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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...

Inside, out

I was chatting to Blknight a while ago and we got to comparing different styles of domination. He is very much the physical guy: the kind of Dom who wants to take control via the subbie's body - pushing the physical limits, manipulating by blunt force. Master, on the other hand, is a psychological controller - he pushes me with words and mental images, to the extremes of experience that sensation alone could not induce.

There is a place for both, and as I said to Blknight, a perfect balance is ideal, but probably we all have our predilection to focus on one over the other. For me, there is nothing like the psychological dominance Master uses to control me. Don’t misunderstand: he is undeniably strong and more capable of using force than most. But so much of his power comes from carefully-chosen words, making it seem effortless, and so all the more intoxicating. Anyone can take control with a pair of cuffs and a cane, but to do it just by speaking inspires awe. And it is that emotional effect that is most important for me…. (perhaps because I fear so little physically…?) Being physically controlled is amazing, but the mental control is what makes it real. When Master chooses what he will say - or what he won't - to show dominance over me; or when he uses words to push my limits until I am shaking and sobbing, wide-eyed and enraptured by what he is saying... that’s how he owns me: from the inside, out.

Like Master said, I am an emo slut. I know it’s not the perfect way for a sub to be, so I try and keep it within tolerable levels. Sometimes, though, I fail. I could write about how that lets him down sometimes, but to dwell on that would be making the same mistake even as I apologise for it. Instead, I want to say how that, too, means he owns me so deeply – because I feel so much. That is how his words capture me – by tapping into the parts of me that are most vulnerable, that hurt most easily: my mind and my heart.

It means I am powerfully dependent on him. All my inevitable ups and downs are deeply tied to him, because it is his influence that devastates me or relieves me. Yes, soaring from grief to bliss partially on someone else’s calculation is an agonising way to live – but also a very gratifying one. To borrow someone else’s words I am an “affect junkie”. An addict for intensity. An emo-slut.

Life’s stress can bring me down so low I don’t just want to die – I want to suffer, too. The tension builds up over days and I become muted, flat, and confused. I feel afraid and disoriented. I try and tell myself to keep functioning, but in retrospect I always know I wasn’t – and that regardless of how I try not to bother Master with my frame of mind, it is foolish to think he can’t tell. He can read me effortlessly……. And then eventually, if he decides I am deserving, he takes my body, and hurts me.

He takes me away from my mind and into only my body using physical extremes. It might be partly the endorphins, and partly the sheer cathartic effect of being made to cry and scream, but mostly I think it is the sense of absolute surrender that releases me. When it hurts, I need nothing but to know I am his, and then when it is over, I re-emerge, myself again. My despair disintegrates. It’s like hitting a ‘reset’ switch…. Or like shock therapy.

Emo slut

Last night, as I begged Master to cut me, he said, "Are you an emo slut? Or just a slutty emo?" and for a second, I felt like I'd been sprung… exposed… a secret discovered. Of course, that is one of my Master's most captivating talents – he sees right through me, and speaks aloud exactly what makes me shy away.

I would like to pretend I am a poster girl for cheerful, emotionally stable submissives, but I most definitely am not. I am moody and anguished. I am drawn to darkness, and to the 'edge'. I try and hide it, even from myself, but a part of me is fascinated with the idea of my own destruction. I want to feel my blood running over my skin. I want to feel my head float away from lack of oxygen. I want to feel the fear and exhilaration of wondering if I will live through this. Recently when Master released his hold on my throat and allowed me to gasp for air again, I thanked him for my breath… for my life. I remember thinking I would also have wanted to thank him if he had chosen to deny it.

No, I am no rainbows and fairies girl.

But my Master makes me feel light. Pleasing him I feel blessed, comforted, and secure. I feel I can live and be happy. As he said to me more than once, I can do anything.

Today I had the pleasure of being the subject of a media interview – with my Master's permission, to talk publicly on radio about what it is like to be a slave without limits. The portion they played was short and sweet and positive, and I was pleased to hear what they chose to include. But there was one hard question they asked that was edited out of the final… they said, "has he brainwashed you?" That was a question I couldn't answer – not in a public statement. Instead I laughed. The response on my lips, though, was "I don't care." If the type of training my Master performs on me – on my heart, and on my mind – is brainwashing, then so be it! I am just as grateful to him no matter what the name.

.... and it doesn't stop there

I was on my back, my arms spread wide and tied to the bedposts, almost hyperventilating with nerves. Master had just played back his recording of what I'd said to him: "Please, would you shit in my mouth, Sir?" The recording meant even more than the act – he had my plea, my longing, and there was no taking it back. A part of me tried to believe he wouldn't really do it… reaching for denial. But I needed to ask for it, the time was right. I opened my mouth and shut my eyes, and my mind was crowded with thoughts that came down to "YES/NO". Trying not to move. Putting all my will towards keeping my mouth open. Not failing him. Oh god, this is disgusting….

… and next thing I know, there is something in my mouth, and I gasp with shock so hard that for a second I am choking on it. It momentarily occurs to me how utterly absurd it would be to die now, choking on my Master's shit while he shifts position to fuck me, and then it dislodges and I can breathe again, but fuck its still in my mouth, and I can't move my hands and I can't sit up and I can't get it out of there…. And Master tells me to come, and I try, I really try, but for the first time since I've known him I simply can't… it's too shocking…

… But he was so pleased with me. I have never seen him smile so proudly. It was horrible, and I did it, and I would do it again for him. No matter what. Because I have proven it – I have no limits for my Master. He smiled and said to me later, "Now you have reached the point where you are really of use to me," and I felt elated… finally, two years of training and I know I have really become something he truly wants… something he would not throw away.

A good toilet

Two years ago, I was in a hotel room, exhausted and recovering from the first of many gangbangs my new Master would have me available for. He dismissed me to shower while he showed out the last of the guests, then entered the bathroom where I stood - wet, exposed and trembling. He ordered me to sit down and open my legs, and I did as he asked with trepidation. He said "spread your lips" and I held them - swollen, overused, and open - and I knew. I briefly shut my eyes, then looked down to watch the first stream of his piss touch my skin, spraying my cunt. He emptied his cock onto me and I waited, accepting it, until he appeared satisfied, and told me to resume my washing. That was my first golden shower.

Last night, I laid down on Master's floor, and positioned a large funnel in my mouth. When he urinated into it, I didn't choke, and I didn't gag, I just swallowed. I concentrated on keeping the pace it went down my throat fast enough so it wouldn't spill, and I didn't stop until I sucked nothing but air through the tube. Afterwards, he told me he was pleased, that I had become a good toilet, and I felt proud.

When he asked how it felt, I delved deep and answered that it felt dirty, humiliating, and submissive - and that I felt happy to have pleased him. But what surprised me that I couldn't put into words was that I felt so little at all. That is, I felt a little of all those things, but mostly there was a sense of normality about the whole experience. Of course I would swallow his piss. Of course I would be his toilet. Those thoughts came well before any sense of it being degrading in any way at all. I remember a similar feeling two years ago: testing myself in my mind, replaying the scene, thinking: he PISSED on me... waiting for a reaction, and hardly finding one at all.

Yes, of course I will drink piss from my Master. If it pleases him, it is right. I thanked him last night for training me in this way - his content little piss slut. And of course, I know it doesn't stop there....