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Anjelle
Complicated

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Monday, March 09, 2009
Posession

"Are you my slave?" He asked.

"No," I replied without thinking.

And that, I tried to explain, is exactly why I said no. Because I will simply tell him No to such things, without consulting anyone. Because I'm feisty, and rebellious, and there's not a damn thing that I will ever do simply because he (or anyone) has 'said so.' I have to be convinced, manipulated, or bribed into doing anything I don't inherently enjoy doing.

After telling him all of the reasons I am not his slave, I finally got around to asking his opinion.

"If I want you to be feisty, then feisty doesn't mean you aren't my slave," He said. "I don't want you to not challenge me, and I don't want to change or suppress your nature. I know what the dictionary definition of slavery is, and it doesn't matter. What matters is you and I. Yes, you are my slave."

I smiled, of course. I worship him. I would do anything for him. Including try to suppress my nature -- and I did do that for as long as I could stand, once upon a time. (Not that it worked. At all. But I tried.) Of course I am his slave. He is my god. My One.

Remembering his dislike for the impersonal title, I was left with a question.
"Does this mean you are my Master?"

"Yes," he answered. And then we made love.

He gave me words to say. Vows to repeat. And as I said them against his shoulder, I remembered words I had once written. Lines and vows that I had put to paper, intending for them to be a part of our Someday. Intending to say them as part of a collaring ceremony. The familiarity of what he asked me to speak was not at all suprising.

And, in the end, all I could speak was Him. Daddy. D. My god. My master. My everything.

I am his, and he is...

Mine.


Posted at 10:29 am by Anjelle



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