So you have a collar around your neck and a domly one to whom you say,
‘I’m your slave, your property, you can do what you wish to me.’
But how do you make the differentiation between being a slave and being a kinky sex partner with chunky jewellery?
Just because you say you’re a slave doesn’t magically transform you into one. I find that the only way I have a conscious feeling of being a slave is by ‘walking the talk’ i.e. proving myself to be a slave.
Every now and then I’ll just feel like being beaten into oblivion, grossly humiliated, having my neck squeezed until the world is filled with pretty little stars, having sharp things inserted through my cunt lips, being tied up until I can’t move an inch, or various other things I consider to be a bit ‘edgy’. I need to be able to ‘go the extra mile’ just to prove that I’m not the kinky sex partner with the chunky jewellery.
And funnily enough it’s generally not Master that I need to prove it to.
It’s just little old me that I like to show my tenacity to.
When it’s been a while between ‘edgy’ sessions I tend to start thinking, “What the hell am I doing?” Without having had the chance to prove myself as a slave, I start to resent all the little things I do on a daily basis which are okay in the context of being a slave, but can quickly become annoying if I’m just a kinky sex partner wearing chunky jewellery, things like: being chained in bed, being his fetch and carry bitch, watching my tone, doing his shit before my shit etc.
The interesting thing about the edgy stuff, is that I don’t particularly enjoy it. If I know something is going to be happening, I’ll get the stomach-churning butterflies that leave me unable to eat and wandering aimlessly around the house and I’ll absolutely dread it from the bottom of my soul until it’s over (because yeah, I’m not into pain and I don’t get into sub-space and it turns into an endurance test for me and I deeply fear not being able to take it.)
I desperately don’t want the edgy stuff to happen, but at the same time I desperately need to be able to do it, just to prove to myself that I’m a slave. So if it doesn’t actually happen, one half of me will be joyously relieved and the other half of me will be bitterly disappointed.
So it’s four years since I ‘became a slave’ and I’m wondering if there will ever be a time when I can stop proving to myself, when I’m satisfied that I am a slave and the thought of being a kinky sex partner wearing chucky jewllery doesn’t cross my mind.
But I guess that the edgy stuff is a bit like relationship maintenance – it’s the stuff that you do to keep the relationship healthy and churning along. I suppose the vanilla folk have their flowers and anniversaries and we have the addition of another hole in our body or another marking somewhere.
Brandings are a slavegirl’s best friend?