Perhaps the big question of submission is why someone desires to be mistreated. I have read a lot of psychoanalytic literature about the lack of affection received from parents, child abuse, etc. I do not recognize myself in them. My parents never laid a finger on me. They never humiliated me. They have never stopped listening to me. Truly, psychology has no answer for my case or for many others I know.

I will not focus on explaining the why, but simply the what. How do I feel as a submissive? Undoubtedly, something drives me to seek someone who fulfills my fantasies of being humiliated and punished. That does not mean that I do not also enjoy "vanilla" sex, the normal kind, if such a thing can even be called "normal." Although vanilla sex satisfies me, I always need to seek the fetish of worshiping another person, of surrendering, of feeling inferior.

Is it a matter of self-esteem? It is possible. I have met people with very low self-esteem in the BDSM world who have needed to enter it to fulfill their idea of being reduced (submission), or to seek to feel superior (dominance). Likewise, I have known submissives (and submissive women) with very clear ideas, who knew what they liked, who went for it, but who also clearly knew what they were NOT willing to do. And they did not back down if their Master told them they had to do it: a limit is a limit.

Perhaps I myself have given in to things I did not want to do. For years I was with a Master who constantly made me go out in public naked. For no special reason. You can see it in my stories about Master Juan. It was not a punishment for having misbehaved or for not having followed the agreed rules. He simply liked it and saw it as an essential part of the Master-slave relationship. I was intermittently with him for about ten years. I loved being whipped, being humiliated, eating on the floor, or walking like a dog; but I could not stand having to go out in public naked again and again. And that is why I would leave him, but I would return to him after some time. The memory of his whippings was very strong, and I desired them with vehemence. We ended up making an exchange where he always won: he whipped me in exchange for me going out naked in public and sending him proof of it (photos or videos). He won doubly: he liked to whip, and he liked seeing me naked on the street. For me, it was horrific to think, not only that someone I knew might see me (which never happened), but that for many people it was an annoyance, something unpleasant to see a man walking naked on the sidewalk. I acknowledge that afterward it was more fun than painful. People laughed and took it as a joke, and few were scandalized.

After each whipping, I loved to see the marks left on my body and look at myself in the mirror with them. I would return home with the satisfaction of a duty fulfilled, and with a desire to be insulted and used again. I wanted to sign lifetime submission contracts and ...