was reading. There was a pause, a long one, while I worked up the courage to press the issue.

“Will you give me one?” I asked, and she turned the page.

“Will I give you one what?” she returned, not looking up.

“A blowjob,” I repeated.

There was another pause as she finished a paragraph. “What about it?”

I sighed. “Will you give me a blowjob?” I reiterated, just a fraction too emphatically in my budding exasperation. She looked up and set the book down in her lap.

“Of course I won’t!” she said quietly, in a way that was full of indignation and reproach. “Not when you put it like that. Of course I won’t ‘give you a blowjob.’ How utterly ridiculous. Come get under my feet for your impertinence, right now.”

(…)


© 2018

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NEW HALLOWEEN STORY – Trick or Treat…

Because we’re feeling festive, this story is NOW AVAILABLE for FREE on SMUTProject.com until Nov. 1. Click here to read the whole thing!


Synopsis: Bridget throws an impromptu Halloween get together for her friends, and gives them a naughty demonstration of her witchy feminine powers.

This F+ (Multiple Mistress Femdom) story features:
Foot Fetish, Edging, Orgasm Control, Spanking, Erotic Humiliation, Footdom in Socks, Nylons and Sandals, Trampling and Cum Play.


It wasn’t actually quite Halloween just yet, it was the day before, but as I approached the house, of course, you couldn’t have told the difference. There were glowing three jack o’ lanterns on the steps, each with their own cartoonish, exaggerated expressions, there were spider web decorations on the porch and in the trees, and there were green, orange, and purple lights along the side of the house, pointing upwards and making it look like the “spook factory” that I knew that Bridget delighted in having it be.

In fact, the house had looked like that for close to two weeks, an overeager Bridget having decorated as soon as she had the time, and I smiled as I walked past the skeletons “crawling out of” the yard. What could I say? It was her favorite holiday, and I liked seeing her go a little overboard. I liked seeing the glee and the scheming and the planning. I liked that she put so much effort in and paid so much attention to all the little details, crafting the world that most suited her for the one time of year in which it was suitable to do so.

It was cold, and a thin layer of icy snow crusted the lawn, with its skeletons and foamcore gravestones. She had said it was her ambition to be the scariest house on the block, and as I glanced up and down the street I saw that she had certainly achieved it. I smiled to myself, proud of her I suppose, and stepped up onto the porch.

A big, veiny eyeball stared at me as I rang the doorbell and searched my coat quickly for the stray blonde hairs of my dog, and shuddered a little in the cold. I didn’t know what I had to be nervous about. She had told me that it was just going to be a trial run for tomorrow, hanging out with some of her friends while we all made sure our costumes were perfect, and watched a couple of movies. I guess it was Samantha and Vanessa if I’m honest. We had never had problems or anything, it was just that when Bridget got around them her sense of humor took on an aspect that I never quite knew how to make sense of. It was still fairly early in our relationship, and while I loved her very much I never quite knew what to expect from her. I guess, if I’m honest again, that was one of the things I loved the most.

(…)


© 2018

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InstaDomme: FemDom and Kink on Social Media

It’s not infrequently that I browse the “FemDom” and related hashtags, particularly on Twitter because that’s where we at the SMUT Project feel there is the most to be done when it comes to connecting with those who think seriously about the topic. I look for things to share, thoughts and content to promote, things that inspire me or with which I feel a sense of common cause, things I feel connected with or represented by in a positive and meaningful way.

But more reliably than anything like that, what I find in much greater proportion is a slew of what is, in essence, merely advertising. Not for prodommes, not for pornography, but for a special breed of person that I only became unpleasantly aware of in the last couple of years, and which I’m fairly comfortable in believing not just did not but could not have existed until sometime around then: the “InstaDomme”.

She is, in short, at least as defines the typical case, a very young woman (I should say most often in the range of 18-22), with a relatively new account that has a relatively low number of posts, the sole purpose of which is to provide herself with 1) an income stream under the guise of what is called “financial domination”, and 2) an outlet for her distinct and abundant immaturity.

