Yes, Sir

Lesson 5: Reflection

As requested (Sir), this essay will provide a short reflection of our time spent together this evening, specifically in regards to the period spent in front of the mirror. 

Earlier this evening, I was asked to remove my clothing, for the pleasure of the man who is training me to become a Submissive. For the purpose of this account (and those hereafter), I will address him by his proper title 'Dominant', despite the fact that we are only bound by a training contract and not a formal Dom/Sub contract. Upon hearing those words, I instantly felt anxious. I can't recall the last time that a man asked me to undress for him, with no intentions to assist or get undressed himself. In my (admittedly limited) experience, men seem to enjoy taking the clothes off of women, while also stripping themselves. There is a certain comfort in being naked amongst others, rather than being the only nude person in the room, as my Dominant was expecting of me. 

An additional factor in my anxiety was the location in which my Dominant requested me to remove my clothing. Being the rule-abiding swot that I am, I often still feel nervous stepping into the Headmaster's office (even though our dynamic has drastically changed since I was a student). Like when I was a child, I still fear reprimand when entering the Headmaster's office, however I now posssess more concern for the integrity of my backside rather than the loss of housepoints or a letter home to my parents. Similarly, I am often anxious for the unknown, a rather unfortunate side effect of a new Dom/Sub relationship, I believe.

A third component of my unease tonight was my own impression of my naked form. No doubt a result of stereotypes, unhelpful comments from ex-boyfriends, and my own concept of beauty, my unhappiness in my own body is something that has been festering since The War. I acknowledge that most, if not all, those who fought in the Final Battle bear some kind of eternal branding that they carry with them as a morbid reminder of the atrocities that occurred that night. I only wish I could believe that I am a survivor, and that my scars serve as a reminder of my heroic efforts to defeat the dark forces that attempted world dominance. I am simply unable to force myself to find comfort in such a notion. 

The ugly purple scar between my breasts is a reminder of how easily I allowed myself and my friends to become enraptured by The Dark Lord's manipulation. The words on my arm are a constant reminder of inadequacy and impurity. Although, I have never truly believed that being a 'mudblood' makes any difference what-so-ever, my branding serves to notify me of the stark reasons why those around me believe I will not succeed in life. While I strive to disprove the theory that blood status eqauls success, there is ultimately nothing that will convince me that I was not weak for being unable to see through The Dark Lord's ruse that night in my fifth year, and that I was not responsible for putting the lives of many innocents in danger. 

With a combination of the aforementioned factors, it is quite plain to understand why being placed in front of a mirror by my Dominant was so deeply terrifying for me. However, my Dominant did not dissect each imperfection as I was already doing in my head. I do not believe that my Dominant is the type of man who would lie just to make a person feel good about themselves. In fact, I don't think I ever earnt a single ounce of praise from the man during my time as his student, which is perhaps why I find it so erotic when he calls me a 'good girl' in that deep rumbling tone of his. Despite being accustomed to his personality, I still felt it a little difficult to believe that he could call my plain brown eyes 'beautiful' or my mediocre breasts 'flawless'. 

The truth itself was rather in my Dominant's movements, and expressions. His eyes remained fixated on me at all times, which should have been intimidating, but it wasn't. It was not the gaze of an older man leering at a younger woman, but that of someone who was inspecting a work of art. He looked captivated, as though seeing a magnificent star for the first time. I wasn't sure whether my Dominant wanted to share his discovery, or conceal his findings from public view. Be it for selfish means or out of respect for my anxieties, I don't believe my Dominant will be parading me naked around Cherry Red in the near future. It was hard to miss the desire in his eyes, when my Dominant saw me displayed naked in front of him. Words may be common, and spilt freely with the intention of making one feel temporarily attractive, but a man who looks at a woman in the way that my Dominant looks at me is difficult to come by.