I think regular readers of the blog know I have a thing about painted nails. I feel undressed and exposed not having my nails immaculately painted at all times. A little chip else is like being as undone as a ladder in my tights or discovering I spilt toothpaste on my top and have to wear it all day.
I’ve loved nail polish since I was a child. It was the ‘acceptable’ femme indicator in a country where make up beyond a little powder and lipstick for church were ‘fast’. It also had the glamour of the city that sat much more comfortably with me than the scrubbed bare hands of the side of my family who were farmers.
Every single year for Christmas I asked Father Christmas for a bottle of pink Tinkerbell nail polish which could be peeled off and didn’t make the whole nail polish thing seem quite so adult to actual adults. Santa clearly had opinions about the subject though because he never noticed that bit on my letter.
So when I was old enough to start going shopping down the town on my own at the age of about eleven or twelve, the first thing I bought was a bottle of black nail polish. I wore it religiously throughout my teens even if I had to pull my sleeves down to hide it from teachers and relatives who couldn’t decide if it symbolised Satan or sluttiness.
I still fall back on black nail polish as a perennial favourite nearly thirty years later but since I started blogging here I’ve branched out to appreciate the power of perfect red nails too. Not just on me either, but on Princess’s fingers too interspersed with orders that proved I was definitely on the side of slutdom not Satan all along.
It’s hot to paint her nails (and this fantastic piece from Tits and Test Tubes on using nail polish to domme a girl made me very tempted to give Princess festive red tipped fingers this week) and I do love the impact a little extra colour adds to fucking myself. But it never occurred to me if there’s dominance in painting nails, there’s submission too.
Until I found myself painting Sir’s nails the other night that was and then it was as crystal clear to me as the best top coat in town. He and Princess were trying out Torture Garden to see if it was smutty and slutty enough for us to play at and in absence of being able to go with them, I had offered to help them dress up.
Sir’s make up needed the edge of nail polish to tie everything together to make sure it was an outfit not a costume. Black latex top, black leather shorts, stockings, suspenders, the sharpest pair of black boots I’ve seen in years and black eye make up that shimmered dark green if you looked closely. The nails just capped it all off.
I didn’t expect that sitting across a table from Sir fully clothed with a tiny bottle of beetle black nail polish in my hands would be one of the most submissive things I’ve ever done. I didn’t touch anything except his hands and yet it felt so incredibly submissive I could feel myself slipping into that subspace that feels like the calm focus before sleep. The state where you could take any order at all.
I am very well acquainted with my Master’s hands. They’ve held me up, pushed me down, made me come countless times and been completely inside me. I’ve often glanced at them in public and remembered what they’ve done in private but I’ve never just sat and held them before.
Completely non sexually, just spread out on the kitchen table in front of me, letting me position his hand as I needed and apparently give him the directions for a change. Patiently allowing me to turn each finger and pay attention to each nail. Pointing out when I missed a bit. Sitting still to let each coat dry. Making sure they were absolutely perfect and that I wasn’t rushing the task or cutting corners.
It was a full hour of my full attention on him and his hands and it reminded me that submission doesn’t have to be inherently sexual. In fact sometimes taking the direct sexual content out of it makes it deeper. We didn’t fuck, we didn’t touch apart from doing nails then his make up.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I went home. Some of that is that he looks even better in stockings than I’ve spent the last three years imagining and I could look at his legs all day in them. Yet despite always wanting to see him in stockings it was submission that was on my mind instead.
I’d definitely be interested in more acts of non sexual submission to him in the coming year but then again I’m also very interested in him letting me paint his nails again and then fist me knowing how perfect his hands look…