Growing up, I always believed my mother was the most beau­ti­ful lady I had ever seen. Her blonde hair and stun­ning blue eyes; her shapely tanned legs and her long pol­ished nails gave me my first thought of what a pretty woman should look like. As I grew, my sis­ter, K, became my new idol of beauty, fol­low­ing in looks close to our moth­ers with long blonde hair and lovely darkened limbs and strong fem­in­ine pol­ished fingertips.

Interesting how what I wit­nessed and felt as a little girl still resides deep within me today. As I sit here, click­ing away at my com­puter I sud­denly feel more fem­in­ine than I had moments earlier, simply because the little music each fin­ger­nail makes as I stroke the keys rein­forces my fem­in­in­ity and reminds me that I am a girl to be looked upon, enjoyed for aes­thet­ics in com­bin­a­tion of brains. When I pause in reflec­tion, lightly brush­ing my locks from my back over my bare shoulder I can not help but tingle, know­ing the sub­missive length of my soft tendrils brings pleas­ure to Master and often cre­ates sweet com­pli­ments from men who bump into me on the street.

There was a very long period of my life where, although I always believed I was pretty I never thought I had what truly equated to beauty for many reas­ons. I was born with deep red locks and extremely pale flesh. I was not at all grace­ful and I have always car­ried with me an air of child­like playfulness.

Interestingly though, as I embrace the slave in me, I find a grace­ful­ness deep within and a strong desire to bring beauty not only to me but all around me. I find now, I take time to ensure my eye­lids are slightly painted, my lips are speckled with col­our and my hair coiffed, regard­less of what activ­ity I am par­tak­ing in. Being a slave is more than just serving my Master, I am an exten­sion of who he is. I want to appear lovely not only to him but to all and in doing so show my con­tin­ued ded­ic­a­tion and affec­tion for my Master, for myself.

So slowly, ever so slowly, I am evolving. I once was a mere cater­pil­lar but soon I will be a butterfly.

I like rules. I always have. All through­out school, the teach­ers and pro­fess­ors I had the greatest respect for were the most dis­cip­lined and did not allow any non­sense. Once I left uni­ver­sity and embarked on the real world I pur­sued careers in organ­iz­a­tions where my super­visor was pre­dom­in­antly dom­in­ant and gen­er­ally, male. I took com­fort in a strong com­mand­ing voice that would guide me, edu­cate me and allow me the abil­ity to gain know­ledge in order to fur­ther my career all while keep­ing me restrained in discipline.

I feel free within my con­fines of instruc­tions and expect­a­tions and although I might ques­tion or try to push past the bound­ar­ies placed upon me I only do so to ensure the sta­bil­ity I so desire. Each time, (and it is becom­ing less), that I do not obey Masters orders or say “no” to Master I know what I am ask­ing for is reas­sur­ance — the safety ham­mock that reminds me I am owned.

Master provides me with a pleth­ora of expect­a­tions and although in the begin­ning I fought each of them, strug­gling with the idea that should I obey his rules of ask­ing what to wear and what to eat and when and how I am per­mit­ted to enter­tain with friends, with time I have come to value his rules, know­ing my obed­i­ence in fol­low­ing through demon­strates not only my own­er­ship but my love for Master.

Never have I thought Masters restric­tions were ridicu­lous, they stem from ensur­ing his prop­erty is well taken care of, well nour­ished and loved. Still, as rational as I am about under­stand­ing where his com­mands come from I do test them from time to time, want­ing to feel Masters strength, his stern all encom­passing words that men­tally devour me, frighten me and ignite my place in his world.

I am for­tu­nate to have a Master who con­tin­ues to express patience with me, who knows the lim­it­a­tions in a day when life inter­jects its’ little real­it­ies; how­ever, as of late I have been feel­ing a desire to need more restric­tions, more struc­ture, tighter rules of rib­bon lacing over my wrists, wrap­ping down my torso, cap­tur­ing me entirely ensur­ing I never for­get I am property.

~His. Always.