My wonderful M has given me an assignment of a thousand words on what it means to be a slave. The easiest way I can seem to figure a beginning to this piece is a basic definition quoted from the Merriem-Webster Online Dictionary :
- Etymology:
- Middle English sclave, from Anglo-French or Medieval Latin; Anglo-French esclave, from Medieval Latin sclavus, from Sclavus Slavic; from the frequent enslavement of Slavs in central Europe during the early Middle Ages
- Date:
- 14th century
1 : a person held in servitude as the chattel of another
2 : one that is completely subservient to a dominating influence
3 : a device (as the printer of a computer) that is directly responsive to another
4 : drudge , toiler
“One that is completely subservient to a dominating influence.” Meaning a true slave asks no questions, has no hesitations; Just utter compliance. It is assumed that a slave enjoys this position as much as the Master enjoys his position, though while our (as slaves) pure purpose is to be pleasing, it is a Master’s position to receive pleasure; whether the slave finds pleasure from any or all acts is quite beside the point.
To me, my position of slave is extremely fulfilling. I suppose anyone who chooses this life would agree, otherwise there would be no such thing. It is in my personality to be unsure of everything, to lack many opinions, am incapable of making up my mind, have obsessive tendencies towards those I love, see good in everyone, find most men appealing, am happiest in the glow of approval, strive with all my might to be enjoyable, pleasing, attractive (particularly sexually), and derive great pleasure from abuse of all forms. Most of all I am extremely dependent on the man in my life, and I respect and adore greatly a man who knows his place as the dominant sex.
A girl in my position, one who somehow discovers this type of relationship and seeks out a Master to complement her - or, better, who she may complement - is destined for a long journey of learning what exactly such a role entails. Many start with an open desire to be dominated in the bedroom, excessive sexual deviancy and often self punishment (whether physically or mentally). Often signs of an undeveloped slave will include irresponsibility, irrationalizm and over emotional behavior. Other signs are simple “door mat” personalities, extremely passive, incapable of speaking their mind properly (if at all), etc.
Indeed, perhaps most women carry these traits, which only makes sense, seeing as it is natural for women to be the care givers, to be beautiful and graceful, to stand behind a man (as surely, within or without this lifestyle, most women crave). It is unfortunate, however, that movements such as women’s rights and a push for equality have downgraded the pride of femininity. Simple skills such as cooking have become a rarity, a treasure, and too often I hear women claim they don’t enjoy giving head or the infamous “headache” syndrome. How is it, that women have become so flippant about giving pleasure to their men? For the average person alone, it is really not that difficult. It’s astonishing how amazed men are today to find a young woman who knows what to do in the kitchen - and enjoys it! Let alone to find a woman who is unthinkingly eagar to please men's’ whims and desires. How ridiculous this seems to me.
Moving away from the average person - as we are not so concerned with the vanilla population -when a girl searches out her desires and finds truth in slavery, it is astonishing to find how deeply that can be incorporated into her life. Taking sexualism to teach the psychological aspects of a slaves mindset is extremely common and effective. One learns quickly that in being collared - in giving yourself to another, in a true slave grasp -you have no rights, desires, thoughts or wants that aren’t given to you by your Master. Which is a hard lesson to learn, at times. Unthinking devotion is based off of respect, trust and love. Doubt disappears because it is not a slaves responsibility to consider much of anything, let alone reconsider any decisions made for or around her. The only thing she should concern herself with is the ever growing knowledge that she is a tool, a pet, a treasured possession of her Master’s.
Naturally it is a slow process to integrate these ideas into a day-to-day, moment-to-moment reality, having - in all reality - a will of your own that is slowly deteriorated, slowly picked away and willingly given to your Master. Some easily call it a fantasy, which I suppose it is to some extent, particularly at first, particularly when your sex burns with humility or your thoughts buzz into silence at some pain. In reality a slave always has the ability to beg out of her collar - but I wonder how many slaves, after a certain point, can actually function without their Master. Once you give yourself in that way, it is terribly difficult to go back to a normal life, from being freed of making decisions to returning to having to take care of yourself - It seems an unbearable thought!
The stress I felt before I gave myself to my Master is small in comparison to the panic I feel when I think of a life without him. So those who may question if such a surrender is possible, I ask if you can think of the deepest love you can imagine, a love so great that you’d do anything at all to keep that person happy, to always feel your love for them and to never let them forget it; For that is what it means to be a slave to your Master. So enraptured by the relief he gives, that he is such a man to be able to take you, all of you, and impress on you his desires without having to beat around any bushes, without having to play power-struggle games: Just knowing exactly what it is that is expected from you, and safe in the knowledge that he has taken responsibility of your life, emotions and your own well being.
I don’t claim that this journey is always enjoyable. Like any great adventures it is filled with highs and lows, joys and sorrows, tears of misery and bliss. Often there is a feeling of such love that you feel you may burst, or longing so great that you’re so convinced you may die of heartache.
But, God help me, I’d not give it up for the world.
