i can say now, nearly ten years after i first met, and fucked the very next day in a heated display of carnal lust, my owner that this life is a very good life to live. a slave is a good way to be. it scared the shit out of me the first time i ever heard that word. it confused me. it made me think of all the things that people think of when they hear that loaded like a .45 term. i probably had the typical reaction. it sounded humiliating and it sounded wrong. it didn't even sound like a fun fantasy, much less a fulfilling way to live based on solid, conservative, family ideals to make any republican proud.
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my education was slow and thorough at the hands of a man every bit as compelling as dracula in an old black and white movie when he stared into the young virgin's eyes and they obeyed, caught in his trance. he's a smart fellow. sexy, charming, and most of all, unselfishly caring. i don't want to start sounding too cheesy here, but i did and still do swoon. he snuck up on me. i would have run like hell and not looked back if he had said to me "i want you to be my pain slut whore." i think anyone should probably run like hell if that is the topic of a first conversation. it likely wouldn't be a good indication of competence if not character as well.
it began in 1992. my first lessons were in nothing more than hedonistic abandon. hey, sex was fun. sex was creative. sex was adventurous. sex was good. that lasted a few months. we lost a couch to chocolate syrup, and found a need to find a set of rubber sheets. the honeymoon ended, though, not that we were married. he spied in me what he will only call "potential" to this day, and my real education began. the first lessons were in fighting, and i swore he must have been trying to make me run away crying. i did just that many times. each time, he would drag - literally - me back, sit me down, and continue on with unnerving calm after the unnerving excitement. it is only with the clarity of hindsight, that i understand that process now. it confused me then. it frightened me. it made me face myself and drag out into the light of day, all the psychological garbage i had tried to bury. it began to make me well-adjusted and whole, comfortable with myself. the clever bastard - which i call him with utmost respect - knew this, and knew the risk he took as well. it takes a lot of balls to shake a person to their core and see what rattles out. it takes a solid person to build a solid relationship. he made me solid, but he could have just as likely found me ultimately unwilling to deal with the emotional pain of taking out my emotional garbage, and ultimately gone.
it had been a year and a half living together, and things began to feel comfortable, blissful even, like the memory of a balmy fall day, as a cool breeze rustles falling leaves around. not once had i heard the word "slave" still. it would be a long time before i was ready to hear that word. yet, i would get no long rest, no summer vacation from my education. there was a grand plan, only i didn't know it at the time. intermission was over and lesson number two was differentiating love and sex and controlling jealousy. polyamory was over for dinner, but she was a two-faced bitch. he took an open mistress - mistress in the old fashioned, second woman sense - and we all tried to live happily ever after in the moment. that didn't work in the end. the mistake he made was letting his opportunistic alpha male self jump on a chance opportunity because it - the opportunity, not the person - sounded good. some people you realize later you never should have let into your house. i could deal with him fucking other people under my nose and we lived through the psychological turmoil of nightmare woman together, with a good, solid relationship, but i was still no slave. starting to have a hint, though, i got my fist mark one day, while feeling a little spunky and perhaps rebellious then. i was in essence already a slave, yet still unprepared to confront the harsh semantics of calling it that. i was afraid he wouldn't approve of my tattoo, a celtic bird knot on my stomach, but he just smiled. the semantics would come later.
my next lesson was in faith and delivered by inattention. one must have true faith that there is something more beyond entertaining attention and "romance" as the world calls it. romance is trap. lust and adventure are easy things, that feel powerfully good, but they are no substance. the next few years were hard times financially, and the man worked night and day, seldom coming home at all. i faced feelings of emotional abandonment, though i knew logically i was not. logic often matters little to emotional things. it was a struggle to find faith, and he let me struggle, coaxing me on through it with crumbs of attention dangled like carrots. my needs and desires began to take a natural second place to my faith, but once again, no sooner had I learned the lesson and began to find peacefull bliss, things changed. things changed at once more drastically than they ever had before. i found myself a slave at last. six years. six very patient, deliberate years of education later, the ultimatum was delivered.
it seemed more drastic at least at the time, but the only thing that really changed were the semantics. i was a "slave" now. not "friend" or "lover" or "partner" or "family". i was a slave. i was a piece of property. i wandered what that really meant, even as i said yes, unconditionally ready to be whatever that meant i had to be because i was thoroughly, inescapably, taken by my owner. that one last "choice" was just pomp and circumstance, there was no choice left, my choices had been made little by little, all along the way already. now, i was only gripped by the forces of destiny i created for myself. though, i have to admit, i have seldom had an orgasm so strong that day, as he threw me against the bathroom wall violently and fucked me hard telling me i would be his slave or nothing else in response to me hitting him in the face and stomping on his big toe. i had, had a small emotional outburst over him forgetting to call and let me know he was ok while on a trip to go fuck someone else. in my mind, that registered in all the wrong ways, then in all the right ways to have my bodice passionately ripped again after so much inattention. i don't think that was planned as part of his grand scheme, but his sense of timing, was, as usual, undeniably superb. it was after the afterglow, that i started to feel confused trying to put my finger on exaclty what really changed that fateful moment.
