Nigredo voluntatis

My Master rarely asked for my opinion before doing something to me, once the decision was made. He didn’t need to. He was my Master. Besides, He knew me well - my body, my fears, my limits. This time, however, he asked. Just moments after he had calmly informed me of what he was about to do. And he knew perfectly well that what we were speaking of wasn’t easy for me. It was a challenge. Not a hard limit. There was no breach of consent, no violation of the structure that defines our bond. But still it was something that would demand everything in me: discipline, surrender, and a deep step outside my comfort zone.

– Do you want me to do THIS to you?

– No, Master. I don’t.

– Good. Then it will taste even better. Because I’m going to do it anyway.

– Master...

– Be silent! I didn’t ask for commentary.

– ...

– You are allowed to say "no". But you are not allowed to stop me. The decision is mine. The final word belongs to me. Never forget that.

– Yes, Master. But... This is stupid!

– I told you to be silent. And no. This is not stupid. This is OURS.

I lower my head and give in. Yes. He is right. But I don’t say it aloud. I stay silent, just as he commanded. I’ve already said too much. And then be begins. And though I’m trembling all over, neither my body nor my soul resists him anymore.

I start to cry. Quietly, at first. Then louder. He does exactly what he said he would. Methodical. Unrelenting. Unmoved. And I feel it that slow, spreading wave of fulfillment and gratitude. Because what, to the eyes of the "normal world", would look like violation, in "our world" is desired. Welcomed. Longed-for loss of self. Because I am losing myself in him. In his will. And truthfully, that’s what I’ve always wanted. What I’ve always craved.

And I know when he’s done, I will thank him. Softly. Honestly. I will kiss his hand with gratitude and reverence. He knows it too. And he knows that I know that he knows.

Ache of longing for my own wholeness

The truth is, my heart hasn't been beating for me in a long time. It beats for my Master – even when he's absent. It beats in anticipation of his voice, his gaze, his touch – the one that will instantly convince me that I am no longer my own.

I don’t want to be a Free Woman, not if freedom means this haunting emptiness that takes over me when I have no one to serve. Because in my world, freedom is the ability to serve.To be chosen – for obedience.

I feel like an empty vessel. Only my Master can fill it. With his word, his gesture, his command... Even just his glance. And his silence, too. Because isn’t a Master’s silence sometimes enough to break you?It’s in the moment I kneel before my Master, a collar around my neck – that’s when I feel most like myself. Completely. Exactly where I belong. That’s when I feel fulfilled.

Surrender doesn’t hurt. And it’s not even that difficult – not really. I’m not saying it’s easy either. But what I do know now is that the pain of waiting for the right person hurts far more. The waiting for the chance – and the permission – to give that surrender. That pain can be unbearable.

I’m longing for the moment when I hear my name and know that it’s not just my name being used – but something more. A summons. The prelude to a command that already waits to be obeyed, even if it hasn’t yet been spoken in full.

To belong to a Master – to be owned – doesn’t mean being less. Or being worse. It means becoming everything I can be. The fullness of who I am. A fullness I can only access on my knees, at his feet. A fullness that only he, besides myself, is aware of – and only he has access to. No one else.