Seriously BDSM

I tend to do a lot of giggling when Master and I play in public. And other than the few short moments when I’m ‘in the concentration zone’ trying with every cell of my being not to flinch or make a sound because my ‘slave pride’ is on the line, I’m a chatty, laughing slave girlie who likes to make comments like,

“Sweetie, it’s ok I didn’t really need my spleen anyway…” when Master’s flogger aim is a bit off or,

“Can someone show me the sign above my ass that says, ‘Free-for-all’ ?” when yet another random person takes aim for my ass, or my personal favourite,

“Is that the best you can do???”  coupled with maniacal laughter as I stick out my Indestructo-ass for more punishment.

I always had the image of a perfectly graceful slave as my ideal. A girl who served her Master with lowered lashes and took position without a murmur, tossing her masses of sultry hair in the air as the only indication of the pain she was enduring. In my dream there were no sounds except the forceful tones of the Master instructing the slave in what she was and what he would do to her and the sound of the lash as it cut cruelly into her flesh. There was no giggling or whining or sassy comments thrown back and forth. In fact, there was no mirth at all. My bdsm fantasy was very solemn and steeped in mystery, filled with dimmed lights and echoing chambers. In fact, it was all rather Gor-ish.

My reality is very far removed from the fantasy. People chat about the weather, munching on peanuts and sipping wine while deeply blushing slave girls apply lube and insert embarrassingly small butt plugs and pocket rockets in front of them. The said deeply blushing slave girl also whines about being cold and sleepy and having hairs in her mouth that she can’t remove while in arm binders.  She tromps around in boots instead of gliding gracefully because the balls of her feet are aching and the leash pulls heavily on her neck. Her carefully applied makeup disappeared several hours ago and her coiffed locks are ratty and unkempt. She’s about as far from the graceful slave girl dream as one can get and that is why she laughs. 

She laughs when her Master says to her, “You’re beautiful, have I told you that?” because in her mind’s eye she knows how dishevelled she looks and how far from her ideal she is. She also laughs when he tells her she’s erotic and how watching others use her drives him wild because she knows the sweat patch in the small of her back and the running mascara say different things. 

She can’t gracefully accept what he says because she’s not the perfect slavegirl that she wants to be. 

But if only she understood…. that that is exactly what He wants her to be.

Then she would really be able to laugh, not in fear and shame, but in pure joy and happiness.