0

When Master asked me, What are you, deep down? If you strip everything away to the core, what is left? I could only answer, ‘nothing’. I didn’t think it was the answer he was expecting. But the truth of it was, the question left me feeling empty.

When Master found me, I was a slut. Now, I am his. I am still a slut, because that is how he wants me. See the change? Being his is the centre, the beginning. I am openness. Yielding. Submission. With him, anything. Alone, stripped of my reference point… nothing.

Being a slut was just a filler. A way I could be something that what was wanted of me. I want to please – that is why being a slut comes naturally to me. Now I have someone to please, and the slut part becomes secondary.

See how it’s not a choice? Once I let that become my purpose and my meaning, there was no taking it back. I don’t decide what I am anymore. The slut was given to him, in exchange for nothing.

The question of consent is a cunning one. The reality of who determines what, and for whom, can run people in circles. I am his because I gave myself to him. But at the same time, I was his long before I ever even considered making that surrender. Probably from the moment we met.

I may not ever leave him, and I am glad. If I ever try, I hope he drags me back. I would be devastated and grateful. Because that is his right. Oh, sure, I know that legally things are more black and white than that. But legal or not, and consenting or not, I would willingly serve him, and defend his right. He owns me because I gave my rights to him; and I gave them because he already had them. It's a chicken and an egg, and there is no answer, and no undoing the cycle. Take away any part, and you are left with nothing. Consent becomes a myth that you can try and believe in, or...