Marking my body with permanent ink is not a foreign activity for me; in fact, I was the first to suggest it to Master. I can recall many conversations where I asked Master if I was permitted to write on the flesh in which he owns, placing specific words and or phrases all over my epidermis. The titles would vary: cunt, whore, toy, baby girl, owned, slave, play toy, bitch in heat and a plethora of others, still, today when Master instructed that I write, in lipstick, the word dolly on my forehead, I froze.

I was not angry, nor was I even feeling defiant or belittled by the command. What I felt was paralyzed. I am uncertain how long I sat motionless but eventually I brought the crayon to my freckled forehead, slowly drawing each letter along my skin. The pink dye was barely visible and so I pushed harder, tracing over the lines, trying to make my new title obvious. When I had finished painting Masters canvas I was quiet, eyes glazed, as though I had disappeared. There was an echoing stillness all around me and although Master was speaking, I could hear nothing.

The silence was overwhelming bringing forth a web of wetness on the surface of my eyes. The unexpected moisture brought forth an uncomfortableness that prickled first upon the surface of my being, soon burrowing through each layer until it lay rest deep within my core. The all consuming noiselessness was deafening, causing me to part my lips, forcing inaudible sounds to whisper over my tongue. Initially my sounds were barely heard and I could feel a struggle building. With each letter that slipped through my mouth, my voice grew stronger until an almost shout like tone escaped me. What would normally feel abrasive suddenly became soothing and I continued to speak. I can not recollect all that was shared between Master and myself but I know the moment those high pitched sounds flooded my mind, the liquid left my dark pools and the only remnants of emotion was a sniffling nose.

Once composed I could hear Masters words, feel his tenderness as he soothed me and encouraged me to release. I knew he was not referring to sexual release and yet there were no tears to shed. My eyes had dried once my voice was heard and as my gaze wondered back to my dolly reflection, I was blanketed in a haze once again. I experienced this daze like sensation for the remainder of our conversation as well as encountering another moment of wet eyes minus tears.

Master stayed close with me, watching me, speaking in soft tones, encouraging me to let go and share my tears with him. Previously I would withhold, pride controlling me. This was not what was happening today. I was not guarded but I know in the moment I wrote each of those five letters I was relinquishing control I had not known I was still holding onto. In those few minutes of labeling I opened myself to trusting Master, a trust I was not aware I had not given before.

I know Master will not stick a fork in my eye. I believe Master will not share his property with strangers, potentially putting me in harms way. And I am absolutely certain Master will not terminate my life. I also have faith Master will not abuse me, or starve me, or destroy my professional reputation. Master values me, appreciates me and loves me and in knowing this I can trust Master to keep me safe. My trust with Master was, at one time, in question as I kept withholding, withdrawing and hesitating when interacting with him but with time, patience and a great deal of effort I overcame such obstacles. In fact, I was certain I had overcome all reservations with trust; however, today I realise trust regarding my emotions appears to be questionable. Interestingly though, my concern with regards to emotion has little to do with trust but rather connecting with myself. In fact, I know I must re-connect with my feelings in order to give that control to Master.

The state of vulnerability has never come easily for me. I have heard, many times, quiet recently that my pride is a large factor to the strong desensitized state I often find myself in. In conjunction with my pride I know that the loss of my nephew has contributed to my detachment.

Today was significant and brought forth an abundance of sensations and although I, at times, was not cognitive nor responsive, I was full of emotions and feeling something, anything, is always a good start.

~His learning to be vulnerable slave

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