A Woman's Secret Desire to Be Humiliated by a Man

A few months ago, after shopping at the Prudential in Boston, I was having coffee with one of my female friends from college (I’ll call her Megan), and I happened to mention that at least half of all correspondence I receive from readers comes from women.

She was stunned. “You’re kidding!” she blurted out. Now, she knows perfectly well that most of my stories feature women enduring humiliation (embarrassment, degradation, shame…whichever you prefer to call it) while undergoing illicit medical exams, strip searches, spankings, or what have you.

So, she went on: “Why on Earth would a woman want to read about other women suffering indignity like that? I mean, sure, a guy would get off reading stories like that. I mean, the guys in the stories get the rush, the power trip, the thrill of making a woman take her clothes off. But why would women derive pleasure from that?”

Well, first, I just laughed good-naturedly and said something like: “Why do people enjoy murder mysteries? They don’t want to be murdered, nor do they want to be a murder themselves, right? But it’s the excitement, the fascination, the curiosity that they get into.”

To which she replied, “Well…yeah…but….”

Then I went on. “But that’s not the main reason. Most women might not actually enjoy being naked in front of a man either. But that doesn’t mean they don’t harbor a secret desire to have that experience—even an unacknowledged desire. They think about how they would shiver and tingle and, even in the midst of being humiliated, somehow get a tiny twinge of pleasure from it—or maybe even not so tiny. Besides, when you look at it a certain way, being exposed is not so horrible…it’s actually…exciting.”

Megan looked at me like I had three heads. But at the same time, I could tell she was thinking about it and maybe even secretly agreeing with me—perhaps for the first time in her thirty-six years.

“Now, as titillating as it might be for a woman to find herself naked in front of a man—a man she’s not in an intimate relationship with—imagine how much more overwhelming an experience it would be if, say, the “doctor” examining her turned out to be her step-dad or her son-in-law or maybe even her best friend’s husband.”

“Oh, my God!” she gasped. “I’d be mortified!”

I smiled cryptically. “Maybe, but mortification and titillation aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. Many women get all tingly—even wet—even while they’re mortified. That’s what makes the stories, I hope, so exciting.”

“Oh, my God!” she gasped, more quietly this time.

“Now, imagine being naked…and bent over…and spread open in front of your class in school.”

“Jesus!”

“Or in public somewhere—at a class reunion…or in a restaurant…or even on the side of the road.”

“Oh…wow…!”

I was loving her shocked reactions so much that I decided to press my luck and keep going!

“Imagine if it were in front of classmates, coworkers, family members, or friends.”

Megan couldn’t stop staring and shaking her head. “Wouldn’t that, like, traumatize a woman?”

I shrugged. “I suppose it could…if she allowed it to. But that doesn’t happen in my stories, so it’s a moot argument.”

“I can’t believe this,” she went on. “I guess I never even considered the possibility.”

I grinned. “Well, take it one step further. What if, in addition to being seen by a man, you also had to allow him to feel you—stick his fingers inside your pussy.”

She brought a hand over her mouth. “Dear…God!”

“And up your rectum.”

That one really freaked her out. “Jesus!”

“Just imagine your schoolteacher or boss or in-law…with his finger up your ass.”

Her jaw dropped. “I would just die! I would drop dead right there on the spot! I mean…my rectum? That’s definitely the worst thing—the most humiliating thing—a man could do to a woman!”

I smiled, then reached across the table to take her hands in mine. “Well, it’s definitely the most intimate thing, that’s for sure!”

She shook her head again. “I couldn’t even imagine….”

I laughed quietly. “Well, try. Imagine your boss having to check you for drugs…and after making you take off all your clothes in front of him, he makes you stand spread-eagle against a wall, then slides a hard…wet…cold…thick finger up your ass.”

“J.C.! Stop!”

I laughed again. “Well, are you imagining it?”

“Yes! I am! And I’m imagining how awful it would feel!”

“It’s just a finger, Meg. Not a five-cell flashlight, for God’s sake! Anyway, imagine how intimate it would feel.”

She stared. “Intimate?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. A man with the self-assumed authority to slide his big, bumpy finger…right…up…your…ass!”

“Oh, dear God!”

I squeezed her hands again. “Look, honey, the only way I think you’re going to believe me is to live the experience first-hand.”

She gasped her loudest gasp yet. “What? What are you talking about?”

I smiled cryptically. “You’ll see. Just leave everything to me.”

She just kept staring in awe, then started swallowing hard. “You’re going to traumatize me with some guy?”

“Just leave everything to me. And I promise you’ll never look at embarrassment the same way again!”

Stay tuned for my next post, when I’ll tell you exactly what I did to Megan. I admit it was pretty nasty—but whoever said nasty couldn’t be fun?!