A samurai without a master. A ronin.
Loyal, disciplined, pledged to serve,
left now with no lord, no focus for
his life. And what then of the sex slave,
alone, disowned, unbound? What to call
the fuck toy, whose holes are left
to wither and dry? What name shall serve
a submissive kitten, ear to the night
for the order to kneel? Poor minette,
turned out of the house, roaming
the streets in a pack of the masterless,
searching, bereft, for a collar to fill.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The odd thing about this little poem is that what I intended was a quick, light post - a bit of comic relief to off-set all the sad, soul-wrenching sighs. Because in fact I'm feeling much better today - though of course we all know that I'm prone to mood swings so I could be different in 2 hours... except I really AM doing better with the lithium. And it's a relief in some ways to have it over and settled. So what gives? Who knows... when I write it tends to be akin to automatic writing, and I'm never quite sure what will come out. Still my intent was a short and funny piece, NOT a poem, about how it suddenly occurred to me this afternoon that a sub without a Dom, a slave without a Master, is like a ronin. And really, shouldn't we have our own special name?! So suggestions are invited.
I've been wondering about another issue with names, which came up in an exchange with k (whose experience in many ways is so like mine) on FetLife. Here, I use the name oatmeal girl. It arose fairly naturally as an internet alias, and it's funny, and I like how it feels. But the philosopher called me kitten, from the third day. To him, it was my name, it's almost all he ever called me, and it was - IS - my submissive alter ego. Very occasionally, for fun, we used minette, which means sex kitten in French. I love French, and I love the saucy feel of minette. But kitten is my submissive alter ego. I think of a Dom standing over me, correcting my position as I kneel, as I try so hard to please him, and I am kitten. I think of him grabbing my hair, forcing my head into his crotch, forcing his cock into my mouth, forcing.... and i am kitten. i think of him pushing me against a dresser, ordering me to hold still, i think of him pulling his belt from its loops, folding it in half, raising it high, bringing it down as hard as he can, the fearsome awful welcome pain swallowing my flesh, devouring it, searing it... and i am kitten. and when he shoves down his pants and frees his cock, heeding its demands, driving it into my cunt, driving it into my ass, using me, claiming me, battering me... then i am kitten and nothing more.
Nothing more... i will sink into my submission and try not to remember... try not to remember when i was kitten... and so much more.
I'm doing a lot better! Really!! And then i start to write and it all comes back...
Love doesn't go away just because you've told it to.