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Reflections of a Love Slave

By: simply_cyn



I remember every touch … every word, just as if it had happened yesterday. Even as I sit here alone contemplating all that he ever said to me, I ache to hear more. “How did you first meet him?” seems to be the most common question when I dare to speak his name. And as I try to think back, I can’t really answer. It is as if I always knew him and him, me. We were as one. Those that saw us knew. They could see our paths set in the same direction even though mine was at his feet. We were going in one direction, together. When his name was said, mine followed suit. There was no him without me and no me without him. And yet even as I sit here now, it is still that way for me. There is no me without him and I don’t know if I will ever be anything but what he ever wanted me to be … his.

What I most recall about our first encounters was that he was the hated enemy of the one person that had taken me in under a protective wing. I was new to the community and, in a way, I think that my protector had a thing for me but he was valiant enough at the time to put it aside and put my best interests first. I had no clue where I was or what I was at that time. I had just discovered this new way of life and was tip-toeing into it very cautiously. I remember being warned off about him … Leonius. He was bad news and no one was to go near him or anyone in his family. At the time I didn’t really pay much attention to it but the imp in me, the bad girl, always wanted to know more about this Leonius and why he was off-limits and why my protector hated him so. But life progressed for me through the months that followed and I began to carve a place for myself in this new way of life. 

Bumps and bruises aside, I truly was thriving in this way of life … I had found my submissive side and was flourishing beneath my self-induced training. Not only was I submissive, but I was finding more in common with those that called themselves slaves. This was a new kind of submission … something deeper, more inane and it appealed to the very core of me. Natural order and being at the feet of strong men … these whispered my name even when I was busy being “happy” under the collar of my protector. But all hidden desires have a way of springing forth even when you try to keep them under wraps and it wasn’t long before I was venturing out, wandering in search of where I truly belonged. It brought me to my first real encounter with Leonius. 

He was more than I could have imagined. In fact, trying to put it into words makes my stomach tie up in thousands of knots just remembering what it was like to be before him. He was gentle but in a demanding kind of way, instructing me to my knees, questioning my innermost thoughts and allowing me to serve him. Serve him indeed … I put my whole heart and soul into the simple act of fetching him black wine, similar to an Earthen coffee and fresh bread. I remember stumbling over some words but my intent was clear and I finally released the held breath I had sucked in when he finally smiled and said those two words that every true slave girl at the feet of strong men long to hear … “good girl”.

Well, to make a long story short for the sake of space, I snuck back to see him time and again. Sometimes I was allowed to serve him, other times I wasn’t but just being near him refueled the fire that was beginning to grow within me and I was no longer content under the protection collar of a man that didn’t make me burn. I adored him but he wasn’t the man that could really truly bring me to my knees and I think he knew it as well. A few experimental relationships and so-called collars beneath others finally took me away from the beloved place that I had called home and I found myself on a new journey into my own submissive nature and sexuality.

Four years of growth in the place known as Gor, self fueled by my own desire to become all that I knew burned within me brought me finally to a place in my life where my path crossed with Leonius’ once more. But this time he, too, had been watching me … my growth, my journey, my own awareness and this time fate had entwined the two of us upon the same path. I’ll never forget sitting hours at his feet, learning about him and him, about me. Thousands of hours spent just in conversation, in my submission to his mastery and the erotic discovery of our levels of compatibility. He awoke within me a passion that I did not could exist and brought me to levels of ecstasy that I had only read about in romance novels. But this was not romantic, although I had fallen deeply in love with him and him, me. This was a bond stronger than any other I had ever known, something that I know even over the passage of many years, will still be unbreakable. I was his slave girl … his property … his slut and I gave it all so freely to him that it could not be denied. Even within the time spent away from him that would come could not even begin to bend the ties that bound us. 

