wanted to change the world. But I have found that the only thing one can
be sure of changing is oneself."
In the world my Mistress and I have begun to create together, there are some people on the fringes of our immediate circle of friends, who view our relationship with a certain sense of voyeurism. They call us on the phone, or IM us online, wanting to know all the juicy gossip and details, accompanied by innuendo, Freudian slips, and sly remarks that reveal an ill-bred humor. What are we wearing? What did she do to me this time? Have you been a good girl? They want us to feed their fantasies about what it's "really" like being a full-time Domme and slave.
As they dwell on our 24/7 arrangement, they must think we're in the dungeon every night. I can see their libidos shifting into overdrive when they imagine I cannot sit down at work for all the bruises and marks my Mistress inflicts on me, passionately flinging her flogger across my upturned bottom with abandon. Of course, my cock is not my own, chastised and rendered ineffective. And my 40D breasts are bound and tortured before bedtime each night. Naturally, I sleep in the cage in the playroom, or on the floor at the foot of the bed if I'm lucky. I am forced to perform oral sex on anyone my Mistress demands, at any time. And either gender can fuck me senseless if it so pleases them.
Ahh, such depravity. Positively pornographic. Tantalizingly titillating. While they pry and tweedle away offering various hypothesis for confirmation, we remain cordial and don't reveal anything overly personal about what passes between us. They ring off content that someone, somewhere out there is actually living and experiencing whatever their perverted fantasies can conjure.
In a way it's all good. What we actually do in private, and what we let them think we do in private, are mutually exclusive realities. If it fosters a little notoriety, that's fine. But something about it bugs me too. It's like our privacy has been invaded somehow. Our relationship held up as prurient interest. Bordering on non-consensual. A violation.
Why? Well, for one, all of that lurid imagery described in the second paragraph above is complete and utter nonsense. If I were asked to state how many times Mistress and I have actually used our own dungeon, by ourselves, within the last six months - I'd have to answer two. Maybe three times max. She has yet to seriously mark me once.
While she and I may joke about how "abused" I am, in every way ours is a relationship - a journey - built on mutual respect and trust, and a whole lotta love. Frankly, we're both pretty shagged out by nine o'clock most nights (since I get up at 4:30 every morning). By then, there's a reserve of energy left for some snuggling and cuddling, touching and teasing. Like newly-weds, lost in the wonder of our love-making. Truthfully, we're dead asleep more often than not, as soon as our heads hit the pillow. Pretty boring, if you ask me.
Underlying all of this, of course, is the implicit understanding that, yes, if she wanted to, she could cuff me to the cross every night, or do this or that to me. And believe me, she's a pretty kinky perv. She enjoys discovering and then activating your buttons. She says jump, I jump! Sometimes, when she brushes those sharp fingernails across certain areas of my body, I jump anyway.
But of course I would acquiesce. I am her slave. I am hers to use. I know this. She knows it. It is at the heart of our agreement. We've both signed a contract that our individual integrity compels us to honor and abide by. But the simple fact that she calls me slave, and I call her Owner, gives the perception that our home is a darkened opium den of illicit and bestial activities, with scantily-clad nymphs scampering hither and yon, chased by masked and leather-encrusted demons, brandishing wickedly nasty implements and rampant erections.
I wish. Bring on the nymphs!
Seriously, and more practically however, are the perceptions involving a slave's "real world" finances and day-to-day living. It's all well and good to put fantasy into practice, but c'mon we all have these so-called lives to lead, right? We got jobs to go to, money to earn, bills to pay. Who in their right mind would abdicate their personal fiscal responsibility? Actually turn over control of their money to another? In American society, fueled as it is by consumption and greed, that kind of thinking is tantamount to madness, insanity, even treasonous.
Now if you really want to know how open and exposed, vulnerable and embarrassing a person can feel, get them to reveal all about their checkbook. True confession time, with every expenditure explained, spilling the reasons why you just have to spend your money on your cigarette habit, or satisfy a shoe fetish. Or confess to your lusts for expensive dining or haute-couture lingerie. The way you earn and spend your money reveals your movements, your tastes, your tendencies, your desires.
You can't buy that kind of information. Ad men, marketers, political spinners, covert opportunists and extortionists alike would kill for that kind of data. It's the ultimate power tool. But is my Owner entitled to know that much about me? And am I compelled to tell her? Certainly I could surrender to my Mistress control of my soul, mind, body, my pleasures, and my wardrobe, but my PIN number? No way.
But I did. We both set out on this path together wanting the truth between us. So we did a lot of talking. I blushed a lot. I combed through piles of old paper and waded through the cobwebs of my mind. We fired up the computer and crunched numbers in an Excel spreadsheet. We got down and dirty. We got incredibly real.
And it's working out. Surprisingly well, actually. As part of the Owner/slave contract I signed with my Mistress, I agreed to turn over control of my finances to her, For the first time in years I can look my creditors in the eye. I'm living on a budget. Let me repeat that. Mom, if you're reading this, it's true. I, Ayme Michelle, am living on a budget. Swear to God. I even have weekly allowance! And people I owe money to are speaking to me again!
I feel like a little kid. If I want something, I have to ask for it, and explain why I want it. Sometimes, it feels like I'm tugging on apron strings. Mommy can I have it? Pleaaaase? She says no a lot, as she should. Being an Owner must sometimes feel like being a parent. Hmmm. That might play well into an age regression scenario, or a schoolgirl fantasy. File that one away for further consideration, would you?
But both my long-range and short-term goals are being met. I get the things I really need. I prioritize what I'd like to have, in their order of reality and probability, and she has the final say on how we can achieve it. I just do my job, direct my payroll into a joint account, and let her rock. She likes being organized that way, and she's good at it. Me, I'm terrible. Money and me are like water and sieves baby. Champagne kisses and caviar dreams. Robin Leach got nothing on this girl.
Gone is the deficit spending habit. Gone are the overdraft fees, the over limit fees, and the late payment fees. The credit industry really knows how to hit you where it hurts! Since my Mistress has taken over the books, I no longer stress about it. Any pain I feel these days is from the clothespins on my nipples, and not from getting caught short when the rent is due. I am free to offer input as to my money's use, but in assuming the responsibility for my fiscal welfare, my Mistress has given me a great gift. A gift of freedom. Freedom from the worry and hassle. Freedom to concentrate on her. Freedom to devote more quality time to my writing and publishing endeavors, attend classes, do some traveling.
So much is made of a sub or slave's "gift" of submission. Much talk is bandied about concerning who really controls what goes on during a scene (topping from the bottom). But for this 24/7 slave, it is the willingness on both our parts to accept the gifts we each can bring. With full confidence and pride, I accept not only her control, but also this sublime peace of mind that is at the heart of her precious offering.
I think it is a wise Owner who is unafraid to give of themselves to their slave. And more so the slave for realizing it is not only they who should be giving of themselves. It is the cycle of giving and receiving, in full faith, honesty and love, that brings joy and enriches our lives, keeping the karmic wheel spinning. We grow. We change. We live.