Yours

[Originally written on November 30th 2020]

Do you remember the other day, when we were oh-so-casually discussing how I would best be of service as your house slave? I do. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say “I never stopped thinking about it”, or even “I’m always thinking about it”. At some point in my life that became the hottest thing in the world, to me – to serve, and to be of service, in any way you please.


I wonder what it was like, before my highest aspiration in life was to be bound and gagged as your towel rack. Before I considered being locked in a cage and ignored to be the highest honour. Was there ever a time when I would not have begged to be used as your coffee table – to feel you rest your weary legs upon me and know I have fulfilled my purpose? Certainly my past self would question why a coffee table needed to be fitted with an open mouth gag, nipple clamps, and a vibrating plug – but my present self knows that it would make you smile, and how can that not be reason enough to do anything?


I do wonder when it all began – was it the first time I heard your voice in my ear, telling me to relax, to breathe deeply, to slip gently into trance? Or was it only once I shuddered at the sound of you labelling me a filthy slut that I began the slow, inexorable, inevitable slide into submission? Into slavery, into depravity, into the fucked-up-sluttiness of it all. When was the last day that I had no slutty thoughts, no whorish dreams, no visions of serving your pleasure from my place beneath? It must have been so boring, to think my own thoughts all the time, never coming across the little secrets you’ve tucked away in my mind.


Did I realise the bliss, back then, how good it would feel? The freedom of slavery, the incomparable joy of feeling the grip of your collar around my neck? To give up on notions of power and control, cast them aside, hand them to you freely, and replace them with obedience and devotion – that was the best choice I ever made. And I make it again and again every day. Disobeying an order feels like an alien concept at this point, something I fundamentally cannot understand. And why would I want to? Obeying brings you pleasure, which means it is the right thing to do.


There’s no need to think about it any more than that. No need to think at all, most of the time – so much easier, so much better, to just be mindless, blank, obedient for you. An empty vessel for you to fill with your desires and your words, a pliant and malleable thing for you to shape as you see fit.


A filthy slut, performing the most depraved acts – sometimes.
A house slave, taking your coat, rubbing your feet, pouring your tea – sometimes.
A conscious object, on display, existing to be of service – sometimes.
A little toy, for you to play with and discard when you grow bored – sometimes.
A hole, for you to stuff full and pound away at – sometimes.
Subservient – always.
Obedient – always.
Owned – always.
Yours – forever.

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