I begged his collar … begged to belong to him alone and he allowed me the honor to wear a simple hammered steel collar around my neck that proclaimed me as owned property and I could not have been more proud if it was a 5-carat diamond from Zales. He gifted me with his name and the honor of kneeling at his feet … the allowance to sleep in his arms and please him as no other could. Oh yes, there were sluts that threw themselves at his feet even when I was there because he oozed that sexuality and that mastery that so many other girls, just like me, craved in their lives. Even understanding it, I fought my own insecurities and tried to quell the little green monster that welled up within me every time a pretty slave girl crawled to him, begging to be used. Even though I had his love, his ultimate gift, his collar … I still ached beneath the old self-doubts that I allowed to crawl in and infest beneath the kiss of silk bestowed upon my flesh. On the outside I smiled and accepted and was seen as the perfect kajira … but on the inside, I was slowly submitting to the jealousy that ignited from my own self doubts. Never was there a time in which he put doubts in me. I think that jealousy goes hand in hand at times with being with someone so virile, so intense, and so passionate.

But there came a time when I paid dearly for my jealous nature and I reacted instead of confiding in the One that could have quelled all my fears and because of my stupidity. For the first time in our relationship, there were doubts: my doubts in his intentions and his doubts in my devotion. We were at a crossroads and as any good Master would do, he punished me in the quickest and most effective way … I was released. I’ll never forget the shock, the quick and deadening pain that came with his decision. I was devastated and quickly reminded of my place in the grand scheme of things. And then he was gone … a quick good-bye, a simple reminder of what I was and the deadly kiss of love that I had killed with my insecurities. 

I kept waiting for him to end my punishment and to return to me, yank me by my hair, punish me and chain me to the foot of his couch. But it never came. My wishful thinking turned to despair when I realized that it was over, that he had indeed kept his promise and would not be contacting me again. I was released. I was nothing. My whole existence, my whole reason for living was gone. And yet I survived … I kept returning to this barbaric world that had once, so long ago, called to me. I wore other collars and I served other men but something within me was dead. I had well hidden a torn and bleeding heart beyond a tall wall of thorns and dared anyone to try to even come close. I became almost untouchable, throwing myself in my studies, determined to become the best, the most desired yet the most elusive. Maybe I achieved that … maybe I didn’t. But I was well on my way. 

Funny how just when you think that you have settled into the path of a new journey that the past has a way of flying right back up in your face. I had moved on … or at least as far as I was willing to move on. I was owned and had a collar and had a Home and had found a place … a place in a trophy case, upon a shelf only to be taken down to be shown off. In my desire to become the best I had also lost my whole sense of being, my whole reason for doing and now I had been reverted to a trophy upon a high shelf to be gazed upon, to be oohed and ahhed over and brought down only to be shown off and on occasions, perform for those that had watched. But deep within me cried the slave girl that still longed to submit. I needed to be possessed, not just owned … but that had died the day that Leonius had walked out of my life.

And then, without warning, there was a sudden flash of light in my dull existence: a flicker of past desires and aching want. Leonius had returned but what my role was to be in his dramatic return was undecided on his part and now, even as I write this, my heart soars in joyful anticipation. He’s back and I find myself falling at his feet again as if he never had commanded me from him. Even uncertain of my continued place in his life, I hold on to this one moment … these few words he has thrown my way and I am, again, at peace.

Reflections of a Love Slave Ch. 02



“Leonius … Leonius” … his name rolls so easily off my tongue but even now, I dare not speak it. Instead, when my lips form the words, all that comes forth is “Master”. I’ve spent the last two years trying to drive the haunting, yet comforting image of him from my mind and heart and thought I was doing pretty well. In the few times I have been at his feet since his return, I have been painfully reminded that I have failed in this endeavor. His existence as the driving force in my life still remains and dominates all others. He is the Master of my love, of each beat of my heart, of every breath that I take. And he knows it.

He has, in both words spoken and not, pointed out to me all the things I have allowed to creep back into my way of life since his departure. I have both cringed at wept at the girl I have presented to him now after our countless hours together. I have allowed myself to get swept away by those I have surrounded myself instead of holding true to all that he taught me. My shame is great. He says that he does not hold me responsible for the changes he has noticed and I am sure there will be more that become apparent to his unwavering gaze. He knows me like no other and the more time I spend with him, the more I reveal, without even knowing, of how I have let myself go once he was gone. I feel so much shame but yet still find hope in the time he allows me to be at his feet. In one sentence he can have me trembling in fear that I will never be allowed in the comfort of his steel again but hopeful that he might give me a chance. I think he relishes the power he has over me, knowing he keeps me in suspense, frustrated and confused but oh, so overjoyed that he allows me a chance to try.

