Release me from my demons — bind me in freedom.

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Sometimes it is challenging to be a slave. Now I am most certain at times it is just as challenging to be a Master; however, I am not a Master and in this moment, I am only focusing on my feelings and the difficulties I endure as I find peace within myself and within my relationship.

I am a black and white kind of girl. I like to know the rules and boundaries and much to my chagrin I do not embrace change as much as I wish I did (but much better than before). I always wish to know what is expected of me and I feel extremely off kilter when I am guided in a new direction. In a nut shell I like control, at all times. Quite a contradictory statement to make considering being a slave means a release of all control.

In truth I want to relinquish this desperate need to protect myself but I do not know how. And it is protecting myself when I pull back the reigns I have handed over to Master. What I do not understand though is what am I guarding myself from? I have a Master who loves me as close to unconditionally as possible and who has slowed his pace to match my turtle steps; who has continued to encourage me and wipe my tears when my insecurities and doubts consumed my thoughts. This is a man who has loved me even when I have not loved myself and that is a feat not easily achieved.

I feel blessed to have a man who desires to see me grow; who gently nudges me when he can witness a gleam of excitement behind my eyes; who whispers praise when I embrace a desire that I have been apprehensive to try. I know I am fortunate to have a Master who wants me to explore what lives deep within my core but the truth is what resides in my darkest crevices scares me.

I have spent 30 years piecing together my identity, painstakingly composing what I thought to be the perfect person. I work diligently on gaining an extensive education to ensure I am intelligent and worldly so that I can converse with a plethora of individuals. I take pride in my demure mannerisms, ensuring my behaviours are acceptable for all social activities and appreciated by all figures whom I respect. I take great efforts to be pretty - applying my make up to compliment my features - wanting to be pleasing to the eye and I strive to have the softest, silkiest tendrils, enticing many to want to caress my long locks. In a nutshell I have spent a vast amount of time trying to perfect myself and although there is still room for improvement I have been, up until recently, believing I was on the right track. And it is not as though I am wrong, I just have not been completely right.

The problem is I have been applying rules to who I am and what I am for so long I have bound myself in an unnatural state of composure. Even when I try to break the bonds I myself created I become frustrated and awkward, clinging both to what I know and what I want. I experienced this conflict today, with Master. In a moment of profound intimacy I found myself fighting.

Master was encouraging me, commanding me to take pleasure from obedience and I wanted so desperately to embrace that idea. I repeated his words, continually, as I probed my asscunt, stretching it to accommodate the grossly wide toy in which Master so favourably enjoys. I did obey though, I pushed down, further until at last the entire girth was nestled inside me. The pain was intense and executed a bolt of electricity up through my spine causing a rippling of small orgasms. Unlike other climaxes though, this hurt and I wanted to stop moving, to stop feeling, to stop believing pleasure came from obedience. I asked permission to remain still and Master granted my request. As I sat, motionless, Master commended me for my efforts, reminding me that I was a good girl, a devoted slave, a beautiful slut. His words penetrated through me and simultaneously I felt elated and angered. My joy came from giving Master such pleasure and my anger came from the realisation that my pain was what brought him joy. How could Master desire to make me feel pain? Worse, how could I possibly attain arousal from pain?

I was still lost in twinges of uncomfortableness when Master snapped his fingers, numerously, causing orgasm after orgasm. I was twitching, thighs shaking when suddenly I began to cry. My tears were exhausting and refused to stop. I tried to speak but all that could escape my lips was, 'please, please no more Master no more'. Understanding my limitations, Master stopped his snapping and instead encouraged me to surrender my feelings and I thought I had; however after a very long time had passed and Master instructed me to remove the violating toy and curl up in bed I still felt something uneasy. Even as Master kissed me, peppered me with admiration and complimented me on my now exposed and stretched hole I felt withdrawn and this sensation only grew when Master guided me to caress his tender asscunt - caress and penetrate once more bringing me to another orgasm.

I had wanted this orgasm though, unlike the other ones only I did not want it through violation, I wanted it through snaps. I did not want pain again and when Master instructed me to fuck his asscunt I began to sob once more. After my climax subsided I continued to cry, consumed still with sadness and anger. I was coated in tears and felt as though I had been punished. As I lay there, curled tightly into my pillow I growled, 'I am a good slave - I am a good slave'. Master confirmed my mantra stating I am a good slave and so in my heightened emotional state I asked Master why he had forced me to fuck his already sore asscunt instead of providing me with snaps so that I could reach my release.

After my verbal outburst I became quiet, tears now subdued. My body was still, as was my mouth; however my mind was reeling. This is my processing time, as Master describes it, the time when I piece together all which I have just experienced and try to compartmentalize every feeling and action which transpired. I was quiet for some time when at last Master nudged me to share my feelings. Quietly I confessed I was angry with him, angry that he did not give me an orgasm but rather forced me to give myself one by means of hurting my already aching hole. I then disclosed to Master that I was angry that he made me push the evil toy into his tight hole, stretching it, causing me to cry. I then asked Master how he felt after hearing that I was angry. In a tone which resonates love, Master explained that he feels two things, the first is a reflection of did he do anything to harm me, to bring forth reason for the anger and how he could make it better and the second that I am his property and with that ownership comes the gift of taking what he desires from his slave regardless of my feelings.

As I heard Masters words, felt the sincerity and honesty to his statement I found myself overwhelmed with confusion. I had wanted to obey Master, I had wanted to give him pleasure and I achieved that desire and yet I felt angry - angry to have felt pain - angry to have wanted that pain yet not understanding why. I could not understand how the girl in which I created, could possibly wish to endure such violation, such humiliation, such release. I still can not understand it. I want to though, I need to.

This battle is exhausting and I am growing weary of fighting with the girl who thinks she exists and the slave who does. Sometimes, when alone, feeling safe with just my thoughts, I imagine a girl, cocooned tightly, nestled in a bubble of painful reality, free from composure, bound in her release.

Slave musings