Daisy Stone (fairyoftheglen) wrote in sub_voices,
Daisy Stone


I think I finally know why I am so addicted to consensual slavery.

It seems obvious, but the masochism allows me to lose composure, or to be super obvious/redundant, control.

All the while I am pleasing my Master. Behaving. Being a good girl.

And I can show strength, and feel strong, even as I fall to pieces, sobbing and quivering.

So being out of control makes me feel strong. What an oxymoron! But I guess BDSM is full of that sort of thing. Slavery makes you free. Pain feels like pleasure.

It means so much to me to have someone who I can trust to... anything I put here sounds so trite... I guess take away my sanity and hold onto it while I'm not using it, and then give it back later. Someone who can take me to a place where I'm not in control of my body or what happens to me, or more importantly my emotions. That is by far the hardest part to give up, but also the most rewarding.

I give him control of my emotions: fear, sadness, anger. It's even beyond a catharsis. He releases that darkness and takes pleasure in every minute of it.

Sometimes I wonder what's in it for him. He takes me to wonderful heights, takes the burden of all my pain etc. Lets me be free from all responsibility, even for my own safety (although I pay significant attention to that little detail)

He puts me truly, completely, in the moment. When nothing matters more than the pure sensation rushing through my body. Right here. Right now.

But what does it give him? Is it the power of making me helpless? Is it the ego boost of my worshiping him? My being so devoted that I want to do whatever it takes to please him?

(the flip side of that is me wanting to be as perfect as possible, and the fear of failing at that, and yet knowing failure is inevitable, no one can be perfect. I still want to be as close as I possibly can.)

And at the end of the scene, I'm a sobbing, quivering mess. But when he holds me, I know that even at my darkest most vulnerable, I'm still loveable. That he can love the quivering mess that the veil of my composure hides from the rest of society.
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