I don’t think I can put eloquently enough into words all that he was and is to me or begin to explain the thousands upon thousands of hours that he spent with me, molding and shaping me to be his. He had created in me that which he desired most and that which I craved most and in his time away, I had let it slip. I do not doubt that it is still hidden deep within me … all those inane things he had drilled into me. Our time together was spent perfecting the relationship that we had and we were beautiful together, like a finely tuned instrument. My reactions were instant and fueled by his mastery over me. There were no words needed between us … simply a look and I knew what was expected of me. No, demanded of me. We were perfection in its truest sense.


Now little things send me spiraling into tears under his scrutiny, knowing how disappointed he must be to see how I have retracted while he was gone. My timing is off … my responses not instantaneous. I used to be able to read his mind and know what he was thinking without question. Now I find myself stumbling for words and quick responses to his questions. I doubt my answers, hoping they are what he is looking for when I used to just know. Just last night he said, “You’re too emotional, relax slut” but those words alone were enough to send a fresh stream of tears down my cheeks. He knows me, inside and out, through and through, as if no time has passed between us and I ache to belong to him again. In my heart, I know that I never stopped belonging to him … that even in his absence, he was here with me. But I still long to proudly wear his steel again, to have that something that I can reach up and grab a hold of and be reminded in some small, self-absorbed way of being able to physically be reassured that I am, indeed, his. 

I think of the things he has noticed and pointed out to me already, small changes that I hadn’t really noticed myself but once pointed out, embarrassed because it was true. Speaking first person comes to mind quickly because even writing in this forum, I speak it but now, because he pointed it out to me, I am more aware of and my fingers are tempted to type as he trained me to. At one time, I would have never spoken first person around him unless commanded to do so and now, in the time that has passed since my release, it comes easier, especially depending on who I am around. He was quick to remind me how disrespectful this was to him, even if it was not my intention.

Another thing he pointed out was how quickly I responded to his questions but they were without the intense emotions that he elicited within me … just quick, to the point answers. In fact, his exact words still ring painfully clear in my ears: “Such distance for a slut with such burning emotion within.” And the most painful part of it is that I know he speaks the truth. At the height of our intense time together, I was a finely tuned instrument that radiated the heat that he created within me. Now here I was, barely able to answer his probing questions and knowing looks without bursting into tears.

I am sure there are plenty of other things that he will point out that have changed in his absence: little things that I let go. As I reflect and try to put it into words, I can only wonder why I allowed this to happen; why I changed so drastically from the girl he painstakingly created to be molded just for his pleasure. I have no answers but I am sure, in time, and with his guidance, that these too will be revealed to me. I have no doubt that he already holds the answers. It’s my job to open my heart enough, painful though it may be, to hear his unspoken words once again. 



Reflections of a Love Slave Ch. 03



Author's Note: This essay, along with the two before, were prompted by an ex-Master that wanted my thoughts on his return. The first one I turned in to him as commanded ... the rest have been my way of dealing with troubled thoughts since then.

Why do my words falter and my heartbeat quicken when his eyes simply fall upon my countenance? How is it that he knows my tears are coming even before they sting my eyes? Where does he find the power to bring me shaking to my knees? What does he want with me after all this time?

These questions and oh, so many more, haunt me; even when I think that I might have shaken off the endless fear and anxiety the mere mention of his name spirals me into. The power he reigns over me with just a simple word ... a look without even the timbre of his voice to jumpstart my heart into overdrive. Why can't I control my emotions when he finds worth in speaking to me? It's as if I can't help the tears or the trembling of my fingers, much less the wild beating of my heart. And he can see it! He knows it even before I do and it's so frustrating. How can he know me so well?

I want to run to him with open arms and fall at his feet. I want to reach out and beg him to never leave. I want to drive hundreds of miles just to see his smile. I want to latch onto him like a baby to its mother for protection even when the protection I seek is the fear I have of him breaking my heart. I want to feel the brush of his hand over my flesh. I want to bear the weight of his burdens. I want to feel the reality of his love.

