[Originally written on September 14th 2020]

There’s a certain ironic freedom that comes with being enslaved. Having it laid out in no uncertain terms that my life is now servitude, to worship at the altar of her pleasure – incredible hotness aside, it’s also rather… liberating?

To know that my purpose is to submit, to make the woman I care so much for happy, lends a certain serenity to everything I do. It means I can focus in entirely on that submission, on being the very best slave I can be for her, and not worry about those oh-so-unimportant other things in life.

No need to worry, or think, or concern myself with the day-to-day troubles… They all just melt away before that mindless focus. Mindless and yet mindful, of her, her desires, her needs. Nothing is more important than knowing that I was made to serve, knowing that I am exactly where I am meant to be… It feels so true, and right, and real… Genuinely perfect, in every sense of the word.

All that I am exists to be used by her. And it’s all I could ever want.

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