Sex slave

I can't really begin to express how difficult it is growing up and being entranced by the idea of slavery, of being owned and helpless to another person's whim.

I devoured books about slavery all through my childhood- Roman, Greek, Egyptian, American, various and sundry other cultures - simultaneously horrified and enthralled. My very fascination amplified my horror - what sort of person gets tingles when reading about these things?

What was best, when I read the sometimes-fictional books, was when the owner and slave developed a true affection for each other, and then when it became sexual, although not always in that order. There was choice, but there was not choice; there was joy, but there was also ownership.

I tried to pretend the fascination was only academic as I grew older, to mask my fascination with slavery in all its forms with what looked like a voracious love of history, but I never could eliminate the tingly feeling I got when I thought of being possessed, of being owned, taken, controlled. The guilt always came along for the ride too - the guilt of knowing that I shouldn't be so fascinated, that the very concept should be repugnant to me, and that the world should advance beyond those base concepts of people owning people. The pleasure and the guilt became so intertwined that I wasn't always sure which was which. At least in my fantasies I was always the slave and never the owner, though that was a minimal balm at best, since the guilt still told me I was disrespecting people who had no choice in their slavery.

These days, I am a little more comfortable with myself, and I feel much less guilty. I very much identify as sex slave. I know there are people out there who will take issue with that, because I'm not "extreme" enough and because blah blah blah, whatever. Slavery is defined by the Master, not by anyone else. That has always been true - your situation as a non-consensual slave absolutely depended upon who you wound up with.

When my husband pulls me into his arms and says "Mine!" or, even better, whispers into my ear "You belong to me," it thrills me to my core. Every single time. When he further whispers that he is a lucky, lucky man, I can only be grateful. I feel that I am most definitely the lucky one to be gifted with his ownership and his acceptance of who I am. Most importantly, that I made the choice to give him my body, my soul, my Self. Certainly I never would have made that choice or given the gift of who I am to a lesser man.

Sometimes, I think he forgets. He's a lovely person, a sweet and caring husband, and he can be an absolutely demanding master and sadist. In all that, I think he forgets sometimes that there are simpler joys in owning a sex slave, things less complicated than long scenes or multiple orgasm sessions.

There is pleasure to be had from me that doesn't require his energy to be expended beyond a bare minimum. I just want to make his life better. He takes such excellent care of me - really, I am a very very very spoiled girl. It wouldn't hurt him to take a little more from me, even if he doesn't hurt me in the process. Or even if he does. Either way, really.

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At the same time, I know that sex trafficking is real. I know that there are women and girls out there in the world who have been born or sold or married into a lifetime ordeal of not having the choice of who experiences their bodies and who does not. I do what I can to support organizations that can help.

http://www.equalitynow.org/