But instead I stumble over foolish words that send him into angered silence and displease him with ways that I had well hidden away in his absence. But yet, he still watches and knowing this brings me a restless comfort. Even though I may not see him, it's like I can feel his burning gaze. I want so desperately to please him even when he's not there but my whole being cries out for his guidance. Please ... help me. 

Will I ever know the beauty that I once basked in, knowing that he loved me? Can I dare hope that he longs for use to complete the story that we began? I am held helpless on the end of a chain that I know not what it is rooted to and I am scared. I need him to unchain me from this mess that I call life and pull me back to that place where I found comfort the most. Why, oh why, have you forsaken me?

Tell me to do it and I will. Command me to lay prone at your feet and I am there. Motion me to submit and it is done. My mind, body and soul need only follow the path that my heart has already tread. Even now as I reflect on your words to me tonight, my heart aches in desperate longing. I crave your words, even if they are spoken in anger or displeasure at my actions. Just speak to me!

I am your kajira ... your shadow ... your creation. Don't leave me here in despair! I can do nothing without you but everything through you. There is no me without you; just the shell of the girl that you left behind. Mold me, shape me, bend me to your will. Bring back the fire that burned so brightly that it illuminated the both of us. I yearn to feel the kiss of hammered steel and the brand of your love.

But there is that fear within me that keeps me on this side of the gate that I have well erected in his absence. And I have not received enough confirmation from his end to unlock it. For now I continue to speak to him over its comforting top. I still have a safety net in which to fall ... within the confines of this tall tower of walls that I have so successfully erected. The time spent with him, as limited as it has been, since his return has fueled my fire again but it has also made me more cautious. I refuse to be a pauper to a game that he could be playing with my heart. What kind of girl would I be to refuse to acknowledge that possibility?

I am not the same girl you left behind. I have learned so much, more than you can possibly fathom, through the heartbreak and the destruction that you left behind with your goodbye. It will take more this time than a glance my way and a simple command even though my heart screams out that that, indeed, is what it craves. This time I will let my head in on this decision and it does not remain with you alone. At least in our time together you gave me this precious gift ... common sense. And no one, not even you, the One I love, can take that away this time. 



Reflections of a Love Slave Ch. 04



It's funny how life moves on when for so long it has seemed to be on hold. But as I look up from this secluded safe place in which I have holed myself up, I see clearly that it has. Those that I once thought I could not live without have moved on as if I was just a mere cloud that had taken on an interesting shape in their lives ... a mere mirage of what they may or may not remember. I guess that which I felt to be so real at one time was, in reality, not real at all but just a façade, a simple act in their plays of life. I'm not sure if I can express what I'm really feeling as I sit down to reflect. But I have learned that sitting down to reflect and journal about my journey is one of the key ingredients to my growth. 

I have definitely grown. I am not the still, small girl that was left abandoned through an e-mail ... a cold dismissal from the man that I thought I was to build a life with. As I sit and reflect back on how I felt when he abruptly thrust me from his life to live his life in "reality" offline, I can't help but smile thinking that it was surely the end of my ever-beating heart. But now as I see he has collared another girl online ... someone he has told point blank that he has no intention of taking offline into his real life, I can't help but feel somewhat amused that what I was so blinded to a couple of years ago is just as real as it can be in front of my face. God spared me from more heartache being with a man that apparently can't separate online from offline. That is definitely not what I need in my life. Nor does my daughter.

Then I watch another man that I thought I had known well, like the back of my hand, collar yet another girl and take her offline. But as I have been offline with him and know exactly how out of control he is in his own reality, I can't wonder but how long this Velcro collar will last until she, too, is fed up with the lies about reality and the lifestyle off this computer.

So then I have to ask myself ... why come back? Why continue with this heart-wrenching pattern that follows not just me, but many girls that continue their journey through slavery through this particular median? Are we all destined to only live the fantasy of this lifestyle through the role-play rooms that depict how we had read slavery to be in books? Is it really possible to find offline what I crave so? It is possible to really kneel at the feet of a strong man, be able to call him Master, and it REALLY be so?

