I’ve been well and truly sucked dry. Wrung through an emotional wringer that I thought was going to squeeze the life out of me and it very nearly did.
It was a normal weekend, spent zipping around the markets in town and doing some decluttering around the house. Sunday afternoon came and I wrote that previous journal entry and things were rosy. Now, I will admit that during sunday’s usage session I had been less than a willing participant. I was tired, had aching arms and an ulcer was forming on the inside of my lip from a little too much cock worship (If I remember correctly, Saturday involved 4 or 5 relaxation sessions!). I go through times when I am physicially at less than my peak and it makes me feel miserable. I suppose it’s a lingering feeling whereby I want to do stuff when I want to do it and when I’m feeling good.I find it hard to focus on Master’s pleasure when my discomfort is the only thing I can think about (and I know that it’s not very slavey of me at all…lol)
Master made a comment to my last post and he asked me what I thought. I said that I liked it, but that I didn’t think it addressed some of the issues I was raising. A short time later a bomb exploded in my world and everything I had built up, had been nuked.
I cant remember exactly what I said, something along the lines of that I wasn’t a slave, I missed Japan terribly, I needed balance in my life, there were things that I just couldn’t submit to and that I didn’t trust Master because I felt like he was ‘crying wolf’ all the time. I was a sobbing, hysterical mess. He listened to it all, hugged me for while, told me that I was a slave and that I ‘would do those things’ because I was a slave and had no choice.
Everything inside of me had just frozen. I’d seized up and a thought pattern of “I just can’t do this. I’m not a slave.” was circling through my brain. It would not have mattered what he had said to me at that point or what he did to soothe me and calm me down, my mind was stuck in that loop and wouldn’t budge. “I’m not a slave. I can’t do it.” I chanted my mantra again and again and I felt so inadequate-nothing more than a big, fat failure
So Master did the only thing he could do at the time that he thought would make me happy, he went and got the allen key to unlock the hinge on my collar and took it off. Master later explained to me that if I wasn’t a slave, I shouldn’t be treated as one and that a permanent collar is inapproriate.
I was absolutely stunned. He’d said to me that he would never take my collar off, that he would never release me because he knew how cruel it would be to set me free and how much I had been hurt by my previous ‘de-collaring’ episode with my former owner. But here it was happening again, the one thing in this world I was fearing most. I’d always assumed that it would be me who asked to have my collar removed, that if I had a real problem with my slavery there would be some discussion and thinking time and I would be the one to ask to have it removed.
I suppose Master thought that I was having a ‘real’ problem.
I’ve had panic attacks before. I had a couple before I left to come here and one of them had me in such a mess that I was almost unpacking my bags and ready to call the whole thing off. I don’t know what sets me off, but it seems to be when I’m just nudged slightly too far out of my comfort zone. I like to think of them as my allergic reactions to the unknown. When I’m like that I’m just completely over-whelmed and so very,very scared.
We spent the whole night and most of the next day being chillingly cold to each other. Master had emotionally closed up shop and I was so terribly empty and lost. I went to my first day back to work with my eyes puffed up like meringues from too much crying. I had fucked up things in a major way. By the next day, I’d realised what had happened-I knew I had over-reacted and that being unowned and un-collared was much worse than any ‘discomfort’ I had been experiencing.
I was home early that day and even though we had now decided that Monday to Friday would be my new ‘submissive’ down-time and that I would only wear a collar in play sessions on the weekends, I got dressed for Master as I usually would- slut make-up, default slave outfit, Mr. Purple up my bum-and knelt waiting for him at the doorway. It was my way of saying sorry, of offering myself back to him. We had been chatting that afternoon and I’d tried to explain what had happened, but my mea culpa didn’t seem to be getting through, so I knew that this was the only thing I could do to try and make amends.
My heart was absolutely pounding as I heard him pull up. What was his reaction going to be? Was he going to tell me to stop being fucking stupid and get up off the floor?
He walked through the door, saw me kneeling there and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be in down-time?” It was a harsh reaction but justified- I’d fucked him around and messed with his mind as much as anyone. He left me there on the floor for several agonizing minutes then disappeared and came back to stand in front ofme. Throwing my collar down on the ground in front of me he said:
“You know what that collar means. If you choose to put it back on, it means no limits, no choices, nothing. Do you choose to wear my collar again?”
I picked it up and ran my fingers lovingly over the metal. I looked at it in my hands and thought about how much I hated it and loved it at the same time. I’d said to Master yesterday that I’d loved my collar because it made me into a slave, but I’d also hated it because it reminded me that I wasn’t a slave. With that collar in my hands I thought no, I wasn’t that unattainable slave image that I had created in my mind, but I was the best slave that I could be. Instead of clawing my way up onto that pedastal, in that moment I decided to smash that pedastal right out from under its feet.
“Yes, Master I choose to wear your collar.”
Everything is right with the world once more.