i read a bit about bdsm. i knew what the hell kinky, passionate, good, hard, and very rough sex was. i knew what it felt like to have my ass spanked, my tits tortured, my face fucked. i knew what it was to swallow cum and piss. i was well aquanted by then with the feel of a fist inside me. it was not remedial sex ed information i tried to find. it was some answer to what it meant to be a "slave" that i sought. regretably, i found a lot of answers. bad ones. very, very bad ones i now realize. there is a great difference between life, fantasy, and pornography. there are very few things written about "this" that are not just one more slight variation of the same the regurgitated, mindless fantasy crap you find on so many bad web pages. 101 rules for the clueless. my sappy, smappy pledge. hey, i sold my soul for a pack of pork rinds in a non-legally binding contract. i typed "yes Sir!" when he typed "kneel bitch!" and it made me hot. that kind of shit. there is a lot of that shallow shit.
i was so determined to find an answer, that i somehow didn't hear the personal answer that applied to me for two more years. i get things stuck in my head. it is one of my flaws. it stuck in my head then that a slave was an emotionally void mindless automaton that sucked and swallowed. i tried to be that, much to the continued frustration of my owner. it wasn't quite what he thought slave to mean, but it was stuck already. his attempts to un-stick were futile. one little word. one little label can fuck up your perception of everything. he made the best of it and stuck by the dull, lifeless, no-fun-at-all version of me i tried to make myself.
my nipples and clit hood were pierced at the same time that january in an absolutely horrible experience that made me realize first hand that professional piercers aren't created equal, and i was branded by my owner's hand on march 6th, 1988 with a traditional iron i watched him, feeling much anxiety, forge by hand the day before. my body was officially no longer my own. i bore the mark of property, and scrubbed it with a toothbrush and baking soda to make sure it left a noticeable scar. the branding went very well. he grew up on a cattle farm and had a lot of practice. it hurt a lot, but a lot less than i had expected. it was nothing like those fantasy branding tales. there is no romance in having a red hot iron stuck to your ass cheek. it's more like going to the dentist for a root canal. you're glad you did it later, but the experience could not be described as fun. it was scary, and filled with nauseous anxiety.
chastity is the next chapter of my tale, i am not sure if it was a lesson, or something i brought unwittingly onto myself by being so stiff and ridged all of a sudden. my chastity was his improvisation to make the best of the fact that i had just taken a giant leap backwards in my comfort level with sex. it was stuck in my mind that i wasn't supposed to enjoy it, so i didn't, and mostly he didn't either then. no one likes a fridgid fuck, so soon, i never got fucked. i sucked and swallowed. i worshiped and adored. i served. i forgot what it felt like to have a dick in my cunt or ass. i hid in the closet - literally - a few times to masturbate and it made me feel guilty and dirty.
my owner tried his best to help me relax again, but it was mostly futile. when things get stuck in my head, they really get stuck in my head, and his making the best of his own pleasure by cultivating a strong chastity fantasy was counterproductive to my own comfort. it only reinforced the notion that i wasn't supposed to feel pleasure as a slave to me. eventually, he had had enough of my frigidity. he got bored with chastity. six hour blow jobs are a guy's dream come true, and he had them on tap, but again and again and again, they, too, get boring. variety is an important concept in sexual well being. to this end, he spared no expense, buying the penultimate vibrating pleasure device - a sybian - for me to try and regain my relaxation. it didn't work. i mean, it more than lives up to the brochure, only the don't mention anywhere it sounds like a chain saw. it make me orgasm whether i wanted to or not. it just didn't help me relax and become less uptight about my own pleasure. nothing did, until i was once again, delivered an ultimatum - use it or loose it.
it being my clit, my very physical ability to be aroused, itself. putting it that way, did finally start to unstuck what i had stuck in my mind, it at least registered on the "well maybe, just maybe, that's not what he wanted" tentative scale of thoughts. it also registered on the "oh, my fucking, god please, no" scale when i thought about not having my clit. i remembered then, it used to be a very fun thing to have. i have worked very hard sense to remember what my pleasure is. fucking feels better than it ever did before, now that it is the choice between enjoying it with abandon, or never enjoying it again. everyone should fuck like they may never get a second chance to fuck again. i am sometimes still a bit awkward on that point, but my second sexual awakening goes well now.
i understand what slave means to me. it means i am owned. nothing more. nothing less. i do not have the right to leave. i must obey if told, though i am seldom told. i must also be myself, and live up to the brochure, just like the sybian. he took me, as i was, as his slave. the fuck like a whore part of me i was trying so hard to repress was part of the original bill of goods he bought. now, in the present, i am reminded of that by my present course of training that takes place from time to time in between the daily moments of a very happy and content life. i feel bliss once more, and am well enough along in my education to be given the curtesy of forwarning. no great changes are in order. life is good.
as i turn 31 i feel, for once, grown up, and as is the tradition, as i am grown and educated, i am now charged with the task of turning my education into a carreer.
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