I know there must be dozens of you out there that either have asked yourself that same question or are, at this particular time, struggling with these same questions. It's so sad that we have been taken advantage of ... that our hearts and our very natures have been exploited by those so-called men that call themselves Master. But there is something that keeps drawing us back ... something that calls to our bellies and then want and need hidden deep within our souls. 

I'm not naïve to think that only slave girls go through this type of pain. Many Masters have been taken advantage of ... whispers of promises that are never to be taken seriously into their ears as they, too, strive to find their love slaves. But I see more heart-broken girls roaming these halls that I frequent and their stories all seem to mirror mine. What is it about us that screams for heartless bastards to come and trample over our hearts as if they did not bleed the same thing that pulses through their own thick skins?

But still I wait. I wait in endless nadu and with hopeful anticipation that he will come. Still I am afraid to hope that this one might be him. My hopes have been dashed so much that a part of me feels like perhaps I should never hope again. But yet I can feel it start to soar once again whenever he logs on. I find my heart beginning to beat as only a slave girl's heart can in the presence of the One she longs to serve more than any other. I am still a love slave. And in all honesty, that is what I long to be forevermore.



Reflections of a Love Slave Ch. 05



As I sit to pencil in my thoughts once more, I can't help but wonder how to put them into words that will make sense. They all seem so jumbled up in my head at the moment but I know I must get them out because my heart is near bursting. I have come to that monumental point once more where I could burst into tears at the drop of a hat just thinking about him. There is finally a face to this mystery Master that has eluded me all of these years. Before I used to just see a form but now I see his face and whisper his name in the dark when no one else can hear. I am so overwhelmed by this need to beg him to put an end to my self torture and clasp his steel about my neck but I can not bring myself to do it... not yet.

I want him to throw me to my knees and grasp me by the hair and claim me for the love slave that I can be to him. But I know he is waiting for it to become so overwhelming for me that I, instead, throw myself to his feet and beg it. Can't he see that I can't do that?! So much has happened before his casual but purposeful stroll into my life and I admit it... I'm afraid. I'm afraid!! I feel so helpless around him and it grows with intensity each day. I can't help but wonder if he feels it but at the same time, I know that he does. In each smile he casts my way... in each echo of laughter that follows his words that send me for a spiraling loop into slavery, I know that he does. 

It's still so new and I know I must proceed cautiously but how does a slave at heart really do that? I have been trained and reared to simply react, not think. But yet I don't want to repeat past mistakes. Yet I can feel it welling up within me. I can feel the ache building to lay complete at his feet and be, once again, held mercilessly yet lovingly in a steel embrace... in HIS steel embrace. Just when I think I can feel it radiating from him... the desire to claim me, I doubt my instincts and wonder why he would want a simple girl like me. Truth be told, he has his pick of whoever catches his fancy. He is strong, rugged, powerful and above all, Gorean. Why would he want me?

But yet, I know deep down what all I have to offer and I know it is enough. Isn't it? I am worthy to be loved and to be owned. Aren't I? I am beautiful and desirable and worth tenfold of those that pretend to be something they are not. Please confirm this in me! I am your love slave... I am the completion of your mastery. Or am I? Oh, I want to be... please let me be...

Do you feel my helpless desire? Do you see the naked girl that trembles within this false façade? Do you desire to bring out the wanton slut in me? I am yours... all you have to do is claim me boldly. My neck is bare... my soul aching... my slate is wiped clean. Mold me... make me... shape me to be your every desire. I am clay in the hands of my Master.

Please do not leave me here in this façade that I have build around my heart. I am slowly dying beneath the false of robes of freedom. I am enslaved in a lie. I am withering into a frail seed that has fallen dormant in the cold snow of my lonely existence. I want to live! I want to dance my joy at being free in the confines of your embrace. I beg it! I beg to be your slave! Please unchain me from the pits of my self-contained hell!

These things shroud my mind and dreams when I fall into a dream-like slate and allow my thoughts to turn to him. I am so afraid of never having the chance to show him truly who I am. Why can I not just release these longings from my lips so that he might hear them and rejoice in knowing that I am already his? Why can't I be brave and daring and sure of myself any more? Do my wounds really go so deep that even now, I can not trust my own heart?

Please... rescue me.