The Life of a Slave - Day 9

I’m a slave.

*breathes deeply and smiles gently*

Yes, yet another posting regarding semantics. But this one … is important.

Last night I officially, formally, finally submitted to my Mistress. I offered my life to her, and begged her to take me as her slave.

And she accepted very happily.

I felt like the collar around my neck became locked into my heart. We’re committed now.

The submission came after a several-hour conversation with a very wise Master, whom Mistress and I visited last night. He is extremely well experienced in the lifestyle and has become one of the most respected Masters in the Denver area. Nearly 70 years old, he has seen and done much in life, and is wise in ways outside of the community as well. He is kind and gentle but very strong in his inner confidence.

We went over last night to play with him, but it turned out that we talked the entire time instead, and I think we’re all very glad we did.

It’s impossible to encapsulate all that we discussed, even though I wish I could. However, one thing he said needs to be made clear is that the word “slave” as used by the lifestyle doesn’t have any exact linguistic match outside of the BDSM community. “Bondservant” is, he said, a good way of trying to explain the idea of a “consensual slave” to somebody outside the community. And even in the community, the idea of a “slave” doesn’t always have the same meaning, particularly between subcultures … particularly when used by a group such as the Goreans compared to those who engage in more general BDSM activities.

In May of 2008, I was collared (enslaved) by another woman in my Panther Girl tribe. I had avoided a collar for a very long time, but she said she felt I needed it based on my outward expressions of having a submissive heart. It practically tore the tribe apart, because I was one of the most active Panther Girls there, and many saw the other woman’s actions as treacherous. Yet, after a couple of days, the other women started realizing that the woman who collared me was right … and that I truly was a slave at heart.

Something incredible happened to me during that time that made me realize my true nature without a doubt. I experienced the true bliss of being a slave. An undeniable high that came from serving.

I also came up with several theories regarding slavery which have stood the test of time. One is that there are four levels of being a slave. (1) Being forced to serve. (2) Serving because it’s the correct thing to do. (3) Serving because you want to. (4) Serving because that is what you exist to do. When a slave reaches the fourth level, they reach a state where they feel like they have become “service.” No longer do they just love their Owners, but they have become “love” itself. The ideas of love and service become inseparable and infused into the slaver’s essence and heart.

I’ve experienced all four levels. It was when I had experienced the fourth level that I realized I had crossed the threshold of no turning back, and I knew what my life’s true path was.

The Master last night said something that made me think of that list of four levels, which had been so important to me last year but had since become forgotten. The Master defined what he considered the difference between a submissive and a slave. A submissive, he said, serves (obeys) because they feel emotionally they have to, even if they don’t want to. A slave, however, will constantly find ways to serve because it’s at the core of who they truly are. A sub does what they’re told, but a slave seeks to find ways to serve even without being told. They feel they exist to serve.

Mistress and I both agreed afterward that the Master’s description fit me extremely well.

A Master doesn’t have to control all of a slave’s life, the Master said. On the contrary, most Masters have no desire to micromanage their property. They control the important things but let the slave handle aspects that would be a chore to manage. Also, he said, an ethical Master would not control aspects of a slave’s life that would be best left to the slave, such as how they raise their children. Many Masters have no desire to handle a slave’s finances, he said, nor do they want to legally own a slave’s property.

A Master is somebody who owns a slave, he said, and the details of that Ownership are left up to the people involved.

And I looked at Mistress and asked her, “Knowing all that, do you want to own this girl as your slave?”

And she looked me in the eyes and softly responded, “Yes, I would. I love you, girl.”

I was already kneeling at her feet, and I moved even closer to her and submitted to her, with the Master as a witness. I don’t remember the words. I just remember how wonderful and beautiful and perfect it felt.

And how I felt that the trial period was over, and it was all very real now.

I had been considering some jobs that would force me to leave her. Now I’m part of her household in a way that can’t be broken. I’m with her, no matter what. Period.

And I woke up today realizing that finally it had all come true. I’m an owned slave, and my Owner is an incredible, loving woman who understands and appreciates me.

It’s a very good day. It’s busy. It’s normal in many ways. But it’s very good.