i don't like to keep talking about my former owner because i want to put this unfortunate experience behind me but obviously many aspects of my submissive self will continue to be, for a time, linked back to him. And something that's happened to me in the last couple of days most definitely is.
As much as i loved my former owner, and saying it now makes me cringe but i'll just casually move past it, things weren't always perfect. Like all long-enduring relationships, one of the eventual victims of time was sex. Well, sex was always an odd topic. To begin with, he was straight. I think. He was aroused (mostly in the early days) by our interaction but never by me. That's something that at first was hard to get used to but with time it became... well, impossible, actually.
I have to say, sex was never the centre of what i was looking for as a slave. But you know what? It does matter. Although initially sex with him was, in spite of the mismatch of our sources of arousal, probably among the most satisfying experiences of my life because of the connection i had to him, or I thought i had --- ok, i'll try to not keep doing this --- over time, we went through what you might characterise as a "dry spell". His sex drive dropped and he became less interested in sex.
This was very frustrating for me because i was just as horned up as ever but, always the dutiful slave, i put whatever needs i thought i might have at the end of the list and went on waiting for him to want to use me again for sex. Obviously he was also quite possessive so i was to be reserved for his exclusive (albeit hypothetical) use.
To stop beating about the bush, this means that until last week i hadn't been used sexually for longer than i can remember. Sure, some messing around may have happened a few months back or so but, really, we're talking... (drumrolls) years. Years.
This was the sad truth of my life as a slave: however in love with my (lying) master, and submissively devoted to his perpetual service, part of me was dying inside. Which is what makes his betrayal even more ridiculously painful. Some will say i was stupid not to get out but when you've accepted that you are someone's slave, someone's property, that their needs come before yours, you accept that it is their will that matters and your needs are, if not irrelevant, at least not very important. You find comfort in doing what you feel is in your nature: submit to someone else. Isn't that how the theory goes?
I was trapped in this dynamic of perpetual self-denial that i had forced upon myself and felt that there was no way out because i had made a commitment to him and i belonged to him. i did see him, serve him, feel useful to him, blah blah, but... yes, years.
After things ended so catastrophically and i started gathering my strengths again, i'm not ashamed to admit, my first desire, my first need, was to be in the presence of a man who actually wanted sex.
Luckily the universe has no shortage of that and a few days ago, in my living room, i found myself on my knees as a zipper was opened in front of me. What can i say... it was a cathartic experience, almost spiritual. I was coming home. I realise how stupid it sounds and i'm glad the person behind the zipper knows nothing about this blog and how he has freed me from my shackles or i'd find it terribly embarrassing but i felt something i hadn't felt in ages. Home. Fulfilled. Twice.
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