A typical feed reads as follows (quotes taken anonymously from actual tweets):

  • “Your just a looser #findom #femdom”
  • “Where are my #LittleDick losers? I know you’re lonely and feeling vulnerable. Come to me, weakling.”
  • “bow down to your superior and start $ending cucks”
  • “i’ll humiliate you, spit on you, take all the money you have in your wallet, then make you crawl to the ATM like the pig you are to give me the amount I deserve. and you’ll be begging me for more #findom”
  • “RT Game. $2/$2/$2. 1 Comment per 15 min. Drain this fucking loser #findom”
  • “makeups expensive. New foundation costs me £45. #reimburse me for it losers. #reimbursement #findom #paypig”
  • “money makes me so horny”

And make no mistake, there are accounts like these by the hundreds, even by the thousands.

And why not? Can you imagine the perverse simplicity of it? Imagine being that age and coming across the idea that instead of working hard, whether to produce content or cultivate relationships or even just to interact in a healthy and productive way with those around you, instead of suffering from the pressures that life puts on us all, instead of letting that pressure subject you to the pains of growing into a stronger and better human being, all you had to do to achieve success and provide yourself with cash is to create a couple of social media accounts and accounts on sites to process payment, give yourself a title like “Princess” or “Goddess” or “Queen”, fill your feed with bile, and wait for your rewards to come pouring in.

And oh, do those rewards ever floweth. It’s not just the evidence they post, in the form of screenshots declaring their account has received another $100 or $200 or more, the trophies of their “tributes”. It’s not just that they persist in a way that clearly indicates that it’s working for them. It’s the flood of dozens to hundreds of engagements with what they post; the likes, the retweets, the encouraging and prostrating comments, and followers, followers, followers.

A great many of these accounts have followings from the hundreds well into the several thousands, and the phenomenon is within itself a little subculture. There are promotional accounts solely devoted to circulating this kind of dreck, there are similarly devoted “slaves” who do likewise. The little communities play “retweet games” where their “finsub” or “paypig” has pledged a certain amount of cash for each engagement, and over a certain period of time the girl will delight as notification after notification signals the growth of her payoff.

Supposedly this is an outgrowth of BDSM. It’s a kink, we are meant to believe, and surely, the whole ridiculous sham wouldn’t perpetuate itself without a lot of people somewhere jerking off to it in earnest. But to someone who grew up before and in the early days of the Internet, someone who is old enough to know any different, and someone who knows the kinky persuasion to have the capability of being profound and sacred and deep (namely myself), this characterization reads as both cheap and abundantly cynical.

Calling findom a kink asks us to believe that, for all time, there have been people with a quiet desperation to walk up to a stranger, be spewed upon, give them money, and call it a day. While I find that hard to believe, I find it even harder to believe that the procedural aspects of the practice make any sense before the combined existence of the Internet, social media, cashless finance, and the ability for both parties to be isolated in the exchange. It’s true that we don’t have another word yet for something that arouses a person sexually without some relationship to formal sex (one that while making that distinction could further distinguish something like this from that which corresponds to real BDSM), and I don’t dispute that the whole thing revolves around being a turn-on for people. I’ll even go so far as to recognize that the roles and power dynamics at play bear some resemblance to the practice of kink. But to whatever extent it is an authentic extension of D/s, it’s one that, in my estimation, completely misses the point.

Let’s concede for a moment the assumption that at the heart of all of this lies a true appreciation of something and a deep desire to glorify, adore, and promote it. Let’s suppose that that drive animates the whole process, and that at the end of it all both parties are satisfied and fulfilled in their true and essential nature. What, then, can we say that this particular process hinges upon? What, if we even broaden the idea to include the whole “brat” persona, can we say is really being set on the altar of worship? In answer, I can only find some of the most hollow, vacuous, and ultimately contemptible things.

I feel we must take as read the self-evident proposition that these attitudes and behaviors are not things that most of us would honestly support or encourage in real life and in the real world. I think most of us, even the tolerant ones, would say that these things are reprehensible in and of themselves, and that they are really only tolerable to the extent that they represent a phase through which we all must pass. These are things for which we forgive our loved ones because for a time they are incapable of knowing any better. But instead of waiting politely and sympathetically while they grow out of it while enforcing the social discipline that they need in order to learn that that mentality is not a suitable or appropriate one for dealing with other human beings, this so-called kink thrusts it into the spotlight, showers it with praise and both tangible and intangible benefits, and then prostrates itself before it and presents it with the most essential biological approval.

