Mask of feistiness and the chains of loyalty

In the evening, after returning home from the memorable family dinner, we had a conversation.

– You were very sassy today – said Master.

– Yeah... I couldn’t stop laughing when I realized absolutely no one takes what you say seriously, Master.

– I know. What did you feel, knowing that everyone there was laughing at something that’s completely real for you?

– Shame and... I don’t know... By the way, Master, why do you let me be like that around them? I never asked you that before, and today I understood how important it is. So thank you for that, Master...

– Why do I let you? Because that’s how they know you. But you know very well that in any other situation such a scathing exchange of words would not be permitted..

– Yes, Master... I know.

– And... Do you know what I liked most?

– That I didn’t roll my eyes or openly rebel when you were saying all that, Master?

– That the whole time, you knew exactly who you belong to. Even when you were playing the cheeky little daughter. And that’s also the answer to your question – why I let you be like that around them. I like watching you in that mask of feistiness, knowing I’m the only one who knows what’s underneath it. And that I can order you to take it off at any moment, and you’ll submit without batting an eye. That’s why you’re getting a reward tonight. For knowing how to stay silent when it was the hardest. When everyone thought I was talking nonsense.

– Thank You, Master.

– Kneel. And thank me. With your mouth. As best you can.

Submissive in her own juices

A family dinner at my mom's. There are a few other people at the table, including my godparents, whom I truly treat like second parents, as well as my cousin and a few distant relatives. Dinner goes on as usual. A few jokes, a few chats about the weather, a few arguments about politics, and discussions of ordinary, everyday matters. A homely atmosphere, embellished with the aroma of delicious food and that characteristic tension that accompanies every meeting with people who know you from the very beginning and... They have the photo albums to prove it.

We're both there. I'm in an elegant dress, perhaps just a little too tight, and my makeup is perfectly polished. And Master – calm, elegant, seeming slightly withdrawn, as if he were sitting not at a family dinner but rather viewing some interesting, exotic social exhibition. He listens, observes, smiles. He doesn't say much. He acts like a polite anthropologist.

How I function and who I am in a relationship with a man, and how I function every day, in relationships with people, including within my family, are two different things. Only the Master knows both sides of me. The external one – the one reserved for the world – and the internal one – reserved only for him. This first version of me – the one everyone knows – is authoritative, dominant, always speaking her mind, rarely biting her tongue. Usually kind, cheerful, and polite. But sometimes also sassy, feisty, and arrogant...

We were having dinner. Between bites, I was teasing my mom across the table. Classic. We were (not so jokingly) arguing about which of us made the better version of the dishes in front of us. Naturally, each of us defended her own version quite fiercely. The rest of the family stayed out of it. But at one point my godfather snorted and shook his head, giving both me and my mom a look full of disapproval.

– I honestly don’t know how he puts up with you, –  he said to me, giving my Master a look of genuine respect.

My Master, who was calmly sipping tea as if he hadn’t heard a single word of the back-and-forth between me and my mother, simply raised an eyebrow and smiled with that quiet composure of someone who always knows more than they let on.

– It’s not that bad – he replied politely to my godfather.

– What, you’ve already given up? – my uncle pressed, not letting it go.

– Not exactly...

– You mean to tell me she doesn’t talk back to you? – my godmother jumped in.

– No. Charlotte can be... Very restrained. Even disciplined. Believe me – he said with calm assurance. And that’s when I started wishing they’d all just drop the subject...

– Because honestly, sometimes I still feel like giving her a good spanking for that sharp tongue of hers. Even though she’s a adult woman – my godmother declared flatly.

– Well... I sometimes spank her – said Master, in the most matter-of-fact tone imaginable like he was commenting on the weather. And then he smiled, wide and unapologetic. And I froze. He really say that?! I did not like the direction this conversation was going. Not one bit. But I didn’t have time to dwell on it, because in the very next second, the entire table erupted in loud, hearty laughter. Everyone except me.

– Well, would you look at that! Someone finally showed her who’s boss. Just spank her and that's it? And she lets you do it? – my cousin, who had been keeping quiet until now and who clearly doesn't like the Master, comments somewhat sarcastically.

– Yes... Although a tongue tie works better in some situations. Maybe sometimes you should try it too – Master replied, with the air of someone thoroughly enjoying themselves while simultaneously sensing her dislike. His words sparked another round of laughter from everyone gathered at the table. Everyone, except me. Because I was the only one who knew all too well that not a single word he'd said had been – so far – a joke.

– Look, what a joker! It's good we have you, man. Maybe someone will finally tame her – my godfather concluded, seeming even more amused than Master.

– That's what I call having authority! I always wondered how she was so polite to you – my aunt said approvingly.

– Maybe because she knows what awaits her when she's not. I have my ways of dealing with her. They're different – Master said with a mischievous smile.

