I work in an envir­on­ment where I spend a great deal of my eight to ten hours speak­ing. Speaking and listen­ing. Speaking, train­ing, coach­ing, motiv­at­ing, encour­aging and listen­ing. At close of day my throat is quiet, tired and drained. When at last I am home I wish not to utter a sen­tence, to keep my lips sealed and allow the day to roll off of my shoulders, encas­ing myself in my slaveness.

There is a routine of my arrival home, one that per­mits me to shed the day and all of its restric­tions. First I place my bag next to the front door so that I do not need to search for it in the morn­ing. Second I slip from my shoes then shed my cloth­ing, strip­ping each layer from my body before I have even walked down the hall­way. My third step leads me into the powder room where I turn the shower on, step­ping into the almost sting­ing hot water, allow­ing each droplet to cleanse my body and thoughts from all that tran­spired dur­ing the day. The fourth step only takes place once each of my toes is spark­ling clean; from there I pat my body with a warm towel and run a comb through my wet curls, know­ing as they dry I will be embod­ied with little girl ring­lets. As the steam dis­sip­ates, I begin to feel a chill and so I lower my body, kneel­ing on the cool tiles and move towards my bed­room whereupon I find my col­lar and in my final fifth step, wrap the soft pink leather around my neck, com­plet­ing my trans­ition from determ­ined pro­fes­sional to ded­ic­ated slave.

I am often in awe at how quickly my energy is replen­ished once I feel the leather bind­ing my flesh. My move­ments become effort­less and my voice is sud­denly strong and lyr­ical. Without touch, without words my cunt becomes wet, my nipples harden and my breath is shal­low, caus­ing my heart to rise and fall rap­idly out of com­plete desire and com­fort in being His slave.

At last I am home.

~His slave

There are numer­ous obstacles a slave must over­come in order to mas­ter giv­ing over con­trol. One of the most chal­len­ging for myself is try­ing to be a strength for my Owner, the man I love and cher­ish all while remain­ing obed­i­ent. In times when I have wit­nessed a quiet­ness within Him, an essence of exhaus­tion, i feel bound by His desires for me to _not_ fuss over Him and my instinct to wrap my arms around His strong frame and remind Him that I am here for support.

I recall a very dis­tinct con­ver­sa­tion between Master and myself in the very early stages after pro­fess­ing our love to one another. Master was hav­ing a dif­fi­cult day with regards to work and I told Him that I “sup­por­ted Him” with whatever decision He was going to make. I was sur­prised by His words when He told me He did not need my sup­port, that He only needed me to be His good obed­i­ent slave. This was the first of many sim­ilar con­ver­sa­tions and I found myself left feel­ing defeated after each one. I was try­ing to show Him that I was here for Him and that even “big strong dom­in­ant men” need a shoulder to lean on every once and awhile. Master refuted any sup­port from me and after two years I became grossly frus­trated and even­tu­ally exploded in anger.

I felt as though Master was strip­ping me of my womanly rights to be the strong but fem­in­ine sup­port­ive slave on His arms — the girl who would stand by her man no mat­ter what. My dis­ap­point­ment came from believ­ing Master did not trust me with His feel­ings and that He was guard­ing that ele­ment of who He was from me. I spoke without grace, without reser­va­tion and within moments I was cry­ing, which only cre­ated a deeper level of anger for now I felt as though Master would need to tend to my emo­tions when all I wanted was to tend to His.

Or so I thought.

Master did not; how­ever, com­fort me, rather He told me to be silent, put me on my knees and fucked my throat, slap­ping me three times across my face. I was a conun­drum of emo­tion as I felt wild hos­til­ity com­bined with unin­hib­ited love. I knew, with every thrust, every hot sting upon my cheek that Master was using me for His release.

I am uncer­tain as to how long Master choked me with His cock, what I do know though is I felt Masters lips softly wipe my still flow­ing tears as he pulled me tight against His body, telling me what a good girl I was. As His whis­pers caressed me I felt all com­bat­ive­ness wash away and as my body relaxed I felt the ten­sion leave Masters as well.

We were quiet, nestled close and I felt my lips part, my brain ignit­ing my tongue to wiggle and allow words to walk out of my mouth, for­tu­nately I caught myself before I spoke. I knew the answer to the ques­tion I was about ask; I under­stood for the first time what Master had meant dur­ing all of our debates about sup­port and me being there for Him.

I nuzzled close, pla­cing my ear to His chest, tak­ing great com­fort from His warmth. My eyes closed and I fell into a deep sleep know­ing I accom­plished all I had ever wanted; I had sup­por­ted Master by being exactly what He wanted: a good obed­i­ent slave.

There are moments when I still want to express my care and con­cern for Master and although He has allowed me other out­lets to be by His side, I know the best way to ensure He feels com­for­ted by me is to offer, without reser­va­tion, all of me; the slave He owns and loves.

~His slave