tagNon-EroticReflections of a Love Slave

Reflections of a Love Slave

bysimply_cyn©

I remember every touch … every word, just as if it had happened yesterday. Even as I sit here alone contemplating all that he ever said to me, I ache to hear more. “How did you first meet him?” seems to be the most common question when I dare to speak his name. And as I try to think back, I can’t really answer. It is as if I always knew him and him, me. We were as one. Those that saw us knew. They could see our paths set in the same direction even though mine was at his feet. We were going in one direction, together. When his name was said, mine followed suit. There was no him without me and no me without him. And yet even as I sit here now, it is still that way for me. There is no me without him and I don’t know if I will ever be anything but what he ever wanted me to be … his.

What I most recall about our first encounters was that he was the hated enemy of the one person that had taken me in under a protective wing. I was new to the community and, in a way, I think that my protector had a thing for me but he was valiant enough at the time to put it aside and put my best interests first. I had no clue where I was or what I was at that time. I had just discovered this new way of life and was tip-toeing into it very cautiously. I remember being warned off about him … Leonius. He was bad news and no one was to go near him or anyone in his family. At the time I didn’t really pay much attention to it but the imp in me, the bad girl, always wanted to know more about this Leonius and why he was off-limits and why my protector hated him so. But life progressed for me through the months that followed and I began to carve a place for myself in this new way of life.

Bumps and bruises aside, I truly was thriving in this way of life … I had found my submissive side and was flourishing beneath my self-induced training. Not only was I submissive, but I was finding more in common with those that called themselves slaves. This was a new kind of submission … something deeper, more inane and it appealed to the very core of me. Natural order and being at the feet of strong men … these whispered my name even when I was busy being “happy” under the collar of my protector. But all hidden desires have a way of springing forth even when you try to keep them under wraps and it wasn’t long before I was venturing out, wandering in search of where I truly belonged. It brought me to my first real encounter with Leonius.

He was more than I could have imagined. In fact, trying to put it into words makes my stomach tie up in thousands of knots just remembering what it was like to be before him. He was gentle but in a demanding kind of way, instructing me to my knees, questioning my innermost thoughts and allowing me to serve him. Serve him indeed … I put my whole heart and soul into the simple act of fetching him black wine, similar to an Earthen coffee and fresh bread. I remember stumbling over some words but my intent was clear and I finally released the held breath I had sucked in when he finally smiled and said those two words that every true slave girl at the feet of strong men long to hear … “good girl”.

Well, to make a long story short for the sake of space, I snuck back to see him time and again. Sometimes I was allowed to serve him, other times I wasn’t but just being near him refueled the fire that was beginning to grow within me and I was no longer content under the protection collar of a man that didn’t make me burn. I adored him but he wasn’t the man that could really truly bring me to my knees and I think he knew it as well. A few experimental relationships and so-called collars beneath others finally took me away from the beloved place that I had called home and I found myself on a new journey into my own submissive nature and sexuality.

Four years of growth in the place known as Gor, self fueled by my own desire to become all that I knew burned within me brought me finally to a place in my life where my path crossed with Leonius’ once more. But this time he, too, had been watching me … my growth, my journey, my own awareness and this time fate had entwined the two of us upon the same path. I’ll never forget sitting hours at his feet, learning about him and him, about me. Thousands of hours spent just in conversation, in my submission to his mastery and the erotic discovery of our levels of compatibility. He awoke within me a passion that I did not could exist and brought me to levels of ecstasy that I had only read about in romance novels. But this was not romantic, although I had fallen deeply in love with him and him, me. This was a bond stronger than any other I had ever known, something that I know even over the passage of many years, will still be unbreakable. I was his slave girl … his property … his slut and I gave it all so freely to him that it could not be denied. Even within the time spent away from him that would come could not even begin to bend the ties that bound us.

I begged his collar … begged to belong to him alone and he allowed me the honor to wear a simple hammered steel collar around my neck that proclaimed me as owned property and I could not have been more proud if it was a 5-carat diamond from Zales. He gifted me with his name and the honor of kneeling at his feet … the allowance to sleep in his arms and please him as no other could. Oh yes, there were sluts that threw themselves at his feet even when I was there because he oozed that sexuality and that mastery that so many other girls, just like me, craved in their lives. Even understanding it, I fought my own insecurities and tried to quell the little green monster that welled up within me every time a pretty slave girl crawled to him, begging to be used. Even though I had his love, his ultimate gift, his collar … I still ached beneath the old self-doubts that I allowed to crawl in and infest beneath the kiss of silk bestowed upon my flesh. On the outside I smiled and accepted and was seen as the perfect kajira … but on the inside, I was slowly submitting to the jealousy that ignited from my own self doubts. Never was there a time in which he put doubts in me. I think that jealousy goes hand in hand at times with being with someone so virile, so intense, and so passionate.

But there came a time when I paid dearly for my jealous nature and I reacted instead of confiding in the One that could have quelled all my fears and because of my stupidity. For the first time in our relationship, there were doubts: my doubts in his intentions and his doubts in my devotion. We were at a crossroads and as any good Master would do, he punished me in the quickest and most effective way … I was released. I’ll never forget the shock, the quick and deadening pain that came with his decision. I was devastated and quickly reminded of my place in the grand scheme of things. And then he was gone … a quick good-bye, a simple reminder of what I was and the deadly kiss of love that I had killed with my insecurities.

I kept waiting for him to end my punishment and to return to me, yank me by my hair, punish me and chain me to the foot of his couch. But it never came. My wishful thinking turned to despair when I realized that it was over, that he had indeed kept his promise and would not be contacting me again. I was released. I was nothing. My whole existence, my whole reason for living was gone. And yet I survived … I kept returning to this barbaric world that had once, so long ago, called to me. I wore other collars and I served other men but something within me was dead. I had well hidden a torn and bleeding heart beyond a tall wall of thorns and dared anyone to try to even come close. I became almost untouchable, throwing myself in my studies, determined to become the best, the most desired yet the most elusive. Maybe I achieved that … maybe I didn’t. But I was well on my way.

Funny how just when you think that you have settled into the path of a new journey that the past has a way of flying right back up in your face. I had moved on … or at least as far as I was willing to move on. I was owned and had a collar and had a Home and had found a place … a place in a trophy case, upon a shelf only to be taken down to be shown off. In my desire to become the best I had also lost my whole sense of being, my whole reason for doing and now I had been reverted to a trophy upon a high shelf to be gazed upon, to be oohed and ahhed over and brought down only to be shown off and on occasions, perform for those that had watched. But deep within me cried the slave girl that still longed to submit. I needed to be possessed, not just owned … but that had died the day that Leonius had walked out of my life.

And then, without warning, there was a sudden flash of light in my dull existence: a flicker of past desires and aching want. Leonius had returned but what my role was to be in his dramatic return was undecided on his part and now, even as I write this, my heart soars in joyful anticipation. He’s back and I find myself falling at his feet again as if he never had commanded me from him. Even uncertain of my continued place in his life, I hold on to this one moment … these few words he has thrown my way and I am, again, at peace.

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