Last time, he beat the shit out of me.
This time he kissed my breath away.
I could say just that.
No more.
And that would be correct.
As far as it goes.
And it would leave out everything.
He came for lunch, as he always does these days. Long, leisurely visits of 2-1/2 hours or more. But this time, there was something extra on the agenda.
I have a problem.
I have ADD.
Made worse by perimenopause, I suspect.
Which is more a description than an excuse,
and makes me a lot less effective that I should be,
and frustrates the hell out of the sadist.
Because I lose focus.
I forget the prime directive.
I forget to ALWAYS think of him.
First and foremost and always.
Sometimes I get lost in the pleasure of his kisses, or of sucking his cock (I do love to suck his cock), and I forget to focus on his pleasure. More dangerously, I forget to think carefully about everything I say before I let it slip from my mouth. I absolutely cannot allow myself the luxury of ADD's typical impulsiveness. Very bad.
As we both recovered from last week's serious beating, the beating that was so much worse than he wanted to deliver, we discussed where I was and what might be and whether it would, in fact, have any lasting effect. So I asked for something like a mantra, something I could say daily - 3 times a day - to remind me of my duty and to help me focus.
He said he would think about.
And he came back with the most phenomenal gift.
It was a gift.
It was transformative.
It was a ceremony of dedication and commitment.
A very serious ritual of commitment.
A consecration to his service.
Not something to undertake lightly.
He based the first part very closely on a Catholic ritual, although the part I am to say 3 times daily he wrote himself. Catholics are very good at ritual, and our current shared obsession with watching The Borgias gives it an extra meaning. But it is far more than that - which is what took my breath away.
He gave me so much more than a mantra. In some ways, it felt more serious than the two times I took my marriage vows. I felt that first part, and its thrice daily reaffirmation, as a very serious and conscious dedication to serving him.
To being his.
All that I am.
Without reserve.
His possession and property.
And it begins "O Master."
A while back, quite a while back, after certain significant advances in my training and understanding, he said that he was my Master. He was my Master, although I am not his slave. For a period of time, I used that word - slave - and he didn't stop me, because he knew that it meant something to me. A giving. But he knew - we both knew - that I was not and would not be his slave.
He talked about that again as we discussed what he gave me. And he made a very clear statement which he did want to convey here.
He thought I might have been questioning his use of "Master" although in fact I wasn't. He reminded me that we didn't use it much, while mentioning his onetime explanation that he was my master the way a virtuoso masters a fine instrument. Then he went on:
[...] but I felt it was appropriate here. I am your Master. The reason why we have never done the Master/slave thing is because in almost all cases it is untrue, inaccurate, a misnomer. The very idea that a "slave" could set limits, express preferences is ludicrous. Therefore that would fall into the realm of play and we know where we stand in that regard.
I have said that before.
We do not play.
This is very serious.
This is for real.
He said that being his slave was not something I should see as some "higher level" I might aspire to and that "we are beyond that."
He told me I could write about what happened today.
And I will.
To a point.
But I don't want to share the text he gave me.
The text I used to consecrate myself to his service.
To him.
Another of those things that feels too personal.
But I will tell you this.
As I knelt up before him
and read the words of the consecration
and then recited from memory
the words with which I will declare -
will remind myself -
three times daily
that I am totally his,
something happened.
Something changed.
Everything was different.
I was different.
Together we were different,
except it was what was always waiting to be.
It was what one would wish for, after baptism or from a bar or bat mitzvah, for example. A change. A true change. An inner transformation. And so it was.
And now I must try to always hold this feeling with me.
So I never forget.
So I never slip up.
So I always remember who and what I am.
Totally and truly his.
Not a slave.
But daily and hourly and now and forever
with every breath and every thought
again and again
consecrating myself
to be truly and totally his.
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4 comments:
A most interesting post describing a very lovely idea. You're fortunate to have a thoughtful and creative man for a Master. I for one would be very interested to read further descriptions on how effective this turns out to be for you, how well it fulfils your need. More details about it, too.
Thanks for your comment, Malcolm. I shared it with the sadist, who always wants to know what people are saying about him. He said "Malcolm is obviously very perceptive."
And yes, I am extraordinarily fortunate.
The ultimate test is, of course, not how the ritual fulfills MY need. It is how it focuses me to fulfill his needs. I will certainly be writing about that. For now, he says he is proud of me, we are both very happy, and my first recitation this morning did have a powerful effect.
Dear og.,
i often refer to bdsm (and submission in particular) as a higher state of consciousness.
Experiencing deep surrender, pain, lust and a state of being owned opens new windows of the mind and allows for a deeper (and different) understanding of the self.
Thank you.
Love, cassie
OG - This post compels me, both because I am so pleased for you and the fiend, and because it has relevance for me, personally. Societally, linguistically, we tend to pair words. Fuss and feathers, scotch and soda, master and slave.
My master is also my husband. He has been both for 43 years. He suffers from a number of mental/emotional illnesses, both organic, (Bipolar, among others), and induced, (PTSD). We have managed to claw out a life for ourselves, despite these obstacles, and bdsm has always been part of it.
This has required a balancing act, in which my role varies from caretaker to slut, covering all the ground between those extremes. Because of the harsh reality of life with mental illness - and it is, make no mistake, harsh - there are days, weeks, months in which I make, perforce, the majority of decisions, and am responsible for our joint well being.
As I first explored online the experiences others had in kink, I felt homeless. Our life, my master's health, depend on my being everything that a "slave" is not. I must be decisive, I must be in charge, I must honestly evaluate my master's behavior and talk to doctors - and to him - about it. I am often required to challenge his actions.
None of these necessary undertakings matches the behavior of a slave. I felt bereft, as I read of those who handed over complete control to a master, whose responsibilites were limited to gratifying another's physical comfort, who never, under any circumstances, questioned what was asked of them.
And yet, in the periods when my master was/is well, and we are not on lunatic-watch, he is, beyond any doubt, my master. We sometimes - and I know this ostensibly knocks us out of the club to which you and the sadist belong - refer to our sexual interactions as "play". This is not because our sexual relationship is particularly playful. It is not. It is in deadly earnest. It simply identifies for us a period in which I am free to serve, without being, simultaneously, a psychiatric nurse.
And how, you ask, after all the faradiddle above, is your post relevant? What do I find that captures me, and comforts me?
Among other things, the sadist's statements, "I am your Master...we are beyond that" - the latter in regard to whether his being your master made you a slave.
Yes! I get it. I have always wondered how my master could, apparently effortlessly, slide from the "patient" persona, in which I am free - more than free; duty-bound - to observe, comment and suggest, to the "master" persona, in which I am free only to be used by him.
Yet, as I read your post, I recognize that it is /all/ about him, and his needs, and what I have to do to maintain our life, the life of bills and groceries and outside realities that makes possible the greater reality of our intimate expression.
I have devoted 43 years to him and I don't regret any of it. And I don't have to be a "slave" in any way for that to be real. I am useful, and I do what needs to be done to serve him, and that is our reality.
I thank you, and the sadist, for the understanding that "we are beyond that." As ever - jcn
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