Jesus Christ, is this really happening?! That was the final straw. I couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. But not just any laugh. It was nervous, uncontrollable. Loud and spasmodic. Hysterical. And once I started, I couldn't stop. I laughed until tears welled up in my eyes, until I honestly thought I was going to choke. The others, of course, joined in. They laughed with me. But they had no idea what made me laugh so much. It didn't even occur to them that everything said at that table was true. Therefore, their laughter was light, easy, amused. They thought it was just innocent banter and exaggerated jokes. But my laughter was actually the sound of the pressure finally subsiding – because I was the only one at that table (besides the Master) who knew that none of it was a joke. Not a single word. That every word was completely serious.

Eventually, I calmed down. And I found myself thinking how strange it feels to belong to two different worlds at once. This one – here at the table, full of playful bickering, sarcastic quips, and dramatic eye rolls. And that one – the one where I’m on my knees, naked, before my Master. Where "watch your mouth" isn’t just a throwaway remark, but a clear line. One that is better not to cross. Because if I did – I’d be punished. Severely. And the strangest part? Probably that same evening, I will kneel naked before the Master. No pretense, no jokes, no sarcastic remarks, no eye rolling. In silence. Patiently. Humbly. Waiting for the command. They don’t know that. They wouldn’t even be able to imagine it.

And Master? He just sat there, calm as ever – smiling at my mother, pouring himself some tea, joking with my godparents, teasing my cousin with polite mischief. He didn’t even glance at me. But I felt it. That unmistakable tension pulsing between us. The invisible leash. And I knew – he was still holding it. He always holds it. No matter where we are. No matter who’s around. It’s a leash of the mind. And it’s stronger than blood. I realized that just now.

– I don’t know what he’s done to me, but... I guess it’s working – I said, once I’d finally caught my breath, feeling that I should speak after all. Master simply smiled at that.

In the evening, after returning home, the Master and I had a interesting conversation about this situation...

Philosophy of Gorean service: between literary fiction and real life

Service, in the context of Gorean philosophy, is not merely an external set of duties or the ostentatious, almost theatrical act of kneeling on command. In my view, it is first and foremost a very specific state of mind – a deeply personal, fully conscious inner decision to place oneself, one’s time, life, devotion, work, and broadly understood effort under the jurisdiction of a Master.

Slavery (and of course I am speaking here strictly of consensual Gorean slavery) is not, in my understanding of Gorean philosophy, an empty ritual, a game, a performance, or a fantasy aimed at creating pleasurable sensations between the legs. No. Holistically understood Gorean philosophy – as opposed to atomistic interpretations – demands that Gorean slavery be treated as a valid expression of a person’s spiritual identity. In this light, service becomes a personal language of love, an act of devotion, and a testament to deep self-awareness. Because the path of service – voluntarily and consciously chosen, the Gorean slave’s path – requires profound self-knowledge. And that has very little to do with the fairy tale of constant bliss or the perpetual fire between one’s thighs.

A proper attitude toward service should not be based on the illusion of always being happy, ready, and smiling, like some kind of Barbie doll. In my view, it should be rooted in a mature understanding and naming of one’s own limits, capabilities, and expectations.

Why am I writing about this? Because the Gor novels are filled with claims and statements on these subjects. And while those claims fit perfectly into the context of a fictional planet, they often do not translate well into the reality of a Gorean lifestyle on Earth. That’s a huge and very dangerous trap – especially for newcomers.

I’ve already met far too many girls and women with broken spirits, whose “Masters” expected inhuman levels of perfection in service, justifying it with the “special nature” of the kajira’s role. As if merely wearing a collar and identifying with Gorean principles were supposed to magically make a woman immune to such “trivial” emotions as fatigue, reluctance, or frustration. The truth is, an Earth kajira is not a robot. She’s a flesh-and-blood woman. Her body is often far from flawless. She has a mind, emotions, and vulnerabilities that – like with any human – sometimes get the better of her. But in the holistic understanding of Gorean philosophy that inspires the Gorean lifestyle, the true value of an Earth kajira is not measured by her lack of weakness or limitations – but by the fact that, despite them, she remains loyal to her ideals: obedient, devoted, and submissive to her Master.

Recently, in a conversation I took part in, one Gorean Master I greatly respect pointed out that there is a fundamental difference between "having expectations" in such a relationship and "having reasonable expectations". I couldn’t agree more. I believe that in order to live in this kind of relationship in a healthy way, it is necessary to understand that difference – and to understand it well. That reasonableness is essential. Even crucial. An Earth kajira often has a job, may be a mother, gets her period, falls ill from time to time, or simply has bad days. Kajirae on Gor didn’t have to worry about any of those things. That’s not a flaw in the system – that’s the critical difference between a fictional world and a lifestyle lived on Earth. A difference many seem to overlook – or stubbornly refuse to see.

An Earth kajira is a woman fully integrated into the reality she lives in. A woman who serves in spite of everything – not because she must, but because she wants to. Even if, paradoxically, in that particular moment... She doesn’t really “feel like it.” And a good, wise Master will be able to see that. And appreciate it. Sometimes – when the situation truly calls for it – he’ll ease up. Maybe adjust the rules, or lighten the load. And from my own experience, I can say that a Master often most deeply appreciates those moments when walking the path of service wasn’t easy, smooth, or pleasant, but required perseverance, overcoming exhaustion or weakness – for him. Out of loyalty to him. From a desire to be obedient and to bring him pleasure. Because what virtue is there in being obedient and pleasing only when it suits us and everything’s going our way?