“And so what?” you may say. “They’re just playing. Why can’t they just be left alone with their kink?”

But kink is supposed to be a mutual thing, an exploration of two or more parties’ selves that lead them all to be in touch with the way that they best are able to be, and there is no way for her to participate in this kink without lowering and debasing herself until she is petulant and abusive and exploitative and divorced from her sensitivity, her care, and her love. The practice is, on its face, one-sided, but it is as though we are looking at it through a mirror; the imbalance doesn’t favor her simply because she is in receipt of something as pathetically hollow as money. No, in fact it is the other way around; it enables a man to pay her to get her to be her worst self.

But what’s worse than that, supposing that we can imagine that these things do not take place solely within the ejaculatory vacuum and that it actually has an effect on this young woman’s life, how can she ever grow and develop into an authentic, self-actualized, profound human being who is in touch with and in control of her highest and best self when the world specifically rewards her for doing the opposite? Does the supposedly unassailable right of her counterparts’ exuberance come at the cost of her future, and of the quality of her life and relationships? Does the willingness to idolize her adolescent misapprehension of the means by which to assign value to herself and her world arrest her development into adulthood? I think these are fair questions, and worth asking.

Women shouldn’t be celebrated for being brats any more than they should be celebrated for being bimbos, or bitches, or any of the other things that are less than their most engaged, fulfilled, and powerful selves, that’s why this species of what is called findom has no relationship to the practice of FemDom, despite the supposed interchangeability of their hashtags.

The women who can rightly call themselves Goddesses or Princesses or Queens, the ones who are truly worthy of the adoration and worship they receive, are inspiring. They’re something to be proud of, something to be admired because of what they have achieved in themselves. They have a glory and a majesty that isn’t free, and that you don’t get for nothing just by being female. But if we teach these young women that it’s only because of their anatomies and their gender, they will never know that that level is theirs to pursue.

In all of these accounts and these personas there is a common thread that the domme should be worshipped for what she is rather than who she is, and we have to let FemDom be about more than that.

A woman’s true divinity is something that is explored, and developed, and nurtured, and earned. It’s what elevates her beyond the mundane, the pedantic, and the cheap, and submission is supposed to be about getting in touch with that, both for her and for the sub. But if we continue to let young women believe they can have it for nothing, and keep paying to convince them it is so, the only thing we will buy is that the real thing will be rarer, and all the fewer will be those who possess it.


NOTE: It is true that some men also participate in the practice of financial domination, in a fashion almost entirely similar to what I have described here. I don’t know how this relates to members of the gay or bisexual communities, but I expect there are adequate parallels. The whole thing reeks to me of a similarly exploitative charlatanism and nonsense, but I haven’t begun to explore the dynamics there, nor am I inclined to personally.


© 2018

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NEW STORY! – Busted by Brenda

This story is NOW AVAILABLE for FREE on SMUTProject.com. Click here to read the whole thing!


Synopsis: A willing slave takes some harsh but sensual treatment from his Mistress, and succumbs to her vicious control.

This F (Femdom) story features:
Ballbusting, Footdom, and Cum Play.


“P-please,” I stammered, my lip trembling, just at the last moment, feeling her hand on the back of my neck. “Please. Be gentle.”

She looked into my eyes softly, kindly, and clicked her tongue. “Aw,” she said. “Of course I will.” And she snapped her knee into my crotch.

The shock hit me instantly and I flinched hard, and I felt my face screw up, felt my balls retract and the ache flow into my guts, but I was actually surprised that it wasn’t worse. I felt an odd delight in knowing I could take another, and I could feel this mixing in with the bleak, submissive blend of comfort and fear as she squeezed my hip with her other hand. My fingers gripped against each other, interlocked behind her waist, and I put my head against hers as I braced myself again.

(…)


© 2018

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Our Fine Art Gallery is up!

We’ve been working on a fine art gallery of vintage and historical works that feature kink and fetish themes, and we’re proud to say that it is finally up on the site!

To quote from the page, “The goal of this collection is to establish and recognize the historical continuity of things that are commonly expressed today through the practice of BDSM.”

Hope you’ll enjoy checking it out!