Today I read a post by The Kinky World Of Vile, he was writing about what it meant for someone, in his case a man, to own a slave. Now let me preface this by saying I have never considered myself a slave….My ex used the term to describe me many a time after I told him about my kink, and it left me feeling sick to my stomach. The thought of being owned by such a weakling who could not pay his bills on time if it were not for me, made me physically ill.
However today when I was reading Vile’s description of a slave I started to wonder. As I grow under my Dom’s care, I’m left questioning the definitions of myself that I came into this with. The limits that I once thought were hard limits have changed and slowly I’m moving into a place I never expected to.
Vile describes subs as codependent, was I not just talking to my Dom about this? How I’ve slowly come to a place where my world seemingly revolves around him? He describes us a needy……and holy hell am I needy. In his eyes we are introverts, uncomfortable in busy homes with lots of friends, we are reclusive, withdrawn. (Can I just hold my hand up so you get the picture?)
He says that slaves do not want to make their daily decisions. Well here I must say, that I would like to choose my clothing, most of the time. But when it comes to whether or not I’m coming for dinner or spending the night, I get a secret thrill from being told, “You will be in my bed tonight.”
When he says that we do not like to be left alone, to our own he was right, I don’t. I can some times be so needy that just not hearing from my Dom can send me spiraling back to a place I’d rather forget I’ve been. When my Dom left town two weeks ago, speaking to him only once per day felt like torture. Not sleeping beside him or at his feet had me so wound up at the first sign of trouble it was all that I could do not to break things off and go into hiding as is my way.
I like routine, I like structure and I like to know my place…….Does this mean I’m more slave than sub? What is the difference?
I don’t call him Master, my ex wanted that. I can’t have him call me slave, but when he calls me kitten my insides melt and I purr beneath his touch. The anticipation of my new collar has me wet day in and day out…and slowly but surely my kink is evolving. To the point where I look in the mirror and instead of saying, “who are you?” I’m asking, “where have you been all this time?”
I would be lying if I told you that I am your average woman. I’m not consumed with thoughts of some future wedding. I am not desperate for a ten carat engagement ring.
Unlike so many women I know, my desire to belong to someone manifests its self in a much more primal fashion.
I have battled with this side of me for a great many years, and in all honesty, I am still struggling with it. How am I to navigate the world along side women so completely different from me?
The 22 year old that I work with spent all of last year planning and executing an elaborate wedding, she was so obsessed by this I struggled to feign interest. Desperate to out shine her sister, her friends and her cousins in everything from the size and sparkle of her rings (because an engagement ring and wedding band were not enough, she is also wearing the 5 year anniversary ring), to the place settings and venue, she would never be able to fathom what I seek out of a partnership.
Her white gold rings glitter and sparkle, a visible, well known sign of the position she holds in this life; while the silver and amber amulet that hangs around my neck can never be known for the meaning it holds. Mine is no less significant, to me it means so much more; this is a symbol that I have given my body, mind, soul and will to another. Every day we function knowing that we must trust, care for, and work to keep our place in life, because one word from eiother of us could be the end, because of this we value it, and don’t take the relationship for granted.
So when some one leans in to exclaim,”What a beautiful necklace,” I smile with fond memories and reply with a somewhat flushed, “Thank you, it is very special to me.”
When my Doms daughter asks from her place in the back seat with my dog, “I wonder what it’s like to wear a collar,” I am forced to choke back my embarrassment as I reply demurely, “I think it would be a lot like wearing a necklace all the time,” as I finger the weight around my neck, and avoid his knowing smile.
When most women are sharing their stories of babies and honeymoons, my fingers reach up to brush across the nearly unrecognizable bite marks on my forearms, shoulders, or the back of my neck and I shiver in excitement.
When the women I know giggle and whisper about long, soft, lingering lovemaking, I smile and nod; silently praying that tonight will be the night he ties me down and marks my ass with his cane. They talk of feathers and chocolate dipped strawberries while I dream of long lengths of rope and dark purple bruises.
Am I crazy for loving the heat that is left behind when his leather belt dances across my ass? Is the fact that I get so much pleasure from feeling that lingering pain when he leaves bruises on my backside? Would most people cringe at the secret name I call him in the heat of my passion?
To me a critical part my submission is knowing my Dom does not judge me for being a little, or very different. The difficulty is finding the balance between my masochism and his desire never to abuse me.
It’s important to me that I am accepted for who I am, however fucked up the world might find me. I’d like to think that I won’t be judged, but lets face it, that wicked beast called human nature won’t let us let go of what we label as, the norm.
So to the subs, slaves, littles, pets, sadists, masochists and any other twisted blend of being; others may label us sick, perverted, deviant or weird, but I say God, in whatever form he/she takes, just wired us a little differently.
After a week of illness I am back, and ready to tackle a subject I have been hesitant to touch on as of yet.
There is this misconception through out the vanilla community, women to be specific, that to be submissive is to declare a war on feminism. They believe that submission in one such as me means that I believe I am not the equal to men; that I believe my worth, intelligence and value as a worker or even as a human is less than that of my male counter parts.
To them I shake my little blonde head and smile indulgently.
I am by no means a weak woman. I know my worth to my family, my friends, and my employer. I know that in any vanilla relationship I am well worth any emotional upheaval I may put you through.
Just because I give myself over to a man after careful consideration, does not mean I believe that every man out there is my equal, let alone my superior.
I guess you could say I am offended by this misunderstanding. I struggle with websites that insist I call everyone Sir, not because I wish to be rude, or even that I would be less than respectful, but because as my Dom would say:
“You bow your head to no one but me.”
I am very selective with giving any part of myself away, I do not trust easily, and because of this I believe it is worth more. When I gave myself to him, he knew that it was because I saw in him those special traits I could see in no other.
Weakness is not valued in Doms, nor in subs. What thrill is there in dominating anyone who will lay down to anyone who claims to be a dominant? Isn’t there some unique pleasure to be obtained from receiving the submission of one who demands respect from the world?
Do not mistake my submission for weakness…..I will surprise you.