The essence of healthily understood Gorean service, for me, lies in honesty – with oneself and one’s commitments – along with awareness, perseverance, and loyalty. Loyalty to one’s word and to one’s Master. In the Gorean Lifestyle, a kajira gives over her decision-making power to her Master willingly, independently, in an act of conscious, autonomous choice. Not because she is incapable of making decisions herself – but because this is what she deeply desires. Because – paradoxically – she has chosen it. And that desire – not coercion, not utopian duty, not fear – is the source of her true inner strength.

Why am I (and why do I want to be) submissive?

I don’t understand why I’m submissive. Not because I haven’t tried to figure it out. Quite the opposite - I’ve read more than is considered proper. I’ve kept journals, had countless conversations with those more experienced than me. And yet, none of it has ever led me to a clear, final answer that would make sense to those who ask.

Still - even after all these years on this path - I can’t seem to capture my submissiveness in a net of causes and effects. I don’t understand it. At least not in a way that would allow me to offer an answer in the form of a short, coherent, logical, and once-and-for-all convincing explanation.

My submissiveness seems to elude all definitions. It isn’t logical. It isn’t convenient. It isn’t even easy. But it is mine. Deeply rooted in my soul, like a root in the earth. My submissiveness is like an inner whisper I cannot ignore - even though it sounds indecent.

What I do know is that when I kneel before my Master, something inside me falls into place. Not just my body. Not just my thoughts. All of me. It’s as if my soul takes shape. It’s a conscious choice of a path - the only one that brings me true inner peace and happiness.

So no, I can’t fully explain why I need this kind of relationship - this dynamic where the Master stands above. But I know I need it like I need air. Maybe Aristotle understood it when he wrote that the lower longs for the higher in order to reach its fullness. I could definitely sign my name under that. Or maybe it’s the echo of Hegel’s dialectic of Master and Slave, where submission becomes the path to true self-knowledge. Or perhaps it’s simply a sense - a body that knows more than language ever could. Does it really matter that much?

There is no ego in submission. No need to shine, to win, to persuade. There is only being - pure, bare, free from the burden of who I’m "supposed" to be in the world. How many times have I tried to explain this to those who ask? Why I don’t want balance? Why I’m not looking for a man to be my "partner"? I don’t know. Maybe because the answer lies beyond language. In my body and its responses. In the tension of muscles when I hear a voice that doesn’t ask, but states, demands, commands and won’t tolerate defiance. Or maybe the answer is in a look. That particular look a Master gives, saying "you belong to Me", even when his lips remain silent.

Yes. I want to belong. Not to everyone. Not to just anyone. Not to whoever happens to want me. But to a Master. One who sees in me not just an interesting girl, not just an alluring woman - but a being. One ready to be possessed in a way that is uncompromising and complete.

Georges Bataille wrote that suffering becomes sacred when it restores man’s contact with that which transcends man. My submission is like a ritual of constantly crossing the boundary of myself. Not against myself, but in order to reach into the depths of who I am in a state of complete inner freedom.

I don’t choose submission because I feel the need to punish myself for something. Nor do I choose it because I can’t control my own life. No. The choice of this path comes from a deep, inner need of my soul. Who knows? Maybe submission is the purest form of transcendence in a world that no longer believes in anything greater than itself.

I want to give myself to my Master completely. But not as an empty doll. Rather, as a sacred offering. Submission for me is not just a form of relationship with a man. It is a metaphysical act. Because when I fully submit to him, a natural order arises. The moment I kneel before my Master is the moment the whole world around me regains its proper structure. A world that before was noise - a freedom torn, aggressive, full of conflicting signals - suddenly seems to calm down. What remains is only the rhythm of my breath and the peace of no longer having to be myself in a socially acceptable version.

Some say it’s abnormal. But I believe I am truly normal only when I am obedient. When someone reads me and sees that my "yes, Master" is not a gesture of weakness, but a choice deeper than anything else. Because I feel I become fully myself only when someone guides me. When I know whom I serve. And when I serve, I am no longer torn. I am no longer split between the social "I" and desire. I am whole.

Many see me as a strong, independent woman, even commanding, sometimes arrogant. One who likes to have the last word and get her way. And they’re right. But that’s only one layer of me. It’s my defense mechanism, a guarantee of survival in a world dominated by chaos. Beneath it trembles something else: a need to belong to someone in harmony.

One thing I know: I don’t want freedom without boundaries. I don’t want love that demands nothing. I want to belong. To be for my Master. At his command. At his gaze. At his beck and call.

Even as a teenager, I knew I wasn’t made for partnership understood as equality in every aspect of life. It wasn’t ideology. It was my inner longing. And though in many ways I’ve changed over the years, this has not changed. I don’t desire an ordinary man. I desire a Master. One who doesn’t need to ask before reaching for my heart, my body, my loyalty. One who takes - and by taking - gives meaning to my devotion. Maybe it’s a paradox. But Emil Cioran would probably say that only he who has touched the bottom of slavery knows what freedom is.